(121-04-19) Murder at the Quill & Tankard!
Murder at the Quill & Tankard!
Summary: After The Bear and The Maiden Fair's second showing, a few of the audience retire to celebrate. Also, there's a murder, but mostly everyone has a lovely time.
Date: 19/04/2014
Related: Related Logs

With special guest star, Kain, rolling out the murder plot emits!

A short time later, at the Quill and Tavern, a spacious table is ready to accommodate all the celebrants the night may bring. All along the length are jugs of cider, flagons of Arbor Red and Arbor Gold, fruit and bread, crocks of butter and — of course — honey (for what else would befit The Bear and the Maiden Fair?)

Merrily, Angharad raises a cup of cider, toasting, "While we wait for the man of the hour: To my dear cousin Garvin's intrepid work… Unique in all the world! May it ever so remain."

Malcolm does not sit until the Lady does. He hesitates when the order between his usual small all and decides to splurge on cider. He lifts his mug and laughs brightly at the toast, touching his mug to that of the others.

Carolis as well waits for the Lady to sit before he does so. He takes up a goblet then. "To Lord Garvin and his unique work," he says brightly. He takes a drink of the Arbor Red Garvin favors. The astute might notice he drinks very little for all that he makes a show of doing otherwise.

Lady Harry nudges Ser Malcom's ankle beneath the table as he tries to order his own drink. "There's enough food and drink here for an army," she nods to what's already been brought out. "You're not going to make me drink your share, are you? It's very un-Tyrell to be carted home in a wheelbarrow, however my cousin's striving to bring it back in vogue." She pours him a mug of cider, herself. "When Lord Pansy pays, everybody drinks!" To Carolis, she asks, all wide eyes, "Were I as alike my husband as I am often — unfairly, criminally — accused of being, I think I might have rushed the stage and started a brawl. Do you think he knows how insulting to the North it all was?"

Malcolm smiles crookedly at Carolis, what with Malcolm also sipping but pretending to drink heartily. His cheeks heat under his heavy tan, "Thank you, my Lady. I am not used to such abundance." His cooks his head, amused, "You seem about as unlike your husband as it is possible to be." He glances at Lord Carolis to see how he responds to the reference to the North.

Carolis shakes his head and says, "No, Lady Angharad, I don't think he has any clue. It is amazingly enlightening, though." He takes another drink, then says, "I confess, I'm tempted to tell him all sorts of things about the North to see if they make it into his next play. Like how we wrestle direwolves as a rite of passage into manhood, and how our consummations of our weddings involve duels to first blood."

"Sooth, neither am I," says Harry, smiling kindly at Malcolm's abashed observation. "I'm just getting used to it. When I first saw the books for Laurent's holdings, I though the poor maester who'd done them'd had an apoplexy and forgot to stop writing the zeroes." Some damn long numbers, obviously. She perks her eyebrows at Carolis, then laughs delightgedly. "No, no — duels are too civil. Only orgies and cannibalism will do."

Malcolm sighs, "I was a bit worried when I heard the theme, but what is one to do? I only hope the next one isn't about the Stormlands." He laughs, "You should put in Snark hunts." He samples some fruit and some bread and cheese, "We mostly have what we can catch or grow at home." he laughs again, imagining some maester stuttering zeroes across the page. He chokes at the orgies and cannibalism and when he gets his breath back, he wheezes, "Don't give him ideas. Do you want him acting That out on stage before all and sundry?"

Carolis clucks his tongue and gestures with his goblet to the Lady. "Cannibalism is one thing, but orgies are just not done. Do you know that Cregan is not the oldest brother? We had others, but he bested them in combat and ate them. That's why he is Lord of Winterfell. If he wasn't such a good swordman and I a picky eater, I too could take the title." Malcolm's choking and wheezing gets a slow smile from him. Really, it's its own reward. "Ser Malcolm has a point. I do try to discourage Lord Garvin from, ah, including me in the wide scope of his many leisure activities."

