(121-04-23) Another Stark in Town
Another Stark in town
Summary: Loryn hangs out in the pub and meeds a new Stark, a Lannister and a saucy wench
Date: Date of play (23/04/2014)
Related: None

The day may be young yet, but the tavern by the river is always busy. Slumped by an open window, where a breeze comes in from the river, sits a lone young Tyrell with a very sour expression. One hand is wrapped around a tankard of ale, the other hand is wrapped in a blood-flecked bandage. He is staring straight ahead of himself, brooding.

Early, maybe, but it's never too early for some things. Andolin's new to Oldtown, only recently arrived, and — well, what better way to get to know one's way around town than the local watering hole? When he makes his way into the tavern, it's with a somewhat stiff gait that's not exactly a limp, but not exactly not, either; there's some discomfort there, either way. When he makes his way to the bar, there's an upnod toward the Tyrell.

Loryn's eyes trail over towards the entrance, narrowing his eyes slightly at the unmistakably northern arrival. The place is swarming with them apparently. But somehow, that only earns Andolin a disgruntled glare before Loryn goes back to chugging ale.

The glare earns a lift of a brow - it's a 'problem?' sort've thing - but Andolin only leans on the bar, getting a drink coming his way. He looks like he's been having a fun time with the weather - the hotter climate is something to get used to.

Loryn catches the look and frowns, shouting across the room. "Yo, pegleg! Come on over, join me for a drink! I love you Northerners so much, can't get enough of you lot!"

Stepping in from the outside with a bit of a grin, Ludvik looks around the room rather carefully now as he shrugs a little to himself now. Stepping further into the room, he looks around rather carefully before he moves his way over to some seat that happens to be not too far from where both the Tyrell and the Northerner. In his seat, he looks around for one of the servers, so he can place an order now.

Maybe to his credit, Andolin doesn't get too hot under the collar, but pride is a Thing, and thus the look he gives Loryn is annoyed, sharp. "If that's an example of your wit, I worry I might be bored to death." His drink's brought over, and he straightens up from the bar - Ludvik's entrance is noted, though little more just yet.

Loryn, too, casts a quick look to the new arrival, but identifying him as a Westerlander, he doesn't have much interest in him for now. "Ah, come on, mate, it's no fun to get drunk alone. And I'm so fond of you Northerners like you can't believe." He laughs bitterly about something that probably makes sense only to his drunk brain.

A door behind the counter is opened and Iris slips inside of the common room. She is obviously late for her shift, her cheeks a touch rosy, her dark brown hair arranged into an orderly braid, her attire, well… the chemise has slipped over her shoulder - as so often, and the brown dress seems to have been laced in a bit of a hurry. The smell about her is quite the opposite, as she emits a very unobtrusive scent of flowers. The reproachful glance from the barman is noticed, and Iris grabs some of the tankards waiting to be served with a sigh. Glimpsing the patrons at the table she'll walk over, offering the cider with a raised brow and a friendly smile. "Care for some more cider, sers?"

Ludvik just offers a quiet nod to the men at the nearby table, for now. Leaning back in his own seat, he absently drums a little on the table with his hands, as he watches the goings on in the room at the moment.

There's this hang of hesitation - almost suspicious - but eventually the young Stark unsticks himself from his spot and makes his way over. "I'll give you that," Andolin says, grudgingly, probably still stinging over the insult. An eye is cast over toward the bloody wrapping around Loryn's hand. "Trouble?" And, as Iris comes over, Andolin almost looks regretful he doesn't have reason to say yes. "No, but I'll be sure to empty this one quickly," he says, with a bit of a wry grin.

"Yea, had to beat up a mouthy commoner early.", Loryn claims, which might be the truth. Or not. "Hey sweetheart, bring me a fresh ale, yeah?", he asks Iris, stealing a glance down her cleavage while she hovers near them with her cider. Then he turns back to the young northron. "So what you brings you here? The winds are blowing quite a few northrons to Oldtown recently. But I know we have the much nicer weather here.", he grins before adding: "I'm Loryn Tyrell."

Iris will catch that regretful look of the Stark, smiling back at him as he offers her his reply. "Meaning…? I shall already leave one of these here with you?", she inquires, raising on of the tankards with a wink. Then turning to eye Loryn for a moment, her lips curling even more as she feels that assessing glance. "Ale, indeed, handsome?", she chuckles, with a good-natured smile. "I mean,…. M'lord of Tyrell.", she adds hastily after she overhears his introduction. Looking a bit impressed. Ludvik's presence is noted, but as he keeps quiet, she will not address him at the moment.

