(121-04-26) Afternoon Tea
Afternoon Tea
Summary: The Tyrell twins have a plan to talk to Mariya. They bring flowers and share tea.
Date: (26/04/2014)
Related: Things and ones.

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.

The afternoon always seems a little warmer than the morning, the weather fair in Oldtown today without the rains to cool it. The hour has come, after lunch, where tasks seem to turn toward preparing for the day's end, finishing up odds and ends before dinner, et cetera. A few of the house's numerous guards stand by the door, deep in conversation; one snorts, and adjusts himself most offensively in the background.

It's through the garden door that Keyte arrives, a colorful bouquet of roses in hand. There are pink ones, yellow, white and golden orange, some just buds and others in splendid bloom already. She's dressed in blue, herself, a pale sky hue stitched into a sleeveless gown for her, cinched at the waist with a long, wide gold ribbon. "I do hope she'll like them," this twin says to the other, with a fretful glance aside. What if she doesn't, Kesha?!

Much as she has been dressed since she arrived, Mariya is in mourning black. From a stairwell near the back, the Dornishwoman descends into the Grand Hall. As she reaches the bottom of the steps, she makes a cautious look one way and the other as if to make sure she can cross through the large room without much of a hassle. The guards are nothing new, so she makes her way around tables and chairs, on her way to…somewhere. Perhaps he's just walking.

"Even if she does not, which would just about be impossible, I am sure she will be gracious in acceptance," Kesha replies to her twin in a 'you are too worried' sort of tone. She's following along while adjusting a few flowers that had been plucked from the garden to decorate her hair in sunny yellow and pink blossoms threaded into braids. Her dress is similarly yellow, the the decorative embroidery on the bodice like a lace pattern is done in white. It probably looks a little overly cheerful around Mariya's mourning blacks.

"As usual, you're right," Keyte retorts with a sigh, tweaking one of the little rosebuds amongst the bouquet. There. And what luck, that the princess is just on her way down; the older of the twins beams a bright smile, and calls out, "Princess Mariya! My lady." She means to hurry her sister along and greet the other girl, despite not being… quite sure, which is the right way to address her.

The calling of her name causes Mariya to stop quite suddenly in her walking. She glances one way and then the other before she notices the brightly appareled Tyrell twins rapidly approaching. Straightening, she looks from one to the other with a surprised expression. "Oh! Hello," she greets, almost wary. "Good afternoon."

Kesha looks so terribly smug for a brief moment that she's been called 'always right' that a mischievous (or perhaps just spiteful) person might deny her being right if they saw. Keyte will likely get her back for it later, however. It's how such things go. "Good afternoon, Princess." Wary is probably the appropriate response to being descended on my the Twins, let's be honest.

Keyte chimes 'good afternoon' in unison with her twin, though she leaves off the 'princess' part, having already said that. (And yes, she will get you back later, Kesha.) "I hope you don't mind," she continues, "But we were looking for you. You must be growing tired of the manse, and we thought these might cheer you up, maybe a little." Maybe not at all. With a twinge of hope in her smile, Keyte extends the large handful of roses to the Dornish girl.

"Oh!" Mariya repeats as she takes the bouquet from Keyte with a wide eyed expression. That was not exactly what she was expecting when descended upon by Tyrell twins. "Th-thank you. They're beautiful." As for minding whether she was being search out, she does not reply in an affirmative or negative. Instead, she just replies, "It is a lovely home," she hedges, unsure of what else to say of it while in the Grand Hall and in front of two ladies of the house.

"We certainly grow tired of the manse at times." Granted, they aren't (usually) being kept inside by guards. Sometimes they do get grounded for a bit. "Thank you," Kesha says with a polite smile. "We do try." As if they have much to do with how nice or not the manse is. Though goodness knows there are enough fussy Tyrells around to see that things get up-kept.

"You're very welcome," Keyte adds, for the flowers, bobbing her head to agree with her sister about the manse. "Would you like some tea, princess? Or wine. Is there anything we can do to make this a little less awful for you? I'm so sorry about… um. The Trial."

Mariya glances from Keyte to Kesha (or is it from Kesha to Keyte?), again strangely taken aback by the exchange. The princess gives a small smile to Kesha. "It's all new to me, so it was not exactly a welcome change, but it is different. Honestly, I did not think I would be here as long as I have." At the offer, she looks down at the roses and then up again, "Thank you. Tea would be lovely." The mention of the Trial brings about a more serious and pained expression, eyes glancing downward. Then, she schools her face into something more neutral, only saying again, "Thank you."

