(121-02-18) A Pansy, a Thorn, and a Wylted Flowers Walk Into a Bar
A Pansy, a Thorn, and a Wylted Flowers Walk Into a Bar
Summary: After the Swordsmanship Tourney, a few of the knights are treated to drinks on Lord Pansy. An arrest is made.
Date: Date of play (18/Feb/2014)
Related: Court and Oatcakes: http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:121-02-17-court-and-oatcakes

Quill and Tankard

This is the common room of the Quill and Tankard, that famous Oldtown Inn that has never closed in five hundred years. The building is a noble old half-timber structure with plastered stone between the enormous old black beams. It sits on a small rock of an island at the edge of the Honeywine River, and is accessed by a little footbridge, or by water-taxi.

Rivermen and seamen, smiths and singers, priests and princes, Lords and sellswords, travelers both noble and small, and the novices and acolytes of the Citadel - all come for a taste of the fearsomely strong apple cider that makes this inn so beloved by Oldtown's people. There is a pleasant buzz of chatter, cups and tankards being filled and refilled, and general laughter.

The fire in the hearth allows for a merry glow and a comfortable warmth from Oldtown's breezy, misty cobblestone streets. Benches and tables offer places to sit, and there is a deliciously toothsome smell in the air of food from the back.

Currently at least two City Watchmen are stationed here at all times. They will be quick to arrest those who offer violence to anyone.

Garvin is already at a table by the time the knights have changed and made their way from the tourney grounds. Six or seven men in Tyrell livery are at nearby tables, enjoying tankards of ale on Lord Pansy's coin, while he has a large flagon of wine at his table, surrounded by half a dozen goblets. There's a goblet in his hand as well, and the pansies from his hat have been transferred to his hair.

Laurent comes in at the head of a small contingent of knights — Ser Colin, Ser Fortinbras, Ser Daved and others — marching in sour silence. As the thrill of victory faded, so too did his good spirits, until nothing was left but the sour Thorn that his family (and indeed, much of Oldtown) is more familiar with. His way parts from his fellows' at the door, though he silently waves the good-spirited group toward a nearby table, and he sees himself through the crowd to fall heavily into a chair at Garvin's table. "Cousin," is his muttered greeting, once he's properly slouched in.

Wyl follows the steps of his fellow Greens by a short distance, the lowborn knight habitually lowering his head slightly to step through the inn's door. A quick pass of narrow eyes around the common room, and he turns his steps toward the table he sees Colin, Fortinbras and the others occupying. Quiet words of greeting are given as he approaches.

Garvin brightens when his cousin approaches, lifting his goblet. "Cousin!" he shouts, and the Tyrell men raise their tankards as well, shouting, "Ser Thorn!" When he sees Wyl as well, Garvin then shouts, "Wyl Flowers!" Again, his guards lift their tankards, though they don't cheer this time. They do drink however, and cheerfully. "Ser Wyl, come join us! When Lord Pansy pays, everyone drinks!" This does cause another cheer, and not just from the Tyrell men-at-arms.

Laurent accompanies Garvin's offer with a wordless wave toward an empty seat at the table, where stands a goblet. And into that goblet, Laurent pours a healthy amount of wine from the flagon on the table, spilling a bit as he draws the flagon across to fill his own as well. That done, he shrugs, hefting it to test its fullness before leaning across the table to refill Garvin's as well. His own glass he raises in a half-hearted sketch of a toast before tipping it back to drink deeply of the fine Arbor wine.

Wyl's greetings to his fellow Greens become words given in passing as Garvin's cheerful pronouncement summons him to the table occupied by the two high lords. "My Lords Tyrell," he greets briefly before sitting where he is bid. With practiced care, he tilts the goblet so as to sip with the side of his mouth away from the cleft in his lip.

Garvin drains his goblet, then when Laurent has refilled it, he takes another long swallow, already flushed from an hour's worth of drinking. "You both did very well today. Especially you, Cousin, taking out the last man like that. Ser Wyl, why've I never seen you here before? Are you only in town for the Dolphin Festival?"

"The Warrior's sweaty balls, but that Dondarrion was a stubborn fucker, wasn't he?" Laurent growls it with grudging admiration in his voice, shaking his head. But it's a rhetorical question, really. What he's really after is more of that fine Arbor red. An hour and more sweating in full plate armor, punctuated by a good minute and more of fighting, will work up a powerful thirst. And the Thorn seems intent on drowning that thirst in wine, while his cousin holds court.

Wyl asides to Laurent, "He was, at that." The bastard covers it well, but in close conversation, a slight impediment can be noted in his speech. 'M's tend to drift closer to 'n's. "My Lord, until the death of my half brother, Lord Brockholst- Seven receive him well- I had served your bannermen at Sacheland Tower. With his passing, the new Lord Ball judged that I would best serve him by attending this festival."

Garvin blushes more than a bit, glancing at his cousin. "I wouldn't know about any warrior's sweaty balls," he says, taking another gulp of wine. "But Dondarrion was indeed stubborn. He looks over to Wyl again, as though studying the man for a few moments. "Your half-brother was my cousin's husband, was he not? I never had the honor of meeting him though. What does the new Lord Ball intend for you, once the festival is finished?"

Laurent sits at a table with Garvin and Wyl, slouched bonelessly in a highbacked chair. The dour Tyrell knight, demoted to second-largest, second-ugliest man at the table, seems set to make up for it by being easily the most ill-mannered.

