(121-04-11) A Drink on the Terrace
A Drink on the Terrace
Summary: Just a pleasant evening on the Quill & Tankard's terrace.
Date: 11 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 trencher with some bits of bird and seasoned rice on it in one hand and a wooden mug of small weak ale towards the table beneath the apple tree. His hair is tied back with a bright blue ribbon, though some strands have escaped. he settles with his back to the tree.

Garvin emerges from the tavern just behind Malcolm, carrying a small bowl of blueberries in cream and a goblet of mead. Six of his purple-cloaked men follow him, each with a tankard of ale. Garvin sits at the table nearest the tree Malcolm leans again, but as he sits, he winces and sucks in a breath, then gives a sheepish little grin. His men-at-arms position themselves in pairs around the terrace, far enough away to not eavesdrop on anything the lords might be saying, but still within shouting distance.

Already seated there is a tall fellow, his attire of Tully red and blue of suprisingly good quality, given the stubbles of a beard that adorns his handsome face. Thadeus is not alone of course, as there is a Riverlands knight sitting at his table. Before them two large mugs of the famous apple cider. The new arrivals are noticed by the Tully, grey-blue eyes flitting ever so briefly over Malcolm before brushing the Tyrell for a bit. A nod is offered, if any of them should look his way.

A man who's donned a distinctive purple cloak to go with his utterly gleaming, almost embarassingly unscratched armour strolls through the terrace door looking like he has not a care in the world, despite the fact that his armaments suggest he is a designated guard of Lord Garvin, just like the six who came before him. With his hand unthreateningly resting on the pommel of his sword, the curly-haired, scruffy-faced man takes in the various details of the Quill and Tankard's terrace as if he's taking in the sights at the garden. Ser Kane is still settling into his role and his new armour, one as fancy as the other, in comparison to the life he led until a very short time ago … and it is not the smoothest adjustment. The hedge knight, Ser Kane the Frivolous, the Comical, the Jackanape — he's not so stand-out, without his painted cuirass and patchwork cape, a strip of which is tied around his wrist like a favour. For himself. From himself.

As he passes pairs of Purple Cloaks, Kane nods and smiles in a friendly manner (typically to their blank faces, as they hardly know him from the Stranger). Reaching the pair specifically positioned closest to Garvin, he pats the man-at-arms heartily on the back and leans in. "Shift's up. Yes, it is. I checked. Why, haven't you taken note of the time? Go on, then, Have a drink on me."

Malcolm eyes Garvin, "You should stretch before sparring lest you pull something you need." He takes in the other denizens of the terrace, expression guardedly curious. His eyes flit quickly past the nobles, careful not to give offense. Catching the nod, he gives a polite bow, before sipping his ale. Movement at the door catches eye and he watches the new purple cloak approach. Not recognizing this particular guard, he watches his approach with a bland expression.

Garvin continues grinning sheepishly as he sips his mead, and one of the Purple Cloaks places a flagon with more mead on the table before stepping back to his place. The one Kane speaks to gives a shrug, then a short bow, before heading back inside to find a nice wench to pinch. "I need everything," Garvin says to Malcolm, as he sips again, then tilts his head curiously at the unknown Tully, raising his goblet in salute. "I don't believe I know you, Ser. Lord Garvin of House Tyrell, and this is Ser Malcolm Storm." Finally, he notices one of his men being sent away, and he cocks a brow when he sees by whom, lips curlilng in a brighter grin. "Ser Kane the Capricious! Come join us. Sit, sit! Ser Malcolm, may I present Ser Kane, who has graciously offered his services to Garden Isle."

Malcolm's bow is noticed, a faint smile there, when Thadeus studies the man for a brief spell. Lord Garvin's greeting however, makes him straighten a bit in his seat. "Ser Thadeus Tully," is the confident reply, "And we have not met yet, Lord Garvin. I am new to Oldtown, arrived some weeks ago. A pleasure. And as I hear we share a similar fate…" he chuckles, a bit of amusement showing in his grey-blue eyes. Brows are curiously raised towards the man in the purple cloak, but the Tully heir will be silent for a moment, content to take another sip from his cider.

