(121-02-27) The She-Bear the Witch and the Pansy
The She-Bear, the Witch, and the Pansy
Summary: …also a Lady and two Sellswords, at the tavern.
Date: Date of play (27 Feb, 2014)
Related: none.

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.

There are three Tyrell men-at-arms in purple cloaks lurking outside the tavern, and another four inside, two each at the tables on either side of Garvin's. Garvin is all alone at his table, with a large silver flagon and a silver goblet. And he's already more than a little tipsy, red-rimmed eyes half-lidded, face mildly flushed.

Entering through the doors of the Quill and Tankard is a Banefort guard followed by Derrioth, the two appear to be talking a bit, oatcakes being a recurring topic. The conversation seems to be a friendly, not too serious one as they make their way over to a table of their own, still talking before Derrioth curls his fingers exempt his middle and index, raising his hand to point the fingers toward the ceilings before calling out, "Barmaid! Two meads, please!", before lowering his hand and going back to his chat.

The red witch is not far behind Derrioth but entering seperately - she walks past Derrioth as she enters eyespying the lonely Tyrell in the corner. As she glides by Derrioth she runs a friendly hand over his shoulders. Curtsying as she approaches the lonely Lord Isador says, "How now Lord Tyrell I heard you have found yourself in a pickle with the Tarlys no less?"

Garvin blinks several times, struggling to focus on Isador. "Pickle?" he asks, nose wrinkling a bit. "Not pickles. Wine." He lifts his goblet, then takes a long swallow. "And it's not the Tarlys who make it, but the Redwynes. Good Arbor red, none better. Do I know you?" Glancing around, he notices Derrioth, his eyes widening just a bit and blush darkening.

Derrioth tilts his head to the slight after he had sat down, now only noticeably acknowledging the touch of her hand on his shoulder as he passively sends a wink her way, before looking to Garvin, giving him a nod, with the raise of his right brow. Derrioth looks back to his friend, talking a bit louder than before. But now it seems they're plotting something involving oatcakes, and doing so rather casually.

The red witch cants her head - "Perhaps… we have run into eachother once or twice but never spoken. I am a friend of Peri's and Lord and Lady Banefort. My name is Isador - when you left the Bawdy Bard the other night following Lady Mormonts man Eonn - I was the one he was chasing. You said you had 'never seen a witch'. Something which is technically untrue." She turns back to Derrioth, "Another oatcakes fiasco…" Back to Garvin, "You appear to be absent company? Mind if I sit?"

Garvin squints hard, trying again to focus on Isador. "Peri?" he says, nose wrinkling again. "Lady Banefort? Oh yes, I know Lady Banefort. She blamed me because her cook didn't know how to bake oatcakes. I tried to make amends, but she stormed from the court as though she'd been struck. Which she wasn't, of course." He takes another drink, then shakes his head. "Never seen a witch before that night with Eonn. Not even sure I really saw one, for that matter. I suppose you can join me, if you like. Barmaid! Another cup for Lady…What did you say your name was, Lady Witch?" He leans to one side, looking past Isador toward Derrioth again. "What are you doing with my oatcakes?"

The sellsword looks over to Garvin, raising his right brow once more, "Yours..?" He asks, pausing for a moment before speaking up again, "Me and Jermie are just going to buy some, is all." He says in a honest tone, tilting his head over to the left, frowning slightly, "And with all due respect, you were buying all the oatcakes out to begin with, she didn't blame you because her cook didn't know how to make them. Even a lot of my friends were upset with your course of action." he admits, though he doesn't sound like he's necessarily trying to cause a problem, just speaking his mind. Soon after the barmaid arrives with the two mens tankards of mead, she receives a smirk in nod from Derrioth and a verbal thank you from the other man.

"Not a Lady my Lord - I am Low born - born a wildling in fact - the lowest of the low. A turn of luck saw me sold into slavery and sent to Essos where I was adopted by one Gascoign the Magnificent. I have no family name - I am just Isador nothing more." Turning to Derrioth, "Actually she said as much to me my Lord…" So far remaining neutral on the matter.

Garvin scrunches his face in confusion. "But I gave them all away," he says, head tipping to one side, so errant locks of hair fall over his face. "Everyone was happy. Except Lady Banefort, who walked past tables laden with free oatcakes to accuse me of not letting her have any…It didn't make sense." He shakes his head, looking again to the witch. "Isador, then. Yes, please sit, Isador." The barmaid delivers a goblet, and Garvin fills it from the flagon. "Why did you think the Arbor wine was pickled Tarly?"

