(121-04-01) The Pansy, the Artist, and the Stormlands Knight
The Pansy, the Artist, and the Stormlands Knight
Summary: Lord Garvin and Lady Janei meet Ser Malcolm Storm.
Date: 1 April 2014
Related: None


Terrace - Quill and Tankard

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.

Malcolm is carrying a bowl of fish stew, and a small mug of weak ale. His hair was in a ponytail, but about half of it has come loose and is wind tangled. His cheeks are wind burned, and he is also dusty in a way that suggests sparring practice. He is dressed in leathers, but they are well made and the trousers are rather fancy. He has unlaced his doublet and has the air of a mad relaxed after a long productive day.

Garvin has spent the last two weeks pretty much sequestered in the manse's solar, working on his next 'masterpiece', but tonight, he decided to take a break and venture out into the larger world across the small bridge. And so here he is, at his favorite tavern, surrounded by six men-at-arms in purple cloaks. Though the other men all have tankards of ale, it's clear they're still fairly sober. The same cannot be said of Garvin, who has obviously been drinking heavily for the last few hours, his face flushed, eyes unfocused, and speech rather slurred, as he regales (bores?) the Tyrell guards with the complexities of the play's plot. Unfortunately, he keeps mixing up the characters' names, so King Rhaegan is sometimes King Rhosyn and even King Ursula at times, and three distinct characters are all called the Bear at one point or another.

Malcolm blinks at the large armed entourage. His quick eyes spot the drunkard. He approaches slowly, making it very clear that his hands are full of fish stew, roll, and ale, so as not to alarm the guards. He is graceful in an efficient sort of way, with no move wasted. He looks a little longing at his favorite spot by the tree, but heads closer to the stranger. He carefully stays at a distance he judges the guards might consider no threatening, and somehow managing a polite bow without dropping a thing. Waiting silently to see if the noble acknowledges him.

Garvin is too busy trying to pour the middle of three flagons into the middle of three goblets (at least to his eyes) to notice much of anything at the moment, prattling on about bears and maidens fair, which aren't the same as the maidens at the faire, though one of the maidens at the faire is indeed a maiden fair. That is, until one of the men gently nudges him with an elbow, nodding toward the leather clad warrior approaching. Garvin looks up, squinting to focus, then immediately lights. "Greetings!" he calls cheerfully. "I do not believe I've seen you at the Twill and Qankard before. I am Lord Tarvin Gyrell, but you may call me Pord Lanzy." He frowns, lower lip pouting out a bit. "That isn't right, is it, Tor?" Tor, the man who nudged him, suppresses a chortle, giving his head a quick shake and supplying, "Lord Garvin of House Tyrell, who some have the pleasure of calling Lord Pansy." To this, Garvin nods, his long curls flopping over and back off his face as his head bobs. "Yes, that's it. And who might you be, my lord?"

With Garvin out for so long, Janei had an excuse to go out and explore the city, in the excuse of searching for him. Of course, she had to take an entourage of guards, so she hasn't been able to blend in and explore the poorer section like she might want to. Finally, her explorations bring her to the tavern, and she makes her way out to the terrace. As she spots her brother so obviously drunk, she rolls her eyes but wanders over closer.

Malcolm straightens, his back as correct as a dancers. His accent is less correct, being very Stormlands and more country lower gentry or merchant than posh, "I am Ser Malcom Storm, newly arrived in this city and a resident at this in. I wondered if perhaps you might like to join me for some of the fine bread and soup they serve here." He makes eye contact with Tor, in hopes the man might pick up the hint that his Lord might do with some bread to sop up the wine. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turns quickly towards the entrance before his brain catches up to his body. This leads to a slight sloshing of the soup. Seeing the young girl with her guards, he nods to them and executes another of his perfectly balanced low bows to her without food related mishap. "May I be of service to you, My Lady." He uses the same tone he might to any adult noble woman, and there is not a hint in his tone of anything but respect.

Garvin lifts his chin and sniffs at the air, almost doglike, then wrinkles his nose, his whole face scrunching up for a moment. "Fish soup?" he says, giving his head a quick shake. "Thank you, but no." He quickly brightens again however. "But you are welcome to join me for some mead! Finest Highgarden has to offer, shipped down here at my personal request. Or if you prefer, we can switch to an Arbor vintage, which I know the tavern keeps in stock. Did you say Storm, Ser?" His eyes suddenly narrow, but before he can follow up on the question, he notices where Malcolm's attention has shifted, and his brightens once more. "Janei! What an unexpected surprise. What brings you to the Bardy Bawd?" Tor lets out a small sigh, eyes rolling, but it's another of the guards who leans closer to Garvin, whispering, "Quill and Tankard, m'lord."

