(121-04-24) Favours and Gifts
Favours and Gifts
Summary: Keyte asks a favour of Laurent, and then a bunch of others join them — including Riderch with some gifts.
Date: (24/04/2014)
Related: Things and stuff. I never link these. Sorry!
Players:
Laurent..Keyte..Garvin..Loryn..Riderch..

Grand Hall, Garden Isle Manse

The first floor's main hall is grand, open room dominated by a massive fireplace and high-arched windows facing the street, protected by heavy iron bars. The white walls and polished white marble floors make it seem airy and bright. The starkness of the walls is softened by three long tapestries, depicting fantastical hunting scenes, while the marble floor is cushioned by rich Myrish rugs.

Down the center of the hall is a long, wide dining table, able to seat thirty comfortably. At the head of the table is an enormous chair of elaborately carved rosewood, with a door behind flanked by two high windows, giving a view of the sunlight gardens. Near the fireplace are smaller chairs, cushioned benches, and small tables for more intimate conversations.

Alcoves and doors at either side of the great hall lead to servants quarters, kitchens, and smaller sitting rooms. At the northwest and southeast corners of the building are square towers holding the stairs up to the floor above, where the bedchambers and other sitting rooms are found.

Late evening in the Garden Isle finds a particularly surly looking Ser Laurent Tyrell in the Grand Hall, speaking in hushed tones with a harried middle-aged man-at-arms. He has the older man by the color, and though his voice is held low the words carry. "You're certain she's here, and safe?"

"Aye, Ser. It were a moment ago she come through the door, there, and was straight for her rooms," the graying soldier says, stammering as he catches himself. "O-o-or I think it were to her rooms, Ser. It were up the stairs, if you please, 'n no mistake."

"Breathe a word of this to anyone, and I'll have your tongue out of your head," the Thorn growls, then pushes the man away with that hand at his collar. The guardsman stumbles slightly, but catching himself, takes himself out through the kitchen, stepping lively. He has no more wish to linger in Laurent's company than Laurent has for his companionship.

Who knows where Keyte's managed to slip in from, she just appears all of a sudden, kind of spookily, behind Laurent. No footsteps or anything to alert him of her presence. Just: BOOM. She wears a frown, along with a rather silky gown in prettiest pink. "I wish you'd stop being so horrible to the household, cous," she complains.

Laurent snaps around to look at Keyte, obviously tense. "Damnit, Cousin," he growls, taking a step away from the young Tyrell maiden. "You've footsteps softer than the Maiden's own pillowy bosom, don't you?" He shakes his head, looking about for something, but in the end doesn't find it. "Join me for a drink," he half asks, half demands just before he raises his voice to call out to the staff. "WINE!"

It's something she's quite proud of, her light-footedness, and in response to Laurent's cursing she beams a rather irritatingly bright grin. "Mhmm," chirps Keyte, wincing and recoiling at the shout for wine. "PLEASE!" She just can't resist, and though her shout is loud, it's rather more singsong than the Thorn's. She steps, mouse-quiet of course, toward one of the cushioned benches by the fireplace. "Who were you enquiring after, then?"

"Where are you come sneaking back from," Laurent growls, a question for a question, running roughshod over Keyte's inquiry as he comes to drop heavily onto the bench beside her. He unbuckles his baldric as he comes on, of course, so that he can lay his scabbarded sword against the wall. "You're in a fine humor. Been to see your dolphin knight, then? I hear he has his spurs, now?"

"The…" Keyte stops short of a lie, glancing innocently up to the ceiling and shrugging. "Oh, psh. I was at the Sept, if you must know, and no." Her spirits seem to sink at the mention of Kevyn, or his spurs, or both. She sighs, long, weary, and pained. "I mean, yes, he's a knight now, but no, I wasn't with him. I… think he might hate me, now."

Laurent looks his cousin over, as though to make sure she's the same Keyte, then shakes his head. "Seven hells, he might," the Thorn scoffs. "Not unless — Do I have you confused, again? It wouldn't be the first time. You're Keyte?" His dark eyes narrow as he honestly tries to work that out. He seems on the verge of reaching out to pinch her, almost, when the wine arrives for both of them and the moment passes.

Keyte's a bit annoyed at Laurent as he checks which one she is; surely he can tell them apart by now. (It's totally reasonable that he can't.) She leans away with a peevish frown, and says, "Yes, I'm Keyte." When she sighs again, her shoulders droop. "Anyway. Speaking of Kevyn Dolphinsbane, I've a favour to ask you, cous."

