(121-04-17) The Oldest and the Towniest
The Oldest and the Towniest
Summary: Over a drink on the Quill & Tankard's terrace, Lady Harry explains why Oldtown is the oldest and the towniest of all the towns in Westeros to Lord Pansy, Lord Loryn, and Tellur Snow.
Date: 17 April 2014
Related: none.
Players:
Garvin..Loryn..Angharad..Tellur..

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Quill and Tankard


It is a summer night.

This is the common room of the Quill and Tankard, that famous Oldtown Inn that has never closed in five hundred years. The building is a noble old half-timber structure with plastered stone between the enormous old black beams. It sits on a small rock of an island at the edge of the Honeywine River, and is accessed by a little footbridge, or by water-taxi.

Rivermen and seamen, smiths and singers, priests and princes, Lords and sellswords, travelers both noble and small, and the novices and acolytes of the Citadel - all come for a taste of the fearsomely strong apple cider that makes this inn so beloved by Oldtown's people. There is a pleasant buzz of chatter, cups and tankards being filled and refilled, and general laughter.

The fire in the hearth allows for a merry glow and a comfortable warmth from Oldtown's breezy, misty cobblestone streets. Benches and tables offer places to sit, and there is a deliciously toothsome smell in the air of food from the back.

Currently at least two City Watchmen are stationed here at all times. They will be quick to arrest those who offer violence to anyone. !!!


Garvin is in good spirits tonight, the performance having gone well. And so, after bidding Arion farewell (for nearly an hour), Garvin comes down from the apex and finds Loryn, asking if he'd like to join him for a celebratory drink at the Quill & Tankard.

Loryn has been watching the performance eagerly, the first time he's seen the full show and of course with full attention to his future role and dialogue. "It was great!", the young Tyrell tells his cousin eagerly, "How long did it take you to write the play?" He is only too happy to follow along to the pub for some drinks and dodge Laurent a little while longer.

Garvin gives a shrug, signalling to his six ever-present guards, who fall into step around the pair on their way through Oldtown. "About a month, I think. I already have an idea for my next play, but I need to think on it some more before starting to write." Soon enough, they arrive, and Garvin immediately calls out, "Drinks for the house, on me. When Lord Pansy pays, everyone drinks!" He must be fairly well known here, because most people cheer, his men most of all.

"Well, I hope it'll have a good part for me.", Loryn replies with a grin, "I still need to convince my brother that I can act and have a future on the stage. Perhaps a dashing love story with a dramatic death at the end of act four?", he asks hopefully, "I've read some good stories…"

Given the weather outside, even the more cold Northman, Tellur, cannot quite bear to wear a jerkin over his shirt. He just turns up in it, a solem grey linen, with black breeches, looking stifled. His hair has been pulled back into a tight ponytail in an effort to keep himself from overheating, and he arrives _just_ in time to hear the drink order "…wine with ice," he quickly says to the barkeep.

The barkeeps hurry to start pulling ales for everyone, as Garvin looks around for a free table. "It's a little crowded. Would you rather go out and sit on the terrace? Should be a cool breeze off the river." To a passing barmaid, he calls, "A flagon of mead and two goblets for us. Wait, do you want mead, Loryn? Order anything you like!" He hasn't noticed Tellur yet, but he's sure to soon.

Loryn has definitely heard the order and frowns at Tellur for being a totally obvious tourist. "You don't dilute wine with ice.", he points out to the man, "The wine is nicely chilled and that's it." He recognizes him from the party at the Manse the day before and while Tellur didn't leave a particularly good impression on him, he still adds: "And come outside, there's a nice breeze as my cousin says. And I'll have wine, too.", he decides, looking back to Garvin and the barmaid, "Mead is too… substantial for this late hour."

"Then I'll just have the ice, and water," Tellur says, likely to the staff's annoyance. He adds "Mead is a bit heavy for this hour, though - thick. A light white wine would be better for your constitution, Lord Garvin. Something very light. Is there a breeze?" He looks hopeful, it has to be said.

Garvin turns to see who Loryn is addressing, and his lips turn down in a frown when he sees — and especially hears — Tellur. "Oh, it's you," he says, pouting now. "But I like mead, and I worked very hard tonight, so I deserve a treat. Wait, wine comes in white? Is that something you have up in Winterfell?" The thought of drinking icy water makes him shiver and scrunch his face in distaste. "There's always a breeze off the river. I think it's why the Quill is so popular. Come, let's go out and see." He slings an arm around Loryn's shoulders, grinning again. "You'll be fine tomorrow! Laurent will be so pleasantly surprised, he won't be able to help but approve of your new career choice."

