(121-02-21) Cookery Contest
Cookery Contest
Summary: It's a bake-off!
Date: 21/02/2014
Related: Other festie logs?
Players:
Quill..Emilia..Ilona..Elys..Peri..Gromm..Griffyth..Maera..

There is a man here, eating a pie.

It looks tasty.

But is it poisoned?

The sun is starting to set, but will have some time yet before fully extinguished. And the weather for this illustrious evening is hot, with the cling of mugginess-the weather having played a huge part in the afternoon and in the Dolphin tournament as a whole. Though thankfully for now, no water is coming down, yet and a somewhat listless breeze kicks up flags from their limp status every now and then.

The Square itself is packed, filled with Lords, Ladies, and small folk alike for what is one of the favorite events not centered around combat and brutality. Here Noble and Peasant alike vie for the chance to have their dishes truly called great. For many it is a chance to become recognized and earn employment, either in one of the manses in the city, or at a local inn/eatery. A raised platform has been set with a cleared stage. To the left A panel'd booth has been erected, where a long table has been set. The this setting is the judge's station, where the contestants will have their dishes sent, where the four judges are seated. One is a sexton, known as Archibald, a rather rotund and gregarious figure. His rosy cheeks, and jovial sermons are oft a hit with the weekday crowds at the starry sept. Next, seated is a Lady of a fine house here in the Reach, an eligible bachelorette, and talk about town. The third judge is a learned Maester, one to be known as a stern critique of food and the culinary arts. It is why he has his nickel link forged. And finally the last judge is a bit of a celebrity in the Reach. How he was roped into it, is anyone's guess but after the Maester's announcement, the Herald serving as the MC for the evening does call him out. One Ser Quillian Oakheart, the Blackrood.

Ser Quill for his part is dressed in dour blacks and greens, and has come to the event with wine. A lot of wine. Even as he is introduced, there is a quick wave of the hand, before a long pull of the wine is taken. Turning aside to a page the knight mutters: "Keep them coming.." followed by a low burp.

After the appropriate time of cheering, The Herald holds his hand up. "The Competition will goes as follows…" his voice high pitched, and piercing enough to be heard. "All contestants will present their dish, and then serve the judges. They will tell the ingredients, and their theme. Following they will hear the judges' comments, in which our nobility in attendance will be served, with portions to be given to the crowd for their own judgement as well. After all the dishes have been presented. The judges will tally their marks and a King or Queen of food, shall be announced." A long silence. "Let it begin."

Peri is quiet, fingers moving her braids. Since she is just fresh out of getting pampered. Today's dish is a shrimp and grab stuffed ravioli in a light sauce w

Vendors obviously delight in the large gatherings such competitions bring, setting themselves along the fringes of the square to hawk their wares. There's a girl there, holding a tray of something rather… well. Are they cakes? Biscuits? Some kind of cobbled cookie explosion? Elys's hair is freed in a wild array of auburn curls, tendrils continuously nudged into her mouth by the indecisive breeze. She spits one out. Her dress is simple, plain, no fancy trim or fancy hem. She could even be a commoner, you know? But the herald calls:

"THE LADY ELYS BRACKEN, WITH A TRAY OF OATCAKES!"

Seven only know where the noblewoman procured the oats from. Maybe she's banking on the expensive-of-late ingredient to save her creation. She approaches the judges with her tray, dipping an awkward curtsy and presenting her tray. It is, quite clearly, a mess.

<FS3> Elys rolls Cooking-3: Embarassing Failure.
<FS3> Elys rolls Creativity: Good Success.
<FS3> Elys rolls Display-3: Embarassing Failure.

If Lord Garvin was here he would likely be a cat waiting for cream. As it is there's a look shared by the judges. Silence seems to grip the crowd with all the excitement of a dornish cyvasse match. One is given to the Taste-tester. Some local ruffian they thought that if he died, no one would miss him too terribly. Once he's taken a bite, the judges begin to poke, prod and eventually eat at the cakes before them.

The Lady, Maugeritte Ball raises her hand demurely. "Lady Bracken." her fork poised before her lips. "Can you tell us what you put in this dish-Or what you would hope we might gain from it?"

The look on the Blackrood's face is a mixture of revulsion and somewhat hungered curiosity. "Fuck me.." murmured before he is taking a bite. Already the Septon has ceased his chewing and is staring wide-eyed at Elys. Apparently Maester Tunq seems to love it.

"Um." Relieved of her tray of goodies, Elys can reach up to wipe her hair out of her mouth again, fingers clawing at strands ungracefully. "Lady. I… ahm. It's oatcakes, made with local… oats. And flour, that I bought here in the square, and… um. Raisins, because they're sweet and I thought it would be a little bit creative." While she'd like to clasp her hands primly in front of her skirts, her damned hair keeps blowing, so she keeps on pawing at it.

There'd be a quiet whispering sound as two people at the back of the crowd appear to argue with someone, but not before Gromm casually pushes the two aside and onto the ground and makes his way through the crowd. The mountainous man has his brows lowered slightly as the duckling sitting atop his bald head lets out a quack as it looks down at those around him and his owner almost with vicious intents. The large man appears to be trying to get near the front of the crowd, his hands softly balled into fists though he remains as passive as he can manage.

Another figure watches in earnest. She's wearing clothes that are a bit fancier than usual for her — which is to say, Ilona is dressed in a plain grey dress that happens to be clean and bears a sky-blue sash, which draws the eye. It's a pretty /big/ sash too, so it should. Her black shoes are polished, the giant of a woman can be seen exiting a tent after fumbling around inside for something. She appears quite harried.

The Septon stands up and excuses himself, though if one had keen ears. Behind the stage and oft in a wind the sound of profuse vomiting can be heard. And cries of Maiden save me. Lady Ball for her part merely nods, as vigioursly as she can pump a hand. "Mmhmm. Lovely." she squeaks out before placing her fork down shout a bite. Maester Tunq takes another bite and gives a moan of culinary delight. "Simply wonderful..The raisins..Who would ever think of raisins.."As the Maester seems enthralled. Ser Quillian looks over after spitting out a gob of it on the ground.

