(121-06-03) Late to the Party
Late to the Party
Summary: People who gather on the Quill and Tankard's Terrice are regaled by song. One person shows up late for events…with an eagle.
Date: Date of play (03/06/2014)
Related: Hunting Trip to Derring Downs
Players:
Madrighal..Riderch..Prospero..Elionys..

Terrace - Quill and Tankard Hightower And Citadel
Tue Jun 03, 121 ((Tue Jun 03 19:14:18 2014))
It is a summer evening.

The Quill and Tankard's terrace occupies the area of of the little island that is not filled by the tall, timbered, southward-leaning building itself. There are ragged little stacks of stone sticking up from the Earth around the island's banks, the remains of a wall that once kept drunkards from falling into the river but has now been knocked down and robbed of its stones enough that it better serves to trip them and make sure that they fall headlong into the Honeywine instead of merely walking in. They are rather picturesque. Tall torches stand along the ruined wall. They're lit at night, and in foggy weather.

There's a single, ancient apple tree in the middle of this area. The rest is grass, made sparse by the passage of too many feet, flagstone footpaths that help keep the guests from muddying their feet when it rains, and weathered tables and benches. Tall torches surround some, but not all, of the larger tables.

Madrighal is sitting under the apple tree with a glass of pale wine and a plate of apples, cheese, and bread. He is noodling passages on his mandolin in a way that suggest composition.

The door swings open from the inn proper, where everything is a bit noisier, rowdier, and more drunk. Some men in there are singing. As badly as one with a trained ear might expect, too. The door was opened to admit a couple people. One is a large, square-jawed man of indeterminable Westerosi origin, whose hair is either naturally gone at this point or was carefully shaved bald. That man is dressed in well-made leathers. Behind him though is a more lanky man with a compact, lean build. His hair is shorn short and he has a ridiculous black cloak decorated with innumerable raven feathers slung loose over his shoulders.

Both men are carrying drinks. The big man looks at the smaller one with a certain degree of amused, if tired deference. "M'lord — I need to go attend that little problem." "Uh? Which problem?" The other counters, with an exaserated sigh. "Oh right, Tel. Fine. Fine. Well, go on. Go make a fool of yourself. I thoroughly support you in this endeavor." And then the younger, smaller man breaks into a wild-looking grin. He waves him off as he turns to spy open tables on the terrace. Ah, the joys of communal seating. Aaand, so Riderch pads off without his sworn man who proceeded to go back into the inn. Riderch himself finds an open table corner which is conveniently adjacent to Madrighal as he is relaxing underthe tree. "Mmmm." He eyes the Mandolin briefly with an arced eyebrow as he looks upon his own wine. Looks like it could be cider. Or honey-wine.

Madrighal winces as the sound of off key singing assaults his ears and looks up to see who is coming. Quick eyes study the men, and he segues into a song about a raven where a man asks questions and the bird gives snarky one word answers. His accent is of the North Darnish coast and his clothes suggest a Dornish origin as well. He looks dirctly at Riderch with an amused smile as he does so.

"I think I know this one." There's a bit of a pause here as Riderch ends up unpacking a sack he hauled with him, and sets the thing down upon the table. He starts fumbling a bit, and there's a certain — well, it's not befuddlement in his features exactly. His eyes keep drifting to the pack as he digs around.

Madrighal is sitting under the apple tree with a glass of pale wine and a plate of apples, cheese, and bread. He is a song about a raven where a man asks questions and the bird gives snarky one word answers. His accent is of the North Dornish coast and his clothes suggest a Dornish origin as well. He is looking directly at Riderch with an amused smile as he does so. Riderch's ruffling through his pack gets a curious raise of his eyebrow. He is really good with both the music and his voice. He starts adding little florishes to the bridges and gives the Raven a voice rather like Riderch's now that he's heard him properly.