Laurent sips at his newly arrived wine, settling in to look Keyte over. She is Keyte. He thought so. "I know the mind of a young man," the Thorn claims, "And Ser Kevyn doesn't hate you." He says that with an impressive confidence, especially given his complete ignorance of the situation. He seems sure it's fine, and not FINE, as it were. "A favor." This he draws out, as though it were inconvenient, but not unexpected. "You must think me terribly fond of you. How may I serve, Cousin?"

Keyte looks skeptical. He'll have to forgive her for not being reassured by his assessment of the situation, but that itself is not the favour that she seeks. She slips out a hand to pat affectionately at Laurent's shoulder, even, claiming, "I don't think it, cous, I know it. — If it's not too much trouble, I'd like you to find him a place in your new household? He came to visit yesterday and he asked, well. If I minded if he asked, but then somehow things got horribly… out of hand, and I… well I thought I'd ask you myself. For him. On his behalf." She'll stop rambling now, fixing an expectant, yet somehow hesitant smile on her cousin.

"And that will patch matters up between you?" Laurent snorts a laugh at the simplicity of it, though he nods his head. "I ought to be able to find some use for him," he allows, considering it a moment. "He's a useful enough lad, isn't he? If a touch raw. Doesn't have the stomach for…" He looks sidelong at Keyte, then drowns whatever he was about to say in a gulp of Arbor red. "What use would you have me find for him, then?"

"I doubt it, but at least he won't leave town," mutters Keyte, further dispirited by Laurent's bark of laughter. She's practically slouching now, dejectedly taking up a cup of her own to drown her sorrows in. "I… don't know," she admits, of the lad's usefulness. "And… I don't really care. Something. Anything. Although — I doubt he'd want to wash dishes or darn your socks, cous." She takes a great swallow of wine, spluttering a bit as it goes down uneasy. With a fist beat gently to her chest to cough it down, she adds, "He may yet come ask you himself, I don't know."

"Cousin," Laurent says, his tone suddenly earnest. "Look in a mirror — were I you, I should always have one to hand. It will remind you," he says pointedly, "That Ser Kevyn will not lose interest. Not so long as you're young." Another sip of his wine, and he shakes his head. "The lad's a knight, I'll find him a knight's duties. And I'll go to him, Cousin. Say you only mentioned his name, and that I should be glad to have him in my service, if he would be glad to serve. That way he need not come hat in hand."

"Ser Kevyn," Keyte repeats, her nose crinkling. "It sounds so odd." It's a step up the gloom ladder, at least, and she refrains from further choking on wine, back straightening. "Well… thankyou," she offers, sincerely grateful as she slouches against Laurent's shoulder instead. "I appreciate it, truly. I suppose it'll put me in your debt." Which is probably a thing she appreciates a little less, given the slight drop in tone.

"I don't suppose I'll have occasion to collect," Laurent counters, equally sullen, as he tries to imagine what use a debt from Keyte might be to him. He's not the imaginative sort, really. "It does ring odd though, doesn't it? I think I liked him rather better as the hero squire. The bravest squire in Oldtown — now he's just one brave knight among many."

"I'm sure you'll find something, eventually," Keyte says, her smile creeping back. "He was a very brave squire, wasn't he? One can only hope he won't slack off, now that he's knighted." Is that a thing newly-knighted squires are prone to do? She seems to think so. "Say, is Harry alright? I heard that… well."

"The bravest," Laurent says from behind his wine glass, before his mood turns suddenly black at the mention of his wife. "Harry is fine," he says, his tone suddenly rough. "Whatever you've heard. It's a row, common enough. Not another word of it to anyone, and we'll call that debt collected before it's due."

Keyte might have protested, but for the mention of debts being called collected. And truly, she is a young gossip of a thing, so it's probably wise of Laurent to ask. Her jaw slackens open a little, but she hides it behind her cup, taking another (smaller) sip of her wine. Quite abruptly, she changes the subject: "Did you hear Tironos Tarly and Jeyne Webber are betrothed? I wonder if that's a wild political play with meanings yet to be revealed, hmm?"

Garvin steps inside with Nyran, tossing his riding cloak and gloves to the squire and sending him upstairs to pack some more clothes, as he makes his way into the great hall, calling, "Anyone here? Wine! It's a long ride from the playhouse, and I'm parched!"

Laurent slouches on a bench near the fire, looking surly. Keyte leans on him, LEANS, caught in a moment of non-hatred for the Thorn. His eyes narrow as he mouths a name, 'Jeyne Webber,' though he doesn't say it aloud. He's almost certain he's being mocked, in fact, but Garvin's entrance distracts him and he raises a hand to wave to his cousin. "Over here," he calls out. "There's wine, comfortable chairs, and a fire."

