(121-03-16) Not A Good Day
Not A Good Day
Summary: Keyte meets Kevyn in the Sept, and they chat.
Date: 16/03/2014
Related: Wickham's Nest ones.

Starry Sept, Oldtown

The Starry Sept is the seat of the Faith of the Seven. The High Septon resides here, as do any number of clergy who study here or attend him and the faithful. Seven domes and seven towers make up the structure, all of them richly decorated with seven-pointed stars, carved or inlaid or painted, or in mosaics of tiles.

The largest dome, the worship area, is a heptagon like all the others, but much wider. The seven-pointed star is inlaid into the white marble floor in massive slices of highly polished semi-precious stones: amethyst and rosy quartz, jade and lapis, onyx, cat-eye and garnet. The soaring domed roof is painted a deep blue with glittering sparkles of mica mixed in, and hundreds of seven-pointed stars picked out in gold and silver leaf.

Each of the seven walls holds a statue, larger than life, of one of the gods. The Father, The Mother, The Warrior, The Maiden, The Smith, The Crone, The Stranger. They are painted wood, beautifully and realistically carved by artists of great skill. Their gowns and robes are leafed in gold and set with jewels, and their eyes are alabaster and jet, with irises of sapphire or emerald or deep brown citrine. The exception is The Stranger. His or her statue is plain, almost stylized, the face hooded and the robes painted glossy black with minute flecks of black dragonglass that make it glitter very faintly, like the most distant of stars.

There is an ornately carved and inlaid altar before each statue, for the faithful to pray, and light their candles.

Kevyn Cockshaw has once again found his way to the Starry Sept. He's dressed in a black tunic, stitched with embroidery in the likeness of three feathers. It doubles as both a sign of his House, and as mourning garb. He's not kneeled before any of the statues, but is rather sitting off in the corner, with a quill and ink, and sketcher's pad of parchment stretched on the floor. On it he scritches, largely oblivious to the other passersby in the Sept.

Keyte leaves her guards at the door, their escort certainly unnecessary in such a holy place. Her hair is pinned and twined into an elaborate crown braid, baring shoulders above the elaborate cut of her gown. She pauses inside, perhaps unsure of where to start her pieties today, and bites her lip at the sight of one hero squire sequestered off in the corner. She stands in the entrance for a moment, unaware that she's staring and in the way of comers and goers.

Kevyn doesn't notice Keyte right off. He's absorbed in whatever it is he's scribbling, and in his own head. But eventually the sound of footsteps - of comers and goers walking around the Tyrell lady - makes him look up and over at her. For a moment he looks half-embarrassed and stands, brushing his inky hands on his tunic. "L-lady Keyte. A…a good day…" He trails off, and amends, "Not a good day, I suppose. But hullo."

A good few of them step around the lady with their frowns and their sighs, and Keyte just tilts her head to see around them. She brightens a little, her smile soft today, and makes her way over as Kevyn addresses her. "Oh," she begins, glancing down at her feet for a second. "It's a day, yes. A good day for lighting candles in the Sept, if for nothing else? Or… drawing, if you're so inclined. I'm terrible at drawing," she confesses, gesturing with a hand to his sketchpad as she looks back up. "Are you… I can sit with you, for a bit?"

<FS3> Kevyn rolls Sketching: Success.

Kevyn has sketched out a likeness of the Mother's statue, and it isn't a bad one. Albeit one done quickly. Or perhaps not with his full attention. It's visible where it sits, though he makes no effort to call attention to it. "It's stupid, really. Passes the time, though." He shrugs. "Aye, if you like. I came to pray but…thoughts kept getting away from me. How have you been, Lady Keyte?"

"Don't say that," Keyte scolds, shaking her head quickly. "Kesha draws, she's wonderful at it. I know you can't tell us apart, but you'd know her drawings from mine, I assure you." Her smile skews lopsided, and she drops to sit amongst a spread of skirts next to the sketch. "You're much better than me, too. All you people and your talents." She takes a deep breath as she ponders how to answer the question of how she's been. "I've been. And you, my lord?"