Kane has shuffled into place beside the other guard who's now lost his partner to drink inside the Quill, and then shuffled again, making sure he's exactly lined up with the other fellow in proper alignment, so as he may … be immediately restless. Blessedly, he's barely at his post for a second before the gods shine upon him in the form of Lord Garvin. His face brightens, a smirk spreads, and he nods. Before obliging, he lists toward the other Purple Cloak. "Does every day entail so much standing?" he questions quietly — more, complains — to his fellow guard. Kane's brows rise in an animated overdramatic semblance of his bewilderment and then utter boastfulness as he gets to walk away and leave the other man standing alone in what he can only imagine is terrible boredom. The knight is all toothy smiles as he approaches the table, bowing his head. "Lord Garvin! Ser Malcolm." Come just in time to catch the Tully's name, he adds gamely, "Ser Tully. A trout all the way from Riverrun, is it?"

Malcolm bows again as he is introduced to the strange noble. He looks downright amused by Ser Kane's styling, but nods politely to him in welcome. Ser Thaddeus Tully's comment draws raised eyebrows and some curiosity from the young knight. He is rather the opposite of Ser Kane, when it comes to restlessness. He is very still, unless he is doing something specific. Taking out his eating knife, he spears a piece of meat and eats it thoughtfully.

Garvin squirms a bit on his bench, looking mildly uncomfortable, as he digs a silver spoon into his bowl and brings some blueberries to his lips. Once he's chewed and swallowed, he gives a small nod to Thadeus. "Won't you join us, Ser Thadeus? And Kane, please sit. You're both giving me a sore neck with all this looking up." He takes another long swallow of mead, then refills from the flagon. "I hope you'll both forgive me for eating, but Ser Malcolm and I were just at the playhouse, watching a scene rehersal. It's hungry work, watching mummers try to remember their lines."

"It is," replies the trout with a grin towards Kane. "And like most fish, I hate to run dry!" Thadeus adds, waving the already empty mug at a tavern wench who passes by, and if that already did not suffice to catch the lass's attention, that playful pinch to her curvy behind will certainly do the trick. The giggle of the girl is met with a wink, that might mean 'later'. Another swat given to her behind, as he sends her off to get him a refill. The Tully's brows jump upwards at the Tyrell's invitation, and he nods, rising from that seat with a light wince, before he moves over to the other table, slowly and a bit carefully perhaps. A glance over his shoulder signalling his knight to stay put. "Thank you, Lord Garvin.", the Bull Fish offers as he lowers himself onto one of the vacant seats. Catching his remark he'll inquire: "Mummers? Playhouse? I wasn't aware there was such a diversion in Oldtown." Of all places, his gaze seems to add.

Kane singles out a bench and collapses into quite a sprawl and clatter of armour, twisted at an angle to get a better view on the rest of the terrace. He seems to settle all the more comfortably in watching the Tully and the tavern girl, but his attention's not far from Garvin. "Is it a song? The lines are easier to remember, if they're made into a song," he notes, casual as can be. There's a faint grit and lilt under the knight's voice that might mark him as not as highborn as his face might look. "Even if they're not a song in the main event. Me, I never had many lines," a pause to gesture both palms toward himself as if to say //can you believe it, him without lines?, but it turns into an educational wag of his finger. "You can do a lot without lines."

Malcolm waits to sit until the Bullfish settles, lest there be more bowing to be doing. He sits with the same graceful efficiency he brings to his bows. He notices the nobleman's discomfort. His accent is very Stormlands and more lower gentry than posh. "I hope you are well, My Lord." Sip. "I have never seen a play in a theater, only traveling mummers and the like. It is a hard thing to get them to move like proper swordsmen. How can I believe in a knight who moves like a plowman?" Ser Kane's comments draw a curious glance, and his lips turn up at his comments, "I suspect you can, Ser Kane."

Garvin takes a long swallow of mead, giving a small shrug of one shoulder. "There are songs, yes. Well, one song. The Bear and the Maiden Fair, do you know it?" It's unclear who he's asking, as he has another spoonful of blueberries and cream. "The Whimsy's been here in Oldtown for close to two hundred years, but it's been closed the last ten or so. I only just re-opened it recently. This will be our second play, and I'm really looking forward to it. I'm playing one of the Bears, you see."

