(121-04-03) A Horse of Course
A Horse of Course
Summary: Tellur meets Mariya in the stable while she is attempting to disguise herself as Smallfolk
Date: (03/04/2014)
Related: None

The stable is housed in the bottom floor of a large stone structure. There's a sort of hayloft above, but most of the building is in service as residences and workshops.

The stable itself is too large to be well lit by its meager windows, so it's a bit dark. Still, it's not bad, and it's well-drained enough that the floor stays dry. Sturdy wooden partitions make up the box stalls. There is a well near the door, where one might draw water from one of the streams that pass under Oldtown's streets.

For a fee, one can stable a horse here. Depending on what you pay, the stableboys will feed, water, and groom your animal, or ignore it and leave that work up to you. The place is popular with travelers of small means, because the owners don't object to human beings sharing stalls with their horses. There's always somebody about, though, and a person who tries to share a stall with a horse that belongs to someone else is likely to meet with the Watch, or worse.

In amongst the other beasts and so forth, near the entrance, is a big, bony, hairy, bay gelding. Nature has not blessed this horse with beauty - the thing is bay, technically, but more 'yellow' than gold, and has a white blaze across its face that gives its wall-eyed face a permanently weird expression. As shaggy as a cart-horse, the longer fur is worn away to shorter where the saddle cinches. Right now, it is mumbling and drooling mindlessly over some pieces of apple while Tellur brushes out a mane less 'flaxen' than 'straw coloured'. The Northerner looks hot - he is not dressed for the weather down here, and he is talking to the horse in low tones, soothing sounds, praise for the ugly beast.

Mariya has been cooped up for what feels like months. First the ship, then the manse, then the Hightower. While feelings against the Dornish have apparently died down, it still isn't quite deemed 'safe' for a princess to be out amongst the rabble without protection. And as such, the young Martell has gone out without warning. She doesn't wear fine dresses or wear her hair in an elaborate braid done by Embry. Instead, she has 'borrowed' a servant's clothes and is out on the town as 'regular folk'. She managed to slip out of the White Stone Manse in the confusion of deliveries, but as she turned down Oldtown street, she recognized some passersby and ducked quickly into the stables as a refuge. Now that she is here, though, the curious girl can't help but check the stalls and see the horses. Moving from one stall to another she belatedly notices that she and the horses are not the only creatures here when she happens upon Tellur and his drooly horse. "Oh! Pardon!"

Tellur glances up, but as far as he knows? She is nothing but a serving girl. And in any case, he is painfully new in town "No mind, lass," Tellur says, his voice rough with northern chill "I don't know if you're here for that stableboy who's such a flirt, but I don't think he's worth it." He nods towards the other door, and then grins. He has all his teeth, at least, even if the canines are a little long. His horse shakes its head, then pulls its greedy head up and whuffles across his shoulder, while Tellur pushes its muzzle away "Get off, you thick headed thing. No more treats for you, lazy."

Unsure if her disguise will hold up amongst the 'real' smallfolk, Mariya looks nervous. The automatic blush that creeps on her cheeks at the mention of a flirty stableboy most likely does not help matters. Hopefully he'll assume she was here for the boy and not for other reasons. Despite her disguise, she certainly does not look as if she's originally from Oldtown - her dark complexion sees to that. "N-no," she manages before steadying herself. "Just ducking out of the way," she explains. It helps that the horse takes a bit of her attention and she chuckles. "Aw, but it wants another apple." Tentatively, she approaches.

Despite the reputation of big northern horses, this animal is a messenger's beast, and being a vicious stable companion would lead to a short life. So the ugly thing contentedly leans forward, ears cocked forward with interest, and making snuffling noises "He does, he's a beggar," Tellur says, and smooths his hand over the animal's ears "Aren't you, Loathely?" And Loathely mumbles and attempts to plead with his eyes, whickering, as Tellur grins "I often feel the need to be out of someone's way. I am Tellur. And this is Loathely. My raven isn't here right now, so I can't introduce her."

While Mariya is used to horses, she's not seen one of Loathely's character. He's obviously a large and Northern breed while she is used to swifter and angular creatures. "Aren't all horses? I've yet to meet one that will not chuff for a treat once they get wind you might have one." With a laugh at Loathely's pleading eyes, she stops close by Tellur and his horse. "Mariya," she introduces. "Pleasure to meet you, Tellur. And Loathely, though you have quite a hurtful name for a horse with sweet eyes." To Tellur, she adds, "You could introduce your raven and say that she is so quick that it is impossible to see her between messages." Though she smiles, she also puts up her hands in an apologizing gesture. "No no, I'm the one disturbing and intruding. I should be out of your way."

"My Lord Carolis' horse is a bit more suspicious," Tellur says, thoughtfully "He is not here - neither the horse, nor the lord. But he's trained to treat those he does not know with suspicion. There's no sneaking up on a camp and taking _him_ away." He thumps the side of Loathely's neck, comfortingly, then nods to Mariya "The apple there, feel free to feed him. I want to get his mane sorted properly. Do you think ribbons?" He grins. A joke. And then he says "Well, that's an interesting thing, isn't it, the hurt of a name? Depends how we carry it. Whether we let someone else define us or not. I'm a Snow, but that's nothing to do with me, and everything to do with someone else." His lips quirk, a restrained smile "I'm not disturbed. I'm just getting this beggar ready for some exercise hunting. Have you avoided who you wanted to avoid?"

"I do not know the Lord Carolis," Mariya confesses. "Nor whether his horse is suspicious or not." At the prompting, she takes the apple and moves closer to Loathely. The hand that outstretches the treat is not a tentative one. She's comfortable with horses and their mannerisms. "Hi Loathely," she greets softly, introducing herself again more formally. "If you had the proper ribbons, I think he would he could look quite handsome." Though her focus is mostly on the horse, her eyes stray to Tellur with a twinkle in her eye. "A name is a curious thing. We have no control over where or to who we are birthed, however it seems to hold quite a lot over our future. What is the difference between a Snow and a Stark other than a name and title, truly?" Curiously, she peeks back out from the stall and does not see anyone following. "I believe so, though I'll stay a bit longer to make certain they do not wait for me. If you do not mind, of course."

"His horse is very fine, but very opinionated - but he has to be, for the sort of hunting we do," Tellur says, clearly unbothered by the idea of such a bloody discussion with a young woman. Loathely is polite about the apple, less polite about his happy drooling. Tellur frowns at him, and wrinkles his nose, but then that odd smile returns. Guarded now "I can't presume to state, I am sure. Certainly, I think you might get a very different answer from Lord Carolis than me. But either way, we both find this city busy and hot, and loud. Not…badly. It has interesting smells. But it is very alien, eh?" He gives a heavy shrug, then says "Take a seat on the hay, if you want." And he returns to the horse's mane. The coat is too shaggy to shine when brushed, alas.

"I've heard horses tend to take after their masters," Mariya teases, despite knowing nothing of Carolis or even of Tellur, really. She can't help but giggle when Loathely takes the apple from her hand politely while also drooling. It's an endearing trait. "As you are both different people, I would assume you would not parrot each other like a jester's play. I am new to the city and have found it both beautiful and unwelcoming. And, yes, slightly alien." As Loathely finishes chewing and drooling all over Mariya, she wipes her hands on her skirt - it is most likely that someone else will be cleaning it. "That is kind of you, sir. I shall keep you company for a short while, if you do not mind. Though, I would give you advice to perhaps layer less if you find the city so warm. The South tends toward humidity and you seem dressed for winter." She grins and then steps away toward the aforementioned hay bale.

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