Janei curtseys in response to Malcolm with a smile, "Thank you, Ser." She looks back to Garvin then and says, "I was looking for you. You've been out a very long time. I was getting worried." Not likely true, but it serves as an excuse. "And there are other kinds of soup."

Malcolm is perfectly polite, "I will join you if you wish." He answers the incomplete question he assumed was being asked with a polite tone, but rattles it off with a route quality as if this is something he has to say all the time. "Storm is my name, I am acknowledged and have been acknowledged by House Kellington. I Squired for Ser Corbin Rogers of Amberly and am but newly knighted." Taking Lady Janei's cue he adds, "I believe they have birds as well, or a nice fish with seasoned rice." Addressing Lady Janei he asks, "Might you be hungry? Perhaps if you find something to your liking, your…" He looks between the two nearly identical retinues and makes a guess, "Brother might try some too."

Garvin waves a hand dismissively, draining his goblet, then reaching for the flagon once more. "I'm not hungry," he says, giving another lopsided grin. "I had a nice, large supper earlier. Partridge in pear sauce, very tasty." Tor, Pelly, and the other guards all begin moving away from Garvin's table, blending with Janei's guards and taking up positions at surrounding tables, allowing the noble folk to have the table to themselves. Garvin finishes filling his goblet, then squints in his sister's direction. "Is it really that late?" he asks, raising one brow. "Or were you just afraid I was off…pillowcasing?"

Janei smiles at Malcolm again and says, "I am hungry, thank you." She moves to sit down as one of the guards vacates a seat, and then says to Garvin, once the guards are backed away, "Why would I care about that? Really, I was just bored."

Malcolm looks genuinely confused by the reference to pillowcasing. His eyes watch the movement of the guards, though his posture stays casual. seeing them rearranging the cordon he focuses on trying to help the Lady with her wayward relative. He sets his food down to free his hands to pull out her chair, signals for a server to come take her order, his height giving him a better chance of being spotted through the wall of guards, then settles on the other side of Lord Garvin. He politely doesn't ask either of them about the pillow case.

Garvin ahs, nodding then to Janei. "Boredom I can understand. I'm frequently bored myself, though not so frequently pillowcased. At least, not as frequently as everyone seems to think. Oh, I know you and everyone else are all worried about it, but really, it doesn't happen very often." He frowns suddenly, brows knitting and lower lip pouting out. "Not very often at all…dammit." He takes a long gulp of mead, then turns again to Malcolm. "Storm, from the Stormlands, but not of House Wylde? Good! I'm not particularly fond of House Wylde. Can't say I know House Kellington or House Rogers. Or was it Amberly?" He shakes his head. "I really don't know many of the Stormland Houses, I'm afraid."

Malcolm is looking more quizzical as the pillow case talk continues. Being only human, he gives in, "What is this pillowcasing? Some sort of punishment or initiation perhaps? Is it a local custom?" He sips his weak ale, "Storm of House Kellington, which you've likely never heard of. We're a minor House, though I'm told one of my Uncles did well in a Tourney on the Marches less than a year before my birth. I don't think there's been anyone famous from us in generations. We live on the southern Coast of the Stormlands. I do not think I've met anyone of house Wylde. Rogers is the house and Amberley their Seat. They are the ones with the Labrinthe

Janei rolls her eyes again and then when the server comes over she orders some apple pie. Not a proper meal, but something that perhaps Garvin might actually want, and she probably had a meal earlier herself.

Garvin licks his lips nervously, glancing at Malcolm as his cheeks color a bit. "It's um…a secret code," he mumbles. "Yes, that is what it is, a secret code. It is…a punishment of some sort. Or a local custom. The definition varies according to who is doing the pillowcasing and who is being pillowcased." When Janei orders apple pie, Garvin's bloodshot eyes light a bit. "I would not say no some blueberry oakcakes, if you have some."

Malcolm flashes the Lady a smile at her order, and casually tears his roll in half, placing part close to the Lord on the off chance. Addressing her, "Would you mind terribly if I eat? I've had a rather busy day. I can wait if you wish." It is at this point he remembers his doublet is open and his lacings loose enough to show a little triangle of flesh. he blushes under his deep tan, as this breech of gentlemanly behavior. He pulls his doublet closed, and tightens the laces, tying them when he is more decent. His distraction at possibly scandalizing the young noble woman, prevents him looking up in time to see the blush. "Perhaps I'll have an oatcake too, if you have any." Something about Lord Garvin's tone alerts him that there is something fishy about pillowcasing. He looks up from his lacings and studies the other man with interest, "I should be interested to see it then. Part of the fun of travel is to see new customs and local festivals.