"Balls," the Thorn says, and his tone leaves it in question whether it's a mild curse or a simple repetition of the name. He seems amused by this himself, and snorts out a laugh as he raises the goblet to his lips once again.

"The Lady Katya, aye," Wyl affirms with a dip of his chin at the litany of relations. As to his future service, "I know not, Lord. Perhaps care for the beasts of kennel and stable." But then Laurent makes his oration, and Wyl struggles and fails to keep his lips from twisting in amusement.

Garvin glances at Laurent again, one brow raised. "Yes, balls. Sweaty warrior balls, I believe you said. Or was it sweaty warriors named Ball…'s balls? Now you have me all confused. Whose sweaty balls are we talking about?" He guzzles the remainder of his goblet, then reaches for the flagon. "Ser Wyl, forgive me for being blunt, but you need to whip your squire. That armor of yours is in dreadful condition." He pours wine, his brain making a few connections, then suddenly looks at Wyl again. "Your father was a Ball, so that means you have Ball's balls, right?" At least he isn't asking about their current state of sweatiness.

"It's a damned miracle that there's armor as will fit him," Laurent says with a nod toward Wyl. If he notices Garvin's sudden and single-minded pursuit of his small jest, he pays it no mind. When one spends a good deal of time with Lord Pansy, it seems, one grows accustomed to this sort of thing. Instead, he nods commiseratively at Wyl, grumbling over the lip of his goblet, "My own squire's a worthless lump of shit too."

"It is not for smallfolk to forgive lords," Wyl returns dryly to Garvin's apology for bluntness. A small shrug and nod to Laurent's positing as to fitting armor. Aloud he says, "I can make no complaint for the harness my House has provided. It is more than one bastard born could command." Grateful to a fault. As to Balls, "…Aye?"

Kai slowly, and calmly makes his way down the staircase of the Quill and Tankard, the blades at his sides noticeably missing. As he reaches the base of the staircase, Kai calmly strolls towards Garvin and his companions, not exactly interested in creating a fuss, evenly speaking up, "Greetings my lord… I hear you are looking for me?" he says, eyes slowly scanning the faces about, his words directed towards Garvin.

Kelinyx returns from her home, dressed in a flowing blue gown with a braid going down the left side of her face, still sporting the lovely little pansy she was given earlier near her temple. She doesn't run in, she walks in, calm, cool, collected - maybe she's doing a Kai impression.

Garvin's lips slowly curl into a grin, and he leans over the table toward Wyl, his eyes a bit glazed with too much drink. "Are they sweaty balls?" Then he falls back in his chair in a fit of giggles, until he hears Kai's words. Blinking a few times, he looks up at the man for a long moment. "I know yours are sweaty," he says, giving his brows a waggle. "Wait, aren't you under arrest? Oh crud." He shakes his head, trying to sober himself, as he quickly reaches to place a hand firmly on Laurent's arm. "Hold, Cousin. Stay your seat, I pray you." Taking a deep breath, he looks up at Kai again. "Kai, it is my duty to place you under arrest on the charge of breaking into Garden Isle, intent upon some unknown mischief, which shall remain unknown, because no one needs to know about it. How do you plead?"

At Kai's sudden appearance, Laurent's face contorts. There are so many things he wants to feel. Anger, frustration, sudden and murderous rage. But in the end, it's amusement that wins out. A wry laugh rings out of him as one hand falls to slap the table, palm flat. When Garvin's hand finds him, the Thorn points at Kai, but the young Lord Pansy has made a speech, and it is not for Laurent to add to it. So his only words are aside, to Wyl. "Dangerous enough," he says with a nod at the unarmed Essosi sellsword.

Post-tournament Riderch Blackwood is a lot like pre-tournament Blackwood, minus things like armor, weapons, and strict sobriety, although it appears that this man isn't that far along in shedding the last one. Slipping inside, he surveys the tavern lazily. His mouth hangs open in a yawn as his black-lined eyes crinkle mirthfully.

Kai shrugs slightly at Garvin's words, sparing a glance towards Laurent before looking back at Garvin and speaking, "I plead guilty, and surrender myself to whatever punishment you see fit." he says, still refusing to show even a slither of emotion, although a hand moves to rest on a pommel which is not there, which he notices after a few moments, putting his hands back down at his sides.

Keyte's cheeks are still flushed as she wanders inside the tavern, hot on the heels of one Blackwood lord. She's certainly not on her own, oh no, but she does look a little confused as she sweeps a look about the place. As if this is the kind of place one stumbles upon accidentally; accidentally took a water taxi? I think not. Nevertheless, she straightens a bit and wonders to Riderch's back: "My lord?"

Wyl males no comment to Garvin's jest or any recent entrants, as speeches ensue. His only uttering is a wordless grunt to acknowledge Laurent's summary. He regards the foreigner plainly.

Garvin's hand tightens on Laurent's arm, though more to give himself strength than anything else. "Then it is my duty to sentence you to punishment. One moment." He releases his cousin and grabs his goblet, draining the last of the wine, then giving himself another shake. "One day on the pillory?" he asks tentatively, looking between Wyl and Laurent for some sign of approval. He focuses particularly on Laurent. "Will that be sufficient to satisfy all parties involved, good Ser Thorn?"

Kelinyx is absolutely silent, and likely sorry she chose her flashiest clothing to trot out at this very moment. She instead slithers as best she can away from the attentive eyes and instead around the back way, hiding in Laurent's shadow until the rumbling passes.