"Oh certainly, lines are not always necessary," The Tully replies with a chuckle at Kane's remark. Just as if on cue the tavern girl reappears, her cheeks maybe a touch rosy as she pours Thadeus some more of that cider, while his hand ever so swiftly moves to brush her leg - by accident perhaps? When the word 'plowman' reaches the Tully's ears, however, that smile fades as he frowns, reminded of a most recent incident. "Plays and Mummer's shows,… I admit I may have been to some, but I can hardly remember any of it,… maybe I've ben too much into the cups when visiting them." A faint smirk there. "Even if that does make me look like a brute. But, frankly, I enjoy entertainment of another sort." His gaze drifts to the girl and he smiles, his gaze following her as she moves off. "Oh?" The Bull Fish's head turns, when Garvin mentions the song, and he smirks. "Certainly, I know that one! Who doesn't?"

And given his stature, the Tully may be well suited to play a bear, more like others of those present obviously. His eyes growing a bit wide at Garvin's last remark. "You play one of the Bears?" And he suppresses a chuckle, almost choking on the cider.

"I was pleased to hear of the Whimsy," Ser Kane says approvingly. "A bear there was, a bear, a bear!" he goes on to sing, not terribly, not expertly, but certainly with a lively vigor. He plants an elbow on the table — is that impolite in noble company? He considers for a second, lifting off, but plunks it back down in the end — and leans his head back and to the side, considering Garvin as a bear, himself. "And who's the maiden fair?" Speaking of which … his gaze follows the Bullfish's serving girl for a momentary distraction.

Malcolm is sitting with his back to the apple tree. His hair is tied back with a bright blue ribbon, though some strands have escaped. He has a mug of small weak ale and a plate of food. His spears and eats a bit of roast bird with his eating knife. His accent is Stormlands, more gentry than posh. "I had not heard that one. Is it like the Shy Octopus and the Mermaid?" He catches the Tully's change of expression, and his look suggests he has no idea what he said to cause it. His lips curl up at Ser Kane's goings on, but mostly, he seems intent on his food.

Carolis comes exploring tentatively. The sound of voices draw his attention, and the one he recognizes prompts him to approach further. When he spies Garvin, he smiles broadly and comes over to him. "There you are," he says, quiet and amiable. The other three men are given a small nod. With the Northerner bearing, there is a certain coolness to the gesture, though his tone is fairly light. "Good evening."

Garvin gives Malcolm a puzzled look, as he sits at the table nearest the tree with the others. He shakes his head, having another sip of mead. "I don't know that one. What's a mocktopuss? Is it like a sea monster?" He grins to Kane and Thadeus both then, eyes alight. "I play one of the bears, but not the biggest one. Obviously! There are three in the play: the mama bear, the little bear, and the enormous bear." Then Carolis approaches, and Lord Pansy's grin brightens. "Carolis! It's good to see you out of the solar for a change. Do you know…? No, of course not." He straightens his back, clearing his throat, then continuing with some formality. "Lord Carolis of House Stark, may I present Lord Thadeus Tully, Ser Malcom Storm, and Ser Kane the Capricious. Won't you join us, Carolis?"

The frown on the Tully's face returns at once, when Malcolm gives his mock title of a play that does not exist. "What was your name again, ser?" Thadeus inquires, his gaze a touch darker now. "And, more importantly, do I sense mockery there in your tone, as your subtle hints mark you as someone who knows about my recent encounter with Ser Kraken shit?"

His features twisting into a polite smile when Garvin explains his role in the play with a bit more detail. "Aye, those sea monsters, are indeed a problem that will be taken care of.", he adds with a dismissive gesture of his hand, shooting the Riverlands knight at the other table a glance. His grey-blue eyes shifting back to Malcolm again. "Storm, eh? That explains it." While the Stark receives a polite nod of greeting. "Lord Carolis."

"I like any tale involves a mermaid," Kane adds his enthusiastic if unasked for opinion. He's sitting up, if only slightly, at more attention when Carolis approaches — it is, after all, his new duty to be watchful of those around Lord Garvin, as his new purple cloak suggests. He relaxes again easily and gives the Northerner a nod, plus a welcoming wave of his hand toward the gathering, as if he has any sway. "I knew a few good Storms," he comments, looking from Thadeus to Malcolm. In truth, skirting beneath his casual conversation additions, he's watching the youthful lord and the Storm lad rather closely, but his intelligent blue eyes never stay in one spot for too long. "In the Marches. They didn't wear ribbons in their hair, though; should have, would have made them a sight handomser."