It's only her second visit to the establishment, but hark! Here is Keyte. The guards accompanying her seem pleased enough to be waltzing in the doors of a tavern, even moreso at the sight of their comrades-at-arms within. Informal as her dealings with retainers tend to be, the lady's guards are eager to usher her over to their colleagues, and her cousin. Keyte's just pleased to be out and about, happily jostled to Garvin's table to remark with lively eyes, "Some people prefer to earn their oatcakes, sweet cous. Being pregnant addles a lady's brain, did you know?" She circles her pointer finger about her temple as she approaches the Lord Pansy.

Derrioth simply shrugs, before he takes a sip of his mead, "But you'd have only given them out on the day of the court, and those who can only eat oatcakes due to their condition, like those who are pregnant, you're practically starving them out for six days. And even then there's a economical problem, in which there's one persons buying a excessive amount of a certain product, which is bad for those who need to buy them." says Derrioth, before gliding his eyes over to Keyte. He takes note of her hand motion, lowering his brows as he almost immediately realizes what she intends to imply. Now he's simply annoyed, which is visible. He sighs lightly, taking another sip of his mead as he looks over to his conversational partner again, beginning to speak about their plans once more.

"Oh I was imply talking about the issue with the Tarly knight and the young Maester apprentice…" Isador curtsies to Keyte as she enters rising from her seat. Listening to Derrioth, "It does seem that there is a case of unintended damage then done to the Lady's person?"

Garvin rises unsteadily to his feet, giving Keyte a goofy grin. "Sweet Cousin, will you join me? Er, us, that is." He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. "Lady Keyte Tyrell, may I present Isador the Wildling Witch from Essos. Or something." He leans again to look at Derrioth. "What in the seven hells are you talking about, man? I only bought oatcakes the one day, so that left six other days of the week she could have eaten oatcakes. And on that one day, her cook could have baked them for her. What sort of cook can't make a simple batch of oatcakes?" He shakes his head, still looking perplexed, as he sits again and takes up his goblet. The barmaid brings yet another goblet, which Garvin fills and pushes toward Keyte.

Keyte sweeps over, reaching out friendly hands to squeeze at Garvin's shoulders as she skirts past him to the next chair at his table. Over his shoulder, she's squinting at Isador, almost certain she recognises the woman from… somewhere. As she sits, and scoops up her goblet with no small amount of gratitude, she smiles. "From Essos?" The Tyrell lady is curious, very curious.

Eonn comes in, two cats twining around his ankles. He manages not to trip over them on his way to get a tankard of cider.

Isador sits at a table with Keyte and her departing cousin and two Tyrell guards. Isador corrects the departing Lord - "Actually Blood Maegi is what I am - technically - or it is one thing I do. I actually also carve some of the most wonderous things - though few have noticed that relative to my making them move around for a second or two as a wonder. People do so many things but only the strangest are noticed not the best."

Keyte nods, accommodating her lordly cousin with the grace and ease expected. She curls two hands around her goblet, taking it up. "Oh!" That is for Isador, directed across the table with a genuinely interested quirk of her brows. "What things do you carve, Isador? Toys?" The lady infers before a sip, eyes wandering in only the politest of manners to note the comings and goings. A broad smile dawns as she notices Eonn, but really, she is listening!

Eonn turns at the bar, a tankard in his hand now. The cats twine around his ankles, purring at him and then hissing at each other. Silly creatures.

"Dragons…," Isador says - she runs her hands over a small water dragon that she had carved and seems to muter something and for a brief moment it is alive - strangely writhing and alive. "And whatever people ask me to. A requiem for a lost love. My last love was murdered by a jealous noble knight who wanted to make me his whore - he taught me the craft of wood carving."

Keyte seems about to say something as she's looking about the room, Eonn-ward. Those cats are quite amusing! "Eo—" Perhaps it's enough, a half-call of his name before her attention is snared once more by a moving dragon-carving, no less. She gasps, entranced by the thing as it writhes. "How do you do that?" The rest of Isador's story is not lost on her, but the immediate curiosity takes priority.

Eonn watches the dragon statue for a moment, and comes over. It's a few strides of his long legs. He says, "However you do it, you ought not do it here. It's a wonder nobody's tried to set you afire." He has a deep swallow from his tankard. Then he says, "My Lady Keyte.

Isador finally notices Eonn and beckons him over, "Lady Maera's man at arms… what is so awful about the simple wonder of such an action?" She looks to Keyte, "Actually it is a discipline no more magical than the gears and ropes of a porticulis. That is the power… of course others use it for more elaborate and darker things…"

"I did not say it was awful, woman," says Eonn. He takes a drink from his tankard before continuing. "Only that it is not safe for you. People do not like mysteries."

