(121-03-18) Getting Warmer
Getting Warmer
Summary: Eva is mistaken for Dornish and Trystan intervenes to encourage violence; Trystan enjoys talking to Eva and Eva enjoys messing with Trystan.
Date: Date of play (18/03/2014)
Related: None
Players:
Eva..Trystan..

Oldtown Square

This is a small cobblestone market square, packed with people from all walks of life in Oldtown. Food vendors offer sizzling, toothsome-smelling dishes, and peddlers offering every sort of thing one can possibly buy with coin line the cobbled walkways, with carpets, weapons, wines, scrolls, armor, cloth, tools, cookware, and myriads of cheap trinkets sure to please.

There is a general babble of voices and chatter as the city folk try to negotiate with the sharp street vendors of Oldtown, and the occasional scuffle as the City Watch snatch up pickpockets and cutpurses from the crowd.

There are some worn stone benches here and there, and grassy swards for the smallfolk to gather upon. In the center of the square stand a set of four heavy wooden pillories, where wrongdoers are frequently held fast for public punishment.


Oldtown Square is hot, too full of the steam from cooking food and tense, energetic bodies. With the attack on merchants just a day past, spilling Dornish blood in this very place, it's no wonder that tensions run high and hot; and with the fall of evening, suspicious eyes become all the more suspicious under lengthening shadows. Just now, in fact, a broad-shouldered, pock-marked, and balding man looms over a figure against the back of a stone bench. He's not a tall man, but he's taller than his diminutive target. All he saw was dark hair, brown skin, and colourful, loose clothes and decided to give the woman a piece of his mind — and a piece of his hand, grappled around her arm.

The accented voice that spits back at him is not the drawl of Dorne. "I'm not Dornish, you idiotic piece of shit." The Lorathi, rather, stares hatefully up at the man, whose sense of righteous bloodlust is blind to the dangerous look in Eva's eyes. She snarls. "But I will still cut your throat if you keep touching me." She clings hard to a thin, leather pack that he tries to bullishly tear from her possession.

The man is very quickly pulled back, restrained by two large men in dark armor, restraining him and forcing him down to kneel. Their lord, a young man with short brown hair and several knives at his belt, looks at the thug in disgust, then to the woman he was accosting. "<Are you hurt, Salla? This is not a safe place to be, as of late.>" His men keep an eye out on all the others in the square, only the four of them with their lord, though they are quite well-armed.

As the man is pulled back, the leather sack wrenches between them, upending enough for a few small, rolled scrolls to fall to the cobblestones from the half-closed flap. Eva barely glances at the men nor their lord — only enough for recognition to spark, then darken, on the latter — and she certainly doesn't heed his words. She launches at the balding man like a wild animal while he's forced to kneel, a flurry of grass-green fabric, beading, and tangled hair, leading with her fist, small but fierce.

Trystan just smirks a bit as the man is assaulted, nodding to his men to keep him down so Eva may do as she wishes with him. He then moves to pick the scrolls up, not lookign at them, just holding them for the woman to take back when she has had her fun beating on the man.

Eva punches the man soundly in the face and then hauls back and does it again, spurring a dull cracking noise somewhere beneath his rough skin that makes her smile, nothing short of sadistic. "Learn some culture," she hisses at him, accusatory, and spits at his feet.

As she whirls on Trystan, her eyes seem to spark and pop. She stretches fingers into a claw-shape and straight a few times, the metal of her rings still seeming to bite into her bones after connecting with the man's face and her knuckles blushing with blood, then reaches toward him for her scrolls. "I do not need your noble heroism, Lord Banefort," she informs him, choosing the common tongue, her angry energy bittering her voice. '…but— " her smile appears again, the very same as a moment ago, and her words calm, " — thank you for letting me break his nose. Will you hand him over to the City Watch?" She glances around for them, tinged with a hint of caution out of habit.

Trystan nods. "Of course. And I was not being a hero. You can handle yourself. I just wanted to give you the opportunity to really hurt the bastard." He looks to his men restraining the thug and nods, and they haul him off to be taken by the Watch. "I'm not a hero, Salla." He smiles to her, holding his scrolls out to her. "These fell from your pack."

"Good," Eva states strongly in that one, thick syllable, approving. Less good is that the scrolls fell on the questionable, well-trodden cobblestones of Oldtown Square. She gathers all three back into her possession from Trystan's hand, scanning them for dirt or damage and finding nothing but the tiniest dent. "For your time," she says, distinctly more mischievous than gracious, handing one of the small scrolls back to him.