The Quill and Tankard — it is a noisy place and a few people have come out here on the terrace to escape what some would assume would be the nonsense inside. Two of such individuals are sitting in here. Riderch Blackwood has staked out an unoccupied end of a long table where he fiddles with a pack, and has a cup sitting on the table's surface. His forehead wrinkles as he squints inside."Oh, you have to be bloody kidding me." It's a little loud for the singer to be sure. His annoyance seems to be a fleeting thing, though.

Madrighal winds up with the wise cracking raven running off with the man's cheese. He reasches for his tankard, "Is something the matter, Ser…?

Ser Prospero Storm has been called many things, but perhaps timely is not one of them. (Or perhaps he never early nor late, but always arriving exactly when he means to? Hard to say.) When he does arrive on the terrace of the Tavern, it is not quietly, that is for sure. "I knew I heard music out here over that storm-blasted rabble in doors," he booms a little louder than strictly necessary, a new flagon in one hand and a bag thrown over his shoulder. Dressed in worn leathers and a canary yellow tabard, he doesn't stand out in a crowd of knights particularly…aside from the large hooded eagle perched on a shoulder. It digs talons onto the thick leather as its owner walks around in a steady pace. "Ah! Ser Riderch!" HELLO PAL. "When are we setting off?" You know, for the hunting trip. That already happened.

"Not unless one quarter of the bloody western coast disappeared." Riderch's voice carries the exasperation as a conversational sort of thing as he still fumbles through the pack. It contains a couple of maps. This is a Thing that he likes to do now, apparently, unrolling one and propping it on the table, using his cup to settle it in place. His eyes turn towards the strange Dornish (but aren't they all) singer and begins to elaborate. "It's a lot quie—"

Well. It was, wasn't it. His head goes up at that sudden booming voice and his eyes dart towards the, err, timely Prospero Storm. "Five days ago, Ser." he finally says, his voice wry, and fighting off a curl of a smile from his lips.

Madrighal assesses at the newcomer as he sips his wine, and starts softly playing a tune that sounds boldly heroic, though with no words just now. He watches the biplay be3tween the two men with polite interest.

"Ahhh, this is the place to be," Prospero asserts as Madrighal begins playing another song, not paying much mind to the Dornish look of the fellow, since he doesn't appear to be wanting to stab the Stormlands knight. He takes a deep drink from his flagon and then nearly spits it out again as Riderch answers him, except that would be a waste of perfectly good ale. "Are you sure?" He asks, squinting over at the Blackwood like he should just go change the calendar to five days ago. Alas, it is not to be. "Seven hells, now what are we going to do?" This he addresses to the eagle, lifting his arm for the bird to sidle along it. As it is a bird, it does not understand the question and so does not respond.

"You can take that great bloody — bird down the road and have my sister treat him..Or her with a great sack of rabbit bits, for one." Riderch observes with an unfurling of his finger at — well, the bird. Prospero's bird. His eyes are a little widened here as he makes a very wry observation. "Or not. I'm surprised the inkeeper didn't lose what was left of her fleeing sanity the moment she saw you with it but we live in a strange place with rampaging dragons carrying insane princesses on their backs, bandits with pillowcases and all gods of the earth and sky — drinkable ale. So what's one more curiousity?" This was sort of out of nowhere.

Truth be told, Riderch's in high spirits. "You missed a fine time, Ser."

His gaze drifts to Madrighal now, "Hmm. You're new here. I'm seeing the Mistress is getting a little more bold in her choice of entertainment. Thank the ancestors. The last singer I saw here almost got assaulted with a bloody pie." This stated, he drags his fingers across the map of the coast on the table and takes a drink. Gesturing. There's plenty of room.

Madrighal laughs softly, "I am allowed to play here, but I am not technically the entertainment. I am a guest here, at least for now." He keeps his tone light. "Is there any word on how the hunting trip is going? I should hate to wake one morning with the Inn surrounded by an angry mob."