"Eonn!" Keyte is bright and warm in her smile as her face is drawn again from the dancing dragon figurine. "Please, join us? If you'd like to!" She sneaks a sip from her goblet, and sets it back down, looking to Isador again. "There are ropes? To your little dragon?" She doesn't appear to have seen them, and looks mightily confused, deep creases in her brow as she frowns and leans forward.

Maera arrives, her steps slow as she stares down at a piece of parchment. Her knuckles are bruised with fresh scrapes that show bright pinkish red against the pale flesh of her hand. She stops a few feet in, and continues to stare down at the parchment in a puzzled manner.

Garvin stumbles back down the stairs, somehow looking more drunk than when he went up. He makes his way back to the table and drops into his chair, reaching for his goblet. Squinting at the writhing dragon, he asks, "What is that…thing? A snake?" Then he notices Eonn, flashing the man a sloppy grin. "Eonn of the Rills. Will you join us?"

Isador sits at a table with Keyte and a couple of Tyrell guards as well as Eonn."You think my path harmful to me?" Isador asks the sellsword. "I am flattered that you even care." To Kayte, "Well I thought porticullusses or poticulli quite magical when I encountered them as a Wildling… but the point remains - hidden strings to pull. That is all I possess." She looks to MAera at her entry with expectation rather than hostility or indifference. "Welcome back Lord Tyrell…," she says to Garvin.

"Perhaps," says Eonn to Isador. "Certainly your making it so well known will be, given enough time." He smiles at Keyte. "Thank you, Lady Keyte," he says.

"They are well-hidden, miss," Keyte observes, her frown giving way to a deeper delight for the illusion. She doesn't seem to heed any other discussion of dancing wooden dragons, mayhap thanks to a passing interest in Maera's arrival, or greater one in Garvin's return. "It's a dragon," she explains merrily, gesturing at the figurine again. "Did you see it dance, cous? It's rather captivating, aye?"

Maera drifts over to the table to stand next to Eonn. She doesn't sit down nor does she address the Tyrell nobles or Isador. Instead, she holds the paper out for the sellsword with her bloodied hand. On examination it's a rather explicit drawing of the lady herself. "It's not even accurate. My bosom is not nearly that big."

Garvin leans over the table, squinting harder at the dragon. "Oh, a toy of some sort?" he says, sitting back again and draining his goblet. As he reaches to refill it from the flagon, he notices Maera, blinking a bit in confusion. Not nearly as big as what?" he asks, unable to see the parchment from where he's sitting.

Eonn takes the paper and looks it over. He studies it and drinks from his tankard as he does so.

"Sexually flattering yet martially unflattering. I must carve it - some have offered to commision me to…" Isador almost casually inserts to the exchange. To Keyte, "It danced my Lady," she says.

Minding manners for both herself and Garvin, Keyte interjects pointedly, "Lady Mormont." She takes great care not to look over toward the piece of parchment, instead glancing down to her cup. Might be time for another sip.

"My Lady of Tyrell." Maera says in her flat, somewhat droning voice. Her eyes linger on Keyte perhaps a little coldly before they cut over to the drunk Garvin and she says rather crisply, "Lord Garvin." Isador's words go ignored.

Garvin refills his goblet, then gives an exaggerated bow while still sitting. "My Lady Mormont, a pleasant evening to you," he says with his goofy grin. It quickly fades, however, as he turns to regard Isador again, brows drawing together. "What did you say?"

Eonn keeps looking at the drawing Maera showed him. "Did you get in a fight over it?" he asks her, without looking up from the image.

Where Maera is cold, Keyte is warm; judging the woman her better, she defers with a further dip of her head and clarifies, "Lady Keyte, and my pleasure to make your acquaintance!" She is entirely too enthusiastic for a bow-headed girl, more than making up for any Mormont monotone. A little starstruck, maybe. As her eyes sneak back up, she's looking about the table for a cue. From Garvin, her eyes alight back upon Isador, as much for his question as for that curious dancing figurine.

"No." Maera says rather tranquilly, "It only took one punch." Katie's warmth disarms her; it's obvious that she expected to be received cooly, and when she doesn't she gives her a surprised look, "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Keyte." Her voice is still flat, but the coolness has melted.

