(121-03-07) Fire and Circumstance
Fire and Circumstance
Summary: The news of the razed Cockshaw hunting lodge is examined and the Tyrell's pledge their aid to their bannermen. The men will ride in the hour.
Date: 03/07/14
Related: A Black Masque

Apex - Whimsy Theatre Beacon Boulevard

The third story above the stage is called the apex, and it's here that the theater's owner keeps his office. In contrast to the disarray of the tiring house, the apex is kept neat and orderly. A large table surrounded by matching chairs holds stacks of parchments and ledger books. Other, more comfortable chairs and cushioned benches are arranged around a lower table, creating a relaxed area for socializing. In one corner of the room is a monstrous bed with coverings and drapes of heavy purple velvet.

There are windows with diamond-shaped glass panes that look down upon the amphitheatre, though it's impossible to see the stage itself, due to the heavens roof. The yard and gallery can be viewed, however, and the windows have drapes that can be pulled closed for a little privacy. There's also a small door giving access to the castle walk, though actors generally use the stairs outside the apex to reach the third level of the stage.

Garvin leads the way up a few dozen stairs, until at last, the group arrives at the apex. Tossing his giant hat aside, he moves to the table and uncorks a large flask of wine, pouring four goblets.

Laurent follows his cousin in, making straightaway for one of the comfortable chairs surrounding the low table and falling heavily into it. Even a well-made chair will creak a bit at the weight of a man his size settling in so hard, but he pays it no mind. He's set on tearing away the leaves at his wrists and shoulders, feeling suddenly ludicrous in the costume.

Viggo's masque is lot already, crushed on the floor of party as he strode off, as he enters the room the fin is torn from his back and tossed aside with a bitten curse. "Apologies," he manages with gravel his his tone. He and Laurent are of the same mind. Upon Garvin's pouring, he takes on of the goblets with quiet thanks. "If you did not hear clearly," he begins, struggling with words. "My brother, the eldest…is dead. Oh by the mother, Alyn is now heir. That is neither here nor there. He — all with him that were at our hunting hall are dead. The place is razed. We know not what occured." He looks to the servant, gaze demanding his additions if anything is was forgotten. He takes a sharp draught of his glass, draining it.

Kevyn trails the group, his dolphin tail thumping along behind him in a way that doesn't really suit the gravity of the situation. Eventually he stops and, with a soft curse, picks it up so it won't drag along the floor. He comes to stand behind Viggo, swallowing wordlessly, holding his wine numbly without drinking of it yet.

Garvin begins handing out goblets of wine, Arbor red this time. He still has his giant goblet of mead for himself, as he settles into one of the chairs as well. "Who could have done this?" he asks with a deep frown. "Where is your hunting hall? Is it near the border?"

Taking the rear, another man is coming behind Kevyn. Having pushed his way to the back end of the party. Clad in all black and a cloak of feathers, is a rather large Crow. That is till long beak mask is ripped from ridiculous hat, with the soft tearing of the silt ties. There's a look back to Laurent before eyes narrow in Kevyn and Viggo's direction. "What the fuck just happened?" Not that he needs it repeated-but perhaps clarification as to the next steps, would suffice as well, for one Quillian Oakheart.

"Fuck if I know," Laurent says, shrugging at Quill as he reaches for a wine goblet. That he puts on the table for now as he continues to prune himself until he's essentially in a dark green bodysuit. Still ridiculous, but less so, at least to his mind. "Dorne?" He asks the question with eyes toward Viggo. "Not another House, surely?" But his tone says he doesn't doubt it, in fact almost expects it. "Can we not keep our fucking banner houses under control?"

"It…" Shaking his head, Viggo reaches out and moves to steal his squires wine with a sharp gesture. The gesture of his hand indicates that he should speak and give his Ser a moment to speak. He cannot repeat it again for Quill. "It may… It might… We have no current acrimony. No bad blood. All I know is that the bloody place has been razed."

The Cockshaw messenger speaks quietly when Garvin's question goes unanswered, "The hall were in the foothills of the Red Mountains, Lord. A hunting lodge, to the south."

Kevyn starts drinking of his Arbor wine without really tasting it, swallowing in dull gulps. He puts down the cup, wiping his sleeve over his mouth. He just shakes his head, at the question about acrimony. If they've any, he knows it not.