"By the Seven!", Loryn groans when he hears Tellur order ice and water and shakes his head about the Northron. He looks at Tellur with a grin. "Should you Northron not know that ice IS water? Just order a block of ice and let it melt all over your face, perhaps it helps. Especially with the breeze." Since Garvin is already wrapping an arm around his shoulders, he allows his cousin to lead him outside to the terrace, where they can sit overlooking the river, which lies silent in the darkness. Only a few single lights speak of boats drifting by in the warm night air.

Tellur watches Garvin's face go flat and he says "Have I caused offence, Lord Garvin?" And then he nods "Yes, milord. The…better whites come from the South, to be honest." He quirks his lips, quietly, and then he says "I will enjoy the breeze then." As he tilts his head to Loryn, he smiles, quietly "I've had quite a few drinks tonight, master Loryn. It's not a wise idea for me to have too many more. After all, I should hate to embarass myself. Further."

Garvin snorts and rolls his eyes, as he leads the way to the terrace, waving off his men, who don't look too happy about being left inside. The arrival of their free ales, however, seems to cheer them. "You Northerners are far too concerned about being embarrassed. It must be incredibly dull in the North, everyone all prim and proper all the time." He glances at Tellur, then suddenly grins, as he leans toward Loryn and stage-whispers, "Bet they've all got massive sticks up their bums." Louder and to Tellur, he says, "You need to learn how to let go and have a little fun. Maiden's corset, it's a tavern, not a Sept! If you're not drunk, that's when you're embarrassing yourself."

While Loryn still wonders what to reply to Tellur, there's Garvin with his words of encouragement and he laughs, nodding enthusiastically. "Indeed, my friend, losen up, this is the South! And while I am not an expert on drinks, I can tell you, that you won't be able to party on ice alone, so have some wine with us. Did you see the play, too? Wasn't it just amazing? I can't wait to be on that stage myself!"

"We have things to entertain us, my Lord, like blood feuds, hunting, starvation, and freezing to death," says Tellur, in his calm, mild voice. At the comment, there is a slight wince, as if he knows that a mere Bastard can not object to rudeness from a high lord. Then he says "I think the things I find fun are not the things anyone else here finds fun, Lord Garvin. But I do like chilled wine in taverns." He shakes his head a little "I didn't. I did mean to, but there were matters to deal with for the Maester of Winterfell - we had a raven from Lord Carolis' brother. There will be someone else coming, one of his brothers' bannermen, perhaps, to teach Lord Carolis more swordsmanship." And guard him. He adds, a little wryly "I can't for the life of me act, or even lie effectively, I fear. I can only admire others."


Terrace - Quill and Tankard
-
It is a summer night. The weather is warm and overcast.

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.


It's less hot outside, and as promised, there's a chilled breeze from the river. Not cold, but cooler than the air inside, that's for certain. Garvin makes his way to one of the tables near the short stone wall, which offers an excellent view of Garden Isle across the wide river. "Well, you're not in the North now," Garvin insists, releasing his hold on Loryn so he can sit and lean an elbow on the table. "There's no starvation or freezing to death down here, so why don't you live a little? What're you afraid is going to happen? That your face will crack open if you smile, or Stranger forbid, laugh?" He giggles at the thought, then sticks out his tongue, because he's soooo mature. "You and Lord Carolis simply must come to see the play tomorrow night. I insist! It will be Loryn's first performance, which will be a treat for all of us. And my next play, he'll have an even bigger role!"

"Starvation and freezing to death are things you find fun?", Loryn wonders, wrinkling his nose at Tellur, "You Northrons sure are strange creatures. If acting and music is not your idea of entertainment, how about swordplay and jousting? I'm not a bad jouster, I have you know. My knight thought I had potential. Could have been a tourney knight. Maybe." For a moment he looks thoughtful, as always when he contemplates his career choices, but Garvin's words quickly cheer him up again. "Yes, now I am an actor! I won't disappoint you, cousin, I promise. I already know all my lines by heart!", he assures Garvin eagerly.

