(121-03-03) Skulls and Scorpion Tongues
Skulls and Scorpion Tongues
Summary: Lady Emilia's visit with a Dornish cousin is interrupted by Ser Quillian and falls to sharp tongues and a gift to rival all gifts.
Date: Date of play (03/03/2014)
Related: None

Emilia has a guest over, a Dornish Lady, Lady Ingridina, a friend from Emilia's childhood. Both are sat over glasses of wine, the window open to enjoy the cool air that comes with the rain that's currently falling in drizzles. Laughter fetters out through the window, and out into the mid-afternoon air.
"-true then? I'd have never thought it possible myself if I'm to be honest at all." Ingridina will murmur with a wide flashing smile, her goblet raised up to her lips as she quirks one brow, perhaps still not believing what Emilia has told her. Emilia for her part will push up, gathering her silken skirts, to move to get another bottle of wine, "I haven't a reason to lie." "Save for your life.”

Those are always wonderful words to hear upon coming in from whatever there is to be going on. "Whose life?" That is what leaves Quillian's lips as he enters into the lavish quarters. Well, lavish for Quill, which may or may not be, more Spartan for his poor wife and her guest. "I should hope one of consequence." There's a glance to Ingridina and a nod to her, before he is turning to close the doors behind him, before his feckled squire comes in. "My apologies for interrupting, ladies." That said the knight stalks over to a wardrobe, where the doors are then flung open. Clearly looking for something. Once it is found there is a nod, before he is reaching down to undo his belt and hang his blade briefly on a peg inside. Buckles are then plucked at as he keeps his back to the women, in order to allow them to talk.

"Nice rain out.." murmured with no real target in mind.

Indeed spartan, a thing which Ingridina noticed as soon as she came upon the quarters, a veiled comment made about returning to a more simple life being something to strive for in times of such wanton want. Jeweled as she is she will turn her head and slant a very slow smile towards Quill as he comes in, fingertips playing over the rim of her goblet as she casts a glance towards Emilia who is carrying a bottle of wine by its neck, "Quite a fact, Ser Oakheart, we were talking of your own wifes own life and the one she's made here in such a pleasant and quaint environs." All said while staring at Emilia with a barely contained smirk, her wine grabbed up again and drained before it's extended out to Emilia to refill.
"No interruption, love." Emilia will note, sliding behind her husband to bounce up on her toes to kiss between his shoulder blades briefly before she's continuing her path to Ingridina and the table, a dark look given to her guest as she refills both glasses with a bend over the table, "The coolness is welcome, I've been tiring of the heat."
"You should come for a visit home, Emilia, the weather is quite agreeable this time of year. Besides, so many to see you, not quite sure they'd believe the delightful home you've made, though without the pattering of children, you both must be so bereft of real joy, are you not?" Ingridina's voice lifting up to encompass both in her question, Emilia hissing softly to her words to cease the woman's jabs, including a kick of her foot beneath the table which garners a gasp from Ingridina who's only encouraged by the gesture. She's hit a sour note. She wishes to hear it play out.

"And so why would my wife lie? Is there some knight I should be worried about, hiding in a closet or hallway?" Quillian asks dryly back towards Ingridina, before he is turning and catching the kiss to his back. Sentiment is returned with a grunt before he is taking off his tunic and then scratching his back. Clearly this knight doesn't mind the eyes on him-or likely doesn't care the other Lady is there. "Tell me, what rumors have you both tittering.." he states before a black tunic, clean and free of sweat is pulled out and shaken. Lightweight is the fabric-and it clings as he drags it over his head.

"And good. This is the rainy season as it were..A stretch in which we cool down briefly before summer continues along it's crawl." Which is preferred. Long summer is always welcome to the danger winter brings.

As the other woman speaks up there's a glance to Ingrid-and then to his wife. "Yes and come back filled with sand and bad humors..I think I would not listen to your friend." And then he is looking back over. "Are you going to the Masquerade that our Lord Garvin is holding?" Likely the Oakhearts are expected to arrive at some point.

"Why anyone does anything is beyond me at times, Ser Oakheart." Ingridina will say airily, perhaps disappointed Quillian did not rise to her bait, instead he seems to be taking her words quite well. Unable to completely wipe the smirk from her lips she will set her goblet down, watching and listening to the man who seems completely to lack decorum, her dark gaze sliding to Emilia with an amused smile of sorts, a question in her eyes and the words 'quite the beast, not yet tamed?' mouthed, "Rumors?" She'll finally breathe out as she rises up, hands upon the table, "What proper Lady listens to /rumors/, Ser Quillian. Beneath us, such things are." She will move to grab her cloak, shaking it out, her own guards waiting outside for her, cloak slid over shoulders as she shakes her head, "I would think it in her interest to listen to me quite closely, Ser Quillian. And no." Said succinctly, Ingridina clasping her cloak and drawing the hood, "I hope to be out of this city by mornings light." Words bitten out with some disgust. At the very least she hopes to be out of these 'quarters'.
Emilia remains where she is, not rising to bid goodbye to her friend, instead gripping her glass tightly though she wears a serene smile, "She is a childhood friend, nothing more, a remnant of a past long gone and rightfully so." Ingridina will stiffen at those words, sniffing sharply, the Lady giving a nod to both, "The sand is ill suited to those so far gone at any rate, Lady Emilia. As for bad rumors, those settle neatly so here without needing to travel so far."