Gods, it is so hard to tell who is who and terribly they haven't bothered to make it clear either, like it provides them some sort of plausible deniability in case of trouble. (Sometimes it does, but not generally when they are standing next to one another). "I am sure you did not," Kesha says, sounding somewhat sympathetic, though not too much. This is their manse. It wouldn't do to make it seem like it was naturally awful to be here. "The men making a mess of things, as usual." She sighs, then adds. "Sorry. It is a sorry affair."

Sometimes Keyte just forgets that although she knows she's not her twin, not everyone else can tell the difference. Sorry, Mariya. She reaches out to take the Dornish girl's arm gently, steps moving to guide her toward the fireplace for that pot of tea. "We're so sorry for your loss, princess," she elaborates, gravely sincere. "The whole thing is," she agrees with Kesha.

When faced with the dilemma, Mariya will just make the effort to not call either of them by name. It will hopefully fix any name faux pas she might otherwise make. She allows Keyte to take her arm and to be steered toward the fire place, hands still clutching onto the bouquet. "Yes. I wish it had never happened," she says softly. "None of it." Wickham's Nest, the Red Rookery, the Trial - all of those events get lumped together. With a shake of her head to clear it and the melancholy, she adds, "Thank you." And despite her hope to not have to ask, she decides to brave it in a way to change the subject. "Forgive me, but is it Lady Kesha? Or Keyte?" She looks between the two of them, hoping to settle the matter.

They do sort of encourage confusion by not introducing who is who and responding to each others names. Kesha attempts to glide along after her sister and the Dornish princess, although there's a little too much bounce to the step for it to really be a glide. A rock skipped on a ponder surface, maybe? "I am sure everyone wishes the whole thing had never happened," she agrees with more sympathies. "Except perhaps the Targaryens." What? "Oh, it's both." Yes, thank you, not helpful. Though she does point at her twin and then herself. "Keyte. Kesha." At least they are dressed differently today.

"It were senseless, the lot of it," Keyte agrees with much disdain. "But moreso, I'm — well, I'm sure I'd hate me, were I you. But I hope you don't, princess," she speaks hasty and hopeful, letting Mariya's arm go so she can have first pick of the chairs and benches by the fire. Kesha introduces them, and she curtsies, adding with a warm, low laugh, "It's quite alright if you don't remember which is which. We sometimes get confused ourselves, when looking in the mirror!" No, they don't. (Maybe only after far too many wines.)

"The Targaryens? Why would you say that?" That bit, at least, intrigues her. From what Mariya can see the only Targaryens that had any stake in the matter was Maelys and she almost doesn't count him. Once properly identified, the Dornishwoman attempts to memorize which is which. Blue = Keyte, Yellow = Kesha. That won't help any other day (unless the pair tend to wear the same colors every day) but it will do for tea. With a helpless shrug, she adds, "I…no. I don't hate you." It's much more complicated than that.

"Oh, do not think I am speaking ill of the royal family," Kesha protests lightly as Mariya asks about the Targaryens. "We have relatives are in King's Landing helping to run the kingdom right now, after all." While the other two find chairs and settle themselves, she sees to the tea pot, checking to make sure everyone has cups and saucers and everything proper. "I am sure they have their reasons for forbidding any sort of actionable justice. And then there is that Prince Maelys fighting as your champion. How do you take your tea?"

Keyte settles herself into an overlarge, padded chair. It's a very comfortable looking thing, with sturdy wooden arms to balance her tea on at her leisure. Her smile is hanging around, though it's a tentative little thing. She ducks her head, pleased to hear she's at least not hated. "I hope you weren't too gravely insulted by the exiled prince taking it over for his personal conflict, princess," she adds worriedly, eyes lifting on Mariya. "As if the matter weren't ill enough done already."

"No, that's not what I—" Mariya frowns. "They didn't seem to wish this either." She picks a plush chair for herself and settles into it, placing the bouquet in carefully in her lap. Idly, she plucks at one of the stems. "Other than the Trial, you mean?" As for Maelys, she sighs and shrugs her shoulders. "He was gravely wounded fighting for Dorne. I would not have chosen him for a champion, yet he assisted us when many would not have. I do not agree with his reasonings, but what is done is done." After a moment, she then adds, "Just a spoonful of sugar, please."

"What is done, is done," agrees Keyte, though it's not without the subtle lift of one of her dark brows. Perhaps the higher beings didn't agree with his reasoning, either? She sighs, then, heavy and deep, and completely unsure of what else to say.

"No one wishes for this kind of conflict, of course," Kesha says and begins to pour tea into a teacup. "People make them happen." The entire tea setting sits on a table placed in-between all the comfortable chairs. She does not seem to be bothered by the idea that she's a Lady waiting on another Lady and a Princess rather than having a servant do it. "I mean for the massacre at Wickham's Nest." She fixes Mariya's cup first, as requested, then moves on to the others (cream and sugar both or the twins). "Still, everything seems to be working out very well for them, so they must know what they are doing, do you not think?"