Tellur moves over, to put his hands on the table, and look out at the river, admiring it, in all honesty, and then he finally says "It was a joke, Lord Garvin. I'm of melancholic persuasion by nature - a lot of Starks are, even our Bastards are, I suppose. We're concerned with honour and appearances, and such. But we have our dances, and so forth, and the other things we do. We're very much fans of hunting - I am as well. I think I told you once? I've hunted boar a few too many times, I suppose." There is a smile at Loryn as well, quietly, then he says "I'm a bastard, Master Loryn. My father didn't raise me with swords and jousting - but rather as a servant. But I can keep a horse steady through flood or wild ride in the forest, and shoot from it bareback. Those things, I find delightful."

Garvin grins at Loryn, then suddenly leans over to smooch his cheek, in a brotherly-friendly manner. And then the barmaid has brought a flagon of wine and two goblets, as well as a tankard with water and a nasty-looking chunk of ice. "You're going to be wonderful," Garvin insists, stuffing his hand down the front of his codpiece. Wait, is he about to whip out his…? Ah, only his coinpurse, and from it, he fishes out a golden dragon, tossing it onto the maid's tray, before stuffing his purse back in one of the safest places to hide it. Looking to Tellur, he wrinkles his nose again. "Yes, you told me about hunting, which I've said I enjoy well enough. But we're not about to go hunting now in the middle of the night. We're here to drink until we can't drink any more. You seriously need to loosen up, Tellur." He fills both goblets with wine, taking one for himself and offering the other to his cousin.

"So, more bloodshed", Loryn nods earnestly to Tellur, then he can't hold his laugh in anymore. Clearly he is just teasing. "I quite like hunting myself. When I was travelling with my knight, he'd always make me hunt for dinner. Said, if I'd fail to bring down a pheasant or a hare, I'd have to sleep hungry. It was an effective method to teach me to aim well.", he chuckles. He is pleased to see the drinks arrive at last and pours some wine for himself and Garvin, then holds the flagon out over the chunk of ice, looking over to Tellur again to see if he'll accept some wine topping on his ice. However much that makes the young Tyrell wince.

Tellur watches Garvin, a little warily, and then he says "Well, I do like reading as well. Lord Garvin," And now his voice is oddly gentle "I just don't know how to behave around gentlefolk like this. This is unusual for me - and I know the South is more…I know that you have more structure between your servants and yourselves. I'm a servant, I'm trying to work out how to behave so I don't cause Lord Carolis offence." He says to Loryn, dryly "Ah, everyone likes teaching using those methods. They were used on me. But I have to say, a hand shaking with hunger does not aim well." He _does_ take his ice with wine. Shudder, everyone.

Garvin takes a long, healthy swallow of wine, then lets out a satisfied gasp, smiling. "Good Arbor gold," he says, eyes alight. "I don't know that I'd like hunting all that much, if the alternative was going hungry. I never actually get anything anyway. I just enjoy riding out in the countryside, following the hounds and generally having a good time." When he sees Loryn pouring wine over the ice, his expression becomes one of absolute horror, a shudder running up his spine. He shakes his head, looking mournfully at his cousin.

Loryn shrugs at Garvin once he's set the flagon down again. "They're our guests. They'll learn in time. Maybe. And don't worry -", he turns to Tellur with a cheerful smile, "You may be a servant and a bastard and I'm a high-born Tyrell Lord, but you know what, I don't care. Not at this hour. Not after spending three years in the mud and dirt, being yelled at and rained on. Okay? Cheers, my friend! To my cousin, the playwright!" He raises his glass of wine to toast to Garvin and chugs it back. Almost the whole glass full. The boy is thirsty.

Tellur says dryly "I doubt the fox has a pleasant time of it, Lord Garvin. But I suppose the hounds always enjoy the hope…" He shakes his head a little, and comments "You can hunt deer with an eagle. That's something I do enjoy. It's astonishingly brutal, and quick, at the same time. It's the type of hunting where all you need are wits and a long knife." He is nursing a goblet of mostly ice, with some wine splashed in. And then he says "…they'd yell at a Lord?" Some things about Knights, he does _not_ know. He lifts his glass and has a moderate mouthful, to the toast.

"Did someone say hunting?" Lady Angharad's voice, clear and carrying, comes cheerfully over the idyllic scene. She sweeps up all in blood-red riding gear and black leather bracers, pecking Garvin's cheek a friendly hello. "More importantly, did someone say wine? Good day, dear cous." She flashes a warm, wide smile at Tellur and Loryn as well. "Gentlemen! Hello!"