Yes, there is leaning going on. It's positively affectionate over here by the fireplace, how embarrassing. Keyte straightens, of course, as another cousin steps in and calls for beverages that they're already partaking of. She glances over her shoulder to Garvin with a smile. "Are you back, cous?"

Garvin's grin widens when he sees his cousins being so close and affectionate, striding toward the fireplace. "Only long enough to pack up the rest of my clothes. At least, I hope it's the rest, I'd hate to have to hire the wagon for another day." He finds a goblet and the flagon, quickly filling one from the other, then dropping into a nearby chair and guzzling far too much. "I just met your…goodcousin? Harry's cousin, Lady Esselyn, she's out on the steps, playing her harp and afraid to come inside, for some reason. I tried to tell her that we Tyrells thrive on music, but…." He gives a helpless shrug, gulping again. "Who understands Northerners? So! What excitement have I missed here the last couple of days?"

"She's likely worried that I'll break her hands, or some such," Laurent growls, shaking his head. His next sip of wine is noisier, and sees him have to wipe away its last vestiges from his chin with the back of his free hand. "I've not met her myself, but it's been my experience that Northern women are mad, every one." He's in a foul mood, despite his affectionate posture of a moment ago, and not shy about letting it show.

Keyte's brows shoot up, and she sips daintily on her own wine as the Thorn finishes his. "I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered," she muses, at the mention of Harry's cousin. "Does she think us savages?" She's laughing in disbelief, and gives a light shake of her head to dismiss it. "Are you going to be moving permanently, then, cous?" She addresses Garvin with a curious tilt of her head.

Garvin drains the rest of his goblet, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Permanently for now," he says, still cheerful, as he leans over to reach the flagon for a refill. "It's better this way for everyone, I think. Certainly convenient for me, not having to make that long ride through the twisting streets every night after a performance, when I'm all exhausted and drunk. I'll miss my lovely bath, but I'm sure I can get by. And without my antics and shenanigans, everyone here will sleep easier at night, don't you think? So! Laurent, Garden Isle is yours to hold and protect. You might want to dye all the purple cloaks green, just to make the transition clear to one and all. As for Northern women…Well, Lady Maera was the first I ever met, I believe, and we all know how I feel about her." He sits back once his goblet is filled to the brim, giving a shudder. "Harry may have the tongue of a hedge knight in his cups, but at least she dresses and carries herself like a proper lady. I understand our other Northern guests have moved into the Stark manse, is that right? Lord Carolis and his…brother? Cousin? Nephew? I never did get a straight answer on how they were related."

"Harry's chief grace, which sets her apart from Lady Mormont," Laurent says sourly, "Is that she is false." He says this as he leans to take the flagon, refilling his glass, and then topping off Keyte's if she doesn't protest. That done, he settles back in, eyes narrowing thoughfully as he stares into the fire. He holds his silence for a moment, thinking it through, and doesn't look away from the hearth when he speaks. "You have a chance to be happy, don't you?" At first, it's unclear which cousin he's speaking to. Until he says, "With your Florent lad. Arion. Truly happy."

Keyte glances between her cousins, not quite sure what to make of Garvin's answer. She should protest, shouldn't she? She's (for once, what a Gods-damned rarity this is) — lost for words. "Uh." She blinks, accepting the offer of a top-up rather absently. Sure. More wine. It's after a very worried look at the contents inside her cup that she lifts it to her lips, intent on another of those overlarge gulps. Or to drain it. Probably the latter, via the former.

Garvin is stunned into silence for a long moment, his jaw falling open, as he stares at Laurent. Finally, he says in a small voice, "Happy enough. I mean, it isn't as though he's moving in with me or anything. He still lives at Foxearth with his cousins. But we get to see each other every day and night, so we're happy enough. And we're both doing our best to be…discrete in public." He pauses to take a long sip of wine, eyes flicking to Keyte questioningly, before returning to Laurent again. "How is Harry false?"

"Cousin," Laurent protests, finally turning to look at Garvin. "Last I saw you, you kissed the man before guests and strangers, in a way I'd not kiss my wife in public. Nor in private," he snorts, with a wry twist to his lips. "If you could be discreet, you might have the best chance at happiness of any of us," he says, his tone more heated now. "But you sabotage yourself — and you'll blame your father for it, or the rest of us," he snarls. "But if you could only keep it behind closed doors, you might be well and truly content."

Keyte's dull blue eyes are impossibly wide as she catches Garvin's glance over the rim of her cup. She's still drinking. Glug, glug, glug.