Carolis inclines his head to each man as he's introduced. "Lord Thadeus. Ser Malcolm. Ser Kane." The title of Capricious earns Kane a lightning-quick once-over and an arched brow. He lays a hand lightly on Garvin's shoulder by way of greeting as he comes round to sit. "Yes, I came to find you. I wanted to let you know that an old bannerman of my father's is coming to Oldtown to watch after me. I won't impose further on your hospitality, but if you would be willing to receive him as a visitor when he means to find me, I would be grateful."

Malcolm watches the newcomer approach, head slightly cocked. He answers Lord Garvin offhandedly. "It is a small sea monster, or sometimes a large one, with eight long ropy limbs. The small ones, you can slice up and fry." At the introduction, he stands and gives a graceful low bow to the new comer. Staying in the bow, he answers Lord Thaddeus, "Ser Malcolm Storm. I am acknowledged by House Kellington, and was Squire to Lord Corbin Rogers of Amberley." His tone is even and very polite. He looks up, genuinely startled by the Tully's anger, "I am but newly arrived in the city and have not heard much of anything. I had not heard of you and was not aware there were Greyjoys in Oldtown. No offense was meant. The song about the mermaid was on my mind because…" Here he blushes faintly under his tan, "Because of the Lysene baths." To Ser Kane, he explains, "I spent some time abroad pursuing my studies." He is studying Lord Carolis again as he straightens.

Garvin blinks in both surprise and confusion, glancing back and forth between Malcolm and Thadeus a few times, but it's Carolis he answers. "A Stark bannerman?" he asks, turning his eyes toward the Northerner. "Yes, of course. I'd be delighted to receive one of your bannermen. Who is it, if I might ask?"

"There are a few under consideration," Carolis says. "I'll let you know once I find out." He smiles then at Garvin, broad and bright. "We're not invading your House very, very slowly. I promise." His attention then turns to the others. The vibe between Thadeus and Malcolm he politely pretends didn't just happen, but his sharp attention shows he's not unaware of it.

His grey-blue eyes may shift from Ser Kane to the Stark lord, but it is on Ser Malcolm Storm they come to linger for a moment longer. His gaze flits briefly downwards, in acknowledgement of the explanation given. "Newly arrived, eh? And this was not about a Greyjoy, but a sidekick. Lord Sylas Volmark." Thadeus spits out the name, rising a bit too swiftly perhaps as his thigh does not take that sudden movement well. He flinches and gestures for the Riverlands knight, to drink his cider, as he quickly finishes his own. "This will have consequences for him, of course. And I'll be pleased to see that Ironborn's face when he returns. Forgive me, my lords and sers. But I fear I have to retire to my manse. It has been a pleasure…" This offered with a careful hint of a bow, and a glance especially in Malcolm's direction, before the Tully heads off. At the door he almost bumps into the tavern girl and he pauses to exchange a few words her, before he disappears from view. His knight following in his wake.

"So did I!" Kane counters jovially to Malcolm; if he had a cup, he'd raise it, but he lifts a hand that's found its way to the table. If there is something in the air between the Storm and the Tully, the Frivolous knight seems uncaring of it. His mouth only tightens in a brief grimace over mention of the names Greyjoy and Volmark. He nods the man off, and promptly moves on. "Were we on the bears, or the maiden fair?" It's almost a rhetorical question, casual and not crafted to intrude.

Malcolm bows again to Ser Thadeus, expression blandly polite and watches carefully to see that he leaves without sudden attack. Threat averted he turns a sunny smile on the Stark, "A slow polite invasion is rather more pleasant than the other kind." He sits again and addresses the table, "Does anyone know what that was about?"

Garvin bites at his lower lip, watching the Tully depart, then gives his head a shake. "Not a clue, though I bet Laurent will know. Oh! The maiden fair, right." He grins then, his eyes lighting up. "Princess Rhaennyn will be played by a pretty young man named Nico. Isn't that hilarious? But truly, with his long hair and fine features, he's as pretty as any woman, and certainly prettier than any of the mummers in my company. Oh! And Lord Arion Florent has consented to play the Lion Knight. It should be quite a show!"

Carolis shakes his head as Garvin does. "No idea whatsoever," he tells Malcolm amiably. "As for the slow invasion, it's not really our style. It does seem a good deal less messy." When one of the serving maids comes to see what he wants, he orders 'whatever they're having.' Because 'I have no idea what you insane Southerners consider alcohol' just doesn't have the same ring. With his drink imminent he looks back to the men and says, "Oh, is this your play?" Then, with a laugh, "What? A woman?" He shakes his head.