Garvin grins brightly, drinking more wine at the toast, then reaching for the flagon to refill his goblet. "Well, his knight was a lord, too. Most knights are, you know. Oh, there are hedge knights, of course, but few of them can afford to support a squire. But Loryn is correct, Tellur. You're our guest, and Lord Carolis isn't here, so let yourself go and be yourself. Like I said before, this is a tavern, not the Starry Sept. Seven hells, most men think nothing of pissing right off the side into the river, lords and smallfolk alike." And then Angharad surprises him with a cheek kiss, and he suddenly blushes deeply. "Those words weren't meant for your ears, Lady Harry," he says a little sheepishly. Then he hops to his feet to make formal introductions. "Lady Angharad Tyrell, it is my pleasure to present your goodbrother, Lord Loryn, and Tellur Snow, our guest from Winterfell. Loryn, Lady Harry is Laurent's bride!"

"My knight made it clear early on that while I'd be squiring for him, I would only ever be his lowly squire and not Lord Tyrell.", Loryn explains to Tellur with a somewhat sour shrug, "It's supposed to be character-building or something. Character-building my arse. He pissed me off, he did!", he begins to rant as the wine kicks in. But there's some distraction in form of a female arrival and he surveys her eagerly, hoping she may be plying her trade around the tavern. But before he open his mouth and insert his foot quite firmly, Garvin luckily does the introductions. "Lllllaurent's bride? He has a bride? Poor thing. Er, well, hello, Lady Angharad. I am Lord Loryn, at your service." He doesn't bother to get up but at least does some sort of bow while remaining seated.

Tellur straightens, politely, and says in his grave voice "Good evening, Lady." If she is Garvin's cousin, she must be a lady, right? He was leaning on the table, out into the breeze, and he looks Angharad up and down thoughtfully. Maybe approvingly, given that outfit. As Garvin gets caught out, Tellur cannot help but look amused. Then he bows, and he says "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And, oh, Lord Garvin, if you wish to see me relaxed? Come upon that hunting trip with me." His eyes glitter "You will truly enjoy it - I can take a pack of hounds and make them fawn on you like a lady's lapdog - one that could rip the throat out of an enemy. Truly, though, I am in a good mood. When I am in a poor one, I start fights." Then he says to Loryn "I think being a lowly squire would be a step up for me, but I know nothing of warfare or armour. I can train a horse to bear a great heavy man in armour, but…" he shrugs "Warhorses. A waste of time. They just get killed."

"Oh, Smith's blistered taint, Garvin, you keep forgetting where my ears have been," Harry teases fondly, but then there are introductions afoot, and she's beaming at both men presented. "What? What? Laurent's little brother and a Northman? I hardly know who to kiss first!" Primacy, it seems, goes to family, in the end. She embraces Loryn and kisses the lad on both cheeks. "Poor me, indeed. But I fend for myself, never fear. Welcome to Oldtown, darling boy! Please call me Harry. Has your dreadful brother bothered to see you, at all?" She does refrain from actually kissing Tellur, despite the threat, but looks delighted by his presence, saying to the Northron, "And gods, you practically smell of home. Do you mind standing upwind? I think I'll just breathe you, for a bit."

Garvin blushes again at Harry's words about the Smith, taking his seat again. "I hadn't forgotten," he says, refilling his goblet, then offering it to her. "But yes, this is Laurent's baby brother, and one of my favorite cousins. Loryn, hadn't you heard? They were betrothed at your lord father's insistence a month or two ago, and we were planning a huge wedding for them, but they ran off to the Sept and eloped! I barely made it in time for the ceremony. But the best news of all is, you're going to be an aunt or uncle soon!"

Loryn might want to reply to Tellur, but suddenly he gets embraced and kissed. Not that he'd mind, getting a faceful of cleavage in the process. Quite bowled over by the woman, he can only stutter. "Well… hello… Harry. And welcome to Highgarden. Er. Oldtown. We're in Oldtown." Wine and cleavage don't do much for the boy's brain. "I have seen Laurent actually. Briefly. I've been…" He looks shifty suddenly and reaches for the wine cup again to drain it. "Sort of… happening to be in other places than him." Which sounds much better than 'avoiding', right? "My wine is empty. More wine! Drink with us, Lady Harry!" He reaches for the flagon again to refill his cup. Of course this is just the moment for Garvin to announce offspring and half the wine sploshes beside the cup and over the table. "What?! Sevens.", he groans, "A Mini-Laurent?! He'll come out of you kicking and screaming."