"Ah, your Lady sister a practicer of hawking or just soft-hearted for anything with feathers?" The Stormland's knight asks of a woman he hasn't yet met (which is obvious to anyone who has met her, likely). "Aww," Prospero says on a laugh, looking at his great bird. "She's really quote well behaved," he claims, stroking the eagle's breast feathers for a second before the bird angles its head and snaps downwards. "If, er, spirited." He huffs, blowing a breath that ruffles his mustache. Ah well. Drinking his ale, he looks over the top of it at knight and musician. "I don't have a pie to shower you in, I'm afraid, if that's the wort of thing done around thee parts."

Quite randomly, the Riverlander erupts into a peal of laughter at the boisterous knight. "Both, actually. Although I wouldn't call her really all that soft." Riderch muses towards Prospero. "I remember when she got that hatchling when she was only thirteen, eyes practically as big as her own bloody head." comes his explanation with a lingering, tight-lipped smile. His fingers sliding across the tabletop as he tries vainly to smooth the map, again. And there goes a sip of the big wine cup. It looks like he got himself a double. "And I believe it. As you might be able to guess — no bird at a table has ever bothered me." For a moment, he leans forward and eyes the eagle appreciatively. "I can see you, you know." Blackwood murmurs. Towards the bird.

"The hunting trip is over and done. Derring Downs is officially a few quail and fish lessened." He finally addresses the musician enough in a friendly sort of tone. "And don't worry. The pie that almost got thrown was almost thrown by my squire, who is now at this point — in there because he saw a particularly friendly girl he keeps running into." He pauses a beat. "You know how it is." Another. "At any rate, separating Tel from a pie is a rare and spectacular thing, so one could only guess how hard that fool worked to annoy him."

Madrighal says, "If my song does not please I will happily change it, Ser. I wish no offense. I am glad the trip happened with no bad incident."

The eagle ruffles her wings and screeches at Riderch's abrupt laughter before settling down again into aloofness. Too cool for you, Riderch. "I will be sure not to comment on her softness should we be introduced," Prospero promises the Blackwood, though it is a little cheeky in doing so, for all that he plays at solemness. It lasts only a moment before he's chuckling again. "Aye, I know how it is. Seven spare me from looking after more boys more interested in chasing girls than practicing their combat technique." He is quite squire-less, though it means there is no boy for him to boss around either, more's the pity.

Well, Riderch tried. He's good at doing that. Eyes widen a little at the raptor but he's not exactly jumpy. One would wonder what sort of bizarre home life the man has. "Oh, don't worry. She's a good sort. Unfortunately we were out on another expedition before Ser Abram announced his own, and she caught a chill so she couldn't come along." This explanation is tossed out rather lazily as he starts tracing his finger along the Shield Islands and further south.

"Heh. Tel's — well, he's not a boy. His family's been sworn to mine for a few generations now. We don't exactly have Knights in our line very often. And now we have two. Of a sort." Brows raising, he eyes Madrighal again, shaking his head. "No, no! That was bloody amusing. Although I haven't heard it quite that way. Where did you say you were from?" He asks the Dornishman. Because, oh, right, he never did.

Madrighal stands and bows, "Madrighal sand at your service, acknowledged of Toland. I was born in Sunspear, though have seldom lived anywhere longer than a season or two.

"Ah, well, least she can have the comfort of knowing she was no the only one absent from the party, though I am sure the animals breathes a sigh for my own delays." Grinning below his prominent mustache, Prospero winks at Riderch cheerfully. After he takes another long drink, he nods his head in understanding, "Northern House you are, I suppose not. Sers of the Old, summat." Something like that. "I swear the Dornes are trying to create a desert of people with the amount of Sands over there." Har har, what a terrible joke he seems to think is hilarious. "Ser Prospero Storm, here."

"I'd imagine they are, Ser." Riderch says towards Prospero. "Considering Ser Laurent's stomping around and glowering," He begins, pamtomiming a large, stomping and glowering presence which just comes out as completely absurd. He drowns his next subsequent chuckle in a drink. "My status is still a…point of contention in some places in my family." He finally admits, in a sort of evasive manner.

"Well, Madrighal Sand, acknowledged of Toland. How do so many of us — keep ending up here?" It's a friendly sort of question.