"Octopus," Kane answers, so very helpfully. "Krakens, or the like." He smiles to Garvin, bright and encouraging, yet when he speaks, he becomes the devil's advocate. "But can he play a woman?" he raises his brows, worn-in furrows animating his brow. "There's a depth of mystery to tap into that goes beyond a pretty face."

Malcolm says, "I suppose his hair suggested the idea of the Lion. Lord Carolis? Have you eaten? The kitchens here are above average clean and the food wholesome. Much less mopping up with a slow polite invasion, I agree… I fear Lord Garvin and I have rather different tastes in drink. My tastes in that are more simple…. Very like a Kraken, though I've never seen one of those, only the sorts of octopus we pull from the sea. We can't be that choosy as to gifts of the sea in Kellington, with so many mouths to feed.""

Garvin wrinkles his nose a little at the thought of eating krakens or 'mocktopusses', a quick shudder running through him. To Kane, he gives a shrug. "He acts more like a woman than a man, even when he's not on the stage. But maybe I only think that way because he's so pretty." Another small shrug, then he's refilling his goblet from the flagon. "As for invasions, slow or otherwise, this probably isn't the best time to be jesting about them, what with the Dornish and all. I'm a nervous wreck, thinking about that Trial of the Seven tomorrow. Whatever the outcome, I fear there will be war. You can't trust those filthy desert dwellers, you know."

Carolis's brow knits for a moment, then he says, "Yes, I think I could eat." Then he clarifies for the barmaid that he'll have what Ser Malcolm is having. That bit of business done, he chimes in without missing a beat, "Wouldn't dream of it, Lord Garvin. We've broken bread. Even if we weren't friends — and we are — honor would forbid any invasions at any pace." He gives a shake of his head, adding, "I've never met one of them. I'll take your word. I can't imagine living in that kind of heat without going mad."

Kane gives Garvin a conceding shrug of his eyebrows and shall be left to consider how this "Nico" fares. As the subject turns, his hand folds in on itself on the table, forming a tense fist. His attentive gaze trails off the men, to the far right of him, where there is nothing but open space between unoccupied places on the terrace.

Malcolm spears another bit of flesh, "I had heard there was some to do. What are they fighting about, does anyone know?" He sighs, "I hope the Dornish mess blows over. A lot of good people die every time the raiding starts up again, and I don't look forward to raids on our coast, and it's rough on the smallfolk." He looks sideways at Lord Garvin, surprised by his vehemence. Ser Malcolm is having small weak ale and a trencher of possibly chicken but more likely pigeon with vegetables, rice and herbs. "At least we are close to tthe sea here. I think I'd go mad without the scent of salt and the cry of sea birds. I've never been more than a few days from the Ocean.

Garvin eats another spoonful of blueberries and cream, washing it down with more mead. "Oh, the Dornish have accused the Knights Errant of something or other. Lies, is all it amounts to, trying to deflect from the slaughter House Blackmont did at Wickham's Nest. Those men were out hunting when the Blackmont keep was razed, but you know the Dornish. Wicked, without honor, simply cravens, every one of them. So now they've sent seven of their so-called champions to challenge the Knights Errant to a Trial of the Seven. Which will happen tomorrow, it seems."

Out of the southward-leaning building itself, a rather sour-looking Riverlander girl — you can tell by her bright auburn hair and brighter blue eyes, see — comes a-stomp. Her boots are heavy, and whilst she's not wearing maile tonight, she's clad in leather head-to-toe, including a noteworthily chafing set of leather pants. She pauses at the threshold of the terrace with a mug of cider in one hand, to fidget and… is she 'adjusting herself'? Why yes, she is. One would be forgiven for mistaking Elys for a lowborn girl. (Except probably not forgiven by Elys.)

"This is the first time I've seen the sea up close," Carolis says. "I'm still thinking about how I feel about it. The smell takes a little getting used to." His tone turns soothing as he tells Lord Garvin, "I'm sure they're no match for the Knights if they're as cowardly and dishonorable as you say. Don't lose sleep over it." When his drink comes, he takes up the tankard, gives the contents brief consideration, then takes a swallow. Boozy? Mmm. Boozy. He then mentions, incidental-like, "There is a rumor going around I'm being groomed to be a Maester. Did you hear this?" The dainty flower of womanhood has not been seen just yet.