Tellur says to the woman "I've only been here a few nights. It's -" He swirls his goblet of wine and ice "Well, warm. But I've brought a great deal of things from home, indeed - if you miss it, you should come to the Weirwood Manse - Lord Carolis' brother, the Lord of Winterfell, is sending a number of goods down with his next Northron, inflicted on poor Lord Carolis." At 'eloped' and 'aunt soon', Tellur looks amused, before he says "…I am not quite sure _that_ is how being an Aunt or an Uncle works." And then something crosses his mind "Are you betrothed, Lord Garvin? I thought I remembered reading something…?"

Harry accepts the goblet happily, but nearly snarfs her wine at Garvin's birth announcement. "I think, dear Garvin, whatever the sex of the child, Loryn is locked into 'uncle.'" She listens with amusement as Loryn speaks of avoiding his brother, dimples on her cheeks. "Really? And you've been successful at that? You must show me these places." More laughter at his lament on the birth, eyes dancing. "They all come out that way, sweet thing. If it comes out brandishing a pike and trying to grope the midwife, then we'll know it's your brother's." She wrinkles her nose, agreeing with Tellur, "It is dreadful warm, isn't it? Though they do have some lovely fashions, baring bits we'd just as soon not have frostbitten, at home." She lifts her eyebrows and drinks as Garvin's asked about his betrothal, interested herself in the reply.

Garvin blushes and looks sheepish again. "Oh right. Well, we'll both be uncles then!" Grinning, he waves to the barmaid, calling, "Another flagon of Arbor gold and another goblet! Tellur, do you need more ice for your…uh, very watered wine?" He settles back in his chair, giving his eyes a roll. "Laurent isn't that bad," he insists. "He's the kindest, most thoughtful man I know, and I know for a certainty that he's quite madly in love with you, Harry. Why, he hasn't visited a brothel since marrying you, not even once!" His eyes suddenly light, his grin becoming wicked. "Speaking of brothels, I'm thinking of buying one. Wouldn't that be just too wicked?"

Loryn listens to the chatter, unable to get a word in-between for some time and so he sticks to topping up his wine and drinking. One fact doesn't escape his attention though. "Note how Garvin does not reply to the question of his betrothal.", he winks to Tellur and Harry, having formed an instant liking for his new goodsister. "And what would you buy a brothel for?", he asks Garvin directly then, wrinkling his nose, though it doesn't take long for him to recognize the advantage of that. "You'd give me a big discount of course!"

Tellur says to Loryn, dryly "I had rather noticed it, it has to be said. It's a nice dodge." He shakes his head a little, and then he says to the Lady "Mmm, it's true - though fashions are something for your form, not mine. My legs are hairy enough to stun a bear." He gives a wolfish grin, and he tilts his head at the idea of buying a brothel, before he says "Now why not buy a stables, milord? Beautiful horses, pretty foals, good riding and great sport. Plus, the wagering." He grins, and he says to Garvin "Arbor gold will do. I've cooled off a bit now. Poor Lord Carolis is dead to the world, himself. I've told him to give up on nightshirts."

"Laurent is as he chooses to be," says Harry, which doesn't sound as though she's arguing with Garvin, but — it's certainly no wholehearted endorsement. The subject of the brothel lifts her eyebrows high. "Oh, Garvin, you can't!" She looks rather aghast. "Think of the family — and your poor father! He'd be mortified. The Tyrells are the rulers of the Reach, not bloody whoremongers." She nods at Tellur's suggestion. "An utterly sensible — and appropriate — idea." Harry adds, somewhat belatedly, to Loryn, "Sorry to cockblock your discount, darling. I'm sure they'll give you one at the Bawdy Bard just for being pretty."

Garvin holds his 'serious' expression as long as he can, then bursts into laughter, which lasts longer than his attempt at seriousness. "Oh, the look on your faces!" he cries, dabbing a tear from his eye. "The horror! Oh, it's too much. Of course I'd never open a brothel. Owning a playhouse is quite scandalous enough, I'm sure." Still giggling, he takes the fresh goblet from the barmaid, drinking deeply. Then with a sigh, he admits, "Yes, I was betrothed for a time, to a Targaryen. Two Targaryens, actually. It ended poorly with both of them, and I couldn't be happier. I think if I had to marry either one of them, I should be dead within a year."