Elionys comes out of the Quill and Tankard's common room.
Elionys has arrived.

Madrighal laughs along with the bad joke as naturally as if it was a good one. "You guess well, Ghost Hill is on the North coast and that is where House Toland has it's seat. My Mother and I were welcome enough there. I am here because I was interested in listening to The musical styles more common this side of the March. Oldtown is very cosmopolitan. I thought I might get many opportunities for cultural exchange.

"Isn't that about normal for Ser Thorn?" Prospero does chuckle in his deep-bellied way for the Blackwood's pantomime. "Just like that." Not like that at all, really, but it does illustrate the point. "Family, eh," he comiserates in a knowing way, lifting his flagon in the air briefly like a sad toast. Family, am I right? "Love 'em and hate 'em, there they always are, when you need 'em most and least." Slowly does he nod at Madrighal's explanation while the big eagle sidles its way back up to his shoulder carefully, hooded as it is. "All sorts around here, aye. Center of activity, this place."

"Between him, Oakheart, and Florent — I had them all out in the woods at once and nothing particularly messy happened. —To…family." Riderch raises his own cup in the air in probably a better-spirited toast, although it involves a moment's hesitation. observes as he sits at the edge of a table with one of those damnable maps unfurled with some sort of honey-based wine sitting in a flagon and cup nearby him. He chats with Prospero who is of course partaking but has a big hooded eagle on his shoulder(!) because, well, because.

Madrighal is by a tree next to the table, with a mandolin. And to him, Riderch demonstrates his shockingly full knowledge of Dorne. "Oh. Well, Sunspear, Sunspear. Your Princess seems nice enough?" He offers haplessly. "Oh, well, on the subject of local music I would advise against sitting outside of the Tyrell house playing on their steps. I've heard bad things can happen." That was helpful.

Madrighal lifts his wine cup to join in the toast. his accent and manner of dress are Dornish. "I will happily drink to that!"

Madrighal adds, "Oh, I am hired by Lord Loryn Tyrell for his next play. I expect to play at the Whimsey.

Because Prospero showed up five days late to go hunting, that's why. Because. "Good nothing got too messy." If he is quiet for a moment, it it because he is drinking. "Congradulations on the job, I suppose. Better Lord Loryn Tyrell than his cousin, from the gossip."

As the cup is brought again to Riderch's lips something hits him. And he probably just tried to breathe in instead of swallow. And it comes out a spluttering, wheezing hack as wine is sprayed — oh, well hopefully out of the way on the ground of the terrace. "Oh. Lord Loryn. That boy is a bloody blessing that seems to annoint everything everywhere I f— I go."

His head then lolls over between the two men. "Well, there is that" he begins to Prospero. And finally remembers to introduce himself. "Lord Riderch Blackwood." No Ser today, just 'Lord' for him. For some reason. He's also still trying to clear his throat.

It's from within the tavern that another arrives, a familiar (to some) fair-haired Targaryen princess that is being followed by a serving woman with a flagon of wine and a cup. "—but then I had to remove the wings," she can be heard telling the serving woman that she is apparently chattering at as she makes her way out to the terrace.

Madrighal sets his cup down and slices some cheese,. he raises hisa eyebrows curious, "Oh? I know nothing of this cousin. Lord Loryn seemed pleasant enough." He eyes Riderch, "Is there something I ought to know?" Then he is hastening to stand and bow to the approaching Lady. He does not know her, but knows Targaryon coloring when he sees it.

"You seem to have forgotten you aren't a fish," Prospero reminds Riderch as the man sputters on his drink, trying to breathe it, gaze falling on the spit-upon ground sadly. You were too good for this world, drink. "Whatever he knows," he tells Madrighal, gesturing at Riderch, "I don't. Never met the fellow, much less, er, had him anoint my things." That just does not sound right at all.

For once, Riderch Blackwood is afflicted by other things that had nothing to do with this newest arrival. The man sets his cup down and takes in a deep breath. "It's nothing. Really." He offers. To the Dornish musician first, and then to Prospero second.