Laurent's eyes widen when he is consulted, then narrow. There's a jab of his free hand under the table, ungentle, as color rises to his cheeks. He's surprised, embarrassed, unsure, and he hates being unsure. That, he hides behind his goblet, slurping loudly as it runs dry. He grunts a response then, something altogether impossible to read, and busies himself with refilling his cup from the flagon. Which runs dry near the end, so that when his shout breaks the tense (relative) quiet that descended, it is to yell, "More wine!"

Kelinyx is absolutely silent, and likely sorry she chose her flashiest clothing to trot out at this very moment. She instead slithers as best she can away from the attentive eyes and instead around the back way, hiding in Laurent's shadow until the rumbling passes.

"This is something I don't want to m — " Riderch begins, musing quietly as he raises a hand upwards and then he comes to a sharp halt and peers back behind his shoulder. "OH. Lady Tyrell. Again I'm surprised. But a good sort of surprised." He studies Keyte with increasingly narrowed eyes as he sets his goblet down with a lazy hand. "Today was a good day."

Garvin takes his cousin's silence on the matter for acceptance, and as he again turns to Kai, he nods. "Very well then, one day on the pillory, sentence to commence at dawn. Until such time, you are in my custody, so pull up a chair and fill up a goblet, because I don't know about you, but I intend to get stinking drunk tonight. When Lord Pansy pays, everyone drinks!" The Tyrell guards at other tables, who have been watching Kai closely, lift their tankards, but only make a murmur to the toast. Like Laurent, they're obviously unsure how to proceed where Kai is concerned. Garvin, however, suddenly grins again, banging his empty goblet on the table. "Yes, more wine! Lots more wine. And sweaty balls! I demand so see someone's sweaty balls before I leave tonight." None of his men are in a hurry to volunteer.

"We ought to stop meeting like this," Keyte jokes, daring to slide a few steps further inside the tavern door. Her smile is an easy thing, though as Riderch's eyes start to narrow, it creases around the corners and she tilts her head. "It were? I mean — it were! Yes, very. Don't let me interrupt you, of course!" She sweeps a hand in front of her, beckoning the lord to continue on his way, head snapping at the sound of a familiar voice. Voices? And all of a sudden, the lady looks very uncertain.

Wyl does the wisest and least exciting thing he can think of in the center of such uncertainty, and keeps silent. He draws another slow sip from the still largely full goblet held in calloused and overlarge fingers.

Kai remains silent for a moment before sparing a glance towards some of the Tyrell guards, whom seem quite afraid of him, for some reason. Then Kai slowly turns to gaze back towards Garvin, bowing his head, "You are very kind my lord.. But I believe it would be better to have me escorted to a holding cell, or at least have some of your men confine me to my room upstairs for the duration of your stay here." he says, not going so far as to look at all of the people whom likely would not enjoy his presence.

The bulkier of the Tyrells, still a small man compared to Wyl, leans forward to slide first one, and then a second goblet to Kai. "Keep a cup in each hand," he recommends, "That should keep you from mischief." Over his shoulder, to a table of Tyrell armsmen, Laurent adds, "If you lose sight of either of his hands, you have my permission to stab him a bit." And then he's rising to his feet, and looking over his shoulder for the source of a familiar voice. "Lady Keyte," he calls out in a voice entirely devoid of cheer. "If you'll excuse my, Cousin? Ser?" He looks from Garvin to Wyl as he takes his first tentative step away from the table.

In the chaos, even a child dressed in finery goes mostly unnoticed, so Keli gives up her light steps and her careful demeanor, instead just reaching for the nearest goblet, filling it with…well…she actually puts some effort into finding some juice. Surely that's in this bar somewhere, right?

"Lord," Wyl voices quietly to Laurent's withdrawal, nodding briefly once as the Tyrell knight instructs mild stabbing of Kai for hidden hands. A glance aside as 'Lady Keyte' is named aloud, and he belatedly takes note of the others who have entered the common room.

"I suppose I could meet /thoroughly unpleasant/ types so I'll thank the Gods for good luck." Riderch muses, his animated face crinkling as he snorts a half-laugh. He doesn't go into specific examples of this. "I could meet somewhat unpleasant types. I could even meet decent, droll types, so I'm not doing too bad — and —" He looks between Keyte and some of the random people in the crowd. Of course, he notes the Tyrells' presence. Wyl's presence, too. Kai's even. He scratches his chin, standing still for a second. "Something the matter, Lady?"

Garvin huffs a bit, brows drawing together, as he looks up at Kai once more. "Oh, very well," he says, waving a hand, as another flagon of wine appears. He looks toward a table with three of his men and barks, "Tor, Pelli, escort my handsome prisoner to his room. And take a flagon or three of ale with you." They move to comply, though they don't try to actually grab Kai, trusting him to come quietly, since he's surrendered so well. Garvin pouts some more and refills his goblet.

Garvin continues pouting as he watches Kai escorted upstairs, and one cousin going off to greet another. "But I'm paying," he complains softly, childishly. Then he notices Wyl is still at the table (as if anyone could fail to notices the giant man), and he brightens up again. "You should remain in Oldtown, if you can," he says cheerfully, finally noticing Kelinyx as well. "Keli! Don't you look enchanting now. Come, sit here beside me, and I'll give you a little wine. Just a little though, or Eonn will be cross." He clears his throat and tries to slur his words all official-like. "Ser Wyl Flowers of…that tower I can't remember, may I present Kelinyx." There, now back to some serious guzzling.