Leaning back a bit more in his seat as he watches the other nobles, Ludvik's attention moves to Iris now, studying the woman rather carefully for a few moments, while still watching the others every now and then. He lifts his hand a little as he looks to Iris again. "I could need some of that cider, and a little bit of bread, if it would not be too much of a problem," he remarks, a bit quietly.

Andolin snort at the explanation, half-amused, but takes a seat at the table. "The warmer weather," he says, just frank enough to maybe be the truth and just rueful enough to maybe not. "Andolin Stark." Iris is given a bit of a grin, though. "That sounds like a good plan," he agrees. "If you wouldn't mind."

Loryn chuckles at the barmaid's reaction to realizing that he is a Tyrell, but doesn't make a remark. Instead he quirks a brow at the Stark. "Another Stark? Are there still any of you left up in Winterfell? You a brother of Carolis?", he asks curiously.

"Not a problem, if you can pay, good ser," Iris replies to Ludvik, as she shoots him a glance over her shoulder, before she moves over and deposits one of the tankards on his table. "There. Enjoy." the barmaid says with a wink, before her attention returns to Andolin. Leaning over to put the other tankard down on the table before the Stark she'll shoots him a glance. "I was askin' and would be grateful if I didn't have to carry those heavy tankards all the way back to the counter, ser." She smiles at Loryn. "I'll be right back with your ale, M'lord.", before she turns and walks back to the bar, not too hurriedly, offering a nice view of her backside for those who care to look.

"If I can pay? Well, that should not really be a problem," Ludvik replies, before he takes out some coins and places them on the table. Taking a sip from the tankard, he chuckles as he hears Loryn's words to the Stark. "At times, it seems that we have vacated all the rest of the Kingdom," he Lannister remarks to the other nobles, while his gaze slips to Iris again now.

"There will always be Starks in Winterfell," Andolin returns by way of answer, amiable enough. He takes a swallow of his drink and sends a brighter smile towards Iris as she sets the drinks down - and who denies a look? Those are free. Returning that look back to Loryn, though, he shakes his head. "Cousin. Carolis and I grew up together, though."

"Ah well, Carolis is a decent sort of chap. Him and that sour-faced fella he always drags around with him.", Loryn explains, his eyes on Iris' backside until she is out of sight. He looks over to the Lannister now who's piping up and smirks. "Well, Mylord, the Reach is just the most wonderful place to be. We have weather, we have flowers, we have food…. all you have is complicated, stupid, wonderful, impossible women!", he rails at Andolin as if it is the boy's fault.

Somehow Iris manages to snatch those coins before she moves off. She may or may not be aware of the looks following her. When she returns after a moment, she carries a mug of ale. "Flowers. And lots of them!", she comments, in response to Loryn's remark which she must have overheard. "There you go, M'lord." Offering the Tyrell his ale with another wink.

Ludvik chuckles a little as he listens. "Well, it seems to be a place of nice weather and pretty women, the Reach," he remarks, another look over towards Iris for a few moemnts now. "I will make sure to enjoy the time I spend down here."

"Tellur?" Andolin wonders, sounding as though he's unsurprised. He finishes off his ale, though, in favor of the fresh one on the table that Iris left there. And then that last bit, oh that earns a grin. It's the sort of grin that's understanding, though maybe more amused than sympathetic. "Woman troubles?" he hazards, also sending that grin back to Ludvik at his words.

"Yea, well, never mind, fuck women.", Loryn grumbles sourly, "I'll stick with our own Reach women from now on, they aren't so much trouble and quite pretty indeed." He acknowledges Ludvik's words with a smile, while his eyes are back on Iris who's approaching with his ale. "Well, aren't you a pretty home-grown flower indeed, my dear?", he asks her, "Come, sit with me for a bit… what's your name?" He reaches out to entice her onto his lap, though the bloodied bandage around his hand looks perhaps not so very enticing.

Her hands fold before her as Iris lingers for a bit, a curious glance shot in Loryn's direction, as she arches her brow as well, as if putting some emphasis behind Andolin's question. Nibbling on her lower lip as she studies the Tyrell, she'll flinch as she hears the f-word, not because she's not used to it, but because she perhaps didn't suspect it coming from that handsome very very young fellow. "Home-grown, aye," Iris replies, her cheeks turning a tad rosy as Loryn graces her with his attention, following that invitation to sit on his lap without hesitation. "Iris, M'lord. Like the flower, you know?" she reaches for that bandaged hand to inspect it. "Ouch, that must have hurt." Shifting a bit as she shoots him a sideways glance.