Regaining his composure and his good cheer. And it's just in time for him to half-stand to get a better look at what appears to be a wild Elionys this little ad-hoc gathering encountered. He smiles a faint but firm, crooked smile as she approaches.

Riderch does cough again though, reaching for his flagon to pour himself a little more. "Er. Sorry about that. I must have been coming down with a chill, too."

Cup and flagon are carried to a table near the men, and then the serving woman is quick to depart, leaving Elionys behind. "Good evening, Sers," she says, smiling brightly to both Riderch and Prospero, then looks to Madrighal. "And good evening to you as well," she adds, taking a seat at the nearby table so that she can fill her cup with some arbor gold.

Madrighal is clearly not getting the joke, "Anoint your things?" He bows again to the Lady, "Madrighal sand at your service, acknowledged of Toland."

"I'd say I would drink to your health, but I am a little afraid doing so might not improve yours," Prospero says, eying the Blackwood with a mild sort of concern. He might be worried about the man spitting more perfectly good drink on the floor. "Good evening, Princess. Excuse me if I don't bow, I am rather burdened." He shakes his arm just enough to unsettle his avian friend a little in gesture.

"I'm fine, Ser. Fine." Fine. Riderch protests a little as his hand is waved dismissively towards Prospero. Which is a feat in itself, it would seem. He does catch himself rising though as Elionys approaches. "It is a good evening, your Grace." He begins cheerily with a measured brightening of his face. Whatever was going on there was paid no heed. But he does whip his head about to give Madrighal a little look, with a slight curve of his lips. "I think it has to do with certain rumors that go around. That — you know. They're just rumors."

"A pleasure, Madrighal Sand," she replies with a small, polite nod to the Dornishman. "I'm Elionys," she offers, adding neither title nor surname, as they don't seem terribly necessary. A grin appears as her gaze turns to Prospero, a hand waving off the need for bows. "You are excused, of course, I wouldn't want for you to disturb your friend there." It's to Riderch that she looks next, a softer sort of smile aimed up at the Raven Knight. "Rumors?" she asks. "Is it anything exciting?"

Madrighal gives the knights a blank look, clearly still in the dark about any rumors regarding the former owner of the Whimsey. He gives her his warmest smile, "The pleasure is mine, youre Grace. Let me know if you wish to honor me by requesting a song."

"Far be it from me to argue with a nobleman about how fine he is or not," cheerfully says Ser Prospero as Riderch waves dismissively at him. He drinks from his flagon with nary a sputter, though a little clings to his mustache afterwards. Tsk. "I hope you have recovered from what happened the last time we met, little lady. Princess." He leans towards her a bit and whispers loud enough that he might as well just speak. "He's pretty good," he notes of Madrighal and then grins briefly. There is, however, no forthcoming explanation about rumors.

"No rumors you haven't heard. And thankfully they aren't particularly interesting, anyway." A slight bit of pause on Riderch's part as he answers Elionys with a little bit of a grin, if one that seems slightly, well, guarded. He didn't really bow but he did rise. "You're looking…" Ahem. "well." And there's the teeth-flashing smile. "I think someone made a mistake of timing in inviting Ser Prospero here as you can see." Well, he edges his chin at the eagle. What do you want? It's Prospero Storm and he can take a damn eagle to an inn if he wants.

There's a certain drooping of his eyes as Prospero mentions 'last time' but it does little to really dampen his mood. "He's good." The Riverlander opines of the Dornishman as his eyes roll towards Madrighal now. "Although I'm learning that everyone has their own version of everything I already knew. or thought I knew."

"A song? Oh, music would be lovely, we don't get enough of it at the manse," Elionys laments, though it's a brief thing. "Play whatever suits your mood, and if I think of anything I must hear, I will be sure to let you know." She shifts in her seat, cup of wine in hand. "Ah, well," her gaze settles on Riderch. "I suppose that's what happens when all of the interesting people leave the city at the same time. The rumors suffer."