Loryn makes a face at Harry when she talks of cockblocks and the Bawdy Bard. "I don't need to pay for whores anyway!", he declares huffily, "I've had many a willing servant girl or tavern wench giving it to me for free." In his dreams. So he looks a little disappointed when Garvin explains that he is only joking. "Targaryens. Crazy lot.", he agrees though and goes back to drinking wine.

Tellur admits "I am not as clear on the Houses of the South as I should be - of course I know of your nobility, but not the specifics of the families - Lord Garvin, do you have brothers and sisters?" And he quirks a lip at Angharad "It appears my shallow attempt to have more stables to visit is not going to come to anything. A terrible shame. And young Lord Loryn, here's an odd question. If you did sire a bastard, would you acknowledge them?"

Harry looks utterly, profoundly relieved at Garvin's punchline, however taken in she was. Whew. She well-nigh wipes her brow. And drinks again. As for his betrothal(s), she adds, "I liked Visenya. Until she proved to be a complete nutter. At least she didn't cry all the time, like the other one." Apparently, she finds Loryn's protestations adorable, and reaches over to ruffle her goodbrother's hair. "Of course you have, sweeting." To Tellur, she offers, "We should go riding, some time! I hardly ever get out anymore and it's tragic. Do you hunt with a bow?"

Garvin gives his eyes a roll. "Princess Visenya thinks she's the queen," he says, taking another long drink. "Insisted that I call her 'your Grace', and when I tried to set a date for our wedding, she breathed such wrathful fire, I thought I'd been singed to the bone. No thank you! Tellur, I already own a stable, why would I want another? The one at Garden Isle is more than big enough." After another, shorter sip, he leans close to Loryn and whispers, "You and I will go to the Bawdy Bard some night, and take Arion along, too. Of course, you won't have to pay anything, because when Lord Pansy pays, everyone fucks, too." He falls back in another fit of giggles, clearly more drunk than he should be. It's been a long night, after all.

Tellur's sensible question briefly sinks Loryn's good mood like a stone and he shrugs sulkily. "Yea, I would, of course, wouldn't I?", he bristles, "Can't sell them as Slaves across the Narrow Sea. Or could I?" He seems to dwell on that briefly, before Garvin's none too quiet whisper makes him flush bright red. But he quickly tries to hide that behind what he considers a sophisticated nonchalant laugh and a nod. "Yea, sure, of course, no problem. Will be interesting to see how the whores here compare."

"I do," Tellur says to Harry "I used to hunt boar with a spear, but last winter, I wasn't fast enough, and now I doubt I'll ever do it again unless I truly must. Unfortunately, I've come to realise that the bigger the bacon, the longer the tusks." He watches Garvin giggle, with a faintly worried look, as if hoping, against all hope, that somehow the man will be serious. Then he says to Loryn "Ah, that's a good lad. It's not a kind world for a woman unmarried with child." He shakes his head a little at the talk of whorehouses, and says "What's the Bawdy Bard?"

Harry grimaces into her cup as Garvin makes his invitation to Loryn. "Hopefully not everyone, cous. That could expend even your prodigious purse, and the whole of Oldtown would have crotch rot, besides." She gives Loryn a significant, big-eyed look and draws her finger across her throat — just a little. With her shoulder turned a bit to Garvin, to conceal it. IXNAY on the ORESWHAY. Dude, just don't. To Tellur, she claims, "Well, that's the beauty of the bow, my friend. You keep the tusks at a distance."

Garvin giggles some more, not catching Angharad's gesture, as he leans close to Loryn again. "It's the most famous brothel in all of Westeros! Or so they claim. The only time I ever went there, it was pretty dull, to tell the truth. The proprietress…the head whore, she was incredibly rude, kept shushing us when we asked for whores. I don't know how she stays in business with that attitude. And then…Uh, then nothing happened, and I went home." He blushes deeply, hiding behind his goblet to take another long drink. All this talk of boar hunting has made him thirsty, it seems.