"I can tell you apart," Kevyn insists. How believable that assertion is, is an open question. But he seems to believe it. "I knew you were the sun at the masque." Was she? Well, he manages to sound confident in his guess. As for her question, he shrugs. "I've been…I've been getting on. I've been trying to remember what I can about the kin we lost the Nest. About my good cousin, Eryk." He shrugs, looking a little sheepish. "It'd been years since I saw him, I must admit, and I was only a lad then. My brother Jace knew him better. He was accounted a merry fellow, though, and a good man. Like Ser Viggo."

"No, you can't," Keyte corrects amusedly, smiling again. "I wonder how many times you've called 'Lady Keyte' to Kesha in the street?" Obligingly, however, she refrains from correcting him on her masque costume. Her smile fades as the conversation turns to the deceased, and she presses her lips into a thin line. "I'm sorry for your loss," she murmurs, all too aware of how inadequate the words are. "We tried to ride after you, to help, but I'm the worst horsewoman who ever lived and… Katya was so angry."

Kevyn looks on point of arguing that he can tell them apart, but he leaves it just now. "You tried to ride with us?" He looks torn between seeming worried or flattered. "You shouldn't have…there might've still bee Dornishmen at the Nest. We didn't know when we went out. But…but thank you. That was kindly meant. Angry?" He winces. "I'd not want to see your sister angry, if you don't mind my saying. Given her reputation for…umm…being formidable." He puts it kindly.

"You mean her reputation for being a killer?" Keyte doesn't beat around the bush, brows arcing high. "She's not, you know." The lady can't seem to keep her gaze from dropping to her lap at that. "But I'm sure she'd beat many a man soundly with her fists or her sword. It's unseemly, so she doesn't, on account of us twins. You don't have to thank me, really. I fell off my horse not a league outside the gates, and we had to turn around and sneak back in. It were embarrassing," she admits, eyes flitting back up whilst her head remains low.

"N-n-no umm…" Kevyn sputters and trails off, when Keyte just comes out and says the thing that her sister is reputed for. "I didn't mean that. I just meant…she seems like a formidable woman." Whatever that's supposed to mean. "I know Ser Viggo holds her in high regard." He smiles a little when she mentions falling off her horse, though he doesn't laugh. "I'm glad you weren't hurt badly on the road, in any case. Have you…have you ever lost someone close to you?" A pause and he adds, "I never have. There was my brother's accident, but that was a different matter. And he still lives if…well, if not so well as he once did."

"It's alright," says Keyte with a shake of her head. "I mean, people talk. She didn't kill her husband, though. I know it. I don't — Ser Viggo didn't either." Caught for a beat, she rushes to add: "At least, I don't think. Ah." Well, this is awkward. The Tyrell breathes a little laugh, mostly at herself and of nerves. She sobers quickly, glancing from her hands in her lap up to Kevyn again. "Uh, yes. Yes, I have. My parents, both."

"I never said…" Yes, it is awkward. Kevyn tries to move on from it without commenting anymore, though. He bows his head. "I'm sorry. About your parents, that is. I only meant…Ser Viggo's not taking this well and I…I'm not sure what to do."

"No, it's fine," Keyte lies, quite convincingly through her teeth. She seems unaffected, or at least her tone is still… bright-ish. She bows her head too, just as Kevyn does, hanging another long glance on her hands in her lap. "I don't think there's much you can do, Kevyn. I'm sorry. I know that's not terribly helpful of me. I could send Katya around to see him for you, if she hasn't already been?"