Garvin rises to offer Quill a goblet of wine, saying softly, "His elder brother is dead, apparently slain by unknown forces at the family's hunting lodge." He turns to Viggo again, giving a quick nod. "Then you must ride there with all haste to investigate. Laurent, take as many of our men as you need. The ladies and I will make due with what's left. I'd offer to come as well, but I'd only slow you down on the way, and once we got there, I'd be more likely to be in the way than to be of any help. But if you think I should come, I certainly will."

"Where does it lie?" Quill barks out almost at Viggo, before he is coughing and shaking his head. "My apologies, Ser." And there the Blackrood looks at the mask in his hand, before with his free one he is motioning for wine. And there he frowns for a moment, his mustache twitching before he is looking back towards Kevyn. "Sit down, lad." And with that eyes go back towards the messenger. "Red Mountains."

Hand takes the wine from Garvin, and there he takes a sip. "Who would be your closest neighbor on Dorne side?" Not that he knows for sure- "Seven thrice damned.."

"No, stay here," Laurent answers as if the question were for him. "Speak to Lord Hightower, or his son, or whomever you can, Cousin. I'll take a handful of men with us — we'll want to move fast. Send more when you can? And there's another matter as needs brought to Lord Hightower," he adds cryptically. His own squire's noisy entrance draws his attention, though, and he shifts to look toward the door. "Back to the manse. Ready my horses and pack for a long ride, boy." When the lad stands staring at him a moment, he yells at him, "Go, damn you!" That angry yell prompts a quick departure.

As Kevyn has released it, Viggo steals his goblet of wine and drinks as if he seeks to drain it in a breath. Sorry, Kevyn. Not really sorry. "Aye. Red Mountains. The closest, lest thoes bastards have traded borders, is the Blackmonts." He knows. Lessons learned in childhood holding even now. "My thanks, my Lord. Lords," he corrects thankfully on a stuttering breath.

"W-was my father…" Kevyn stutters as the messenger. Speaking suddenly, as if he just managed to kick the words out of himself. "W-was Ser Henrik at the lodge? Do you…do you know?"

Kevyn pages Viggo, Gamemaster, and Abram: He was not, is the answer

Garvin takes the flagon and goes about refilling goblets, eyes darting to Willem as he makes his noisy entrance, followed by a fast exit. "The Red Mountains…so it is Dorne after all." He pauses, eyes going distant a moment. "Isn't there a Dornish woman downstairs at the masque? We should seize her for questioning, and any other Dornish cur we can find. Ser Arros Sand would be a good place to start."

The young messenger looks to Kevyn, before dropping his eyes to voice, "Ser Henrik was not, my lord. He is well, apart from grief. As is Ser Eryk's lady wife who did not retire to Wickham's Nest with her lord husband."

"Blackmonts." And there Quillian pales for a moment. A look is given over towards Laurent, before he is draining his whole cup. All done in about five long gulps, which has the knight sputtering and shooting out his cup for more. Though he is no Cockshaw, this sounds much like something from his own history.

"What do you want me to do, Ser?" This said to Laurent before he is looking back towards the messenger. "Any Ravens sent to the Highgarden?" Or to the Blackmont hold? Ever curious there. "I can't believe, they fucking-We made a peace in my wedding bed…" muttered there through clenched teeth. As Garvin calls for Dornish there's a pause before he is turning around as his squire stumbles up.

His voice dropping only so that those close enough could pick up: "Lewyn go back down and get Lady Oakheart home. I don't care if you have to drag her..Go. If she asks, tell her I said-" And he is finished in a snap.

Garvin's eyes suddenly widen, and he calls to Lewyn, "Take two of the Purple Cloaks with you, lad. Or four. Make sure Lady Emilia reaches the manse safely." He turns to Viggo again. "Is there any way I may be of service to you, Ser? I'll write to Highgarden tonight and see that it's sent by raven as soon as possible."

Kevyn nods to the messenger, muttering something. It might be thanks, but it's too low to be intelligible. He's relieved and yet, after a glance at Viggo, he's not.

"Dorne," Laurent says, nodding his agreement to Garvin. When the younger Tyrell lord suggests grabbing one of the guests, he rises from his seat and comes around the chair, starting toward the door. "Do you suppose she knows any…" He cuts off at the next suggestion, then asks, "Is Ser Arros here?" He nods to Quill, acknowledging the question without answering. 'Hold,' the gesture says. And then to Garvin, "Do you want me to drag them up here?"