"The Father wept…Lady-please do not take this horribly, but if a horse shat out a cake-it'd be properly better than this." There's a motion for more wine to be poured into his cup as words slur out. "It's not even cooked well. It's like oat mush..Cool, oat mush. I'll give you points on the raisins..Those are edible." And there he sticks out his tongue and drags his nails across it.

It was a poor idea to invite Quillian to this.

The Herald looks back and smiles kindly to Lady Elys as he moves to escort her form the stage. "Thank you Lady Elys.. Soon those self same cakes will be amongst you all to enjoy! A big round of applause for Lady Bracken!"

Emilia is a slender figure within the crowd, dressed in a sleeveless dress of light amber brown that dips down between her breasts and is held with a gold chain between, the straps of the dress of multiple braided gold chains. The dress hugs to her chest, cinched up with a tight bodice, rest of the material falling lightly and listlessly to the ground where sandalled feet are shrouded beneath, the dress a very light material to combat this heat. Both wrists are gilded in gold bracelets, a simple necklace with one drop of fire harbored within her cleavage, the womans hair down though tendrils at her temples have been braided back to keep her hair out of her face.
In this heat she seems to be comfortable, arms crossed beneath her chest, watching the competition with vague interest, her guards behind her in the crowd. A brief roll of her eyes as her husband gives his account of the Lady Elys's dish, her lips parting as she turns to murmur something to a Lady next to her who came with her to this event, of dark flesh and hair as Emilia herself, the woman listening with interest and smirking as she laughs softly, leaning in to make comment back.

Peri is observing, her eyes lidded as she considers, her long hair shifting behind her as she takes a bite of a piece of carrot, grinning at the group.

The smile from the Lady Bracken at Lady Ball's feedback, the Maester's feedback, is certainly proud. She lifts her chin haughtily, proud of her terrible cakes. But the Septon is leaving, and Elys frowns, deep lines creasing her forehead. The Blackrood's feedback… well. Reaching to her waist for a sword that most certainly isn't there, the fire-haired lady lunges a step forward. She likely looks a right fool as she spits: "You drunken lout, you wouldn't know oat mush if I slapped it in your face! Lies and slander! Lies and slander!" She seems to realise, having voiced such a ruckus, that her sword hand is grabbing at nothing but cheesecloth. How embarrassing. Hurried off the stage by the herald, the lady Bracken resists, but is eventually moved; not without venomous looks at Ser Quillian shot over her shoulders. THIS IS NOT OVER.

Peri is quiet, watching with amusement, her own plates on a platter - each covered with earthenware dishes so they don't get cold. A bottle of wine is in her other hand, her weight swaying as she waits her turn grinning.

Emilia's gaze will narrow at Elys as she calls her husband a drunken lout. A drunken lout he may be, but he's HER drunken lout. And she's the only one allowed to dress him down in such a way, and most certainly in such a public way. But she has to admire the woman's fire, even as it stokes her own, Emilia resisting the urge to go over and cross in with her own words of ire, only directed to Elys. No, no. Indeed, the Lady beside Emilia will murmur calming words after the Dornish woman makes comment to her, and Emilia will nod with a firm set of her jaw and a drawn in breath, "It is far too hot for this today." Emilia hisses out, in quite the mood, broodingly so, arms not uncrossing as she continues quiet conversation as she watches the rest of the competition play out.

Another scrape and spitting, before Quillian reaches for his drink. There's a brief smirk given the grasping Bracken as free fingers raise and waggle. "Likely lady you are correct-mainly as cakes-proper. And proper mush do not have arms. But, Horses can dream." Teeth are kissed and an oat is sucked free and spit away. Soon instead of words, the knight's moth is filled with more wine from his cup.

Ilona says, "Uh oh - somethin's a-happenin'!" In the distance, the giant of a woman bellows as she ducks back into the tent. Ilona has a pair of huge mittens on to protect her hands as she emerges back outside its flaps with a burnished metal roasting tin. "Spiros, you said this thing had bloody /handles/! Did you see any handles? HUH?" Granted, she's yelling in the distance, away from the center stage of the contest.

The Herald, meanwhile, bellows even more loudly than she does, announcing with a flourish, "ILONA, OF LILAC'S END!"

And with that, the big woman comes rushing out, a few stray blonde hairs spilling from where they're tied. "COMING! COMING THROUGH!" Ilona bellows, shuffling on down with the burnished silver tray, lid firmly attached. And finally, she comes to the main stage in the square. "My lords and ladies!" she begins, anxiously and again a little loud, presenting the tray and curtsying — which is awkward, because she's still taller than the small man who takes the tray even when lowering."

"Uh oh - somethin's a-happenin'!" In the distance, the giant of a woman bellows as she ducks back into the tent. Ilona has a pair of huge mittens on to protect her hands as she emerges back outside its flaps with a burnished metal roasting tin. "Spiros, you said this thing had bloody /handles/! Did you see any handles? HUH?" Granted, she's yelling in the distance, away from the center stage of the contest.

The Herald, meanwhile, bellows even more loudly than she does, announcing with a flourish, "ILONA, OF LILAC'S END!"

And with that, the big woman comes rushing out, a few stray blonde hairs spilling from where they're tied. "COMING! COMING THROUGH!" Ilona bellows, shuffling on down with the burnished silver tray, lid firmly attached. And finally, she comes to the main stage in the square. "My lords and ladies!" she begins, anxiously and again a little loud, presenting the tray and curtsying — which is awkward, because she's still taller than the small man who takes the tray even when lowering.

<FS3> Ilona rolls Cooking: Good Success.
<FS3> Ilona rolls Creativity: Success.
<FS3> Ilona rolls Display: Success.
<FS3> Ilona rolls Cooking+mind: Failure.
<FS3> Ilona rolls Cooking+presence: Good Success.