Garvin's cheeks color a bit, and he lowers his eyes, nodding slowly. "Yes, I did do that, and it was terribly wrong of me. Of both of us. It's one of the reasons I think I should live at the Whimsy. We can't be doing such things, even here. It's disrespectful to everyone who lives at Garden Isle." He drinks some more, glancing again to Keyte, but once more fixing his eyes on Laurent. "What is happening with you and Harry? The way you speak of her is most unlike you. How can you say she's false? You're so passionately in love with her!"

Loryn Tyrell had been … out. He's been out a lot recently. Like it's his personal mission to drink every drink in every tavern of the town and then some. But he's home now and still sober enough to walk straight. "Garv, you're home!", he smiles when he sees his cousin, "well, hello everyone." He looks at the girl. She's the nice twin, isn't she?

Laurent is slouched on a bench before the fire alongside Keyte, their posture not altogether unfriendly. Garvin sits nearby in a cushioned chair, and the three are talking over wine. Lots of wine, in some cases. "Damnit, Cousin," the Thorn says with a shake of his head. "Why must you do it anywhere, save your own quarters? Man or woman, it isn't seemly. And if you could only rein in that single traitorous impulse," he says (he's very doggedly avoiding the questions about Harry, isn't he?), "Then you might find your way back into your father's good graces. Might one day rule the Reach, at that."

One of the household servants enters from outside. There's the sound of a — harpist? Strange. The young man speaks. "My lords and lady. You have a petitioner. He is — one 'Lord Riderch Blackwood.' The rosy-cheeked lad inquires now, "What shall I tell him?"

Keyte jumps to answer the servant, almost spilling the dregs of her wine as she chirps over the top of it. "Send him in, please!" She… manages a smile, though it's rather a forced thing. "Hello, Loryn. — Cousins, please. Let's be civil?" She may be leveling a Look sidelong at Laurent. No calling each other traitorous in the presence of visitors, ok?

Garvin is fairly immune to Laurent's wrathful voice, as to him, it sounds like safety and security. 'Tis an odd family, to be sure. "Rule the Reach? Seven save me from such a fate! I'd sooner find myself married to both Visenya and Cerys than that. Gods, Laurent! I barely sat as ruler of Hightower for a month, and look how that turned out. Oatcake riots in the streets! Angry mobs waving torches and pitchforks outside the Dornish sand-manse! Dogs and cats, living together in sin!" He can't maintain his feigned seriousness beyond that, falling into a fit of giggles. After another long gulp of wine, he turns to greet Loryn, grinning brightly. "There's my newest star! You're the talk of Oldtown, you know. And just wait until you see what I have planned for the next play. It will be epic! Come have some wine and help me cheer up your thorny brother. Wait, did I hear something about Lord Riderch of House Blackmont? Just the man we need to speak with!"

Loryn blushes when Garvin declares him talk of the town. Even if it's for the right reason for a change. But he looks eager to hear more about the new play and goes to pull up a chair near Garvin's. "I'm quite tired, but sure, there's always time for a wine. And a visitor apparently?" He looks towards the door expectantly, before sitting down and waiting for wine, trying his best to hide his bandaged hand. His brother? Only gets a dark look.

That objection satisfies Laurent not at all, and his impassioned speech made, he seems to deflate back into the bench. It's his turn, here, to lean a bit into Keyte as he drinks his wine in silence. Neither does he have a greeting for Loryn, meeting his brother's dark look with a smirk. a

To this, the page smiles as he bows deeply before scurrying outside. Moments later, the doors are opened, and footsteps in the Hall herald a new arrival. Several arrivals, in fact. Two of them are wearing a slightly familiar black-and-red ensemble decked out with fierce crimson backgrounds, ravens, trees, and that sort of thing. At the head is the lean figure of Ser Riderch Blackwood, clutching several bundles under his arm, a slight smile painted upon his lips. He is flanked by two men, a giant beast of a bald-shaven fellow also in Blackwood colors, and a beardless boy looking like he's barely old enough to lift a flagon of ale. This young man is wearing purple, however, and his clothing bears the crest of a soaring eagle.

For those who know their heraldry, this man is tied to House Mallister of Seagard. Looks like Riderch's collecting a menagerie. "Mmm. Thank you for receiving me this late." Lord Blackwood intones. "That's quite a show outside."

Garvin pouts out his lower lip at Laurent's sour mood, giving his best puppydog eyes…which have never failed to worsen the Thorn's mood, no matter how often Garvin tries. "Don't you think if I could exercise self-control, I would? Removing myself from Garden Isle is a good step though, don't you think? This way, I won't humiliate the family…as often." He turns to Loryn there, cheering again immediately. "How does the role of Lady Elysbet Swann sound? Caught in a love triangle between the pirate Captain Jaq Peacock and the blacksmith's apprentice, Wyll?" Finally, he stands to greet Riderch, cheering even more. "Lord Riderch, how good to see you again! Were your ears aflame? I was just saying to Laurent that we're going to need bolts and bolts of wool to make new cloaks for the guards. Green ones, this time."