Uncomfortable might be a good word to describe the wide-eyed, purse-lipped expression Keyte wears for a very brief moment as she spots her cousins and their company. She blinks, rapidly, and answers Riderch in somewhat distracted tones, stepping into what the Riverlander would probably call his own personal space. "Not at all, my lord." Her eyes never leave the Essosi sellsword, even as she turns her head toward Laurent; not until Kai is out of sight does she relax a measure, shoulders sagging as she lets go of an unconsciously held breath. "Cous?" This, to Laurent.

"So long as the festival lasts, at least. Longer if I am not needed elsewhere, Lord," Wyl returns to the tipsy Tyrell. At the minimal introduction, the hulking knight quickly studies the girl's appearance, guessing as to the best means of address. He settles on, "Well met, young mistress."

"Love to," Laurent tells Keyte, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword as he steps close. "Can't." His voice is somewhere between a whisper and a growl, definitely too low for casual conversation. There's a shrug of his shoulders that's almost apologetic — for a moment, it seems as if he and Keyte are having a conversation of their own that no one else is privy to. "Lord Hightower's decree, you'll remember."

He seems surprised, then, to notice whose company Keyte is in. Surprised, but no more displeased than is his usual. "Ser Riderch," he says, inclining his head in the direction of his erstwhile teammate, his volume rising to the conversational. "A pleasure."

"It looks like he's in for a bad time. I think?" Riderch begins, squinting somewhat as he watches Kai get escorted out. - "Wait, was he there out in the woods?" The Riverlander notes, suddenly wheeling on one foot but moving with enough coordination to avoid a personal collision. Which is good, because he's picked up his cup again. That would be — unfortunate.

"You remember." Drumming his fingers on a solid wooden block masquerading as a table, He looks between the two Tyrells and is at least tactful enough not to ask any obvious questions. "Ser Laurent — likewise. And that goes for /all/ of today's comrades!" He throws up his cup in a toast.

Keli meanders between adult knees and elbows and such to find a perch - a stool she can drag from nearby to sit a bit behind and to the left of Lord Garvin. "Thank you for inviting me and getting me drinks. I won't tell Eonn, and I will have water after." A conspiring grin is shared from girl to Garvin as she looks up to Wyl and waves a hand. "Keli is fine!"

Wyl's cleft upper lip briefly twists in a smile as he repeats, "Keli, then." Drawing another sip from his still mostly full goblet (despite his size, the big warrior seems to be in the habit of drinking sparingly), he lets out a breath slowly, and raises his glass to Riderch's public toast.

Garvin squints a little at Wyl, leaning one elbow on the table. "You're not drinking. Don't you like Arbor red? Mead, that's what you need. Barmaid! We need mead." He pauses, his brain taking a moment to catch up, then breaks into another fit of giggles. "We have a need for mead!" He reaches back and grabs hold of Keli's stool, dragging it up to the table. "Mead is good for you, makes you grow up to have strong bones and a hairy chest. I was weaned on Highgarden mead." And from the look of him, he has neither strong bones nor a hairy … likely anything. Yet another tankard is delivered, and Garvin pours some into a goblet, handing it to Keli. "Ser Thorn! Lady Keyte! The drinks are over here. Who is that with you, that Riverlander…er? Bring him over, too!"

Keyte tilts her head now to Laurent, following along and prompting their short exchange with a simple twitch of her brow. "Hum." She nods, a short, sharp, small thing. That's that, then. And good it is, until one Blackwood lord is speaking of woodlands, and her gray-blue eyes are turned impossibly wide upon him. The lady's mouth drops open, and she promptly snaps it shut. Silent conversations going on all about her, it seems.

"I believe I'd like something to drink," says Keyte, glancing expectantly between the two men closest her, as if they might give up their own cups. Even Garvin's call only prompts her to look all the more questioningly at Laurent.

Kelinyx waves greeting to any others who might peek at her, but it's the goblet of long missed drink that she readily takes up and brings to her little bowtie lips, drinking a good cheek-bulging amount to better fit the atmosphere of the night.

The giggling Garvin gets a brief glance from Wyl, as the big man silently considers something, his awkward smile fading. A short nod, "Very well," he rumbles quietly, before following the Tyrell's look across the room. Upon sighting the cluster of nobles, he sets his goblet down on the tabletop, before rising to gather several more chairs to the Lord's table.

"I suppose it does," Laurent allows, raising his goblet along with Riderch. He looks over his shoulder to nod to Wyl, and then to Sers Fortinbras and Daved at a nearby table, before taking a healthy swallow. He seems about to speak again when he's addressed, and his jaw closes with an audible click of his teeth. Ever accomodating to his cousins, despite it all, Laurent passes his goblet to Keyte. "Arbor red," he says with a nod to the drink, then turns to call out to Garvin. "My lord Ser Riderch Blackwood," his voice suddenly booms. "Victor!"

"Never mind. I think I was just /imagining/ something." Riderch proclaims as an aside, before he absently obtains another cup. This was clearly voiced in Keyte's general direction, taking up the little Tyrell party on offers of hospitality. "We looked good out there, Sers. It was good that you made it to the end." He bows his head a little towards Laurent now, his teeth flashing in a crooked, lopsided grin. "I salute you."

"Ser Riderch Blackwood!" Garvin cheers, raising his goblet, then gulping far too much again. Once the goblet's empty, he decides to switch to mead, grabbing that flagon. When he notices Wyl is pretending to be a barmaid, his brows draw together. "Ser, whatever are you doing? 'Tis a man's job to drink in a tavern, not rearrange the furniture. I implore you, good Ser Wyl, who is far from home, drink up. When Lord Pansy blah-blah-you-know-the-rest." He raises his goblet, but since he didn't shout his usual motto, no one around does the same. His frown deepens, and he says more loudly, "When Lord Pansy pays…." That gets their attention, and soon everyone cheers again.