Gromm remains in the crowd as he watches Elys go, raising his right brow as he develops a light smirk. It isn't long before he's lightly chuckling, a grim chuckle at that, but it's his. He crosses his arms along his chest as the duckling on his head settles down and lets out another quack, looking about lazily. Gromm shifts his attention over to Ilona as she makes her way out with her silver tray, lowering his brows again, his usual frown once again forming.

As it turns out the dish is something both simple but rather extravagant. As the serving man takes the tray away, his knees almost buckle under the weight. Which just hammers home how strong Ilona is that she was able to hustle it out there without much strain. "My Lords and Ladies. Thank you for allowing me this opportunity. May I present —- THREE BIRD PIE!" What it is, exactly, is a quail, stuffed into a grouse, stuffed into a giant chicken, tossed with a few vegetables and simple spices for flavor, and baked into a huge, salty, pie. The birds have clearly been brined. It's not master chef quality but it looks servicable.

"Gods she's built like a stone shit house.." Those are the first words out of Quillian's mouth. Luckily, for poor Ilona it's not a loud boast for the crowd. The knight shifts in his seat, as the tray is taken and the dish is brought over. There's a look as the scent wafts to his nostrils. And now he is actually reaching for a fork without prompting.

As The Septon returns, shakily and takes his seat, Maester Tunq is the first to speak up.

"Mistress, Illona? Is that how it's pronounced?" his own wasp wispy voice carrying quite well for a man of his age. "What did you prepare for us this evening?"

As the words come out of her mouth there's a look from the Septon who seems gracious to have real food-and starts to dig in.

Lady Ball Pipes up. "This is quite lovely.."

"Yes-" interrupts Quillian "This is rather good." And there he grins at Ilona. "It is all cooked properly, and though simple, makes it's own statement. Perhaps you can teach my wife to cook." he offers with a grin before taking another bite.

Somewhere in the crowd, Elys is yanking a waxed wooden cup of some filthy mixed brew from a commoner. And glaring as the judges taste this next dish.

Fortunately, Quill's very apt description of the big woman didn't travel very far, and even more fortunately, she probably would shrug it off, having been called much worse in her short life. She smiles broadly all the same. Looking between the Septon and the Maester, she repeats, "Three Bird Pie. It was something my ma used to make for high holiday when I was little. I — it's not quite the same though." She woman's speech is rough, clearly lowborn but not crude. "My /lord/" she begins to Quillian. "I am no real cook. It is something I do — from time to time." Judging by the way she's eyeing the pie, it's clear that she's appreciative of her own work. Her big callused hands clasp together.

Ilona gives Emilia a bashful grin as well, she knows whose toes not to step on.

Grah. Quills words have Emilia's eyes narrowing. You know, Elys actually isn't that bad. Not bad at all, perhaps they should converge upon a meeting spot and plot against Quillian. Ilona's bashful grin does not help matters, the Lady Emilia's long manicured nails digging into her upper arms as she glowers. Quill ain't careful he's going to start wearing that food he's tasting.

Separate from much of the rest of the crowd, Ser Lord Griffyth Wylde is as sober as a Septa so aged and devout that her cunt's as dusty as the plains of Vaes Dothrak. His only company for the moment is his roan courser, the reins caught in his grasp while he sits astride Arrow's well oiled leather saddle with comfortable familiarity, and one Lady Maera Mormont. Lacking for his usual good cheer, Griffyth's expression is a distracted one when his arrival is announced by clattering hooves over cobbles. Dressed in leather coat, breeches, and well aged boots, the man looks more a sellsword than a proper Lord lacking for flagrant fashion, but his coat is exceptionally well made and oiled against poor weather.

Peri hands her platter to an assistant and stretches out, her entire frame swaying as she patiently watches the stage, curious and intrigued by all accounts. Her back stretches out as she wiggles herself a bit, adjusting her long hair again, cheeks bright pink.
You will no longer hear messages on channel <Questions>.

Maester Tunq gives a nod. "Thank you Mistress Ilona.." a nod is given to the Herald in order to see the young lady off the stage, and make ready for the next contestant.

Quillian finishes his sample of the meal and reaches for the tablecloth to wipe his mouth. A reach for his glass and more wine is imbibed. "Well either I am at the right amount of drunk, or this competition is getting better" he remarks to the poor page who has been assigned to keep tabs on the knight.

And she didn't need much prompting. Ilona goes lumbering off the stage, removing her gloves and smearing some crumbs off her dress. "Well, I bet you /that/ will shut Spiros up." She muses to no one in particular and goes off to find a cup of wine, slamming it down in a quite /unladylike/ fashion. She pointedly avoids looking at Quillian or Emilia anymore. Especially the latter.

<FS3> Peri rolls Cooking: Good Success.
<FS3> Peri rolls Cooking+mind: Good Success.
<FS3> Peri rolls Cooking+presence: Good Success.
<FS3> Peri rolls Creativity: Failure.
<FS3> Peri rolls Display: Failure.

Maera rides alongside Griffyth at a distance that could surely be called companionable. However, the Knight and Lady do not engage in conversation as they ride. While Griffyth seems quiet and uncomfortable she seems rigid. Her lips are pursed together in a showing of stern stoicism. They do not exchange a word as they near the small gathering in the square, and only then does she speak, "We could see what is going on over there?"

Although Griffyth hears Maera, the silence between them has been so palpable that it takes him moments to process what it was she said. "What?" The knight blinks stupidly and then glances towards the heated competition. "Oh, that? Yes, if you like, Lady Mormont. There's supposed to be some sort of cooking competition going on today from what I recall," Griffyth observes politely, his mood still significantly subdued as he turns his steed and closes with the crowd overseeing the competition between what appears to be mostly commonfolk.