Garvin ponders for a few moments, then shakes his head to Laurent. "That might not be…diplomatic. Rather, we should have Lord Hightower begin to seize the Dornes. Whichever Lord Hightower is in charge right now. If any of them are. I do not trust that…woman who flits about the court with a raven on her shoulder."

Goblet emptied, Viggo sets aside the cup with a sharp slam of the glass. "My Lord Garvin, you do much already. The House Cockshaw is ever faithful and to be ever in your debt," he manners with a rasp to his voice. He comments not on the particulars of questioning the Dornish. "I would speak to Ser Arros would there be time…perhaps after." After they find what there is to be seen at the remains of the hunting lodge.

Keyte comes up from the tiring house below.

Garvin is right there to refill Viggo's goblet, leaning close to whisper in the man's ear.

Kevyn is silent now, arms crossed along his chest, as if he's trying to tighten them like a shield around himself. He nods at all this talk about the Dornish, without seeming to process much of it beyond that vaguely affirmative motion.

Garvin whispers: I am very sorry about your brother. Please stay here tonight and begin your journey at dawn's first light.

"If you can't raise a Hightower," Laurent asks, his frustration growing at the thought, "Could you do it under their authority, without them?" It's a nonsensical plan, but Laurent is confused and angry. The Thorn stands near the door, while most everyone else is seated around the low table. Save for Garvin, who is refilling glasses.

Viggo shakes his head sharply, at Garvin's whipser in his ear. He clasps Garvin's arm with brief thanks that is brusque. Leaving the goblet on the table, he takes to pacing the floor in long, sharp strides. "I would leave soon as we are able," is all he says, uncertain of Hightower authority. "It would be best to question them soon. Or would it be to wait and see…" See the ashes form the flames. He doesn't know.

Quill is drinking more as Lewyn is sent, likely to gather purple cloaks-and then see to Lady Emilia. A pause is given back to Laurent and there he is folding his beaked mask under his arm. Clearly the Blackrood is not the best at holding. But this time, it likely helps. "Couldn't we as their fucking OVERLORDS seize in order to question right now?" Likely not, but it doesn't hurt to ask.

Garvin chews at his lower lip for a few moments. "The last time I tried to fulfil a Hightower's duties, it didn't end well. But this is something of an emergency." He refills Viggo's goblet, emptying the flagon, then runs fingers through his long hair. "Yes, it must be done. I'll go to Hightower myself, see if I can rouse Ser Gwayne. If not, I'll have to assume the authority myself and issue an order that all Dornes present themselves for questioning, under penalty of arrest. Does that seem right to everyone?"

There are footsteps outside, and a murmur of familiar voices. "I'm sure it's this way," one of the twins is telling the other, as she steps into the room and reveals her Sun-masked self. A step behind her is the Moon, carrying a tray loaded with fresh glasses of wine from the party below. Blushing under her mask, the Sun curtsies low, and she moves to make room for her sister to enter too, letting the tray speak for their arrival rather than any verbal announcement.

Laurent nods to Garvin, more to say that he understands the plan than to approve of it. That sort of thing is outside his experience. His words, rather, are for Viggo. "I've already sent Willem to ready my things," he says needlessly. "I can be ready within the hour, Ser Viggo. How long do you need?" When he sees the Sun and Moon, he steps aside, cursing under his breath — though that irritation doesn't stop him lifting a glass of wine of the tray. A boor and a hypocrite, it seems.

The sound of girlish voices makes Kevyn's head turn. Though his expression is drawn and deadly serious now. No sign of dopiness, even for the Tyrell twins. He takes a glass from the tray, seemingly out of pure habit, for he doesn't drink from it. "My ladies. Could you…we've a cousin. Lady Alys. In the citywatch." He's too much shocked by all this explain the strangeness of that. "Could you…could you have someone tell her what happened? We're to ride prompt and…I don't know how close she was to any at the lodge but I…"

"There are only so many place and we just saw someone…"One of the two voices trails off, following the Sun into the room and carrying a tray. Hello boys. Yes. That tray covered in wine glasses says plenty. Although it mostly says 'here is more booze to drink'. It's probably wise she says little else, really. Laurent needs no help to help himself to it's contents at the door, but she approaches the table with the rest to see if anyone else is in need. At Kevyn's request she looks over her shoulder at her twin. "The Lady Alys in the citywatch, you said?"