"If I recall your other visits, Lady Ingridina, that you often have something juice about a Manwoody in your mouth, or some other desert speak. A scorpion's tongue you do possess." And there Quill's words come out quick and bitten back as he looks back over to the woman. A sniff there before he is motioning to the door. "You may leave." Like he was dismissing a servant. Eyes flick to his wife, and there's a grunt.

"You need better friends my love. Like my young cousins." he adds before reaching in for his leather doublet. There's a look given to where the other woman is and a blank stare given before he is focusing on his wife, solely. "She's nice." sacrasm as rich as the wine that is being enjoyed. "Pour me a glass. I have something for you." this directed to Emilia-apparently Quill is content to act as if Ingrid is not there. Not one of his more tactful strategies.

"Better a scorpions tongue than one that wags at the cock of a churl lumpish cur. Which is such a pity, you plucked her plumes at the height of her time. Were she to escape from you at this rate she'd be as useless as a castrated bull." A disbelieving laugh as Quillian dismisses /her/, "Do not worry, I shan't be visiting any time soon. The air here is rotten. I need time away to recover." Smoothly murmured as she smirks towards Emilia, "Emilia." Then she will turn out, pulling the door open and heading out with a haughty tilt to her countenance, door closing in behind her.
"I quite enjoyed Lady Keyte, I do think we're becoming closer, husband. As well I met a Lady Elinor at the tourney, I will endeavor to seek both out more oft and attempt to make better company." She's angry, barely keeping it contained as she rises up from her chair again, bringing the wine bottle with her to grab a glass, pouring it as she tries to control her breathing. Dark brown eyes barely contain her emotions but with a lift of the cup to her husband she will come to a stop in front of him, "A dagger which to stab my cousin with, love?”

As the door opens and closes, Quillian remains speechless for a moment. Which is not to say that he was shocked by the firery tongue of the other dornishwoman. Instead there is a glance to the door and a snort, before looking back to his wife. "She is not staying for dinner, or the ball then this weekend?" A joke there, lost as he pulls on his doublet, and leaves it open for the time being.

Stalking over the knight comes to take the cup from her, and a sip taken. "Hm." A beat. "No." he adds with a faint grin. "Though, you know where I keep my daggers if you wish one." And there he gestures to a standing row of cabinents. "There is a chest in the middle one. It's contents are yours.”

"Not if she wishes to leave alive she's not." Emilia will state darkly, though her lips will dance just a moment, the inside of her cheek bitten down on as the cup is taken, his faint grin keeping her mood from simmering too long, "Such gifts denied to me, must always reach for it on my own." Turning from him she'll look to the cabinets, a slight tug of her brow given as she angles her path towards the middle one, opening it and looking in, the chest touched with fingertips, her gaze slanting over her shoulder to him before she glances back and opens the chest to look within, "What occasion, love?”

There is a bark of laughter. And there he looks back to her. "It is simply something that needed to be done." He states before stepping free of where he was perched. The wine is downed within minutes and he is grabbing his sword belt and making for the door. "I will be back in an hours time." Quill notes before he is opening the door once more.

Inside the simply oaken box, would be an object wrapped in black suede. Once that was moved-the object would become clear. A skull, with silver basin and hollowed pate. A cup. "Do with it what you will. Its yours" he says before moving to close the doors behind him.

The oaken box will get pulled back, Emilia bringing the box to a cradle in her arm, bemused smile upon her lips at first as she listens to her husbands words, "Something that needed to be done? Is it for the masque-" He speaks again and she's watching him mid-turn and that door closing behind him, confused look upon her face. Wanting to savor this gift, perhaps a lovely gilded mask for the party, setting it before her at the table, her glass of wine brought up to her lips with her left hand as the right plucks up that suede cloth.
Then shocked silence, her knees nearly giving out beneath her as the glass falls from her hand to shatter to the floor, both hands bracing to the tabletop as she finds air is gone from her completely. Not knowing whether to laugh, cry or scream she simply sinks down into the chair beside her with a stagger, reaching out for the skull to pry it out with shaking hands, a stunned look upon her face as tears have already sprung to her eyes, nostrils turning red as her cheeks darken so, lips parted.
A sob, feet glazing over the glass and wine as she draws knees up to her chest as the skull is cradled to her chest, ragged breath dragging roughly from her lips as she finally allows for her feelings to swell over, completely overwhelmed with such a complicated set of emotions that she feels she could die right now, her chest so tight, heart pounding and lurching. Never, at any point in time, has she felt a deeper love for her husband, so complete is it along with the grief that swallows her whole.
Laughter will eventually rise up, relieved laughter, the skull kissed, held to her cheek, chocolate gaze directed at the door where her husband left, laughter intermingling with her crying, a great weight lifted from her and a sudden ability to love her husband with her whole persons now freed.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License