Peri takes her platter, carrying it, and her bottle of wine up, quietly moving to set each covered plate down infront of the judges. Each judge is given a glass of wine, which is filled with a lovely air infused sparkling wine (Spanish style where they just pour it back and forth until it is a little bubbly) She uncovers each plate. Spa quality food really - nice little crab and shrimp filled dumplings in a light wine infused butter sauce with bright green steamed asparagus. "My judges, this is a dish of Lysene dumplings, with an Iron Island flare. The dumplings are filled with local lump crab meat with shrimp seasoned with kelp from the iron islands, garlic, and ginger from the summer isles, lightly fried before thrown about in a light sauce of this arbor wine with butter and a bit more of the spices garnished with fresh aspargus. The wine is an arbor white made sparkling by the Myrrish style." she coos out, her long graceful legs swaying, her plain silk gown sporting a small pin with a mermaid at the shoulder. She bows to the judges and waits for the tasting.

Maera dismounts, and ties her palfrey to a hitching post. She steps around the front of it to reach out for Griffyth's sleeve once he dismounts, and if he'll allow her to take it she'll say softly, "I'm sorry. For the other night. I should have not said what I said." She forces up one of her common half-smiles.

Given his skill with riding, Griffyth draws himself from the saddle smoothly, dismounting and finding his feet with no troubles to have the courser looked after while he attends the festivities. When Maera reaches out to snag the supple leather of his sleeve, Griffyth's brows rise in surprise and he half turns to seek her out. The apology stirs something of a small, but tired smile. "No, my Lady. No apologies are necessary, I should not have drunken quite so much. Something I should know well by now. I've not been as productive as I would've wished. I should've been at the joust no matter how pleasant your company." The smile becomes something of a grin, a tentative one. "Shall we?"

Gromm brings himself to a smile as he sees Peri going up, bringing his arms down to his sides as he stands a bit taller, noticeably only interested now. The duckling atop his bald head goes to let out a quack before sneezing, shaking its head and settling down again. His smile is anything but soft, it's harsh and possibly even scary looking, as is the man who wears it. He lets out a light grunt for a moment, raising his arms over his head as he seems to be preparing to hear the knights comments, lower his arms as he brings his left hand to rest upon the pommel of his scimitar, casually.

The judges look anxiously back and forth between each other as the dis is described. As the platters are lifted, Quillian leans forward, eyes squinting. "Iron Island flare? Does that mean slobbering small folk and barnacles on the skin?" This jibe earns a titter from the Maester and a scowl from Lady Ball. Still the Septon takes a sip of the wine before he is prodding and starting into his meal.

"I find it interesting, Misstress?" What name was announced? "That you said it has a lysine background, but a Iron Island flare, pray tell what gave you the idea for two such differing cultures to be the theme for your meal?" Meanwhile, the other three munch, while awaiting to hear the answer.

As this goes on, Ilona's meal is being distributed about the crowd. Peri's own to follow soon enough.

As the dishes are passed about, Elys snavels one of her own mushcakes, and pointedly refuses to taste Ilona's pie. She's still glaring at the judging table as she bites into her horrid concoction, tongue recoiling at the taste of the thing. Maybe it wasn't so fantastic, after all.

Ilona's meal reaches Emilia and she will uncross one arm to take the dish, lips pulled to the side a bit. She'd honestly just rather throw this husband ward, but with an unfurling of her other arm she will pluck up a bit of the meal to try it, her eyebrows raising up. Ilona will get found in the crowd and will get a nod of satisfaction. The Lady with her seems to enjoy the dish as well, Emilia leaning in to murmur something to the other dornish woman, the plate given a little heft, both women laughing softly as Emilia gets a nudge, "Save it for the right time." The other woman will state to her with a grin, nodding.

Peri is calm, soft faced and gentle "Because the Iron Islands were my gateway to Westeros and how I ended up enjoying the wonderful life in the reach, Lysene cooking is what I grew up before the mother saw fit to give me mercy and allow my chains broken." she pauses "No, the iron islands use ingredients not used anywhere else that are quite good for the body and tasty, despite the inhabitant's." she offers a bright smile "This is a fancier version of what I make when my humors are off and I need picked up." she admits, her smile showing.

"I'm glad you didn't go." Maera tells Griffyth with a bit of a wry smile, "For I would have had to sew something for you, and it would have been horrid. Then I would have had to cheer for you like these useless Southern cows." She coughs and corrects herself, "Forgive me. Gentle Southern ladies." That said, she walks around the hitch to put her arm through his, and lets her hand rest lightly on his forearm, "We shall. Hopefully in better humor this time?"

"No." "What d you /mean/ that's coming out of my bloody pay, Spiros?!" Ilona begins, as she surfaces somewhere in the crowd, adressing a short, hirsute Braavosi man she is often seen in the company of. "I /know/ the birds were expensive. But look at the business this is going to generate! Think about it. We can expand the shop! You can build an extra wall! I now you were wanting to do that!" The big woman flails about, until the dishes arrive, circulating through the crowd. "Umm, huh. Iron Islands, huh?" She looks pointedly at the short man. "You want to save room for that? I sure do."

Ilona suddenly is in posession of oat-derived cuisine. To try, or not to try…

Peri is quite obviously Essosi, too dark to be Iron woman or true Lysene - her skin a lovely tawny color and her stature oversized..

Try it, Ilona. You know you want to.

"Gods blood, Lady Mormont, I would've expected to find you as my competitor before I thought to see you in the crowd," Griffyth laughs, grin strengthened to something characteristically rakish. Even so, there's a brief stiffening beneath Maera's hand as she touches his arm, but it loosens after only a breath. "It's just as well, but I would like to meet you on the tourney grounds at some point soon, She-Bear. I need to practice. Now, shall we go about eating strange food in the street? Some of it smells pretty good." Offering Maera a mock bow, Griffyth gestures her to start forward ahead of him.