Angharad has dissolved into giggles as the Grotesque, Totally True History of House Stark all comes to light. "Oh! Oh — fuck — I keep snorting little bubbles up my nose from the cider… I'm switching to wine." She wipes her eyes, sniffling a little and trying not to laugh at Carolis' misfortune. "Oh. I'm so sorry. He's just like… an ungelded puppy, humping legs. We're trying so hard to break him of that. But smacking him on the nose or backside makes no difference — he just seems to like it."

Malcolm begins to relax as he decides Lady Angarad is good company. "I am now concerned that I told Lord Garvin about the octopus now. The Seven know how that and the merpeople will get worked in if he has a Stormlands character…. I think if they acted out the … full range on stage, Lord Arion's family really would have him killed, and his friends and family might all be looking under beds for Faceless Men." He goes a little wide eyed at Lady Angharad, then laughs along with her, "I fear he might, My Lady."

Carolis laughs at Angharad's words. He's a quiet laugher, his shoulders shaking and his voice trembling, but that's about it. "Indeed. Have a word with my man Tellur. He knows about training animals." The trio are drinking, on Garvin's coin no less, though the man himself is absent. "In any case, he's terribly generous and kind. Just…" How does he put this. After a thoughtful sip of his wine, he decides upon, "Delicate."

Martin enters from the street, a bouquet of flowers in hand. Upon noticing Angharad, he strides up to her, bows, and lays the flowers before her. "Flowers from Ser Flowers, m'lady. Your performance was excellent."

Angharad nods, switching her cider out for Arbor Red. "He is. Very generous. And I love him — he's family — but Maiden's tiny — " She stops, blinks a few times at Martin, and blushes. "I. Uhm." She laughs, helplessly, and stands to kiss the knight on the cheek. "You are so dear, but I wasn't on stage. You must have mistaken the lovely boy playing the Maiden Fair for me — for which I am flattered beyond words, for he's ever so much prettier than I."

Martin smiles slightly and blushes beneath his tan. "Indeed, I must have. Nevertheless, it would not do to bring flowers to a boy, so he may have a drink on my tab, and you may keep the flowers."

Over by the bar, two employees are speaking with the innkeeper. One appears to be a bar maid with a low cut blouse, who appears to be in her late teens. The other is a grizzled-looking man who was probably once a sailor in his younger years and probably works as a 'bouncer' of sorts, making sure any fights are taken outside. The innkeeper is a man with an immaculate beard, probably something he takes pride in.

"Karl." the innkeeper calls over. "You seen Fiona lately? It's been two days now." he asks, in the process of handing off a tray of mugs to another bar maid.

Karl, the older man, grunt. "Nope." he replies, leaning against the bar, scratching the stubble on his cheek. "Funny, now that ya mention it. Ain't she got a room here?"

The innkeeper nods. "Yeah. She's been working for free for pay off her room. Doing a good job too, until she stopped showing up."

"Salem," the younger bar maid starts, setting her newly empty tray down. "She did say a couple nights ago that she felt like she was being followed, y'know. Around town an such. But I did check up on her room. Door's been locked every time I knocked."

"Hey Sara. She tell anyone where she was goin'?" Karl asks, finishing off a glass of water.

"Nuh-uh." Sara shakes her red curls. "She sounded pretty happy working here. Guess it was first job she had that payed enough for her own place. Dunno where she went. Ain't got no family worth a damn."

Malcolm stiffens as the newcomer approaches, then is laughing at Angarad's response. His accent is very Stormlands and more lower gentry than properly posh. "I have to admit that the boxes were nearly as entertaining as the what was going on on the stage. I had never seen mummers in a real theater before. It was an education. I am Ser Malcolm Storm, at your service." This being his residence, he is passing familiar with those who work here. His expression goes serious at what he over hears of the missing woman.

Martin nods to Malcolm. "And I , Ser Martin Flowers, acknowledged of House Meadows, recently arrived in Oldtown."