While Garvin explains to Tellur what the Bawdy Bard is, Loryn has time to narrow his eyes at Harry in a silent "What?!", confused by her big-eyed look and throat-cutting gesture. He does quirk a brow at Garvin's tale though and drinks more wine, before shaking his head. "Nothing happening in a brothel. How incredible lame. Man, Oldtown sucks. I should have gone to Highgarden. Or Lys. Isn't Lys the place to be? I heard many tales…"

"It takes a very good shot to drop a boar with an arrow without it still reaching you," Tellur grins "And I, despite being quite good, am not _that_ good. Those things are monsters. And venison tastes better. Well. Nearly better than crackling." And he says to Garvin dryly "I'm cautious about brothels - who wants to catch something deadly, eh? Anyway, ah…" He does not say _why_ he thinks the madame might not want Lord Garvin present. Then he says to Loryn "Wouldn't it be more pleasant to go to one of your sweet and willing lasses?"

"Oh, come now, little brother, you are too sullen!" says Harry, grinning at Loryn. "Oldtown has many, many commendable qualities. Why, first off, it is the oldest town." She nods sagely. "Secondmost, it is the towniest. The very towniest of all towns. And then there's the tower! The Hightower — which is very… high. And towery. Bards are moved to song by our old… towny… toweriness." She drinks. "And our terribly rude whores." She beams. Bling! This message brought to you by the Oldtown Towniness Bureau (and Brothel). She nods at Tellur's concerns of the boar-bow combination. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

Garvin's eyes suddenly brighten, as he tells Loryn, "Nico is from Lys! You know the pretty, young man who plays the Maiden Fair, with the long, red hair? That's Nico." He leans close again, whispering, "I met him that night at the Bawdy Bard. He's what didn't happen, if you know what I mean, though we 'happened' later. Not the next time we met, because that was the night Ser Viggo challenged that dreadful Prince Aevander to a duel, and the two of them beat each other senseless. But the next time I met Nico, that's when…well, you know." He grins again, winking. "That's also when I got the idea to cast him as Princess Rhaennyn. He really is pretty enough to pass as a maiden, don't you think? And whatever he learned in Lys…Well, let's just say I wouldn't mind visiting that particular city myself one day." Just then, Tor of the Purple Cloaks emerges from the tavern proper, giving Garvin a significant look. With a sigh, Lord Pansy finishes off his wine and pushes himself to his feet. "Alas, good friends and cousins, it is time for me to be poured into my bed, so I may be refreshed for the performance tomorrow. Now Harry, don't keep Loryn out too late, as tomorrow is his first performance, and I want him to be at his very best. You and Laurent are coming to watch, aren't you?" Without waiting for a reply, since he's sure it will be affirmative, he turns then to Tellur. "And you and Carolis must come as well, of course. It will be great fun!" He takes a few steps back, then gives a low, florishing bow, before turning to accompany his guard back into the tavern, and from there, to Garden Isle.

"Yea, well, I haven't yet met many sweet and willing lasses here.", Loryn grumps at Tellur, "I suppose they're too busy being old and towny or something. And nobody knows me here yet. They know me in Highgarden of course. Couldn't step onto the street at home without being cheered by pretty girls. But I'm not complaining!", he adds quickly, grinning again, "They'll soon know me…." He falls silent then to listen to Garvin's somewhat confuddled tale about Nico, the Maiden Fair. "Oh, you mean, that's a BOY?", he realizes and chuckles, going back to his wine. When Garvin declares his intention to leave, he smiles. "Don't worry, cousin, I'll be gone soon, myself. Want to be rested for the show."

Oh no. No no no no no. Garvin mentions Nico and it's as though Angharad can see what's coming. She puts her fingers in her ears and closes her eyes. Lalalalalala. The la's aren't actually audible, but one can see her devotedly chanting the syllable, inwardly. He gets up to leave and she unplugs her ears, offering him a pained — but still fond — smile. "Good night, Garvin." And then there's Tellur leaving. "And to you, Tellur Snow!" Laughing softly and shaking her head, she drains her cup and shrugs at Loryn. "Our cousin is an interminable font of Things You Can't Unhear."

"He is, isn't he.", Loryn agrees and smiles weakly. He may be pretty drunk, but now that fast-talking Garvin is gone and he doesn't have to impress the grumpy Northron anymore, he actually calms down a little. "I wonder though, how much of all that is just big talk and imagination and how much is true. He does seem to be intent to shock people."