"That is generally what men does with women, that's true," Ludvik remarks to Loryn, shaking his head a little bit as he looks between the three of them there, as he takes another sip from his tankard. "You should tell her the tale of the fight you wounded your hand in, should you not?" That to the Tyrell as well, before he looks overat Andolin again now. "So, what brings a Stark all the way here. I mean, that is even further away than Casterly Rock."

Andolin laughs at Ludvik's words, glancing over to the Lannister with a look that agrees in a glance. "He doesn't lie," he says, soberly, and then settles back into his seat just a little. "The warm weather called to me," he says a tad carelessly, taking a drink. And then, he adds, less flippantly: "And some family business. But yes, it was a long trip."

"And what is a Lannister doing here?", Loryn asks Ludvik, before, to his surprise, Iris really does settle into his lap. He places his healthy hand onto her leg for a little squeeze and smiles. "Iris, a beautiful flower of the Reach. How fitting." When she inspects his wound and hears Ludvik's suggestion, he smirks a bit. "I hate to boast, Mylord. A thief had stolen a lady's purse earlier so I pursued him into a dark alley. We fought and he cut my hand with a knife. But I managed to retrieve the purse and return it to its rightful owner." If Iris removes the bandage she'll find a cut that does actually look somewhat like a knife and might confirm his story. Maybe.

Iris will do no such thing! She'll be content to inspect the bandage, and listen to Loryn's explanation. "A thief! How brave of you, M'lord! To follow him into that dark alley! He could have had some villain friends waiting there to ambush you…" Her voice trails off as words seem to fail her for a moment. Smiling as she feels his hand on her leg. "You come here often, M'lord?"

"Ah, I see." That is Ludvik's reply to both of the two noblemen, before he shrugs a bit at Loryn's question now. "Much like our northern friend here. Partially family business, partially a chance to see the south."

Andolin eases back in his seat a little, taking another swallow of his ale - he's goin' through that at a good clip - and there's a bit of a smile at the interactions between the Tyrell and Iris. He looks amused, somehow, but at least he doesn't say anything. "And quite a sight to see, isn't it," he sighs. "Have you been here long?" This seems more angled toward Ludvik - he's leaving the pair to their discussions.

Loryn basks in Iris' admiration and leaves the hand on her leg, moving upwards a little bit perhaps. "Perhaps I shall come more often in future, mhmm?", he suggests with a little smile, "I didn't know such beautiful flowers grew in this rather dark garden." The men are forgotten for now - the girl's attention is balm to a wounded heart.

The discussion between Iris and Loryn isn't one exactly, with her voice now barely above a whisper, that might easily turn into a purr. "Maybe? Although… I may not work here for much longer, M'lord. The thing with Fi… that's perhaps a sign I'd better get work some other place. So aye, this garden may be a bit too dark for me, M'lord." She smiles and her gaze follows his hand sliding a bit upwards.

"Well, I arrived a few weeks ago," Ludvik replies to Andolin, before he adds, "Had an errand in Silverhill on the way down, so the trip took a little longer than I had planned." Another sip from his drink, before he adds, "And how about you? When did you arrive?"

"The thing with Fi?", Loryn wonders, then ohs. "The dead girl? You knew her?" Way to put a damper on things. But his hand remains in place on her leg, in that comfy soft space just below the hip bone. "If you want to, I'll put a good word in for you at the other pubs.", he promises, "I'm a Tyrell after all. There's one closer to Garden Isle, too…"

Andolin's leaving the pair to their business, now, and he looks a little rueful. "A few days ago," he answers. "As I said, it was a long trip. This place, it's going to take some getting used to." To put it mildly. The talk of a dead girl tugs at his attention, but he doesn't interrupt. "How are you liking it here?"

Iris nods and sighs, her gaze clouding for a moment. "Certainly I knew her," she replies, raising a brow. "And ragarding the other place,… I have already had an offer to work at the Golden Maiden Eatery. But thanks, M'lord. How kind of you to offer help."

Ludvik grins, "I've been places it's been harder to get used to." Another sip of his drink, as he glances over at the two others at the mention of a dead girl, an incident he's only heard about so far. "And so far I like the city very much," he replies to the Stark.