Keyte laxes against Laurent again as she feels him leaning into her. Solidarity. Or something. (He did just offer to do her a giant favour, after all.) She holds her cup out for another refill, beckoning forth a page to serve them both. "Hush, sweet cous," she bids Garvin for his response about self-control as visitors are shown in, glancing curiously as Riderch and his entourage approach. "You should have bid her come in with you, Ser," the Tyrell girl half-laughs, her spirits a little higher for the Blackwood's interruption. "Good eve, of course."

WHAT? Loryn's eyes widen at Garvin's suggestion. "You want me to play a … girl? A lady? In skirts?!" He looks scandalized for a moment, then laughs. "Oh, what a lark! Sure, I will do it! Who'll be playing the pirate and the apprentice? You and Arion?" He studiously avoids looking at Laurent, glad that the new arrival and his entourage are providing a distraction.

Riderch's massive beef-mountain of a squire, Tel, drops to one knee at the sight of Keyte. It seems the Tyrell Lady has made a lasting impression on the man. "Lady K—-" He begins, "eyte." That was a 50/50 gamble. At least the twins' parents had the good sense to name their children conveniently. The stuttering boy in Mallister colors follows (what is /that/ about?) suit. And finally, Riderch himself, beams Keyte a glorious, off-kilter grin. Bows are offered all around to the Tyrells, lingering on Laurent last as he holds one of the bundles beneath his arm before setting it on an empty table. "Lady Oakheart isn't here, is she? This is for her." It's a couple feet long, whatever it is. He still has a leather book under his other arm that he clutches to his side. Finally to Garvin, he speaks, "I'm afraid wool is a little … disrupted right now." The smile fades a bit.

"Ser Riderch," Laurent greets the Blackwood heir without standing, though he does nod — and for his melee companion of some time ago, there is even a break in his black mood, brief though it may prove to be. The rest of the small party gets no notice, though, and (perhaps oddly) neither does the announcement of Loryn's part in the upcoming play. Instead he has a curious look for Ser Riderch's questions, or perhaps his answers, but it's hidden quickly enough behind a wine glass.

"Tel!!" Keyte even remembers his name. Ordinarily, she'd probably stand to greet the newcomers, but she's a tad busy leaning against Laurent just now. Wouldn't want him to fall over. "Oh, do hop up. It's so lovely to see you all," she exclaims, returning Riderch's grin with a bright smile of her own. Her curiosity of the Mallister lad extends only to brief quirk of her brow, but he's just as welcome as the rest. "Oh? For Emilia? I didn't realise you knew cousin Quill's wife so well. What is it?" She darts a quick look aside to the play-talk, interjecting a quick jest: "We can start calling you Elysbet at home to help you prepare, if you like."

Garvin beams a grin at Loryn, his eyes alight. "Sure, why not? You have the Tyrell good looks, and as a man, you're far prettier than any of the troupe. Just imagine how attractive you'll be as a woman! Naturally, I'll be playing the pirate, because what's the use of owning a playhouse if you don't take all the lead roles yourself? Arion will be the smith's apprentice." He turns back to Riderch then and lets out a shocked gasp. "No wool? But…we need a hundred green cloaks! I suppose we could just dye the purple ones, but I'm afraid they might turn out a muddy brown or something. All we can do is try, right Laurent?" Cheer up, Thorn! Garvin sits again, waving a hand at an empty chair nearby, while eyeing the larger of Riderch's two companions. Not leering, but definitely looking appraisingly. "I too didn't realize you and Lady Emilia were so close. How…unexpected." He casts a quirked brow look toward Keyte, his source for all the juicy gossip around Garden Isle.

Ah, Garvin knows how to convince Loryn. The young Tyrell blushes a little at the compliments and nods eagerly. "Alright, I'm in! I look forward to reading the script! And Lady Harry can teach me how to be a lady.", he grins. He falls silent then, perhaps dreaming of future fame on the stage or just interested in the visitor and the new conversation going on.

"Wrong Oakheart, I'm afraid." Riderch clears his throat with a pointed /ahem/. It's a rough sort of sound. He points to the item he just sent down with a careless swipe of his hand. "I'm referring to the Lady Oakheart who had a need for something like this." There's a bit of cloth wrapping that he peels back to reveal — spikes? It looks like a fixed mace, but a downsized one, for someone not a full-sized warrior. "Although I imagine her brother will take care of the situation." The Riverlander's all toothy grins here.