"A pity." Quillian remarks. "Those islands are covered in gull shit. People aren't much better- Lucky enough you escaped them." And with that knight continues to eat before he is giving a brief nod of satisfaction. Lady Ball offers a smile as another rather massive forkful is shoveled in. Maester Tunq seems to scowl all the same.

It is Septon Archibald that clears the silence. "Well thank you. If you will excuse us. It is time for us to deliberate." That said, he stands, moving to gather the other judges, while the Herald steps out to escort Peri off the stage

While talking, the judges will be replaced by two fools in Motley, their japes part of the deliberation entertainment.

Peri is quiet, moving towards Gromm to greet him "Did you get a bowl?" she asks, curiously, being handed an oatcake. She takes a bite absently and just immediately turns greenish, spitting it and sort of leaning to grab the edge of Gromm's shirt to wipe her tongue on, aggressively.

Seven bless her, Ilona /goes/ for it, stuffing a bit of the oat concoction in her mouth. And …

This may not be what she was quite waiting for. To her credit, she's got something of an iron stomach, and then just chews. And chews. And chews. The little Braavosi man watches her and just bursts out laughing, which doesn't stop even when she audaciously steals his flagon to wash it down. And begins coughing. It's quite a sight, And series of sounds. Maybe she just /should/ have waited to try Peri's dish.

As Ilonas dish comes around to him Gromm shakes his head, however when Erys comes around to him, he happily takes a sample and brings it into his mouth. He chews for a moment before swallowing, seemingly completely fine with the taste before muttering to himself, "Nostalgic, like was back on the ship.." He shrugs for a moment before staring up towards Quillian, lowering his brows slightly at his comments as he clutches his grip upon the pommel of his blade, but eventually slips his hand off and brings his arms to cross along his chest, his smile fading back into a frown, gritting his teeth lightly as he taps his right index finger against his left arm, and when the other set of comments come in he simply begins to bare his teeth, quietly snarling before growling to himself, though he is a bit too loud and it is most likely audible to those on the stands, including the knight himself, "Fuck off you twat..", when Peri makes her way over he shakes his head as he shifts his gaze to the woman, "Not yet, but when I do I'll save it for later so I don't ramble on about how good it is." He says as he looks back to Qullian, frowning.

"I am not a Knight. Why would I compete in a contest involving Knights?" Maera lets out an amused huff and takes a step towards the contest, "Besides, how wise would it be to let everyone know I can best my betrothed with a sword?" That said, she gives Griffyth a playful little bump of her hip as they walk, a movement meant to put him off balance slightly.

All about her, people are tasting Elys's dish with reactions varying from her own harsh distaste to… well, what the Septon experienced. The Lady Bracken crosses her arms crossly. It's a lot of cross, ok? "Little more cooking time and it would've been fine," she snarks defensively to the nearest-by taster. "No need for that bloody arsewipe excuse for a knight to be so rude!"

After a few more moments deliberation and giving Peri's dish time to circulate out into the crowd, the Judges return. The Jovial Septon Archibald, Mousy Lady ball, The Almost dead Maester, and the sullen and drunk Blackrood are all in order. The Herald moves back to chat with them, before there is some exclamation though whispered. More drinks are had and then in time the Herald steps forward.

"We have the results for the Competition!" his voice carries on in it's shrill tones.

As silence comes over the square the Herald raises his hands. "We are at a Tie-As such we will have a breaking decision. As such we need Mistress Ilona, and Err." Quickly the Herald checks his handwriting "Mistress Peri back upon stage.."

And the square begins to buzz with excitement.

"Lady Mormont, I would hardly call what you did to be besting me last we fought, especially given I was spanking you with the flat of my blade." There's a wink for Maera. "But we'll jest over swordplay shortly, I need to eat first. I can't cut you to pieces on an empty stomach." Moving to join the crowd, Griffyth finds a familiar face (or faces, for that matter) within a matter of moments. "Mistress Peri, I'm hoping you're a part of this masterful mess. I'm half-starved and the She-Bear couldn't cook if she were starving to death in a nobleman's buttery." As the knight approaches, his pale blue eyes slide over the rest of the contestants curiously, noting Gromm's temper.

As she's finished stuffing Elys' dish down she takes another unfortunate swig of Spiros' wine. And then Ilona hears her name and rudely stuffs the flagon into her boss's hands. The huge woman wipes her face off. "Well, wait WHAT?" Her big blue eyes bug out. "Mother's Big Beautiful — I've got to go! Wish me luck!" With that, she tears ass through the crowd and heads immediately to the stage.

WHAT. WHAT IS THIS. A TIE. WHY IS ELYS NOT BEING CALLED UP. (The Bracken woman mutters something to another commoner standing nearby as she snatches his drink, too. What a horrible day.)

Peri eyes Gromm "let them critique me, do not worry. their words cast no wounds into my flesh." she whispers, reassuringly to Gromm. she Eyes "Ser Griffyth, Lady Mormont, I made the Lysene dumpling dish with Asparagus. I'm sure you'll get a taste. If you do not get enough come by and I will cook for you." she bows, and heads back up onto stage, her fingers adjusting her dress as she waves, moving with grace and delicate steps.

Maester Tunq comes forward between the two ladies once they are both on stage. There's a smile like a grandfather would give, if he was coughing on a lozenge or worthers, applied to both before his ancient skeletal hands are raised. "In such a dilemma as this. We turn to you the people." His voice quavers a little. "We ask you now for your vote, as you've had time to enjoy both dishes. Who deserves this year's silver plate?" And there one hand goes to Ilona "Mistress Ilona..Or" And the other spasms in Peri's direction. "Mistress Peri!" Apparently this was the chosen method of tie breaking.

<FS3> Peri rolls Cooking: Good Success.
<FS3> Peri rolls Presence: Failure.

<FS3> Ilona rolls Cooking: Success.
<FS3> Ilona rolls Presence: Failure.