Angharad smiles a broad, warm smile at Ser Martin, then gestures to the table laden with foor and drink. "He may drink on your tab, then, but I pray you'll drink on ours. Or Lord Garvin's, as it happens. Join us?" Then, to her companions, "Lord Carolis, Ser Malcolm, this is Ser Martin Flowers, just returned from abroad." She, too, frowns as she overhears the conversation nearby. "I wonder that no one's called the watch…"

Carolis watches the newcomer, and a smile tugs at his lips. He inclines his head and says, "Ser Martin, it's a pleasure." His accent is Northern and rather distinctively so. His attention strays to the conversation at the bar. "Who's the girl?" he wonders. "It doesn't sound like she's been missed."

Salem, the innkeeper, sighs. "You know, I was just thinking that things were gonna get better after we hired Fiona. No more of the short-staffer nonesense." Setting down his cleaning rag, he turns about, searching under the bar counter. "Alright, left her room alone for two days now." he goes back up with a spare key. "Let's take a look at her room. If her things are gone, then we know she got up and left. Or met someone. Or something. Sara, come along. You knew her best." A glance at the large, muscled former sailor. "Karl, watch the bar, ya?"

Sara nods, setting down her tray and following along with Salem, both of them disappearing upstairs.

Martin takes a seat at the table, glancing towards the bar and politely requesting a Reach wine.

Malcolm watches them head for the stairs, "one of the people who serves out food and keeps the rooms clean of vermin. Would you excuse me?" He stands, bows, and heads towards the stairs to see if there is ought to be done to help.

Angharad shrugs, only watching the innkeeper and server pass for a moment before resuming her seat. "Garvin would know. He knows everyone." She takes one of the many cups already set on the table and turns it upright before Martin, reaching for the flagons of wine. "Red or Gold, Ser Martin?"

Martin says, "Thank you m'lady. Red would do nicely.""

Carolis nods to Malcolm and says, "Of course." He remains, and he keeps an eye on Angharad. Casual-like. It's not like anything is going to happen the bouncers can't handle, right? He nods to the Lady and says, "Aye, he would. How long does it take a man to get out of his costume?" Martin gets a fleeting smile. "Good choice. The Arbor Red is quite good."

Down the narrow hallway, Salem is fiddling with the keys and Sara is knocking on the door. "Fi?" she calls through it. "It's Sara. You in there?" She seems pensive, wringing her hands after knocking. "You sure this is right, Sal? I mean, maybe we're just worrying over nothing, huh?"

Salen grunts, finding the right key. "I'm not a fan of one of the girls that works for me skipping out on work two days in a row without any reason. If she left fine, I get it, greener pastures, but I can fill this room if she's gone. If she's not? Then I'll give her a day to come back and clean out her stuff. I gotta make a living her. There, got it."

The lock clicks open, letting Salem into the room. He has to turn his head suddenly. "By the gods…" he chokes. "The smell."

Sara's face goes white, and then? Screams. A high-pitched wail that can clearly be heard downstairs. It makes more than a couple patrons stop their talking and look towards the stairwell.

Malcolm calls back, "It's not the getting out that's the problem; it's the getting in." Then he is upstairs, standing far enough back to be out of the way, but with his hand on his hilt in case of trouble. At the scream, he draws and steps forward in case it is not what he expects from the smell.

"How long does it take a man to get out of his costume and into another man's?" Angharad rephrases the question, all dimples and mirth. She begins to pour Martin's wine, but spills both cup and flagon at the scream from above. "Gods!" she stands up, ashen. "What was that?"

Martin also rises from his chair, hand casually on his Braavosi blade, as he steps both away from the spill and moves to place himself in front of Angharad and the stairwell.

"It can't wait until after drinking?" Carolis says with feigned displeasure. "The man's got to sort out his priorities." Says the man who barely drinks at all. But then there is the scream and he's on his feet, sharp-eyed and alert. And only armed with a knife, but his hand flies to it. Reflex prompts him to put himself between Lady Angharad and the source of the screaming, though he lets Ser Martin with his Big Pointy Thing go forth before him.