Malcolm tears of a bit of the trencher and uses the knife to push loose food onto the bread, which he pops into his mouth. "I suppose it'd be interesting to see how they fight." The prospect of new fighting style to observe perks him up considerable. "There's always something to learn from watching a good fight." As always when there is movement at the door, his head comes up as he assesses the new comer. His expression is rather quizzical when he sees Elys. and he looks to Kane to see what he does. Then he is looking at Carolis wide eyed, "How strange to never have seen it. Have you been to the beach yet? It's nice to have a picnic and wade in the salt. Have you seen the Wall? Is it really as big as they say? Are you religious then, Lord Carolis?"

"The ocean's a good friend," Kane chimes in; he's still half-distant. "When she's not storming or carrying in raiders. I expect it's not so different from sand in that way. But!" He livens at the end, snapping his head back about and slapping his palm heavily on the table. "No use dwelling on what we can't change, eh? Preparations are in order, all that, and it'll be up to the whims of the gods …" Distraction seeps in again, but this time he's looking at something solid — the Riverlander girl and her particular leathers. "… tomorrow."

Garvin pushes the bowl away from himself with a frown, his appetite apprently spoiled. "Well, I am not looking forward to it," he says, his voice a little harder than he intended. "Two of my cousins are among the Knights Errant, and I'd rather not see any of them killed by those wretched sand dwellers." He drains his goblet, then refills it yet again, still scowling as he looks toward Carolis. "Well, you spend so much time at the Citadel, it's a small wonder people have begun to talk of you becoming a maester. You need to come out drinking with me more often, that will put an end to the rumors." And start up a whole new set of them, no doubt. Like Carolis, he hasn't noticed the newcomer yet, as he begins drinking once more.

Thankfully, there's no sword belted at her hip tonight. Small mercies. This dainty flower of womanhood seems to have relieved the burn of her chafe for now, wrenching her hand from her pants and knocking back a decent gulp of the inn's famed cider before proceeding outdoors. With her hair let free in a spray not unlike a lion's mane, she's quite a sight, not that she cares. She draws 'looks'. She's used to it, by now. She frowns at one particular mismatched group of men — yes, she's scowling at you — and wonders, "What're you lookin' at?" Are those stares an invitation to sit down? She's drawing out a chair. Hello, boys.

Malcolm's attention snaps back to Lord Garvin, "I am sorry, My Lord. I was unaware." Then he is watching Ser Kane and the newcomer again. At Lord Garvin's suggestion to Carolis, he remarks absently, "That might not be any better for Lord Carolis in the long run, if you don't mind my saying." He waits to see what happens next with the Lady who has just settled at their table.

Carolis inclines his head to Garvin with mild humility. "You make a fair point, Lord Garvin. Nesting amidst the books has always been my failing." He raises his tankard then and says, "But see? I can be taught." On that note, he takes another drink. He then regards Malcolm thoughtfully in the wake of his many questions. "I've not been to the beach yet," he says. The idea of wading in salt doesn't seem to resonate with him, alas. His eyes light up a bit though as he says, "I've seen the Wall, and yes, it really is that big. Bigger. Whatever you can imagine doesn't even begin to capture the reality of it." As for religion, he just gives a small shrug and a smile. Take it as thou wilt. "Ser Kane, will you be one of the Knights Errant?" His voice trails off as he follows his gaze to Elys. He looks her over, toe to tip, and then smiles. "Lend me your name and I'll think of a clever answer."

No matter what word may have been on Kane's tongue (it might've had to do with Elys, by his look), it's banished with a sudden bark of a laugh that melds into a good-natured chuckle and shake of his curly head. "No. Ser Kane the Frivolous, in the Trial of the Seven?" Spoken as if preposterous, but he finds himself smiling wide over the imagery. "I haven't a thing to do with any of that." He lifts a hand to point at Carolis. "And good man, there are worse rumours than being a studied lad." Kane adds with his own bit of wisdom, although it's with a pointed smirk at the corners of his mouth.

"It's Bracken," Elys lends to Carolis without hesitation, and with the lift of her chin. Come at me, bro. "Elys Bracken." The Riverlander arches her brows, waiting for a clever response. In the meantime, she chugs back another few gulps of cider, eyeing the rest of the table-dwellers in turn. "Ser Kane the Frivolous?" She chokes on the remnants of a mouthful. "Well, Stranger shit a brick. I met Ser Prospero Storm here the other night, too." What luck! Still, she's shaking her head in disbelief.