"Thank you, my lord," says Keyte ever-so-graciously, as she steals Laurent's cup. She even has a smile for Riderch again, drawing a sip and mulling it around on her tongue as she re-composes herself. Ah. That's better. With a determinedness in her smile that translates to her usual enthusiasm in her tone, she raises her goblet to toast. "To the green team! My lords were so wonderful to watch in their sporting, today!" She dips a small curtsy, and starts over toward Garvin's table.

Wyl takes the mild admonishment in stride, reaching down to reclaim his goblet, and obediently draining the remainder of the excellent Arbor Red. "I know the rest, aye Lord," he agrees, though good manners demand that he keep his feet as nobles approach. He does take the opportunity presented by his place to claim one of the incoming flagons of mead that are deliverted to Garvin's table.

Kelinyx gives a touch or wave goodbye to those she knows among the departing or any who favir her with a kind look. She goes for more drink, but after that sustenance is gathered while she perches, like a pretty bird, at Garvin's side.

With no goblet in his hand, Laurent returns to snatch an empty off the table. This he, too, fills with mead, which he proclaims to be, "Highgarden mead — the finest in all of Westeros." Standing at Garvin's shoulder now, he reaches down a hand to muss Keli's oddly well-kept hair, an absent-minded gesture as he drinks. "Ser Wyl," he asks, grimacing as he eyes the larger man over his flagon. "Perhaps you'd be so good as to take a flagon of this mead to our armsmen upstairs? Help them mind their prisoner?" And without another thought for the great, burly Wyl Flowers, he falls into an empty chair at the table.

"It felt good out there." Riderch reiterates as he matches the Tyrell Lady's toast. He too edges towards Garvin's table, although he hestitates. "I cannot stay long, I'm afraid. I have some — problems to attend to involving my horse." This does not stop him from filling one of his two now-empty cups with some of the aforementioned mead, "I'm inclined to agree. About the mead."

He shoots a quizzical glance at the the little girl now, a face he clearly displays no recognition for, and suddenly his grin is mischevious. It's supposed to be the type of thing adults do to engage children.

Garvin watches Wyl depart, eyes following him up the stairs. "Prisoner," he murmurs, then giggles again as he looks to Laurent. "I've got a prisoner, and I didn't even hafta knock him off a horse or anything. Do I get to ransom him now? I should demand that his lord pay me six and twenty dragons for his return." He pauses, glassy eyes going distant. "Think I'd pay me that much for the likes of him?"

"It is well you can share a drink with us, my lord, no matter how short your stay!" Keyte drains the rest of her stolen cup in just a few gulps, pausing behind an empty chair. to set it down. It seems she's in slightly better spirits now, no pun intended - she waits for the jug of mead. "T'were amazing, the way that Ser Polearm faced your last four. The lady of Locke and I were on our feet, for the cheering! — Sweet cous, be so kind as to introduce your little friend to us?" Her smile is warm as she bestows it upon Kelinyx.

"Be a damned fool if you did," Laurent grouses into his flagon. "Six dragons, being generous. The man's a pair of swords and a strong back, nothing more to him." At least, that's the opinion of Ser Laurent Tyrell, who appears to consider himself an expert on the matter. Slouched in his chair, he reaches out with one booted foot to push the empty chair across from him out from the table, a wordless invitation for Keyte to join them at the table.

Garvin blinks a few times at Keyte, scrunching his nose in confusion, then looks around until he spots Keli. Then his eyes widen and his goofy grin returns. "A pox upon me for my loutishness…ness. Lady Keyte Tyrell, Ser Laurent Tyrell the Thorn of Highgarden, and Ser Riderch Blackwood, may I present Keli, who is the daughter of Eonn of the Rills. I think." He looks sideways toward Laurent and can't stop himself from saying, "There's more to him, believe me. I still ache in my…arm." He blushes furiously, reaching up to rub at his left upper arm, as if reminding himself (and anyone else) where he's supposed to ache.

The playful smile from Riderch gives Keli a moment of pause - perhaps she is unused to being treated like a child by others, perhaps it charms her because she smiles broadly back to him. She may have seen his face before but now she cannot forget it. "Hello, sir," she says, raising a hand and finishing off her goblet of watered down wine. Perched on a stool and a bit behind Garvin, she has a prime seat to watcht he strange and silly goings on. "Daughter is good enough a term," she says with a smug grin, refilling her cup…with wine if anyone doesn't catch her!

"Laurent!" Keyte squeaks as the knight pushes a chair out with his foot, but she'll take it. She reaches across the table to pour herself some of that mead before taking her seat, care spent to spread her skirts just so. "Oh, my! Eonn's daughter?" The lady seems delighted at that, though her brow creases a touch (good-naturedly) as she looks back to the child. "Ought you to be in a tavern?" Nevermind that someone could ask the same of her.

Riderch processes all of this merrymaking with a display of obvious good humor. "Daughter of Eonn of the Rills." He repeats affirmatively, mouthing the words a couple of times and arcing a brow at Keyte's reaction to this fact.

The little thing corrects, "He took me in. I lived in this bar before I lived in a house proper." Keli smiles. "He is my guardian."