"Someone else talking to him might be for the best," Keyte says. "He's good enough to me, but I'm not someone he exactly listens to. And he does little but drink his days away now." He frowns, worried. "I think that meeting with the Hightowers didn't help matters. Seemed useless, really. All they did was ask us to tell the story of what happened at the Nest again - as if it'd change - and then say they didn't have enough proof to act against the Blackmonts." His frown hardens, with some amount of anger. "Ser Viggo's written to Highgarden. Seven hopes they'll sort it out. Our House seems to have few friends among the rulers of this city who aren't more interested in having their hands up Dornish skirts. Err…pardon, my lady."

"She'll be glad to be of some use," assures Keyte, peeking up with a small, hollow smile. She sighs at the mention of Hightowers, her feelings about that written plainly across her face twisted in grimace. "I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head yet again. The gesture serves twofold, expressing dismissal for the Oldtown leadership and that rather crass remark about Dornishwomen. "I could… I don't know that I've any sway at all with Lord Lorant, but if there's something you'd like of my cousins… I could speak with Garvin or Laurent, for you? The Dornish can't be allowed to get away with this."

Kevyn considers her offer, but ultimately shakes his head. "Perhaps best just wait and see how things settle for now. Whatever Lord Ormund thinks…" He frowns deeper. This encounter seems to have insulted him, though he's reluctant to speak of it. "…I don't want to touch off discord in the city. The Tyrells are our lords, anyhow, not the Hightowers, so we'll see what Highgarden says. Your family has been a fine liege, and want peace kept on their borders. I've no doubt they'll aid in seeing justice done."

Keyte reaches out, her hand curling upon Kevyn's arm gently. "Whatever he said, I'm sorry. It's not… Hightower doesn't speak for us all. Lord Ormund's been sick a long while now, he's probably not right in the —" She cuts off abruptly, biting down on her tongue. "Well." Well, indeed. "I hear the maids speak of unrest in the streets. They say the Dornish manse is only safe for so long, and they've some terrible names for the princesses and their ilk."

Kevyn doesn't look terribly sorry about the bad names the princesses are being called. Not that he repeats them. "I've little sympathy for the Martells, Seven forgive me. They seem to be doing little but speaking of how innocent they are, and care not whether their banners are raiding and threatening the peace." He shrugs. "I pray it'll sort itself out, and we'll have justice done. I'm not sure what else I can do, I'll confess."

"Maybe by the time you've word back from Highgarden, there will be word from Sunspear as well." Though the words are optimistic, Keyte doesn't seem to be able to convey that sentiment with any sincerity, alas. "If there's anything I can do, anything at all? I'll send Katya to the tavern for your Ser, I promise. You could come by Boring Isle and annoy the fish with me, if you'd like. To take your mind off it, I mean. Or… I don't know. I'll light a candle for your cousins."

"Your isle's anything but Boring, my lady, I assure you. And I…I'd like that, thank you. It feels good to get out of the Quill and Tankard, I'll admit." Even if Kevyn sounds a touch guilty admitting it. "You're…you're very kind, Keyte. Thank you."

"Oh, it's very lovely, aye, but sometimes I feel a little… caged," Keyte admits, her expression as guilty as Kevyn sounds. She clears her throat. "You're welcome. I —" Looking rather pleased for the compliment, she smiles prettily and simply repeats, "You're very welcome."

"I felt the same way at times, back at home," Kevyn admits. "I rather prefer life on the road with Ser Viggo. Or I did. It's difficult now, I'll grant. And Oldtown is a grand city and…well…there are grand people here." He gives her a slight smile. "Like yourself, my lady. Anyhow, I…" He bends down to pick up his sketching supplies. "…I suppose I should get back. I shall see you soon."

"It'll get…" Keyte falters, trying to find some reassurance for the squire. "Easier," she eventually comes up with, bobbing her head. "At least, I think it will." She shrugs, drawing in a long breath for a short sigh that's chased by a grin. "I am very grand, aren't I? And… I look forward to it, I do. Give your Ser my regards? I'll send Katya along, just as soon as I can." In the meantime, she's some candles to light here in the Sept.

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