Garvin gulps down another goblet of mead, a quick shiver running through him. "I think I should be heading home," he says, looking across the river to the small island that holds the Tyrell manse. "It has been a long day, and it will likely be a long day tomorrow as well. Ser Kane, I'd like you to stay here and ensure Lord Carolis finds his way safely to the manse, when he's ready. I'll take Tor and the others with me." He eyes the flagon for a moment, then decides against it, putting down his goblet and looking to Malcolm. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Ser. I had a most pleasant time earlier, and I hope we can do it again…very soon." There's a secretive grin on his face, but he's certain he's being sooooo clever, no one will notice. Finally, he pushes to his feet, sparing Elys a wrinkle-nosed glance and muttering something about bloody Northern (the Riverlands are north of here, right?) women in armor, but it's Carolis he addresses. "And you, my lord, I insist you remain here until you're good and drunk. So drunk, Ser Kane has to carry you home. It will do you a world of good." And with that, he stumbles his way toward the five purple-cloaked men-at-arms, who have begun to assemble into a proper escort.

Malcolm says, "If Lord Carolis would like, perhaps a ride along the Coast might interest him…" then he's all sharp interest in the young Stark, "Is it taller than the High Tower? I've been to the top of that, but they would not let me balance on the railing without a safety rope, and we hadn't thought to bring rope. I think the tower's near the height of the Titan, but I've only seen that from the water, so it's hard to tell." Still a woman has sat at the table and he rises, and gives a small bow, his tone perfectly polite, "Ser Malcolm Storm. How interesting to meet you, Elys Braken. I have not had the pleasure of meeting Ser Prospero Storm as of yet." He gives another, deeper bow to the departing Lord Garvin, "Until we meet again. Hopefully, your mummers will be more practiced in their steps by then." His own expression is blandly polite."

Carolis smiles up at Garvin as he gets up to leave. "I'll be fine, Lord Garvin." To Kane, he mentions, "You'd think I was made of spun glass the way they watch after me." He raises his tankard as if the say 'look, booze!' though he makes no promises about getting drunk.

Ser Kane, the Frivolous, positively beams to be mentioned by the introduced Bracken, tilting his head just so in order to shine this quite purposefully self-satisfied expression on her. The egocentric edges smooth away when his smile turns wry and sharp and his eyes clever. It doesn't totally vanish when he stands to respectfully see Lord Garvin off, watchful and nodding, newly dutiful, to his orders. "Aye, m'lord. Right, then," he sets immediately to it, searching for one of the servers. "More ale!" As he drops back down, his voice hushes to a jesting conspiracy toward Carolis. "Do what ya want. I won't tell if you drink the place dry or don't touch another drop. I'll see you back because if I heard correct we're both at Garden Isle until tides change."

Elys eyes Malcolm, and looks about to scold him, before she barks out a laugh. "I suppose they don't call you lord, then," she says, lifting her near-empty mug to him in salute. "Your pleasantries delight, et cetera, ad nauseum," adds the girl with a roll of her eyes to speak to her true feelings: politeness for the sake of her maidenhood is unnecessary. She eyes Carolis again, brows unevenly raised on her forehead, and retells to the table, "They say Winter only comes when Prospero Storm allows it, you know." The crass lady Riverlander hardly acknowledges the departing Tyrell, used to jibes about her attire as she is, and distracted more by the attentions of said Other Infamous Knight. "My shout?" She's more telling Kane than asking, though one doesn't simply… shout, the Frivolous an ale.

Malcolm waits until Lord Garvin is out of hearing and says quietly, "I won't tell if you disobey him."It is unclear if he means it for Ser Kane, Lord Carolis, or both. Then he is looking terribly contrite, "My apologies, Lady Elys. I had not realized that was a House name. Please forgive my rudeness." After a pause he asks Lady Elys, "Have you met the Lady of Blades? I should like to see her fight, though the day she met she was not in her practice leathers, so I was not given the chance." As Ser Malcolm is nearly done his meal, but only halfway through his small ale, likely he has been drawing it out also. "That sounds a marvel, Lord Carolis, and I would much like to see it." He adds quickly, "As a visitor, not a Brother. I do not think the cold would suit me."