"We've met," Laurent says sullenly, pointedly ignoring Garvin's assertion about Kai. Neither does he have the good grace to seem chagrined at Keyte's discomfiture. The knight is positively boorish. It's a goblet raised to Keli next, or at least half raised. "Kelinyx of the Rills," he says it ironically, but then corrects himself to, "Kelinyx of the Quill, then."

Kelinyx laughs merrily at Laurent's joke and ooh, wine, pour and drink this quickly she will.

Garvin doesn't attempt to stop Keli, because he's the world's worst surrogate father (plus he's well into his cups himself). Instead, he raises his goblet and shouts, "Kelinyx of the Quill!" Gulp, breath, gulp, then he's reaching for the mead flagon for a refill. As he does so, he has time to think for a moment. "Lady Keyte, I've not yet had the chance to say how well you did at court yesterday. 'Twas simply perfect, precisely what I wanted. Now Kai's to be punished, and all will be well again." He puts down the flagon and looks to Laurent. "Will your Lady Harry be satisfied, once he's in the pillory?"

"This is your home?" Keyte can't quite believe it of little Keli. It's probably pretty clear by now that she's not a tavern kind of girl. Not a mead kind of girl either, judging by the look of absolute distaste twisting her features as she sips at her newly-poured drink. "Ugh! What is this? Is this what you drink here, sweet cous? Oh. Court." The lady sighs heavy, and deep, but only half-sincere. She defers for a moment to Laurent, for his answer.

Her head nods a few times. "My name is Kelinyx, because that is my good name, not the stupid ones others gave me. I lived here and there and everywhere. In streets and trees and under carts. I didn't have a home until not so long ago. But I like Keli of the Quills…it is like Eonn's name, but prettier."

Laurent seems surprised by the question, bemused. "How should I know?" It's an earnest question, asked morosely. The entire business is a sore spot for him, and so he grabs onto Keyte's distaste as a sort of lifeline. "The cider," he suggests, still without any great enthusiasm. "It's famous, you know. From here to King's Landing." He flags down a serving girl to ask for some, and another flagon of Arbor red. And a flagon of the gold, just to be certain. It's all ordered brusquely, with barely a look toward the barmaid, and then his attention is back on the table in front of him. If he considers that Garvin's question is as yet unanswered, though, he makes no sign of it.

Garvin lets out a sigh of his own, sitting back in his chair. "Well, 'tis done, at least. You and the Blackrood will need to find a master-at-arms though, and soon. I don't care if you hire one or raise someone from our ranks, just so long as it's a man the two of you are happy with." He looks toward the stairs. "Ser Wyl's been up there a long time. I suppose Chor is winning all their coins at dice." It looks as though he almost wishes he were up there playing dice as well. But then more flagons are arriving, and he perks up again. "To famous cider!" he cheers. "And to Arbor wines and Highgarden meads, and anything else men drink! When Pord Lansy drunks, everyone pays!"

The cider! "Ah, yes," says Keyte, nodding quickly as she pushes her goblet back across the table Laurent-ward. Maybe it'll cheer him up some. "So is mead, cous," she asides amusedly to Garvin, of the cider's reputation. "But let me try it, and see, aye? Oh, but I was so pleased with the sporting, today! And there will be jousting, tomorrow?" At Garvin's last, she shares a meaningful smirk across the table with the more burly of her cousins. Ain't that the truth.

Laurent leans forward to take up Keyte's goblet, or the goblet that was formerly Keyte's, and makes it his own. His first deep drink from it leaves him sucking mead noisily off his own lips, still nodding in agreement to Garvin's instructions. And then, to his guess at what's going on upstairs. "It was well fought," he agrees with Keyte, once the toast is done and he's swallowed his mouthful. "We gave the bastards what for. Hopefully our house fares as well in the joust tomorrow." He nods at the lady Tyrell, to confirm the date for the joust.

Kelinyx adds in quietly, sipping at her wine like a lady, "It was the most wild fighting I have ever seen. It was so fun and I am glad there were no injuries…too grievious," she teases, affecting a fancier accent for the last two words.

Garvin's eyes light up, his goofy grin spreading. "I love the jousting! The thunder of the hooves, the crash and splinter of the lances, the clatter and clang when a knight is unhorsed. It's just so…thrilling!" There's a wicked sort of gleam in his eyes, and he drains his goblet once again. "I hope a few, certain knights are knocked off their high horses early on. Serve them right, if you ask me."

It is safe to say that Keyte is thoroughly horrified by Laurent's table manners. Nevertheless, after a quick flutter of lashes to hide the rolling of her eyes (expert lady move), she scoops up a goblet of the newly-arrived cider. It's much more to her delicate taste, and seems to be the start of another bloom of pleasure within the lady's expression. "Well, aren't you delightful," she tells Kelinyx for that clever affect of accent. Keyte outright laughs along with Garvin, eyes shining. "A few, hmm? Sweet cous, you sound positively murderous! There are a few I should hope to see do well."

Kelinyx nods her head to Keyte's comment about murderousness in Garvin, but she smiles with approval all the same. "It is in good fun, for all to enjoy and know strong men stand ready for their defense." What a good little talking bird, but who is she echoing?

"So long as Ser High-and-Mighty-Tower isn't one of them," Garvin grumbles, his words slurring more. "Or that bloody Wylde knight. Now there's a lance I'd like to see well shattered. Or shoved up his…." He doesn't finish this thought, fortunately, putting his grin back on for Keli. "To strong men who stand ready for our defense!" he shouts, lifting his goblet.