Janei smiles to Malcolm again, not seeming to notice or perhaps just not caring about the momentary exposure. "I don't mind if you eat." She giggles at Garvin's embarasment over the pillowcase rumour, and then says to Malcolm, "You really don't want to know."

Though his blush deepens, Garvin's eyes sparkle as a small, wicked grin spreads over his lips. "It's really not the sort of thing you observe, Ser," he says giddily. "It's more a participatory activity." He glances toward Janei then, giving a small nod. "As you say, my lady." His eyes then shift left and right, as he leans over the table to whisper rather loudly to Malcolm, "I can show you later, if you're truly curious."

Malcolm looks relieved as Lady Janei doesn't comment on his previous dshabill. "Thank you, fair Lady. He sets to on his soup and roll with evident enjoyment. "There were a great deal of stairs today." He catches the blush this time, and possibly catches a clue as he replies, "I have heard some do like to watch even participatory activities. however we would not want to bore… I'm sorry, but I don't think we were properly introduced." This last is to Lady Janei. "I fear my manners have been lacking."

Janei looks to Malcolm curiously, "Stairs? Oh, were you visiting the Hightower? I haven't been there yet." Then she looks a bit sheepish as well, at being reminded she didn't introduce herself. "I'm Janei Tyrell. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ser."

Garvin wrinkles his nose again. "Ugh, the Hightower. The Hightowers live there, Stranger take them all." He turns his head to one side and makes a spitting sound, though no actual spit flies out. Clicking his tongue a few times, he realizes his mouth is dry, and the best remedy he knows for that is to drink. Which he promptly does, draining his goblet once more. "Oh, how discourteous of me, I do apologize. Ser Malcolm Storm of House Kellington, may I present my sister, Lady Janei of House Tyrell. Which she just now said as well, too." He reaches for the flagon, but finds it nearly empty. "Barmaid! My mead well has run dry. And another round for the brave men of the Purple Cloaks." He pauses a moment, glancing at Malcolm. "And mead for Ser Malcolm as well. When Lord Pansy pays, everyone drinks!"

The guards all raise their tankards at the cue, making a soft cheer to Garvin's well-known line.

Malcolm nods, clearly grateful for a change to a less dangerous topic for mixed company, "I was invited to sitesee." His voice warms to the topic, "It is every bit as impressive as the Titan of Braavos. You wouldn't believe the view! Even the size of the fire was impressive, and the wind… I do love the wind in my face and the smell of the sea!" he rises so as to give her another proper bow, "It is a pleasure to meet you Lady Janei." he sits again so as to sop up some more broth with his roll, "This is a lovely city, don't you think? Have you seen much of it?" he turns back to Garvin, "I was lucky enough not to meet them. I doubt they would have been happy to spot me leaning over their railings." He catches the servers eye and points to his mug of weak ale in the hopes she'll bring him more of the same rather than the stronger drink, but offers no verbal contradiction to his erstwhile host, "That is most kind of you, Lord Garvin."

Janei shakes her head and says, "I haven't seen much, until today. But I want to see more." She practically lights up at the description of the view and says, "I hope I can see it!" Then she asks, "You've seen the Titan of Braavos? Is it as big as they say?"

Garvin's eye slight up as well. "The Titan of Braavos? You've actually seen it?" He's clearly excited by this prospect, leaning on the table again, as the barmaid finally brings Janei's apple pie, a plate of oatcakes, and another flagon of mead, along with three fresh goblets. Garvin doesn't even notice her. "What were you doing in Braavos? Did you fight many Bravos at night?"

Malcolm leans across Lord Garvin to stage whisper, "Bigger! I was there to do some extra training and the boat takes you right under. There are people who make money taking people out to look at it from various angles." He murmurs something to Lord Garvin as he leans back. Enthusiastically, "The food is incredible! Very spicy. They get all sorts of exotic ingredients in from all over. I loved it there. I have been studying Water Dancing since I was eight and was gifted money and introductions so I could finish my education with various dancing masters there." he waves his hand dismissively, "A few scuffles here and there, hardly anything really."

Janei nods and says, "I want to see that someday too. I'd love to paint the city with it looming over. I bet it looks amazing." She then asks, "You're a water-dancer? So's Garvin. He's very good at it, too."