Tel got named. He looks pretty damn happy. And he's a squire, so he lets his boss do the talking for now.

"Well, the dyed wool is coming, but unfortunately my cousin and his entourage have elaborated on why the shipments haven't been coming." He looks at the Mallister kid and sighs. Finally, Riderch clears his throat again as he walks a few paces in further, hefting the book under his other arm.

"What would Harry teach anyone about being a Lady," Laurent scoffs, snorting amusement at his own words. The mace catches his eye then, though, and that eye narrows as it lingers there. It sets wheels turning in his mind, visibly so, and sets the Thorn to brooding in silence again.

Keyte shrugs at Garvin, she is clueless on this one. She glances then to the package brought for — Johanna? "Oh." But wait… "Is that for Johanna?" She looks a little worried, even, eyes darting between the weapon and Riderch. And Tel. Hi Tel. And Laurent. What does Ser Thorn think of this? Oh, Gods. He's brooding again. Keyte nudges him gently.

"Johanna?!" Garvin says, eyes bugging wide. "Lady Johanna has need for…whatever that is?" He leans a little toward Loryn, whispering from the side of his mouth, "Mace? Morningstar? Quarterstaff? No, can't be a quarterstaff." Buck-and-a-quarter-staff? Shaking his head, Garvin looks back to Riderch and speaks up again. "Why in the seven heavens would Lady Johanna need one of those…things? Oh! Do have some wine, Ser Riderch. And your men as well, of course." He waves his goblet in the general direction of the same page, who hurries to refill his goblet, as well as Loryn's, then looks expectantly at Laurent and Keyte. Meanwhile, another page is scurrying off for more goblets and another flagon. Garvin sips, then his brows draw together as he turns to face Laurent once more. "What are you on about? Harry can teach a lot more about being a lady than you or I." Well, you anyway. Jury's still out on what Garvin might want to teach poor Loryn. "Besides, this is no ordinary lady you'll be playing, Loryn. She joins the pirates and sets off to seek adventure! She's also a rather fair hand with a sword, so all your weapon training will come in handy. Mine and Arion's too, of course. I intend there to be more than a few sword battles in this next play!"

Loryn shrugs in response to Garvin's question about the Lady Johanna's intentions. "Perhaps she wants to ensure she'll be treated properly by whoever will wed her. Since some people don't treat their wives the way a lady deserves." He totally keeps his eyes fixed on Garvin while he says that, relieved to keep talking about the play. "Well, that does sound rather awesome! A sword-swinging lady! What a wonderful role! Let's just hope I won't trip over skirts.", he laughs a little nervously.

Laurent, nudged, leans forward in his seat to stretch, just enough to take up the weapon intended for Johanna. Leaning back again to rest where he was, against Keyte, he hefts it in one hand. He has no answer for Garvin, here. His words, instead, are pointed toward Loryn, though he still doesn't look at his youngest brother. "Let's hope you don't get lost in them."

"Lady Johanna? She's a lovely lady who has no small amount of spirit. So I figure the next time some fool decides cause problems she can solve them. Admittedly I'm biased — women in my family tend to solve problems in a sort of /direct/ way, which probably explains why my parents have prospered in their union as they have." The Blackwood Lord chuckles with a none-too-mild grin accompanying it all." He pointedly coughs at Loryn's words. "Uhhh, so, I don't suppose your wife is about, Ser Laurent. I ran across her in the Isle of Ravens a few nights ago." The man clears his throat once further before moving on to more pleasant subjects, such as Garvin's offer of wine.

"Don't mind if I do. Tel!" He shouts to his squire. And then the young lad with him. "Oh, this is Piter. He's with my cousin Justyn's entourage. He can drink more than you might suspect." Sandy brows waggle as the young man cautiously pads towards the nearby decanter. "Anyway, that's one of the things I wanted to mention. It seems our last great shipment has vanished, and the Mallisters suspect the worst. So do I." "Oh, Lady Keyte! I almost forgot, I wouldn't arrive here empty handed when faced with the prospect of meeting my oldest friend in the Reach." He fumbles with a pouch on his belt.

"Drink is not something we tend to run out of here, Ser, not even faced with the most thirsty of guests," Keyte assures. She hasn't much touched her own wine in the last few poses, but she holds it out dutifully to give the appearance of drinking more than she actually is, at the page's expectant look. She peers at the weapon as Laurent take it, still looking when the Thorn rests back against her. Only, her mien brightens as the Blackwood mentions her name, and she's all of a sudden beaming her brightest grin at him as he fumbles. "Your oldest friend? But I'm not that old," she jokes. "I hope you didn't trouble on my account, dear Ser. Just your presence is gift enough — had I some prior notice, I'd have organised a proper feast for it, you know."