"I should be off," Laurent muses, skipping out on the toast as he frowns into an empty goblet. "Unless I want to be one of those knights who gets what he deserves." His chair scuffs the floor as he pushes it back, and he rises a touch unsteadily. "And believe me, cousins," he says with a look from Garvin, to Keyte, even to Keli. "When you deserve what I deserve, you pray nightly not to get it." He sketches a half-hearted bow to the table, then turns smartly on his heel and heads for the door.

Kelinyx's head tilts at Laurent's serious words, so when she lifts her drink in cheers it is for him, her eyes holding contact as she gives him a hopeful little grin. She drinks, then crawls into the seat Laurent leaves, perched proper to convers with the other two.

"Garvin!" Keyte is seeing fit to reprimand all her cousins tonight, cutting off the Lord Pansy abruptly. She leans in across the table to offer in a lower, more gossip-appropriate voice, "Those notices were a horrid thing, weren't they? But the commons love my dear, sweet, cous." She leans back, toasting as Laurent pushes up from the table. "To strong men! And the rest. Be well, dear cous," she adds in farewell, unphased by the Ser Thorn's dramatics. "Mother's grace, he's in a mood fouler than spoiled milk. Not that he isn't always, hmm?" She sneaks another curious glance toward Kelinyx, intrigued.

Garvin reaches over to clasp Laurent's arm, giving it a squeeze. "What you deserve, dear cousin, are accolades beyond number." He pauses for a moment, brain swimming in wine and mead. "And also women beyond number, so long as Lady Harry doesn't find out." He grins again, letting Laurent go, then looking back to Keyte. "What's not to love? Why, I'm as lovable as the Thorn himself. More cheerful, too. Say, where did that Riverlander…er go? You were speaking to him when you came in, weren't you? How do you know Ser Riderch?"

Kelinyx's slender shoulders shrug as she starts feeding herself by hand, but the ladylike thing is the napkin (held in a fist) that occasionally dabs her mouth. She still eats like an orphan, ward or not, and it's a gleeful thing that so far hasn't sullied her dress or her temple braid.

"You are well and truly and entirely drunk, my lord Garvin Tyrell," announces Keyte by means of a reply to the very same, though she's grinning wide. At his mention of Riderch, she blinks, not having noticed the Riverlander slip away. "Oh! Hum, bother. It's a very interesting story, actually, beginning right at the Starry Sept. I were lighting my candles, cous, when the Lord Kevyn of Cockshaw came stomping in through the doors." Shining eyes drop to her lap in a brief moment of shyness, though it's just a second or two before she's up and glancing at Kelinyx again. Such a curious little bird!

Garvin's eyes again do distant, and for a long moment, it seems as though he may have fallen asleep with them open. But then he snaps up again. "Kevyn Cockshaw, the Battler of Rogue Dolphins! I say, didn't he wear your favor in the freerider event?"

Keyte seems about to ask something of Keli, but then Garvin snaps back from reverie with his question and the lady is caught a-blush. A-flush! So terribly pink in the cheeks, and most definitely not cider's fault. She clears her throat, and lifts her goblet, murmuring over it's edges, "One and the same, aye. It was a fine thing, for a squire to compete with the freeriders and show so well, don't you think?"

Kelinyx primps at the pansy in her braid for a moment with a greasy finger, then goes back to work, this time on a round of sweets. Ooh, let's fill goblets again, polite-like, first others, then herself. Even goblets for people who aren't here yet. Yes, empty the jug, that's fun! Then drink deeply the little thing does, washing down all her goodies while watching animated Keyte bounce between babysitter, hostess and properly submissive lady. In fact, Keli watches so keenly that it might be clear she's appreciating the skill of it.

Garvin nods quickly, his long curls flopping down into his face. "Second place, no less! He's very brave and very gallant, not to mention very handsome." He grins, watching his cousin blush. "But to your tale, what has Lord Kevyn to do with Ser Riderch Blackwood?" He glances over to Keli, giving her a grin as well. "That's still your first goblet, isn't it? I don't want Eonn taking me over his knees because I sent you home in your cups."

"Oh, so brave and gallant, indeed," Keyte can agree, though she can't quite bring herself to voice the last. She hides her dimpling smile behind her cup again, drinking deep this time. "Well," she says, resurfacing from her goblet's lip and setting it less-than-gently upon the table. Tap! "The lord Kevyn did offer to escort me through my prayers, and then so chivalrously to see me home, you see. But I were so new to town, and he as well, and we ended up so truly and terribly and thoroughly lost." A knack for storytelling has she, tension building in her tone as the plot thickens. She may have noted Keli's enthusiasm for refillings, but as Garvin glances over, the lady offers naught but a wink to the child. It's as subtle as tipsy-winks go, of course.

Kelinyx nods her head to Garvin. "Just the first cup of wine, yes," if you don't count the watered-down wine from earlier. The little thing grins and listens politely to the two, cradling her goblet of sweet vino dearly near to her lips.

Garvin tries to follow along as Keyte tells her tale, but it's clear he's just about as lost as she and Kevyn had become. "And then…you were eaten by a dolphin?" He notices he has a goblet of his own, though whether first or fiftieth, he can't remember. So he doesn't worry about it and simply drinks, giving Keli a nod. "Good. Just one cup, that was the arrangement."

"What?! No!" Keyte shakes her head, laughter bubbling. "I wouldn't be sitting right here, had a dolphin eaten me, cous. Although one bit me, but that were after. Days after. No! We ended up at the harbour, where the good lord of Blackwood were… well. Actually," she puzzles, features crinkling. "I'm not entirely sure what the lord ser of Blackwood were doing. But our cous was there! He scared the lord Kevyn half to death, I should say." She is turning her confusion on her cup, as though the answers might be there.