Salem the innkeeper quickly backpeddles out of the room, coughing. "Hell's bells!" he stammers, before Sara throws herself into the man's arms, sobbing.

"Who…why? Fiona! Why her!?" is about all anyone can make out of the bar maid, but her sobbing echoes down the stairwell into the main room.

At the stairwell, Karl is standing at the foot of it. "Ey! What's goin' on up there?" he hollars up.

"Call the Watch, damnit!" is the only reply from Salem. A look then goes over to Malcolm. "Wha…what kind of person would…" he seems to be an utter loss for words to what he's seeing.

Malcolm calls to his party, "Lord Carolis! Ser Martin! Best to guard the bottom of the stairs and keep folks from coming up just now!" He is in the doorway of the girl's room, with one hand holding his sword cleaning cloth held over his mouth against the rather chunky smell and the other holding the sword just in case. He checks first for intruders. Seeing no body on the floor, he looks up. He goes a little pale beneath his tan, but does not flinch away. "I'm not sure, but whoever did this needs burning as well as hanging."

Angharad looks pale, but steady. "Poor girl." And puzzled. "How could this have happened here? This isn't some — wretched hive of scum and villainy!"

Malcolm says quietly to the inkeep, "I see something above average peculiar. Besides the obvious I mean. I'm going to check." He sheaths his sword and takes out a small knife. With deep reluctance and stepping only as close as he must, he uses it to open her mouth and pry out what's inside.

It appears, the members of the Watch were off on a coffee break somewhere getting doughnuts or something, because once they hearing the screaming and calls for the Watch, in comes in two members. "Make way, make way!" one calls out, passing Karl and going up the stairwell. "What's all this damnedable noise….good gods!" one has to turn away for a moment, running into a wall of stentch.

The second seems to have more of his composure about him, and appears a bit more seasoned. "Salem." he seems to know the innkeeper on a first name basis. "What's happened here?"

"I…I don't know." Salem looks pale. "Fiona she…was missing. Figure she met someone. But…" he just points at the room. "The door locked from the inside! We thought she was gone." Nodding the older of the two Watch members looks over at Malcolm. "What you got there, Ser?"

Seems to be a scrap of parchment.

Martin nods. "Well, m'lady, either the culprit will stand out like a sore thumb upon review of recent patrons, or the culprit was of such class and station that their presence here raised no curiousity." Listening to the account of Salem, he continues, "Or perhaps the culprit was never seen, entering from the shadows."

Martin finished with his account, Martin cooly sips from his goblet of semi-spilled wine.

"Whatever happened up there, I think we're reasonably safe now," Carolis says with all due reassurance, once the Watch take over. Yet he doesn't step away from Lady Angharad. He turns to the Lady, and he shoots Martin a glance as well. "Would you care for and escort back to Garden Isle, Lady Angharad?"

Angharad stomps her foot as the watchmen go Keystone Kopping their way up the stairs. "It's about bloody time!" She sighs and nods as Carolis offers her his escort. "Yes. Please. How very distressing…" Then, to Martin, "Good night, sweet Ser. Thank you once more for the beautiful flowers." She makes sure to collect them ere she goes.

Martin bows. "Indeed, m'lady. I hope our next meeting proves more joyous."

Malcolm prods the parchment with the knife tip so they can see before stepping well out of the way, "Seems she had a number in her mouth." He looks to see the state of the window, then steps slowly out of the room and down the hall so as to not alarm the guards, but to be well out of the way. "I live in that room." He points to Room 3. She's like to sing of an evening, but haven't heard her last three nights, nor did I hear screams nor the sound of nailing on any night. There ought to be blood, but is not. Is there a chance she was moved?" He is at the top of the stairs. He calls loudly, "I know enough to bandage a wound, but am no healer. Is thereone with knowledge of healing in the house?" There has been a flatness and stillness about him since smelling the scent of death in his hall.

