(121-04-18) Tyrells Aren't Quitters
Tyrells Aren't Quitters
Summary: Loryn finally faces his brother Laurent about giving up squiring to become an actor
Date: Date of play (19/04/2014)
Related: None

Ever since Loryn had arrived in Oldtown, he had somehow managed to avoid a direct confrontation with Laurent. He knew his older brother would be less than pleased about him chucking it all in with squiring to become an actor. Yet, he had heard that Laurent had come to see the play. That was something. While the others were stil celebrating, Loryn decides it's time to face the music and seek Laurent out.

Laurent fumes silently in a darkened Great Hall, lit only by the constantly burning fire in the hearth. Though he was dressed well enough at the theater, he is somewhat less so now, in form-fitting green trousers and a billowing shirt with a muted floral pattern. He has a pewter goblet hanging from the fingers of his right hand, and he sprawls in a highbacked chair, staring into the fire.

Loryn is also dressed casually, having changed from his stage costum back into comfortable trousers, boots and a simple white shirt. "Laurent?", he calls out, squinting through the murky gloom of the room towards the fire, where he can make out a person, and ventures closer. "Why didn't you come to the party?"

Laurent looks up from where he sits, his dark eyes narrow as he stares into the shadows. "Damnit, Loryn," he growls — not much of a pleasant greeting, "Come into the light." He doesn't stand, nor even shift in his seat. Nor does he wait for his brother to come closer before he goes on with, "I've no stomach for a party, just now. I assume Harry was there in my place."

"Not much light here, is there?", Loryn quips as he comes closer so that the flames of the open hearth can illuminate his frame. "Harry is there, yes, havina a good time.", he confirms, then hesitates a while and fidgets, before finally clearing his throat. "So, what did you think of my acting?"

"It was fine," Laurent growls, gesturing toward an empty chair. "Don't stand there," he adds impatiently. "Sit and drink, or don't. It's no matter to me." He looks about for a flagon of wine and finds it next to him on a low table, where he left it. He lifts it then to top off the goblet in his hand, and raises that goblet to pass it to Loryn.

Loryn accepts the goblet, looking a little relieved at his brother's compliment on his acting. He pulls the empty chair closer to the fire, before sitting down and taking a sip. "I'm glad you liked the show. And my performance. So…" He hesistates, "You understand, yes? It's fine with you that I become an actor? No hard feelings that I left Ser Malrik up by the Trident?" The knight he squired for. Since he did finally need a name for him.

"The Warrior's bleeding arse it is," Laurent growls, shaking his head. "What did I say, to make you think that was fine?" He lifts the flagon in his hand to take a drink straight from the source, wiping away a bit of spillage with the back of his other hand. "Did you even tell Ser Malrik you were leaving? Who else knows?"

Loryn winces. "I thought…", he begins helplessly, then lets it go. "Of course I told him. I told him where he could stick his yelling and shouting and harrassing me. And, um, people know? Your wife - who's absolutely charming by the way, you lucky bastard - and Garvin and … a few others I've talked to here. And Leire said she was going to write to Mother to let her know I was here… "

"You didn't tell your mother," Laurent says, eyes narrow. "You're not done squiring, Loryn," he says in a warning tone. "You'll write to our lady mother and explain what you've done, and your regret for it, and tell her that I am in search of another knight to take you on. And you'll write to Ser Malrik, and give him your regrets, and tell him you understand that you were in the wrong." His tone is sour, his eyes stormy. "And invite him to call on me in Oldtown, that I might apologize further on your behalf. Continue with your play, for now," he says with a nod. "For now. But you will earn your spurs."

"What if I don't want to?", Loryn asks rebelliously, every inch the stubborn teenager, "It's my life, isn't it? I can do what I want. And I don't want to spend my life in the dirt and rain and in human gore…"

"Then don't," Laurent snarls, putting the flagon back down on the table heavily enough that it bangs, and liquid sloshes over the side. "But you will earn your spurs, or spend the rest of your short life covered in your own gore." He takes a deep breath, about to add more vitriol, but sighs. "The Father's lice-ridden crotch, Loryn, but you don't have to be a soldier to be a knight. Earn your spurs, and then prance about on Garvin's stage, and I'll applaud you. But you're a Tyrell. You do not simply give up."

Loryn pushes his lower lip out sulkily. "I'm not going back to Ser Malrik. He took far too much pleasure in bossing me around, shouting at me and belittling me. And it was horrible up there, always cold and rainy. I hated it." He sulks some more, aided by another swig of wine, before he shrugs. "How am I going to earn my spurs if not in battle? Nobody is going to send them to me by raven."

Laurent throws one hand up in frustration, then lets it fall back onto the arm of the chair. "Earn your spurs fighting, like any knight," he says irritably, "And then never fight again, if you'd rather not." He says it wide-eyed, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "The Stranger's swinging cod, I hope you don't! Be a knight in truth, and whatever you like on stage. We'll find you a knight here in Oldtown to squire for. I'll find someone suitable."

Loryn fumes in silence, wanting to contradict, but knowing his brother well enough to know that it's useless and will only fan the flames of the argument. "Alright then.", he mutters, "I'll just stay here and win my spurs in a joust. I like jousting, that I do. So make sure that the knight will let me joust. And give me enough time off for the stage. And time off to see my friends. I've already made some friends here…"

"He likely won't," Laurent says sourly. "Give you time off for the stage, that is. You may have to put it off until you've earned your spurs — though Garvin is counting on you. To make you quit now would only compound the problem. So you'll see the next production through while I look for a suitable knight, and let our good cousin know it may be your last for some time."

"WHAT?!" Loryn's eyes widen and his voice reaches a rather high feminine pitch. "But… I've only just begun…", he pouts, "It's fun! And it could take AGES for me to win my spurs. I may be past my acting prime then for playing young dashing heroes who sweep maiden off their feet…"

"I'll not hear another word of it," Laurent growls, shifting forward in his seat to lean toward his brother. "If you want to be a young actor, then I suggest you be a brave squire, and earn your spurs quickly. Defy me in this," he warns, "And you'll be an ugly actor, with a face as scarred as my knuckles."

Loryn's lip wobbles suspiciously and he quickly reaches for the wine cup again to hide this. "Very well then.", he finally says stiffly, "Your wish is my command, brother. I know you don't care for my happiness." Then he rises to his feet. "I'll go and… well, withdraw, I suppose. Not longer in the mood to party."

"I truly do not," Laurent agrees, watching his brother stand, "When it stands opposed to the reputation of our house. Men who care more for their own happiness than for the esteem of their families are doomed to be small," he growls, "No matter the circumstances of their birth. I may have to watch my beloved cousin act the fool until no man has any regard for him, but I'll not suffer the same for my brother."

Loryn's eyes narrow when Laurent brings up the reputation of the house, but then he also mentions the cousin and he nods stiffly. "I was going to say, first deal with our cousin making a laughing stock of himself and House Tyrell in the process before you worry about me.", he admits and shrugs. "I suppose you have a point though.", he concedes, "I would not want to see our reputation tarnished. I'll think about it.", he adds as if he had any options to consider truly. "Good night, brother."

"You think I haven't tried," Laurent asks, bristling. His tone is heated now, and he stands to look down on Loryn. "Think well on it, Brother, and good night to you." He reaches back to the table to snatch the flagon of wine up again, and storms toward the doors that lead out to the garden, apparently to take a bit of air.

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