Garvin casts one of his sunshine grins at Riderch's companions. "A pleasure to meet you, Tel and Piter! I am, of course, Garvin of House Tyrell, sometimes called Lord Pansy of the Whimsy. You apparently already know my cousin, Lady Keyte, and naturally, you know Ser Laurent. And this is his dear brother, Lord Loryn Tyrell." Once everyone has a goblet of wine, Garvin gulps his own, sitting back in his chair and looking at Loryn. "I wouldn't worry about tripping in the skirts, as I plan to have her dressing as a man quite often. Pirates do that, you know." He's known sooooo many pirates, you see. "I should be more worried about keeping your long wig from becoming tangled up with your sword and such. But I'm sure we'll work it out! I'll wager the kissing will be the hardest part of all for you." He leaves it at that, hiding behind his wine again.

Loryn looks like his wine has suddenly turned sour. "Well, the day's been long and the hour's late. I'll leave you to chat. Garvin, send me the script as soon as it's ready - I look forward to it all and will start learning my lines immediately - and practise sword-fighting with a wig.", he adds with a slight grin. The allusion to kissing colours his cheeks. Yup, definitely time to flee. He gets to his feet and inclines his head to those present. "Cousin Keyte. Brother. Ser."

"You might ask my brother if Lady Harry were about, Ser Riderch," Laurent says, his eyes sparkling with mocking humor as they follow his young brother's exit. "He keeps a close eye on my lady wife." Another heft of the mace in his hand, and he offers it to Keyte. He seems to think she might be interested in that. His own attention returns then to wine, and he nods toward the page to call for a refill, though he's not yet empty.

"Thank every God ever born into this world that Justyn isn't here to test that theory." Riderch intones in response to Keyte's statement. "Likely because I'd be carrying him out." This bit is provide beneath a bit of a mutter." The Riverlander's pale blue eyes narrow a tad as he finishes digging in his pouch and produces a silver pin in the shape of a kingfisher. The eyes of the bird are made of polished green stones. It' not terribly precious, but well-made all the same. He ignores Keyte's protests long enough to toss the item to her with a gentle, underhand lob. "Just don't ask where it came from." He smiles wolfishly before turning to look between Loryn and Laurent as the former excuses himself. "Duly noted." He states. "Marriages outside faiths can be hard, or so I've seen. The trick is to give half of what the other asks for. But I'm probably the wrong person to talk to when it comes to this."

Meanwhile, Lord Blackwood's men help themselves, and Riderch finally partakes himself after the other two do. How magnanimous of him. "Lord Garvin, you are a gracious host as always. But about the wool - A missing Cog or two out of Seagard can only mean one thing. A lot of soon-to-be-dead Ironborn."The smile deepens, in a creepy sort of way.

Keyte takes the mace from Laurent, though it's painfully obvious she has zero idea what to do with it. She dutifully ignores the mention of kissing, for plays or otherwise, looking up from the weapon she's now holding with surprise as Loryn excuses himself. "Oh," says she, mustering a smile to farewell him. "Night, Loryn." As Riderch produces a gift for her, she seeks to hand the mace back quickly to Laurent, yelping in surprise as the pin is tossed her way. She was not ready for that. "Oh!" She does not catch it. Hopefully it's well made enough that when she retrieves it from the floor, it's still in one piece.

Garvin eyes the mace again, nose wrinkling a bit, then grins as he watches Loryn leaving the room. Not a lecherous grin, the kid's his cousin! Just a happy sort of grin. Glancing to Laurent, he says, "That boy is going to be a marvellous actor someday, you mark my words. I've never seen anyone have so much fun with it. Have you? He's what they call a natural, all the mummers in the troupe say so." He nods, gulping down more wine, then holding out the goblet to be refilled. Looking again to Riderch and eyeing the pin as it sails past. "Wait, your ships vanished? How could…Oh, of course. Ironmen. Honestly, I don't know why the Targaryens don't take their bloody dragons and just burn every last one of those filthy islands to iron slag. Has anything good ever come from there? They're nothing but pirates and reavers and…just horrid! I'd say they're even worse than the Dornish."

Laurent is quick enough to take the mace back from Keyte, and manages to hold it to a single, perverse laugh when her trinket clatters to the floor. The weapon he lets come to rest on the floor next to him, its haft balancing it against the bench. "Mm," he grunts to Garvin, an agreement of sorts. "He's to earn his spurs yet, though," the Thorn warns, of his cousin. But then the news of the missing cog (or cogs) registers, and he waits for the answer to that mystery.