It seems Mariya is just a loss for words for the moment. She takes the cup from Kesha, however it is too hot to drink. Gathering her bearings, she finally says, "They were investigating the massacre. As was my goodbrother. Do you think any action, no matter the outcome, justice? Are the deaths at the Red Rookery enough to sate it? Were it not for Lord Blackmont seeking a Trial instead of his own justifiable action, I would not be sitting hostage for Ser Arros here, I would have been recalled to Sunspear, since it would most likely mean war. I was saddened by the massacre at Wickham's Nest, yet no one other than the Dornish seem to care for the lives lost at the Red Rookery." As for who has come out on top, she shrugs. "It seems to me that the ones who have done well for themselves are the ones that have returned several hundred gold richer. And alive."

"No!" Keyte exclaims in protest, her teacup rattling against its saucer as she accepts it from her sister. "Please, princess, don't mistake us. Both the massacres were ill-done, and we are so very and truly and sincerely sorry for your loss. Please, we are no strangers to losing family, it is a pain beyond words. We are sorry." Genuinely troubled, she can't even bring herself to sip at tea, settling it instead on the arm of her chair. "There… it's… it's sickening. Horrid. All of it. Only, the Targaryens acted so late, their investigation was… well, why bother, and now…" She stops, swallowing down her words along with the lump forming in her throat.

"Yes. We would rather none of this had happened at all, no terrible loses be suffered. But we prefer a simple happiness and not the plots of those above us." Kesha takes a seat, picking up her tea while she lets her sister speak. She sips at the tea carefully. It's hot. "Besides, that sort of justice is determined by men, who never seem to be happy unless they are stabbing something." One supposes that could be taken both literally and as a euphemism. "But to them, I suppose, it depends on who is the cause of those deaths at the Rookery. The the Reachmen were innocent of what they were accused of by the trial and the Seven, after all." "No one wants another war, naturally, with the last so recently passed. So here we are. And you are set to be married to the Maiden Knight, Ser Daevon Targaryen, as some Blackmont girl will have to marry some Cockshaw lad. As you Dornish continue to join us surely the Targaryens will allow no more conflict."

Waiting for the liquid to cool, Mariya still does not partake in the tea. The sudden exclamation is one that causes her to set the saucer and mug down on her knee. She keeps a hold of them to make sure they don't slosh or fall. Now she has an entire lap filled with offerings from the Tyrell twins. The extreme difference in the reactions to her words makes it hard for her to answer the both of them. Keyte gets something of a smile. "Thank you. I'm sorry, too. It is all very terrible." Though the smile doesn't exactly fade whens he turns to Kesha, her answer is more serious sounding. "In Dorne it is also done by women, as my mother would be the one to dispense the justice. And sometimes they stab things." Most likely there's no euphemism there - she certainly doesn't act like she's trying to be clever. But, then again, who knows what they do in Dorne. "Yes, that is the plan. A marriage to keep the peace."

Keyte's smile, for all that she's known for it's brightness, is a rather dull and hollow expression. Just a quirk of her mouth, really. "It should never have needed come to this," she insists quietly, plucking her teacup from its saucer to stare at her tea, instead of the Princess. Staring is rude, really, even if you're looking as troubled and beseeching as Keyte.

"Very terrible," Kesha echoes, nodding her head in a slow and solemn sort of way. Because it is terrible. That's just fact. "My apologies. I just have not seen many women run off, weaponry in hand to carve justice out of whomever they feel is at fault, as I have the men. " She has no idea what they do in Dorne. Not really. "Yes, like one big happy kingdom." She is going to sip at her tea even if no one else will. "I suppose we will call you Princess Mariya Targaryen in the future. Dragons ruling all. At least you are a princess no matter where you go." That's a happy thought, right?

Mariya watches Keyte for a long moment, unsure of what to say, but feeling somehow responsible for the other girl's melancholy. "I have not seen it often, but I am sure it does happen. I once ran off, but it wasn't to carve justice out of anyone. It was just to see more of Dorne for myself." Finally, she takes a drink of her tea - apparently she likes it a bit cooler. "That's still a year, yet. I'll have to give up my alliterative name, which I'm quite attached to. It would have happened eventually. Unless I married a Manwoody in Dorne. But, Mariya Manwoody does not quite sound at all Princess-y. There's no Great House in Westeros that begins with an M that I can think of." It seems she's attempting to lighten the mood.

Keyte too finally sips at her tea. It's every bit as sweet and milky as she likes it, and strangely comforting. She closes her eyes for a long moment, maybe savouring the taste, and when she opens them: voila! Troubles mended. "None of the Great ones, no," she agrees, happy enough to follow the changing of subjects. "I'm sure as the Maiden Knight's bride, you'll have plenty of adventures, travelling about as he does? That should be an exciting life, princess."