"Oh, you cut me to pieces?" Maera snorts at that, "That'll be a cold day in the seven hells." That said, she walks alongside Griffyth towards the contest booths, and gives Peri a gentle nod of her head. "Me? Cook for you?" This elicits another snort from Maera, but she quiets as the the tie breaker round comes up.

To this, Ilona brings up her weathered, callused hands in turn when her name is called. She gives the crowd a little shake of her, err, robust frame. Beaming a fairly broad, goofy smile. Well, goofy by normal standards, But the smile looks very much like 'her'.

"Lady Mormont, I'm going to have trouble controlling myself if you keep flirting with me," Griffyth tells the woman with a wry, pained expression. "Once we see who is to be the winner of this contest, and eat, we'll go to the grounds and have ourselves another bout. I may even wear armor this time, if only because I only want so many kisses from that damned Valyrian steel of yours." Clearing his throat and guiding Maera closer, Griffyth jostles his way comfortably to the near front of the crowd to watch the goings-on with no small few shreds of excitement.

Emilia continues to watch and listen. Doing her thing with talking with her lady friend.

Offended beyond belief, Elys doesn't clap or cheer for anyone. ANYONE. She does knock back that pilfered drink, and scour around the crowd for a Blackwood to fight. Only she has no sword. WHATEV.

Peri 's statuesque frame shifts up to hold up her left hand, then her right hand. While she attempts to be charming she gets hit square in the chest with one of those god awful oatcakes, causing one hell of a tsunami of cleavage to pop upwards humorously. It ruins the calm professional appearance though because both hands immediately go to make sure she stays in the silk gown - there might even be a few choice Lysene words of disapproval about it, the woman looks terribly embarassed all the same

With the cheers that rise for both ladies it is almost hard to tell who is the winner. After another round of conferring, Maester Tunq Quickly turns back to the crowd. "Ladies, Smallfolk and Lords all. Your winner, based upon your vote this evening, is Mistress Peri." As such the Herald moves to present her the Silver plate. And there Maester Tunq and Lady Ball turn to congratulate, as Septon Archibald steps up. "For coming in second, Mistress Ilona, you receive the bronze rolling pin." And there a bronzed pin is passed over. Quillian for his point rolls his eyes. "Glad to be done fucked with it." Another gulp of wine, and he will be exiting out the back Likely to find his way back home-A wise man hides from a wife he may have mad a jibe at on stage.

At first, Ilona looks uncaring that she did not come in first, per se, and is just clearly overjoyed, and happy to be up there. As the truth of the situation is registered, though — time seems to slow down for her, it's one of those moments where you discover yourself. Or make — a horrible mistake. She hefts the bronze rolling pin momentarily, eyeing it wondrously. And then she bows her head to the Septon - "Thank you your grace. But I think the crowd was a bit — mistaken." She gestures with the rolling pin towards Peri. Or rather —- Peri's chest. "These people went stark raving mad over /those?/ THOSE sorry things?!" Yes, that was a bit too loud.

Emilia has been mad for DAYS. This will only further cause possibility of rows when he gets home though she'll make him sweat it out properly. But Ilona. Oh Ilona. Emilia will watch her with growing wonder and then finally a wicked laugh will rise from her throat, a hand raising up to slap over her lips, woman quickly turning to lean into her lady friend as she erupts into laughter she can't quite stop from spilling out. Okay, so this was not all a bust.

Peri blushes and takes the plate "In Light of this win, The Lysene baths offer its lovely penny baths to all small folk free of charge for the entire night." she holds up her hands with the plate, looking overly excited about her win. Clearly the woman is proud of her win. She gestures nearby at the baths, likely intending to celebrate her win. She offers a hand to Ilona, as a sign of good sportsmanship "And you, my competitor, if you promi- well then." She puffs her cheeks "Well at least I didn't lose to a waistless creamy tart." she hops from the stage, her expression is cheerful, loosening the modest portion of her dress so it falls open to its normal showy frame. Despite being thick, she's pretty respectably curvy and exotic. She holds up her plate to Griff with a cackle. "Oi wanna go cream some squids?"

Gromm growls, turning his head as he scans over the crowd for whom had thrown the oatcake. For most people? He looks like something out of a nightmare right now. His left hand raises to his head to pick up the duckling ontop of his head and stuff it into one of his pockets on his leather vest. Once he has pin-pointed who in the crowd had thrown it, via the guy chuckling to himself. It isn't long before he's stop over towards him, and when the culprit himself notices, he isn't snickering to himself as he was earlier. He's grabbed by the scruff of the plain tunic he wears and raised off the ground by Gromms right hand, and fluently the large man continues moving, "Lets have a chat." he growls as he spots a nice secluded alley way and makes his way over, and into, gritting his teeth all the while as the two eventually are out of sight.

"I'm beginning to think that you like me hitting you, Ser Griffyth." Maera retorts with a faint grin. She'll clap for Peri when she wins the contest, and listen to the chattering and words spoken in regards to the win…and then Peri flashes the crowd. She blinks several times, and says to Griffyth, "Well, that wasn't as unexpected as it should be, really."

"Lady Mormont, my existence is centered about women touching me. I'll take what I can get," Griffyth jests with another pleasantly husky laugh. "You can't blame me, can you?" As Gromm seizes someone, Griffyth's attention shifts and his brow furrows temporarily. He's distracted by the display of Peri's considerable bust, one he isn't all that unfamiliar with, and yet it has his attention affixed upon it in the span of a heartbeat. Whatever Maera says, it trails through one ear and out the other. Still, he registered her voice. Tilting his head and tearing his eyes away, Griffyth raises a brow at Maera. "Hmm? What was that, my Lady?"

The poor Braavosi man who was with Ilona looks about to have a heart attack as he rushes towards the stage, the hirsute fellow starts jibbering in his native language — if anyone understands it, it's a lot of frustrated swearing and something about 'he's ruined.'