Garvin blushes a little at Janei's words, quickly lowering his eyes. "Not so good as I used to think I was," he admits. "I did very poorly in the freerider competition of the Dolphin Festival tourney. Though it really wasn't a fair fight, as they put me against a woman in full plate. A woman!" He reaches for the fresh flagon, refilling his goblet and shaking his head. "I would like to cross swords with you one day though." Just as he's taking a sip, he realizes how that might sound, coming so soon after the pillowcase discussion, and he immediately begins coughing and choking on his mead, face turning bright red.

Malcolm shakes his parti-colored hair, "I didn't go entirely native. My Grandmother would beat me purple. I did try to stick to House colors though. I've studied the more conventional knightly arts as well. I would love to try my hand at a tourney. It's a beautiful city with lots of bridges. Are you an Artist, Lady Janei?" He seems genuinely interested. He studies Lord Garvin more closely, in light of this new information, trying to see the swordsman under all that alcohol. "Perhaps some time we can spar when you are feeling more rested, Lord Garvin." His tone is conversational rather than prurient, though it would be hard to guess if the remark about swords went over his head or if he simply has a decent gambler's face. "There are women water dancers, small and fast and full of acrobatic maneuvers I'm too tall to truly master." Seeing Lord Garvin's distress, he offers him a clean dove grey personal napkin/handkerchief with a little black book embroidered on it. "Are you alright, My Lord?"

Janei nods enthusiastically, "I love painting. I don't know if I'm good enough to be called an artist, but it's my favourite thing to do. I hope I can keep painting my whole life, and someday be the best."

Garvin coughs and sputters a bit longer, before getting himself out of control, waving off Malcolm's fine napkin in favor of his own handkerchief. "I'm fine," he rasps, taking another drink and this time making sure it goes down the right pipe. "Janei is very good at painting," he says, brightening again. "She paints the various properties for the theater, and she did a truly lovely background curtain of the Whispering Sound." His eyes dart back and forth again, as he leans closer to Malcolm for a quick whisper.

Malcolm says, "Perhaps if I am granted the honor of a visit some time, I can see your work. Art is important. Think how sad everything would be without it… I've never been to the theater. There was nothing like that at home and my time was very.. oprganized when I was training in Braavos." His face shows no reaction to Lord Garvin's whisper, though he does turn his head to murmur something in response."

Janei smiles brightly again at Garvin's compliment about her painting, and then she nods quickly to Malcolm, "You can come visit and see anytime. I like when people see my paintings, but usually only family does, except at the theatre."

Garvin lets out a small gasp at Malcolm's whisper, blushing again as he sits back and quickly drinks more mead. "Oh yes, you must come visit us at Garden Isle," he mutters, unable to look the knight in the eye now, though he does turn toward the river and waves vaguely at the lights on the far side. "That's it there, near Sphinx Street. Just look for the bridge guarded by two small towers, you can't miss it. All this talk of painting has reminded me. Janei, I'll need you to paint the replica of Father's throne I'm having made, if you would. I thought about using the one here at the manse, but I'm afraid if Father heard about it, he'd take the Whimsy away from me."

Malcolm finishes up his soup, "I should like to see them, and I give my word that I'll give them the utmost attention when I do. Perhaps you'd like me to walk back with you." He motions with his eyes to her brother as if wondering if she might need help with him. He does take note of the direction and nods, though the last comment confuses him, "Whimsy?"

Janei smiles at Malcolm's words, and says, "Thank you." Then she nods, "If you'd like. We'll be alright if you have somewhere else to be."

"The Theatre of Whimsical Dreams," Garvin says with a bright, if lopsided, grin, raising his goblet. "But everyone calls it the Whimsy. Oldest theater in Oldtown, or so I'm told. It's the large, round-shaped building on Beacon. You must come to my next play, if I can ever finish writing it. I'm adapting the Bear and the Maiden Fair." He glances around, looking for any spies, then lowers his voice. "The Bear is actually a Mormont, you see, not a bear at all." He finishes off another goblet of mead, then blinks between Janei and Malcolm. "Oh, are we leaving already? We should take a water taxi, as I didn't bring my horse." He frowns, looking toward one of his men. "Did I?" The guard shakes his head, as he and the others quickly down their ales, eager not to leave any in the tankards when the party departs.

Malcolm nods wisely at Garvin's whisper. "I have time, and it is nice to have company." His expression suggests he's dubious as to whether Garvin's legs will carry him. He goes or stays at Janei's sensible word.

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