Trystan raises an eyebrow, takign the scroll and looking it over, then back to her, smirking, intrigued. "I take the contents are best seen… <in private?>" He doesn't open the scroll, just holds it in his hand. "And I do not need a reward. Was happy to see the pig bleeding."

"You can look at it wherever, whenver you like," Eva replies. Her brows lift and corners of her eyes cinch in, all the more catlike, glinting with that same mischief. As she wriggls her jolted fingers at her side, she smiles and seems to consider Trystan lazily. "And why is that," she leans on the back of the bench she was so recently cornered against; she's so short, it's comfortable. "He thought I was from Dorne, the fool. So…" Again her brows lift. "Were you happy because you support the Dornish; you like the sight of blood— or because he was trying to hurt me, in particular?"

Trystan shrugs, putting the scroll in a pouch on his belt. "Mainly the latter. I have no hand in what the Dornish do, I'm not one to seek out fights to bloody people, but I do find you…" He looks her over. "Interesting. Also, he was a brute. He deserved what he got, and I was happy to make sure he got it from you."

This seems to please her, though it's hard to tell one flavour of mischief from another. She rolls her shoulders, eyes half-lidded as she gazes off in the direction Trystan's men took the brute. "I would have hurt him more," she admits freely, now taking more pleasure in the fact than anger, "but then the Watch might have turned their sights on me, instead of him."

Trystan chuckles. "Maybe, but I would have helped to turn their eyes elsewhere." he smirks to her, pleased with her reaction to him.

"That is bold, Lord Banefort." Every time she speaks his name as such, it both seems purposefully over-inflated and casual, laying no particular respect or deference. Eva's chin tips up in mild, humoured challenge. "What else would you do on my account?"

Trystan smirks. "Well, hold brutes to be pummeled by you, help you with minor things… I'm not going to do crazy things, as I'm a married man with a family to think of, and I don't wish to end up dead or in trouble due to assisting you. I mean no offense, but I must think of my family."

"A wise man," Eva states — yet her response is skeptical, goading. "How difficult it must be," playful, the woman is just short of mocking, "having a family to protect, placing such restrictions upon you."

Trystan smirks. "Well, they're restrictions I took willingly. Perhaps I'm not so clever, eh?" he chuckles. "At least my wife does not prohibit me from enjoying the company of other women."

"Is that what you want to do with me, then," Eva asks, still challenging through her slow, languid words. She stands up taller (in attitude if not true height), pushing off the back of the bench to step closer to Trystan. "Enjoy my company…? How do you know," she tilts her head to one side and her eyes skirt to the right, into the milling clusters of people in the square, "you are not in danger just for being seen with me? Talking to me?" Her tongue pauses between her teeth when she smiles, amused. "Perhaps even now I am placing your reputation into question."

Trystan smirks at her, standing his ground. "I am willing to take that chance. And who said there was any mischief to the company I'd enjoy with you? Besides, I believe you to be one who knows about subtlety. The way you speak and move, you're not one to just put others in danger. You might lose… whatever business it is that you have."

"Mm," Eva raises her hand, pointing as though to wag her finger at Trystan, smiling in a self-satisfied manner, entertained. "In this, you reveal how little you know about the nature of my business. Ah, I have no business with you, and nothing to lose from speaking to you, but, those around here who know for whom I work — ah." Her eyes gleam with unwholesome amusement. "What they must think of you. Lord Banefort."

Trystan smirks. "Let them think what they will. I've been seen at the Bawdy Bard, with the madam on more than one occasion." He seems to be enjoying the rapport between himself and this Lorathi woman.

"Trivial," Eva replies immediately with a small, quick toss of her head. "Paltry. Nothing. More men have been seen at the Bard than not. If that is the most salacious event you can think of, you shall never find out the truth." Grinning, she slinks backward shoulders-first, snakelike. She secures her leather pack and its mysterious contents as though preparing to be on her way.

Trystan raises an eyebrow. "And I take it a bath with the owner of the lysene bathhouse, a suspected witch, and a Dornish woman are no more salacious for your tastes?" He says this plainly, bluntly.

Eva's smile changes — knowing, perhaps? Fond? It's ambiguous at best, evolving straight back into that grin. "Getting … waaaaarmer," she allows, but, letting her eyes drift up as if in deep pondering and back down, decides, "mm. Still tame." She keeps her grin turned on Trystan even over her shoulder as she starts to move away.

Trystan smirks, then shrugs, sitting where Eva was. "Warmer, huh?" He sit and ponders until his men tap his shoulder and say something in Braavosi. He nods and stands, heading off with them.

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