"Careful with that. It's meant for a specific target." Riderch quips, in the most lighthearted of tones as he closes a few steps towards Laurent and slaps the book down. It looks like a collection of documents and ledgers, utterly boring stuff. "Ser, please see that your wife gets this. I meant to speak to her directly but I realize tonight is not a night of opportunity." Smiling tightly, he whips his head back to Garvin. "You and me both. I cannot imagine what kind of usefulness those scum provide" He cackles wildly.

As Laurent sets the weapon to rest, Keyte bends down to retrieve her gifted pin, making appropriate oohing and ahhing noises as she inspects it. She makes a good show of that, mind, lifting it and tilting it toward the firelight, ultimately pleased with what she sees. "Thank you, Ser," she gushes, pinning the thing into the delicate folds of pink silk that clothe her this eve. It… probably even matches, to a degree. Of the exchange between the Thorn and he, she simply arcs a brow — his wife? — but it's polite to laugh along when guests do, and she's not one to deny even the slimmest chance for mirth. So, she laughs. Ah, ha, ha.

Garvin's eyes suddenly light with an idea, which is never a good sign for anyone. "Laurent! I want to buy a ship. I mean, all of us. You, me, Loryn, Quill, anyone who has some money, let's pool it and buy the best ship we can find. Then we'll get a captain who is so fierce and intimidating, no Ironman would dare come near it. Then it can run wool down from the Riverlands, wine up from the Arbor, silks and spices from the Free Cities, and our investment will be repaid tenfold in no time! And if they happen to run a few longships from the Iron Islands aground or smash a few Dornish ships here or there, what harm would it be, really? Oh, let's do it, Laurent! Please?" He again puts on his 'adorable' wimpering puppy face, large brown eyes pleading.

Laurent snorts at that, shaking his head. "What do we know of ships, or trading," he asks his cousin. "Or hiring fierce captains, even?" His lip curls, and the Thorn seems to like it less and less the more he thinks it over — which he doesn't do a great deal of. "No, not for me, I think," he says with another shake of the head, then leans forward to prod Riderch's book with one hand. "This is for Harry," he asks sullenly. "Lady Angharad? My wife?"

Ridech is truly suffering massive amounts of surprise here at Garvin's proclamation. "Your generosity puts us all to shame but might not be that simple. Not the least of whhich involves one simple fact. "We don't know where they are. But— I imagine the Dragons have a plan for this place. That feral grin is back,. and it's held on to as Riderch sets down a stack of documents with a slight lack of care. He responds awkwardly to Laurent. "It is. Apparently hse's a more able steward than I am."

Keyte leans a little heavier into her thorny cousin now that she's got her pin pinned. "Pretty sure that's who he means, cous," she whisper-jokes, refraining from commenting on the buying of ships or the Ironborn problem. No, she'll just sip at her wine, instead. And lean.

Garvin lets out an exasperated sigh. "Oh Laurent, you have no imagination. Just think of the possibilities! Ice shipped down straight from the Wall itself, right to our door! Exotic feathers from the Summer Islands! Silks and satins and samite! We wouldn't be doing any of the sailing or buying or selling or any of that. That's what sailors and captains and those sorts are for. But it'd still be a grand adventure!" His eyes take on a positively wicked gleam. "And I know just the captain, too. With this particular man at the helm, there'd be no stopping out ship…our fleet!" He stands and begins to pace, gesturing so dramatically, wine sloshes over the lip of his goblet. "Yes! Once we'd earned enough from this venture, we'd invest in another ship, and another! Oldtown is the oldest and most prosperous port in all of Westeros, and here we sit on this tiny island, not doing a thing! We must buy a ship!"

Laurent looks from Keyte to Riderch and back, bemused. "It doesn't sound like an adventure I'd care for," he complains. "It sounds like a waste of the hard earned money I brought back from Dorne." Post trial, he sees no reason to be shy about it. More skeptically still, he asks, "And who is this captain?"
Garvin has disconnected.

"While the gesture is beautiful, more ships would only complicate thimgs." Riderch intones in ia iiriather lazy fashion here. fingering his swordhilt. "The captain doesn't matter, ser." After setting down the book, it would appear that it is full of uninteresting trae documents. Mostly tax-related.

Oh, I'm sorry. WAS KEYTE NOT LEANING HARD ENOUGH FOR YOU TO KEEP YOUR MANNERS ABOUT YOU, LAURENT? She nudges into the Thorn again for his slip-up re:Dorne. "So did anyone hear that the Arryn heir is in Oldtown? Looking for a lady wife, even." Time for a subject change, is it not?

~fin

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