Isador looks at Maera and speaks oddly for a second in a alliterative sense, "I look so often upon a champion whom I have helped but does not barely even recognise my name let alone countenance…" Isador gives up once more, "perhaps I should pay for a round? Nobles often assume that commoners are devoid of coin - but I have more than enough. And through surprisingly honest labour." She leans to whisper to Eonn… something…

Garvin frowns as he's ignored, pouting out his lower lip. But then she mentions buying a round, and he suddenly sits up. "All drinks are on me," he insists, lifting his goblet. "When Lord Pansy pays, everyone drinks!" The Tyrell guards around the room all raise their tankards and cheer.

Eonn starts to roll up the page Maera showed him, neatly. He raises his eyebrows at Isador, an expression of irritated surprise, and says. "Are you an absolute and complete idiot?"

Maera lets an amused little chortle at Eonn's question.

Keyte buoys further at Maera's response, absolutely thrilled to be so well-received. It's well-received, right? She's an optimist, let it never be said otherwise. "Will you join us, lady? We are but a ragtag bunch this eve, but the merrier for it!" Her cup is lifted in half-hearted toast to the table, and she asides a little louder than is necessary for Garvin alone, feigning confusion: "Or is it, 'when Lord Pansy drinks, everyone pays?'" Mayhap she misses Eonn's comment, or simply overlooks it. Maybe she's still starstruck, because: Maera Mormont!

Isador rather than be insulted at Eonn's comment seems quietly apologetic, "I get accused of idiocy.. but then some seperate wisdom from intelligence and posit me in the latter category - so much that my actions often avoid consequences - excuse me…." She speaks again to Eonn in a whisper to his ear….

"I do wish you'd get over your obsession with me." Maera says to Isador with a little roll of her eye. "It was a rhetorical question, by the way." She sits down next to Eonn, and looks pointedly to Garvin, "How are you, Lord Garvin?" Her tone turns to something slightly more civil than the tone she takes with Isador, but there's still some frostiness to it.

Garvin grins and leans closer to Keyte, lowering his voice to a loud whisper, "That too." His grin fades a bit when he looks to Maera, but he keeps his tone pleasant enough. "I am not unwell, and thank you for asking, Lady Mormont. May I ask what was on the parchment that had you so unhappy?" His eyes dart to Eonn, who he saw had the drawing last.

Eonn tucks the rolled up page under his studded leather jerkin and says to Isador, "What you are saying is neither wise nor intelligent, woman. What is it that you want, besides, hmm, to shorten your life?"

Keyte laughs brightly for Garvin's whisper, reaching out to grasp affectionately at his shoulder as she drinks. She appreciates his joking with her, certainly! The mention of lives being shortened captures her eye with a lifted brow, and rather than following the Pansy's question to Maera, she's glancing curiously between Eonn and Isador.

Isador looks to Maera, "Obsession is hard to avoid my Lady when I am a commoner - an outcast and you have made the threats that you have made and are not exactly unequipped to carry them out. One wonders what one has done to offend. Especially when I performed a service for no reward. For a cause that was yours… the only reason I would perform the service for you. I did not want your gold or silver - indeed took none. I wonder when I became the font of all evil for you? I ask nothing more… I remained your friend for a long time whne we were working together. But when the powerful grow hostile one does grow curious… What did I do wrong?" Isador asks Maera.

Eonn sighs and says, "Oh by all the gods and all the hells, you absurd, ridiculous, idiotic twat." in a quietly disgusted manner. Then he drinks deeply from his tankard, draining it, and holds it up above his head to call for a refill.

Garvin leans closer to Keyte again, whispering, "Do you have any idea what's going happening? Because I can't make any sense of anything anyone's saying. Am I under some witch's spell?" He takes a long swallow of wine, then refills his goblet again, eyes darting between Isador, Maera, and Eonn.

"We conducted business. I offered to pay you. You refused it. Now, kindly shut up about it." Maera says to Isador with another roll of her eye.

Her eyes wide and switching between Eonn and Isador still, Keyte whispers back to Garvin in overpronounced syllables, "Absolutely none." In an attempt to change the subject, she takes a deep breath and puts on her best smile directed to Maera. "The Lady Harry must be pleased to be so recently wed, aye? Such a shame t'were in all the hurry, I pray you forgive our Ser Thorn his horrid manners."

Isador bites her lip and says openly, "The price you offered to pay was not negotiated and not accepted - remains. For you Maera remains…" talking candidly, "And when did I become your enemy in saying such?"

Eonn raises his eyebrows, giving Isador a skeptical, uncomprehending look.