"Having been an unfortunate witness to one of his trysts, I can tell you he has no judgement. If it's male and pretty and doesn't move quickly enough, he's like to hump its leg like an ungelded puppy." Harry blinks, adopting a Did I Just Say That? expression. She smiles apologetically. "Sorry. Strong wine. But to wit — remember to move quickly."

Her dry assessment makes Loryn laugh out loudly - a bit too loudly perhaps. "How very true, My Lady Harry.", he admits, "Though I think I am quite safe from his affections, being his cousin and all. Besides, I… I don't really… swing that way. I think." He thinks. More wine probably helps him think. He chugs some more, then nods. "Yes. I don't. I like boobs. Begging your pardon, My Lady, but yours are really quite admirable. My brother is a lucky bastard." Sigh.

Harry half chokes on her wine, laughing and blushing as she dabs her lips with the back of her hand. "Oh! Well! Thank you, sweetheart. That's… nice." She nods. She waves a lazy hand, expounding on his 'thought' for Camp Penis, "It's honestly fine, as far as I'm concerned. Boys, girls, boys and girls together. Who really cares, so long as we do our duties to our families? It's just…" she sighs. "Garvin is so patently obvious about it. He doesn't even try. And, if you want my opinion, he's deliberately sabotaged his last betrothal because he's just terrified of what's between a lady's thighs." She stares at Loryn, all big eyes, to make her point. I mean, SRSLY! "Not just uninterested, scream-and-run-away-in-the-least-manly-fashion-though-that-surpises-no-one afeared." She rolls her eyes. "Why he can't just content himself to turn his wife over, once a year, and pretend he's in the arse of some pretty young boy, I cannot fathom. It's not much to ask, is it?"

Loryn's cheeks colour again at her frank speech, though he can't help nodding along. "I know… I mean, I have been here for only two days, but all I hear is how he's making a spectacle of himself and being an embarrassment for his family. And I've been witnessing it myself. So… yea, I don't know. But he's young. I mean he's only a year older than me. Why force him into a betrothal now? Nobody forces -me- into a betrothal that's for sure." He looks quite determined about that.

"So that he'll have a beard, that's why," says Harry. "Everyone knows he's a bugger, but for the sake of appearances, he has to have at least one alibi, however flimsy. A wife and a child is all that will do. Honestly, if he'd calm down and stop waving his erection in everyone's face the minute he lays eyes on another man, the pressure to marry would decrease. Considerably. Poor fellow's his own worst enemy." She points at Loryn. "Which is why you're not to go whoring with him, or on outings with him and his Florent playmate without a chaperone. The rumor mill will have you the meat in a catamite sandwich before you can say 'Ow, my arse.'"

Loryn's jaw drops quite literally. "I… I have no intention…!", he gasps, but sees the point in her warning and blushes once more. "I suppose you are right though. If people are prepared to believe the worst of him… and frankly, he's probably given him quite some reason to believe so, then they'd probably believe the worst of me too. And I… I have a name and reputation to uphold. Or to make. I dunno. But while I like Garvin, I don't want to be the talk of the town like that. Not for all the wrong reasons. Besides, I can find the whorehouse on my own, thank you very much. I'm not a child anymore."

Harry shakes her head, reaching across the table to place a hand on Loryn's arm. "Don't feel you have to avoid your cousin's company. I wouldn't wish that. Just… don't go off alone with him and his sly fox. People will talk, and you're entirely right about your reputation." She laughs, refilling her cup from the flagon left by their much-discussed cousin's largesse. "And I'm sure you can, sweetheart. You have a Tyrell's every grace. Maids shall utterly pine for you, all over town — and whores welcome you. Whatever your preference."

"Yea, I suppose so.", Loryn smiles weakly, admitting perhaps, in not quite so many words, that he is all talk and very little deed (or experience). When she refills her cup, he looks thoughtfully towards his own nearly empty cup, but for once good sense prevails. "I should probably go to bed. I'm going to be in Garvin's play tomorrow. I learned my lines and know my moves mostly, but I need a clear head. I don't want to make a big mess of my acting debut. I want it to be my new career…"

"And leave me to drink alone? How ungallant." Lady Harry smirks and drains her just-filled cup in a few long swallows. The Northron women. The can drink, for certain. She hops up and offers Loryn her hands. "Come, then, you can see me home. Or we can see each other home. However that works."

"Sorry, goodsister, it's been a long day.", Loryn admits sheepishly, but is happy to accept her hands and walk home with her.

~Fin

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