Madrighal has no idea what happened last time so he responds to Riderch, "Ah, that is exactly why I came to old town. I would like to hear these other versions. It is interesting to see what different artists do with familiar themes." He bows again and sitting, takes up his mandolin.

<FS3> Madrighal rolls Singing: Great Success.
<FS3> Madrighal rolls Music: Great Success.

Prospero makes a wry face as he and his eagle companion are gestured to. He was all ready to go and everything, just stopping for a quick pint and, well…The animals are safe from him and his for the time being.

"Well, one of the things that I've found is that every other song you hear about killing Ironborn usually was a song about killing someone else. As the history of song goes." Riderch observes to the Dornish singer, bemused as he watches him undertake a new number. He idly glances over at Prospero now — "Don't suppose you'd want to take another trip the next time I go? Maybe not Derring Downs, Ser. But I've found some other places. If your Great Winged Friend would be willing to make the journey?"

It must be a Riverlander thing, that dry honeywine gets washed down heartily now as he finally drags his gaze to the Targaryen girl and gives her a pointed glance. "Not all the interesting people." He amends hastily. "I'm happy to give the gossip a rest. Just for one day. So, was everything at home precisely where you left it?" He asks. It's a smalltalk-sounding thing, but he considers it an amusing question, apparently.

Madrighal plays an intricate riff of finger picked notes that give the impression of the movement of waves. The notes weave a complicated musical picture with the creak of ropes and the call of birds somehow evoked. he begins to sing of a navy ship chasing a pirate. the verses alternate between navy men and pirates. He gives the navy men a variety of Dornish regional accents and the Pirates have various free city accents. The chase is serious enough, but there are puns and bits of silliness mixed in.

"Most," Elionys is quick to correct, "Not all." She pauses a beat. "It was just an exaggeration, anyway." The smile for the Riverlander is faint, and then it moves beyond to Prospero. "Does he have a name? Or she?" With that she gestures to the eagle with the cup-holding hand. The lifts just a touch higher as she takes a swallow of wine, attention shifting to Madrighal as she listens.

"I would, most happily, accept an invitation from you, Blackwood. And my Great Winged Friend here is lacking in manners and mind to properly appreciate what's been said, but aye, I think she'd be willing to take the journey." As he is so often the cheerful sort outside of combat, Prospero laughs pleasantly, if loudly, before toasting the air and taking a great big drink. As Madrighal begins to play, he taps his foot in time. "She's Keira, after my late wife, who at the time of naming was not so nearly amused as I was," he answers Elionys, then does his loud-whispering again, "She was quietly touched, though. Just didn't want me getting a big head about it. Bigger, she would've said, really." The eagle is an eagle and doesn't really respond to her name, though she lifts a wing to prune the feathers there.

"I live in a house full of birds." Riderch opines, taking in Prospero's story of his great eagle. Who seemed to be a little unimpressed with him. "That's an — well, I don't know why I'd call that an unexpected tribute." And to this, he raises his cup, even as the music plays. "To Keira." "And I will keep you and Keira in mind when the invitations start." It's a small smile but a firm one.

As the song plays, every now and then, Blackwood's able to hum or whistle a few notes. It might be familiar or it just might be a stroke of luck. "Heh. Pirates, this man knows what's going on."

And back to Elionys now as that same. "Oh, I know it was. We were a pretty bloody legendary expedition, though? Think about it."

Madrighal builds the tension, his fingers moving faster over a long instrumental passage illustrating the chase. He sings a battle and a boarding, finger taps on the wood of the instrument standing in for the clash of swords. In the end the pirates are taken and sing brave last words before they are hanged. At the end, there is silence.

"I'm sure she was," Elionys seems entirely willing to just believe Prospero. Because he's Prospero Storm. The stage whisper leaves the Targaryen grinning at the Oncoming Storm, and after a moment she pushes up to abandon her table to move to the one at which he's seated. "She's a beautiful bird. I'd like to get one eventually, though I've already found myself with two pets that I didn't expect to have, so I ought to see them looked after first. My maids don't like to." She sips her wine before turning back to Riderch. "We were, and the house is just as it was before I left, save that Aevander is gone now." When the tempo of the song increases, she falls quiet to listen to the rest of it, and when Madrighal finishes, she sets aside her cup and claps.