Garvin ohs then, drawing out the syllable, as he slowly nods his head. "The harbor, right. And that's where the dolphin eated you? I mean, bited you? What was Ser Bloodwack wearing?" Good thing he brought men tonight, he'd never make it home alone. He'd probably be safer just taking a room here at the tavern.

"Wha - err…" Keyte seems even more confused, and she drains her cup once more. Just in case there's an answer at the bottom? "I wasn't quite paying attention, cous," she admits. "To the lord and ser of Blackwood's wardrobe. The lord Kevyn were in Cockshaw colours?" She draws in a long breath, perhaps dwelling on that for a moment with a little smile, and then shakes her head. "No. Well, aye. But not that day, you see? I weren't bit by the dolphin until we all went out, on the boat. The Maiden's Knight was terribly ill at sea, you know. And the lord Kevyn did row out to save the little lord of Hightower."

Garvin's eyes glaze over again, but he nods anyway. "Little lord of Hightower," he agrees, reaching for the mead flagon, but forgetting to pour any in his goblet. "And Ser Riderch was wearing clothes. And Cockshaw was in Cockshaw colors, which is good, because then you knew who he was. And you were all at the harbor, but no rogue dolphins or Maiden's Knights yet. Then what happened?"

"Then our sweetest cous did scare lord Kevyn half to death," Keyte remembers fondly, if only because, "And he said I was captivating." Despite herself, the lady sighs rather happily, and reaches for the mead. Nay, cider! Her hand reaches for first mead, then realising her mistake, the cider. "Oh," she adds, as if struck by some important detail she's left out. "And the lord and ser Riderch did say, 'hmmmm'."

The little thing listens to the adults chatting, but it's when she notices that she's starting to nod off that she asks Garvin something quietly before slipping under the table to curl up with some sweets and maybe some shelter from a very stimulating day.

"Captivting," Garvin says, head tipping to one side as he looks at his cousin. "Yes, I can see it. You're captivating indeed." He drinks some of his mead, then says, "Did Ser Riderch find you captivating as well?"

Laying a hand upon her chest demurely, Keyte takes that compliment well. Of course she is captivating! (It's an easier thing to hear without a blush, from a dearest cousin.) "Oh, bless," she murmurs of Kelinyx retiring, but continues right on. "Oh. Hum. Why, I couldn't say. Perhaps? He didn't say so, that day. He does always tell me it's pleasant to see me, I suppose?" It is clear this has prompted some deeper contemplation on Keyte's part, her brow creasing.

Garvin leans a bit closer over the table, one brow arching. "So you've seen him again since that day?"

Keyte leans back in her seat as she's pressed, twitching in confusion. "Why, which? Well, both, cous. The lords Blackwood and Cockshaw both, aye."

Garvin becomes confused again, head slowly shaking from side to side. "And that's when the dolphin bit you," he says at last, sitting up and grinning. "Because it also found you captivating!"

His grin is infectious, evoking another torrent of laughter from Keyte. "Oh, Garvin. Of course, yes. It's quite alright, though. Kesha spilt wine all over it's head, and I'm not injured. It's a lucky thing, you know, to be dolphin-bit. Everyone tells me so!"

Garvin nods quickly again, more of his hair falling over his face, but with a quick jerk, it's off to the side again. "It's very lucky! They're sacred, you know, sacred to the Mother. So it's like being blessed by the Mother Above herself. Why, I've heard that when a dolphin bites a lady and she gives her favor to a squire, he'll win his very next battle. And then he falls hopelessly in love with the lady, and they have a great but secret romance, until her cousin finds out about it and puts and end to it…by insisting they get married. Then everyone lives happily ever after until the dolphins come back and start the whole thing over with some other lady." He nods in satisfaction and takes a long swallow of mead.

It is apparently Garvin's turn to be captivating, Keyte hanging upon his every word. Her head tilts gently, further and further and further until she's almost looking sideways at her cousin. With her mouth agape, the girl must look a sight to onlookers, but she doesn't seem to mind. And then, after a moment's stillness, she rights herself and declares, "Garvin Tyrell, you tell the most marvelous of tales. It is little wonder you are so loved, sweet cous! Ay, me, a toast! To the Lord Pansy!" Having raised her voice well enough, the room at large joins in, echoing the toast in an unbalanced chorus.

"To Lord Pansy!" he agress, lifting his goblet, then draining it whole. Letting out a pleased gasp, he pushes back from the table. "And now I had best go see my prisoner, make sure he's not escaped. He has a good sword and a strong back, as Ser Thorn said, and a very large…penance to pay." He grins again and gives his brows a sluggish sort of waggle, then giggles as he staggers to his feet. "Jor! Toma! Ensure the Lady Keyte arrives safely at home. I shall return with Tor and…Who else did I send up there? Whoever they are, they'll make sure I find a bed." The two Tyrell men that Garvin named finish their ale and stand as well, moving to the table and looking expectantly at Keyte. "Lady Cousin," Lord Pansy says, bowing so low his head nearly hits the table. He stans up too fast, stumbles a bit, then grins and makes his way toward the stairs.

"Yes, his penance," mourns Keyte, deliberately slurring the word. "Be well, sweet cous," she bids in an entirely more gentle manner. She'll rise now, too, not just for the formality; it's time for a water-taxi home.

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