Garvin holds up a hand, the one not holding the empty flagon. "Hold, everyone. No one's going anywhere tonight. First light is soon enough. Ser Viggo, you're too raw right now to think right. Stay, drink, get a few hours sleep. Same with you, Kevyn. Laurent and Quill will make all the necessary arrangements." He looks toward the Tyrell twins, nodding. "Do as he asks, and quickly. The sooner she's made aware, the sooner she can have her things packed for the journey to the Red Mountains." He replaces the flagon with his mead goblet, taking a long guzzle. "I should go to the Hightower, see if I can rouse Ser Gwayne into acting, or if I'll have to do the deed myself."

Boots still leaving strides across the floor, Viggo passes by the tray with yet more wine and ignores it. "An hour should suffice, Ser Laurent. We'll make ready with haste." His footsteps slow at Kevyn's request to the lady's, head dipping in a sharp nod. "Aye. Good thought, cousin." He scrubs a hand along his bearded jaw. "Yes. Lady Alys, more like you'll simply find her by Alys…" He trails off as Garvin speaks, teeth gritting sharply to a point. "With all due respect my Lord, I cannot wait while my brother is dead. The roads are good and the moon is bright, that is all I need."

The Sun rolls her eyes at Laurent, marking her as Kesha. Or is it Keyte who usually eye-rolls? Whichever. "Of course, my lord," this twin jumps to reassure Kevyn, stepping forward again and nodding eagerly. "We'll see it done as soon as we leave this room, aye? Is she like to be on duty this eve, or… I don't suppose you'd know." She glances at her sister and resolves firmly: "We'll find her."

"None of us are like to sleep soon, even if we stay," Laurent says, clearly in agreement with Viggo. He glances toward the door then, as if even this very necessary delay chafed at him. "I'll go then, by your leave. Make ready and meet you at the South Gate, then?" He has torn the leaves away from his costume, leaving him in what is essentially a green bodystocking. Not good riding attire.

"Thank you," Kevyn mutters to the Tyrell girls. He says nothing more than, "I'm ready as you are, Ser" to Viggo.

"That's a fine look cousin." this is called after Laurent, before he is looking at Garvin. "You handle Hightower. I am going to ready my kit to ride." It seems both Captain and Lieutenant are going to ride boldly out into the night. Unless he is given some other order. If his Squire has escorted his wife, the better. He will be able to get ready quicker. And so he moves to brush by the Tyrell ladies-his beak in his hand. If he could stab someone with it, he would.

Garvin lets out a sigh, nodding then. "Very well. Go, see to your preparations. But someone come find me in the Hightower before you leave." He looks between the assembled men, then nods to Viggo. "Your squire can pack for you. Come with me, we'll both speak to Gwayne, if we can. If not, Kevyn will have your horse waiting for you at the gate."

The forgotten messenger speaks up, "My Lord.." hesitantly he reminds those assembled, "I carry a letter for Lord Hightower from Lord Cockshaw.. the young lord Jothon Hightower, Ser Eryck's squire- he was with his knight."

"Yes," the Tyrell Moon agrees, while looking at her twin with resolve. "We'll find her." It's extra sure if both of them say it, right? She sets the tray on the table with its cups and leeeans out of the way of the beak-carrying man. Please take your stabbing urges elsewhere. She moves to join her sister before making any move towards the door.

Viggo grits his teeth with irritation that is not inherently directed at Garvin, before nodding in agreement. "Aye, my Lord. Lead and I shall follow." He almost looks presentible if not for the black kohl rimming his eyes and a shark's tail following him behind. "Come, lad." He bids. "Deliver the letter as you must of… Gods, the poor lad."

"Squires die," Laurent mutters under his breath as he departs, taking the stairs two at a time in his haste. He can still be heard in the Apex when he calls out, "My horse! Someone bring my horse around!" There's a pause, and then, "Ser Laurent Tyrell, damn your eyes," as his voice fades away.

Please don't stab us. We're good, honest twins! (LOL. If you believe that, we have this bridge we're looking to sell…) The Sun leans in unison with her Moon sister, in that uncanny way that twins seem to have. She moves her attention though, as Viggo bids his squire, and wide-eyed she reaches out to catch at Kevyn's arm. "Be safe," says she, leaving the door clear for boys to exit before she and her other half leave on their own errand.

On his way down, the large Crow runs into one Mern IX, who is given a look and a shove off as Quill continues to try and follow on Laurent's heels. "What?" this said back to the dead gardner king, before he is turning. "We're riding." he barks out quickly. "Bloody Riding to Wickham's Nest." Blood's afoot or treachery. Either way Quillian doesn't linger long before he is off to get his horse and then get himself ready.

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