"Better than naming a horse after a woman," Prospero asides with a knowing lift of his brows. "They don't take too kindly to that. Birds're at least graceful creatures that can't be taken as too ill an omen of beauty or, aherm, lack thereof. Besides," he finishes, looking sly. "You just have to say it's to take a reminder of them with you when you've gone away." Then he laughs again, adding, "If they're the sort of eat that kind of talk up as opposed to giving you a swat for it." DATING ADVICE VIA PROSPERO STORM, EVERYONE. "I doubt anyone would say no to you if you wanted a hunting bird of your own, princess," he points out merrily to Elionys. "Ahh, good show, Sand!" He roars, uncouth but appreciative, as the song finishes.

"And my cup seems to have gone dry…and I suppose I ought to see her settled as well." The bird. "So I'll bid you all a good evening." So bid, he turns about and heads back inside. A few surprised shouts can be heard from inside the Quill and Tavern proper (one sounds an awful lot like an exclamation of 'is that a fucking eagle??') before the door closes behind the Stormlands knight.

As all these things pass, there's a hesitant blink of Riderch's eyes towards Elionys here as she speaks. The glance he shoots her is querying, even with the slight smile that is added almost immediately. And Blackwood's foot taps in spite of itself. Madrighal's choice of song does well for the man's spirits and before he can say or do anything else, his hands come clapping together like a small roar of thunder. "You do the Dornish fleet proud." He yells out, in spite of himself, which will probably draw a Reachman's ire here somewhere. Good thing this is a classy sort of inn.

A classy sort of inn that never thought to have a 'no eagle' policy before, one would note. "Hey, I — named my horse after…" He suddenly notes aloud. And then trails off petulantly as if something about this abortively-narrated fact was self-evident. He watches the older Knight just drift off though. "Good hunting, Ser. For when we eventually go."

Madrighal stands and gives a little bow, "It is a pleasure to play for such a fine audience." He watches the man and his eagle go, amusement playing over his lips as he hears the parting exclamations from inside. He laughs softly at Riderch's compliment, "I do my best, Ser." He studies Elionys, from under long lashes, "I hope my offering pleases. I do not know many reach songs."

"I can see how one might get offended by that," Elionys admits to Prospero, the grin returning again. "You're likely right." She pauses, and the grin grows even brighter. "Maybe you can help me, Ser Prospero, you seem awfully good with birds." A hand lifts as the Oncoming Storm prepares to go, giving him a little wave. Riderch's mention of naming a horse nabs her attention away, brows jumping slightly. "Who did you name your horse after?" she asks, sounding both curious and amused. The last of the wine is drained from her cup, and though an entire flagon is sitting on the nearby table, she doesn't go for a refill. "You play beautifully," the assurance is accompanied with a warm smile for Madrighal. "And I don't mind that you don't know reach songs, I enjoy hearing music from all over."

"It's a good thing none of us are of the Reach, anyway. Of course — the last time I was in Dorne I think I got mistaken for such." His nose wrinkles at this but if this rankled him at all, he doesn't really show it. It's presented as a joke. Or at least a /half/ joke. He takes a liberal swill of his cup, draining it down. For now he's keeping silent on the subject of falconry and birds even though his mouth opens just once. After another glance towards the departed Storm. He too doesn't immediately go for a refill. He does, however, echo Elionys' sentiment. "I can see why the Mistress of this place is happy to have you about. She's making a bloody killing just having you here." He admits to the Dornishman.

Finally, it's a sheepish sort of look that he gives to Elionys. About horses. Well, she asked. "Lil? Oh. Lillia. Lillia Flint." He admits, just a tad abashed. Maybe Prospero was RIGHT, HMMM?