Meanwhile, Ilona's eyes smolder for a second. "I was all right with whatever Fresh off the boat treats you conjured up there but then you had to go and show off the jewels to this here crowd!" The big woman bellows, stepping off the stage in a huff and cupping her own ample (but in a different way) bosom in the direction of the crowd. "And now we know that's what all these men care about. Creamy tart? TART? You can't go cream any squids, you sea-bitch, because YOU ALREADY CREAMED THEM ALL!"

And shortly after Gromm had lifted the man away, he comes limping out of the alley way, a tooth clearly missing as a small bit of blood escapes the corners of his mouth. And soon after Gromm comes out as well, his nose a bit out of place than it was before and bleeding, he grabs the man by the arm again, whispering to him for a moment before shoving him away. He looks over to Ilona as she decides to yell out as well. Aaaand he's off, the mountainous man is heading towards, grumbling to himself lightly, however as he advances towards the woman his body language isn't as 'roar im gonna kill you' as was the man, luckily, and is considerably more passive.

Emilia is just loving this. This has to be the best night /ever/. Her face is infused with just utter joy at being able to bear witness to the cattiness, a hand upon her chest as she leans in to whisper to the Lady who is clearly ready to leave, though Emilia bids her stay, if only for a few more moments. The crowd here is /wild/. She loves it.

Elys is truly horrified that her cooking is being used as a weapon. She starts to muscle through the rambunctious crowd, elbowing this person and that as she seeks an escape. Oh, and someone else's drink, which she tastes and then spits out on some other unsuspecting person. "What is that, tea?" Really, now. Tea??

Peri eyes Ilona "You what, mate?" she asks towards Ilona, cracking her neck "Sea-bitch. Ten points for creativity." which sounds odd with her posh accent. Her toes lift and kick up a stone to deftly catch, those long tattoos of hers showing briefly. "Besides, if you are going to call me a whore, have some concept of how whoring works. Women do not cream men, men cream women. You pelican buggering twit." she calls out, rolling her shoulders. She hands her silver plate to one of her underlings. Her smile is absolutely angelic. "Or Oh Gromm calm down." she pauses, moving to very gently put herself between Ilona and Gromm "If she is to start a fight, we both know I am not some weak little roseling."

Maera says nothing. She watches with mouth agape as Peri's competitor thrusts forth her bosom for all to see, and also mentions creaming squids, "Is…is that a real thing?" She asks Giffyth, befuddled expression still on her face as she tries to sort out the creative language that the two smallfolk women use.

"Hell if I know, my Lady. I assumed it to be some sort of metaphor. But this is devolving past the point that even I think it's becoming indecent, so we've reached a dire point indeed." Clearing his throat, the knight rests a hand idly upon the smooth leather-and-ivory pommel of his hilt and raises his voice just shy of shouting. "Ho, ladies, calm yourselves. If this turns into a fight, you'll have the watchmen up your arses and find yourself locked in the pillory. This is hardly fitting behavior for a competition. You should celebrate each other and step down, rather than insulting one another."

For the record, Peri is entirely correct here that Ilona was the first to initiate, well, hostility, and is something of a sore loser in this case. The round-faced blonde woman is rosy-cheeked and breathes in a huff. She holds the prize rolling pin and doesn't raise it in a manner as though she were about to strike anyone with it, but gestures with it for emphasis.

"A squid's got those big floppy things that go in —" She tries to explain but is just too damn /incensed/ to get the words out coherently. "He's a nice one there." She gestures towards Gromm with a tilt of her head. "A big one too." She says, and it may be she's eyeing up Gromm for a fraction of a second while she talks, but not necessarily in the 'I'm gonna fight this guy' way. More like, she's checking him out.

"If I were going to start a fight, you'd know it, 'lady, because you'd be pulling this hunk of bronze out of holes you didn't even /know/ you had yet and then you'd have /another/ skill to advertise to those Braavosi sailors who come into town!" She stops a minute and eyes the pin, suddenly looking a bit — abashed. "Hmm, this is really nice work, actually. Can't even see the seams."

At the mention of 'Braavosi', the little man who she was with tries to run up to her and pulls on her dress in a frail attempt to drag her away. As all this goes down, the Knight speaks, and wow, well. That got her attention. Ilona looks over at him and suddenly stops dead in her tracks, lowering her voice a bit. "Oh. A thousand and seven pardons, Ser. I didn't know you were here."

<FS3> Gromm rolls Body: Success.

<FS3> Peri rolls Bitchface: Failure.

Peri eyes the woman strangely "A squid is a fucking iron sailor. Fun to bash into the consistency of creamed eggplant." she corrects, calmly. "Or the sea animal that you cut up and fry in a batter." she eyes the woman "Pff I save the fucking Braavosi sailors from the bleedin' drink you bloody bampot. The dragon I'm the bitch who pulled him out, besides I run a bath house, not a brothel you cheeky cockup." she rubs her face. "GO soothe yourself with your rolling pin." she eyes Griffyth and gives him a curtsy. She has her bitchface on but Gromm's duckling makes her laugh "Oh Colossus! Praise to you, thank you for your luck and staying off of my work table" she steals the duckling to kisses at it.

While the Knights declaration included ladies, it didn't include giant angry muscular men. He draws near the woman, but is stopped as Peri makes her way in between the two. He speaks up, his voice stuffy to point it isn't really possible for anything logical to come out. When he notices this, he brings up his right hand and gets a firm grip on his nose with his index finger and thumb, his eyes watering as he growls as shifts his broken nose atleast somewhere nearer where it originally was. "Where do you want your head after I'm done with you, on a spear or back up your gaping ass?" He snarls toward the woman before looking down to Peri and then back over to the other woman. "I'm too sober for this." He says, but not before Colossus, the duckling, can wrestle its head out of Gromms pocket and screech at the Ilona, but not before Peri steals him away from Gromm. Gromm turns on his heels and stomps off, clenching both hands into a fist as his large scimitar at his side shifts with a light clanking sound as he seemingly makes his way off towards the Bawdy Bard.