Carolis laughs. It's a quiet thing, more seen in the shaking of his shoulders than heard. "Thank you," he says to the gentlemen with mock gravity. "He has a burning curiosity to see me in my cups, and I'll enjoy the escort for the company." He raises his tankard to Ser Kane. Then he tells Malcolm, "I would, by the way, enjoy riding out to the beach with you. Perhaps I'll bring my servant; he'll enjoy leaving the confines of the city, I think. And no, not as a Brother. Castle Black is impressive in a historical sense, but it's dank as a dungeon." He has to consider Elys' words for a moment over a few thoughtful mouthfuls of ale. Finally, he puts the tankard down and says, "Considering how long Winter lasts, my compliments to Ser Prospero."

"Are you telling me you want ale? If the lady wants ale, ale she will get." Kane smiles agreeably to Elys, though there's a hint of mischief in it, of humour. One eyebrow slowly begins to lower, pressing upon one blue eye, putting a suddenly perplexed look upon him, quite dramatized. "… who's paying for this ale?" He asks as if suddenly distraught. He glances, narrow-eyed, to Carolis. "Are you paying for this ale? …am I paying for this ale? When Lord Pansy leaves, does everyone still drink on his coin?… I shall take it out of my wages."

Elys laughs again, tilting the mouth of her mug toward Malcolm. "You're no Blackwood," says she, most mirthfully as she can, "And such, none offense caused. Please, call me Elys?" Four fingers of one hand waggle at the Storm knight in unison, begging his acquiescence. She reaches down then, to tug some silver coins from Seven-knows-where, and slap them upon the table with a resounding clink. It's with a sideways smirk that she regards Carolis again, wagging her chin upwards at his good natured response. "You're of the North," she practically accuses, not knowing any better but for a few overheard words. "I'm paying for this ale," she announces on the back of Kane's queries. "And anyone who wants to argue, can drink at else table." She tosses a challenging look toward the Frivolous, and reaches for a sword that's… not… there. Dang-nabbit.

Malcolm inclines his head to Carolis, "I suspect my Blanchet would enjoy a chance to get away from the city himself. We were raised in the same household, and I have dragged him far from the cliffs and beaches of home these last few years." He chokes on a sip of his ale, then laughs a bright, open throated laugh, "That is a long time to last indeed!" He looks at Ser Kane alarmed, "I was drinking on my own coin, Ser, and must make that coin stretch." He inclines his head to Elys without standing, "As you wish." He seems relieved.

"I'm not going to argue with the lady," Carolis says with a nod to Elys. "But the next round is on my coin. I insist. The gods know I haven't had to pay for a thing since I got here. Lord Garvin is a generous man." At the accusation of being a Northerner, his eyes get an amused glint and he shrugs amiably. That whole sticking out a like a sore thumb thing, he knows it. "I think Tellur is having a harder time adjusting to being here than I am. He could do with some time away. Lord Garvin's unfailing kindness is confusing and alarming him, I think."

Kane holds his hands up in pre-emptive surrender even after seeing that the Bracken lady has no sword. His eyes are wide and full of humour for the gesture — not, however, of the mocking sort. "Oh, carry on. The responsibility is all yours. Best allow Lord Carolis the next round, though, else if decides to get spit-flying drunk after all, you're the one that's going to carry him home," he jokes through serious tones.

The Frivolous many-named knight heaves himself up with an unfurling of his purple cloak and strolls around the table, seeming bouncing from his knees several times in a manner that makes his unfamiliar armour clink and clank. It doesn't sit any more familiarly upon him for it. "Lord Garvin's generous is right; after all, he hired me." Generous might as well be a synonym for non-discerning, given the way Kane references himself in the matter. Attentively scanning the terrace for a barmaid carrying ale and finding none, he mumbles something about getting it himself and ambles toward the Quill proper. Amble— bounce, amble, bounce.

Elys simply nods in return to Malcolm, preferring less pomp than your average Lady. She obliges Kane's transferring of responsibility with a splay of her hands up in surrender-fashion: you got it. "The Pansy's notorious," she quips quietly, waiting for a refill of her glass. Whatever that means. "Who's this Lady Blade, huh?" This last is to Malcolm.

Malcolm flashes a grin at Lord Carolis, "Your Tellur and my Blanchet can complain about us behind our backs. Sounds like a good holiday outing for them. To be fair, Lord Garvin's kindness can be alarming." He smiles at Kane, "If Lord Garvin were buying it would be mead and naught else." He sighs at Elys mention of notoriety. "Lady Rona Vielo of Braavos. She did well at the Dolphin tournament, I hear, though that was before my coming."

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