Madrighal smiles his most charming smile at the Princess, "I am glad to have pleased you." He sits and has a little more of his wine. "I admit I am not so clear on the ins and outs of your kingdoms myself. I am sorry if my countrymen caused any offense to you, Ser Riderch." He doesn't seem to get the joke of the horse's name, "I am hoping to do a public performance soon on the little stage in front of the Whimsey. Just now I am trying to better learn local tastes. What sort of music to they play in your hiome cities?"

"Was she pleased, or upset?" asks Elionys on the subject of Riderch's horse and the source of her name. She shoots a glance toward the door before sliding to her feet. "Where I'm from? I came from King's Landing, so I don't know that there is any one kind, we would get musicians from all over the world, and I often enjoyed them." She takes a small step from the table, looking over to the Raven Knight a moment. "I should go, it's late and I'm feeling a bit tired," she admits. "But it was so lovely to meet you, Madrighal, and I look forward to hearing more songs from you soon."

Madrighal stands quickly for another deep bow, "It really was an honor to play for you, Princess. Tales of your wisdom have reached even my humble ears."

"I'm glad for it, it's helped to brighten my night," Elionys replies, smiling warmly at Madrighal. "I hope that you have a good night." She nods to him, then looks around to Riderch one last time before turning to move for the door.

"I would say one out of three songs were like what you just played." Riderch observes towards Madrighal now. "Well, of a sort. Sort of lacking the — hmm, flair that did." His lips hang wide and high as his cheeks are arched in the same smile.

"I don't think she was ever that pleased." This last bit is finally shot in response to Elionys. As awkward as this little story seemed, he delivers it all with a certain degree of good humor.

"It's an old —" There's a bit of a pause here as Riderch looks back over to suddenly study Elionys for a long, drawn-out moment or two. It looks as though he is about to say something more to the pale-haired Targaryen Princess but merely takes in a breath. And another, as he's spending a whole lot of time here choosing his words before just spitting something out. "Step lightly, Princess. Step lightly and safe travels." Seems a curious reaction here.

Finally he does manage to answer the Dornishman's question, his tone a little muted. "My home's an old, old thing that has stood for hundreds of years, watching kingdoms and armies come and go. I don't know if I can speak for it." He muses, with a tight smile. He does himself begin to put his belongings away though, indicating he is likely not long for his place.

"That is kind of you to say," Elionys replies to Madrighal as she moves for the door, though the look from the Riverlands Knight has her steps slowing, pausing, waiting, and when words are finally given, they're answered first by a small smile. "And to you as well, Ser." It's her turn to seem as though she's going to say more, but the words never quite pass her lips, and then they press together in a smile instead, quick and warm, and then she's vanishing through the door and back into the tavern. Without an eagle. She's just not as cool as Prospero.

Madrighal may unfortunately not know Riderch from any of these Reachmen nearby, or really have an easy ability to gauge the man's reactions but he should be able to pick up on one all-to-obvious fact. Blackwood just spent an inordinate amount of time watching one woman depart, and the Dornishman would probably be able to note that he's doing exactly that.

"Hmm?" He suddenly snaps to towards Madrighal. "Offended? What? What in the name of the Ancestors beneath my feet do you mean?" This question takes him by surprise. And a few moments later, he hastily clears his throat. "Of course you didn't. At all."

Madrighal studies Riderch a long moment, and says gently, "Shall we drink to her health, then?"

Riderch's smile here is clearly infectious. "I hope to run across you again when things here are a bit calmer. I might have something for you to do here." He offers to the Dornishman as the cups are deposited and his pack hefted. The bow is met with a bemused expression, but — well, he's not exactly an expert in what Dornish do or don't do. "Step lightly, Madrighal Sand." He offers. There's a bit of hesitation there with the surname but — well, if he's bothered by having shared a drink with not one but two Bastards this evening, he's not showing it. "And this is where I must depart. And see if my squire hasn't gotten himself robbed." He makes a 'pfffffft' sound, but the man's good humor is a thing of legend here.

And thus he departs.

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