"There are certainly no shortage of women with weaponry it seems, though they also seem better at staying their hand. I can better imagine escape to see more of a kingdom than for revenge, myself." Kesha looks at her twin who she assumes feels the same unless Keyte has taken up fighting with weapons when she wasn't looking. "No, none of the Great Houses. Manwoody is about as unfortunate as Cockshaw. They are very…masculine." Yes, masculine. Ahem. "Oh surely you will see travel in the future, as a pair of Dragons, spreading your influences as royalty."

"Yes, that is the hope. We met while we were both traveling in Dorne. Though, he did not know me as a princess, then." And it was less 'traveling' and more 'rescuing'. "It would be good to see more of the world. Though, I am not exactly adept at weaponry. He's said he would teach me, though, so I'll have that to look forward to. I've never really been one for violence." Being called a Dragon is enough for Mariya to look down at her tea in surprise, covering it up with a long sip. "Yes, it is. And their sigil is a skull with a crown. I've always thought it quite macabre."

Keyte has not taken to fighting with weapons while your back was turned, twin. "The only kind of dancing I entertain includes twirling in voluminous skirts, musical accompaniment and a distinct lack of blades," she assures, between more sips of tea. She crinkles her nose at the awful heraldry, but it's not really polite to comment on those sorts of things, so instead she says: "But, exploring sounds like so much fun? I should like to see some more of Westeros, once I've finished exploring Oldtown."

"I cannot say I have ever seen him act. In a combative way, I mean. The use of weapons," Kesha says of Mariya's Husband-To-Be. She's not a dragon yet, but the King send one of his dragon riders to say it will be so. It's one thing to argue with persons who call themselves dragons—it is another thing to do so to someone who actually speaks for the King riding one. "If you cannot conquer a people by force, do so with love and words," she says, sounding like she is quoting some saying. "Or marriage I suppose is good enough." She nods at her twin, because exploring does sound fun. "Do you think it more or less macabre than a vulture carrying a baby away?"

"It does. I meant to explore all of Oldtown myself, but it seems most of my exploring is confined to inside Manses and Towers." Mariya takes another sip of tea, with a bit of a grin to Keyte. To Kesha, she says quite firmly. "I have. Ser Daevon slew a man who would have killed me, saving my life. I would call him adept with a blade." With a shrug, she adds, "I am not here to conquer, I am here to keep the peace. Though, as I am not about to do so by force, marriage does seem the better option." A bit of the good humor returns when she replies, "Less. Though, there is a tendency to make sigils to be terrifying."

"That simply won't do," says Keyte of being confined, vowing, "Once all this horrid business is behind us, we shall explore some, together." She sips triumphantly on her tea for that, nose crinkling further as the awful heraldry talk continues. "Not everyone picks terrifying things," she points out, stopping short of crowing about the Tyrell rose explicitly.

"Hmm. I will have to take your word for it. For all I know, he has retired his blade." Kesha lifts her teacup to her lips and drinks. "I am sure that the restrictions will lessen, when those who have the power to say so deem is safe enough for all." Not them. They have little say in matters. "I am sure some conquerors have said they only wish to bring peace. Not that I am suggesting House Martell of doing so." She looks to her twin, and nods once. "We have a tendency towards animals. Mm, well, much of the kingdom, anyway." Again, not them.

"I'd like that," Mariya tells Keyte with a smile. "That's true. I'm partial to the Sun and Spear, myself." Of course she is. "It has less to do with restrictions and more to do with constantly being restrained to one place or another. Staying here was my own doing, but it does make it harder to explore." With a laugh, she adds, "As I am still alive, I guess you will have to take my word for it. I would otherwise not make much of a tea drinking companion. More silent, most likely smellier."

"Me, too," Keyte responds, with a smile of her own. It's more her usual manner, now, all that horrible conversation done with for now. She continues to partake of her tea, lifting the saucer up to cradle under it. She laughs, even. "Well I for one prefer it this way," she tells Mariya, a little crinkle in her nose for the mention of smellier. Gross. "I'll take your word, princess."

"Yes." Kesha is not as bubbly happy as Keyte, except when she is trying to imitate her twin. "We do have Laurent around, so it is not so unlikely to imagine someone more silent and smelly." Look, it is said with a certain amount of fondness. He is family and moreover family who has not abandoned them in the manse of late.

"Yes, I prefer it as well." Mariya gives a bit of a snort of laughter at the comment about Laurent, though it is not as fond of a noise. As she finishes her tea, she gently places both cup and saucer back down on the table and leans over to take the teapot handle. As Kesha served last time, it's only fair for her to pour this time. "More tea?"

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