Martin glances towards Malcolm's direction, puzzled. "Does she yet draw breath, good sir?"

Carolis calls up the stairs, "Ser Malcolm, I shall escort the Lady Angharad. Do you require anything from us? I'll send my man to tell you where I can be found later." Hint: spill all the dirt, Malcolm. Spill it. All the details. Ahem. He inclines his head to Martin. "Ser Martin," he says with all due respect. Then he offers the Lady his arm.

Martin nods his head towards Carolis. "Do see Lady Tyrell home safely. In fact, should you desire further escort, I would be happy to accompany you. Otherwise, I will be hapy to remain and let you know what comes of this evening's events."

Malcolm calls down to Martin, "From the looks of things she has not drawn breath tthese two or three days, but this is not a natural death and I think someone skilled in the healing arts should look things over so we might learn more of how she came to no longer breath. Lord Carolis, I will gladly call on you shortly. These are passing strange goings on. I think it's best no lady be abroad just now without good escort."

The two members of the Watch look to be at a bit of a loss. "Nailed to the ceiling. That doesn't seem to make any sense." the younger one says to the older member.

Taking a rag, the older Watch walks in, using a rag to cover his mouth. "Nobody heard her come in or anything like happen to her. You'd think someone would notice a body being carried upstairs." He shakes his head. "I'm not healer or Maester, but I'd guess she's been dead about three days. Probably about the same amount of time she's been missing."

When Malcolm checks the window to the room, they are locked. From the inside. The older man walks the room slowly. "No blood trail. Don't see any marks of her being strangled or anything." He tilts his head. "No stab wounds. S'like she just dropped dead."

Angharad wrinkles her nose and looks a little frustrated. "Last time I go anywhere without a fucking bow…" she mutters, taking Carolis' arm and allowing herself to be escorted out.

Carolis hesitates a moment. Someone with healing skills. Except he's really got to take this lady home so he can't go up there where a ripe body is dead of unnatural causes. Surely they've got people for that around here. "You and me both, Lady," he tells her. "Excellent, Ser Malcolm," he calls back. Enjoy your corpse. He'll be taking the clearly traumatized beauty somewhere to comfort her.

A short time later, on the streets of Oldtown…

Carolis escorts the lovely Lady Angharad most gallantly. He's offered her his arm and everything. And he's given people whose gazes linger too long a dire, Stark glower. It's all in the eyebrows. Murderbrows. When a mere glare just won't cut it. When there are no interlopers to discourage, though, his features are soft and friendly, and his mood light for all that they're politely fleeing a murder scene. "I can't tell you how good it is to talk to another Northerner," he says. The accent, it is strong. "Had I known there was another in the house, I would have sought you out."

Malcolm hurries to catch up, once he's free of the Watch and Quill, looking much relieved to be away from the smell and closeness of the dead girl's room. He walks alertly, hand close to his hilt, but enough behind so as not to crowd the important people.

Martin walks close to Malcolm at a comfortable stride.

Angharad is uncharacteristically quiet during the walk back to the Garden Isle. She doesn't seem afraid, simply deep in somber thought, perhaps trusting the power of the Murderbrows. After all… he is a Stark. And she's a Northron girl. She keeps Carolis's arm as they walk in close concert. His words coax a smile from her, and she looks up at him, sidelong. "I understand entirely. I don't feel like I've only come to The Reach, most of the time… I feel like I'm in Dorne. Or Essos. It's that different." She perks up her eyebrows, more pleasant thoughts occurring than… you know. Decomp on the ceiling. "You said something about your bow? I never get to go out and shoot proper, anymore."