"I've only seen a few parts of it yet," Andolin says, though he gives an agreeable and wry grin towards the first bit. "Yes, I had a number of places that I stopped in on the trip south that took all kinds of 'getting used to."

"I'm so sorry for your loss of a friend.", Loryn tells Iris and uses the opportunity to move his hand from her leg to her waist to draw her closer to him for a little comforting snuggle. "But you'll have a fresh start soon and I'll certainly come to visit." Holding her quite happily, he looks at the two men again and smiles at Ludvik and Andolin. "Yes, it's pretty here. You should come to the theatre one of these days, I'm just starting a new career as a star of the stage."

Iris giggles, for the moment perfectly oblivious to the other two's presence. "I certainly hope to see you there," she smiles, her head turning suddenly as she hears her name being called by the barman, and that slightly impatient grumble of his voice. "Oh dear,… Have to work, M'lord." A sigh of regret leaves her as she jumps off Loryn's lap and walks towards the bar, with a light shrug. Offering Loryn a smile over her shoulder though, before she moves off.

Ludvik grins, "Much of the Kingdom is a bit different from the North, I believe." Raising an eyebrow as he hears Loryn's words, "The theatre? Interesting career choice," he remarks now.

"A bit," Andolin agrees around another drink, and he glances back over Loryn's way, and his brows arch up, making a noncommittal noise of agreement to Ludvik's observation. "I could come look at one of the shows sometime," he says, though it's with a certain amount of reservation. "What are you putting on?"

Loryn looks a little disappointed when Iris moves off, but when he turns to face the two men again, it is with a rather smug smile. "That chick likes me.", he confides the rather obvious, then seems happy enough to move on to his favorite subject. "My cousin is putting his own plays on - the benefits of owning a theatre, I suppose. The most recent one was 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair' though he is presently writing a new one. Writing me a big part.", he adds proudly, then shrugs at Ludvik. "I was a squire until a few weeks ago. Hated it, up on the Trident, in rain and mud and blood all the time…" Wrinkling his nose at the memory.

Andolin gives a grin in return to that smug smile, only glancing briefly back Iris' way before refocusing on the pair. He listens, and his smile goes a little crooked. "Can't say I'm well versed in the theatre," he admits, in the way that implies a lot of understatement. "See, I think I'd rather do that than be up on a stage."

Loryn squirms a bit, not at all happy about the Lannister's nosey question. "Told you, I hated it.", he repeats grumpily, " I spent the last two years up by the Trident, where my knight was involved in some stupid peasant rebellion. Always just rain and mud, blood and gore. I was always cold and hungry and he'd only shout at me. I'm a Tyrell, I won't be shouted at.", he declares huffily, then shrugs. "I heard that cousin Garvin had opened the theatre here and come to join him. Screw the knighthood. Even though my brother would like to foist me onto some other poor knight so I'll earn my spurs. We'll see about that." The young Tyrell looks stubborn as he drains his ale, shaking his head at Andolin.

Ludvik chuckles, as he nods at Andolin's words now, unable to hold back a bright grin. "See, that's where I'd say that I'd agree fully with you," he remarks, before he shakes his head a little. "But some people just have to be different, of course. Charm of the world, different people."

"It's not all glory," Andolin agrees, and despite his words there's a little wrinkle of his brows at the description; aversion to theatre or not, he's not exactly eager to go bailing off into the middle of a battle, either. "And I suppose that on the stage, there's at least less of a risk of getting an arrow stuck in you." He considers his almost-gone drink with a sigh, and gives a hint of a grin back toward Loryn. "So do you enjoy the theatre or is it just better than getting shouted at?"

"Oh, I do enjoy it.", Loryn says earnestly, "Us Tyrells have always been artistic-minded. This is where I belong, not on some battlefield. But if you excuse me now…" He eyes his empty tankard with a sigh, "I should go and have this looked at by a Maester. It really hurts and I worry some shards are still stuck in the wounds. Drop by some time, young Stark, you northrons always hang about Garden Isles anyway. Lord Ludvik." He inclines his head to the elder Lannister, then makes his way out.

"I will try," Andolin agrees to the offer to stop by - lord only knows if he will or not, but at least there's something of an agreement there. "Walk safe," the northerner offers the Tyrell as he leaves, and then after a moment or two he finishes up his own, and, bidding farewell to the Lannister, makes his own way out

"Well, it depends on how well you do on the stage, I supose," Ludvig remarks, before he inclines his head to the leaving Tyrell. Going back to quietly drinking for now.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License