"..Big.Floppy.Things." Maera's eye twitches slightly at that image. "That's…wow. Ew." She looks from Ilona to Peri and back again with that confused look on her face before glancing back to Griffyth, "You mean they aren't going to fight?" She doesn't sound disappointed just…confused. "If I were Mistress Peri I'd punch the fat one in the throat."

A last loud laugh, very unbecoming from a lady, barks out in the crowd and Emilia is quickly dragged away by her fellow Lady, guards of both following along, Emilia's eyes near to watering as she sputters out laughing words to her friend, both of then disappearing down the street, further laughter wafting up as the words, "Pelican buggering!"

Leaning in, Griffyth says softly: "Lady Mormont, you /are/ a noblewoman, it might be wise to remember that. Even rarely thought it seems to be." Ilona is offered a strikingly attractive smile that gleam nearly perfect white teeth, and the knight bows much lower than he ought to given Ilona's station. "Never you mind, Mistress. As long as civil order can be kept—" And then Gromm. Damn it, Gromm. Griffyth's smile wanes, and he looks prepared to speak further to the hulking man, but then Gromm is storming off to have himself a drink. Griffyth settles back on his heels, and grunts. "In any case, I think I could use a drink, too. But I'll pass, given my propensity of late to act as one Lord Tyrell."

"Well…I PISSED IN THE POOL!" That's all she says. She makes a petulant face at Gromm as well when he mentions 'spear' and her eyes just go straight to his pants, indicating an obviously filthy double entendre.

For a long while she says nothing at all, turning bac towards the stage. "Shoulda built a wall around the land to keep all those heathens out, and let the good Dragon Kings burn everything outside of it." Ilona looks at the rolling pin now, dejected. "Oh well. I'm not much of a cook anyway." She sighs, heavily, and the little Braavosi man starts yammering at her some more.

"Look, I know, Spiros. I will pay for it. When have I ever let you down?"

Peri eyes Maera "Can't spend time in the pillory. I'll get molested." she offers simply "Many iron men would try to take advantage of the situation and I'd probably have to mule kick my leg out of the socket in self defense." she eyes Griff and Maera "Ser Griffyth, if you would like a drink, perhaps we can find somewhere and only have a glass or two, tonight I should like to celebrate." she eyes Ilona "I'm sure you aren't alone? I was going to offer you a drink and a good bath but, the fungus under your tits is upsetting my stomach. Goodnight." And with that, Peri is headed off, likely to also go find a good drink or perhaps some cake. To shove in her cake hole.

Maera leans in as well, "Are you /correcting/ me, Wylde?" This seems to amuse her, and her lips twitch upwards into a smirk. She crosses her arms over her chest and continues to watch on. Peri's words illicit a brief chuckle from her, and she leans over to whisper something in Griffyth's ear.

Whatever the hell Maera just uttered in Griffyth's air has the man agape, stunned and alarmed all at once, and a flush of color tinges his complexion. Is that… blush? "Gods grace, Lady Mormont," Griffyth quite nearly growls. "Mistress Peri, it might be for the best if I were to return to the Quill, have a bath, and weep violently into my pillow." Sighing like a man who's best horse just died, Griffyth rakes a hand through his dark blond hair. "No, Peri, I think I'm going to keep to water this evening. Colder than Lady Mormont's—never mind. Water, I'll just have a drink of water and something to eat, if you would. You ought to bring your loud companion along, so that you can taunt each other's tits and whatnot."

At this point Ilona's pretty much descended into dejected, bitter muttering as she wanders on off with a rolling pin and her seriously abashed Braavosi companion. They're not going to have a fun evening, that's for sure. But she has a new rolling pin.

Peri ers a bit ".. A simple no would have sufficed, ser." her face and sharp tone gives away that Griff insulted her. She adjusts her dress, moving her fingers towards the bridge of her nose, whispering something to Griffyth before starting off into her own turf, fingers moving to hold up the edge of her dress. Her evening is possibly ruined as well.

Maera's eyes flash with triumph at Griffyth's blush and stammering, and she lets out one of her rare laughs. Then she lifts her hand to cover her mouth to finish her laugh. "Is that how ladies laugh?" She asks the Wylde Knight in a cocky fashion. Then Peri is turning to leave, and she calls out, "Mistress Peri don't go. The Ser is annoyed with me, not you. I have teased him most unmercifully."

"Mistress," Griffyth starts in surprise, reaching for Peri reflexively. However, before he touches her, his hand recoils as if burned. "Please, Peri. I didn't mean to slight you, it's been a long several days. Long week, I should say, and things are more complicated in my life than I would desire them to be. I would enjoy very much having a drink with you, and Lady Mormont if she would join us." The flush begins to recede, but not entirely. The knight glances towards the retreating form of the unfamiliar smallfolk, expression thoughtful. "And I'm hungry, and the She-Bear can't cook. I'll starve to death at this rate."

Peri eyes Maera "My lady, I think I should like to go make fish cakes and maybe some hard tack." she offers. Simple iron bay regional cooking." she offers. She pauses looking at Griffyth when he withdraws his hand "If you fear starvation, Lord Wylde, I offer you the same advice I offered Riker in our third year together while I was so sick that I was bedridden : Learn to cook for yourself or tolerate raw fish." she offers calmly with a touch of frost gracing her tone. "You have not slighted me, that would imply I had a right to be offended." she mutters, taking a moment to gesture at a girl who works for her and then at her own shoulders, waiting for just a moment before she is given a dull grey shawl which she wraps over her own shoulders. She does however stay very still since Maera has asked her to stay. "I think that would potentially be intrusive on the lady's time, don't you? Perhaps you two can go and have a lovely drink together."

"Have a lovely time cooking, then." Maera says to Peri with a stiff nod. "Come Wylde. I've a cook. Surely she can whip up something for you." That said, she takes a step towards where their horses have been left, but walks slowly. In case Griffyth has more words to say to Peri.

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