Garvin's head tilts to one side again, and he has to blow several times to get the hair that falls over his eyes to flip back away again. "What did she say?" he whispers to Keyte, nose wrinkling. "The price was not negotiated, but remains? What's that even mean?"

"You will leave this table or I shall go to Lord Gwayne Hightower, and have you pillared for your continued harassment of me, and your disrespect. You are correct in saying you are a commoner. You do not set the price." Maera tilts her head upwards to give Isador a cool look, "I owe you nothing, wildling scum."

Keyte deflates a little as her subject change doesn't take, sinking into her chair. Her hair is conveniently braided back under a lace headband, keeping it from falling in her face like Garvin's as she leans in again to whisper back: "I really don't — she lives in the woods." Mistaken or no, Keyte seems to think that explains everything.

Eonn sighs and drinks from his newly refilled cup. He looks to Keyte, "So, my lady. Have all your wounds healed?"

Garvin's eyes bug wide, and he turns toward Keyte. "Wounds? What wounds? Who wounded you?"

Isador looks to Maera, "If I am obsessed why do you always insist that I leave?" Isador asks. "But far from me even going so far as to /embarrass/ you against certain goals that you have that I agree with…" Isador says. "Lets see where they go…" She retreats - and is almost all but gone.

She blinks, as bug-eyed as her cousin for a moment, before Keyte smiles brilliantly and laughs. "The dolphins, sweet cous, have you forgotten already? Bit right on my poor hand," says she, offering forth the wrong hand for inspection. Who'd like a look? Everyone? Everyone. Great. "It is healed now, yes quite, and by the Mother's own grace not a mark to show. I am truly lucky for it, aye? Eonn, have you seen any mountain cats near to Oldtown?" There is but a passing glance at the retreating wildling, the lady busy showing off her 'injury'.

"Forgive me." Maera says to the others at the table. She glances to Keyte's hand, "A bite? I had heard they were mostly harmless. Although I suppose even the most loyal dogs bite at times."

Garvin ohs, nodding to Keyte then. "Yes, that dreadful rogue dolphin. Thank goodness it didn't take your whole hand off." His eyes follow the retreating Isador as well, one brow cocking, as he leans a bit closer to Eonn. "What was all that about? She's the witch, isn't she? Is she the one who drew whatever it was that upset Lady Mormont?"

Eonn gives Maera a questioning look before Keyte speaks to him. He replies, "I have not. Do you wish me to find one for you?" And then Garvin's question makes him smile. "She is a witch, or so I understand, but I do not think she is an artist.

"On my very hand, lady," Keyte confirms in a grave tone, nodding seriously. "It was the beginning of the festival, in all the excitement when the little lord jumped in the waters of the Sound. But it's healed now, so no harm, no foul." She brightens considerably, only after Eonn's offer. "Do you think it's a thing could be found, in these parts?"

"As in something like a shadow cat?" Maera asks with a slight lifting of her eyebrow, "I don't think such creatures dwell this far south. You will have to go to the Vale, I imagine."

Eonn smiles at Keyte, "Mm," he says. "May I ask, Lady Keyte, what you want one for?"

Garvin wrinkles his nose at Eonn's words, then sits up again. "Oh Cousin, you're not on about those wild beasts again, are you? I simply won't have you going off to hunt such a dangerous creature. Seven help us, you're simply unincorig…uncorig…not corigible!"

Keyte wrinkles her nose, somewhat dissuaded. "I shouldn't like to walk all the way to the Vale," she bemoans. "The Lord Kevyn said they were a creature I ought not encounter without a strong sword by my side," she informs Eonn with another flash of her smile, eyes alight with mischief. "So they must be terribly grand, aye? — Oh, Garvin!"

"I'd take a shadowcat over the Moon clans that roam the mountains in the Vale." Maera says rather grimly. "I heard they are cannibals."

Eonn smiles distantly. "It sounds to me as if you want a strong sword more than you want a mountain cat." He casts a momentary glance at Isador, though.

Garvin leans a bit closer to Eonn, whispering loudly enough to be overheard, "'Tis Lord Cockshaw she wants." He nods sagely, sitting up again to sip his wine.

"Cannibals?" The Tyrell twin cuts off her laugh abruptly to gasp. "Me, oh my. That won't do, won't do at all!" She's blushing, barely, her smile a little tighter for the sellsword's comment. "It would be an adventure though, wouldn't it? — Garvin!!" Scandalised beyond belief, her cheeks colour red and her mouth gapes behind the press of a hand. "I - I'm - ah!"

"I have heard nothing," says Eonn, draining his tankard again. "And ought go back to my stable."

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