"It definitely isn't anywhere in Westeros," Carolis says. "It can't be." He looks around the streets, this time at the buildings, not the potential threats (though he's not blind to those either), and a smile plays upon his lips. "Too strange, and the people! I can only imagine the heat has done something to their minds." He turns his gaze to her then and his smile brightens. "I'm afraid I'll fall out of practice if I don't take it up again soon. Perhaps we can both go? I'm dismal with blades, and clearly we need to protect ourselves." They're not a difficult pair to find, what with all the finery and odd (proper, rather) accents. Not to mention the trail of shuddering left in the wake of the Murderbrows.

Malcolm says quietly, his tone still grim, "It's not as strange as Braavos, but not home either. Somehow I suspect your North would be more like home than here, snow and Wall and all."

"The heat! It's without doubt the heat — and maybe something in the water. I mean — this!" Harry steps back to show off her gown. What there is of it, with the plunging neckline and the back cut out and all. "I'd freeze my tits off, back home!" Then, at the prospect of riding out with bows, she beams, "I'd love that." She blinks back at grim Malcolm, caught out at having forgotten about Murder Most Foul and suddenly contrite. She tones it down. "Doubtless it would," she agrees.

Carolis looks at Harry as she shows off the gown. With its backlessness and plunging neckline and— oh, hello. Note to self, girls are nice too. Clearing his throat, Carolis looks away, seemingly fascinated at a bit of architecture as he offers her is arm again. "Then we'll do it, of course," he says. Regarding archery. Right. He turns his attention to Malcolm and gives Martin a nod when he sees him. He smiles at the former, and he says, "You will have to come see sometime, Ser Malcolm. I think you may be right."

Martin returns Carolis' nod, but doesn't jump into the conversation for fear of seeming impolite.

Malcolm smiles crookedly, "Don't dampen your mood for me. I understand homesickness better than anyone, and it must be a tonic to hear the accent of home. Would it be rude to ask where it the North you might be from, Milady?" He has been carefully not been enjoying the view from behind which would be rude. "Carolis, I think the Wall sounds brilliant in this heat."

"Not at all," says Angharad, happy to be talking of home. "I'm from Oldcastle, seat of House Locke, on the north shore of The Bite. Best of all worlds, if you ask me. Dense woods and ocean bluffs, all right up together."

Martin shrugs. "Perhaps I've spent too many days under the Dothraki sun, but this is no great heat. Then again, men become accustomed to their environs. What seems hot on day 1 seems positively breezy six months hence."

"Compared to this heat, the Wall would be paradise," Carolis says. He then adds, "You would like Oldcastle, Ser Malcolm. It is on the sea. I learned songs from there. All the best songs seem to be about the sea. It's hardly fair." He then asks Martin, "Where are you from, Ser Martin?"

Malcolm perks up, some of the flatness dropping from his voice, "It's a little like that too on our bit of coast, lots of rocks and cliffs, some good fishing coves, trees…. Likely our water is warmer, so the fish might not all me the same….I never went inland, myself. Braavos is beautiful if strange, but the water runs all through it."

Martin says, "I was born in the Reach, to House Meadows. However, I have traveled in my life, spending many summers in Dorne as well as across the Narrow Sea-on campaign in Bravos and the Dothraki Grasslands.""

Martin says, "It is not cool in those lands."

Harry is so interested in her companions that she startles when they come upon the bridge to the Garden Isle. Her face falls for just an instant, but then she takes a breath and puts on a wide, lovely smile. "Gentlemen — " She quickly pecks kisses to each man's cheek. "You've been the sweetest company. Thank you for — everything." She perks up her eyebrows. "I'll see you all again. Soon."

Martin inclines his head. "M'lady."

Malcolm is surprised by the kiss, but pleasantly so, "You are a most kind, interesting and formidable Lady. It is an honor to have met you." He bows very low with a flourish that puffs out his mini-cape.

Carolis leans into the kiss, and he smiles. Beams. There are dimples, people. He bows to the lady and says, "It was an honor to escort you." He watches until she's off again, just in case strangers come to abscond with her. YOU NEVER KNOW. Once he's convinced she's safe, he says to the others, "I've not traveled much, I'm afraid. This is as far away from home as I've ever been."


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