(121-04-28) Raven and a Dragon sitting in a tree
Raven and a Dragon sitting in a tree
Summary: Enjoying their new home Jorah and Riderch catch up. Riderch admits something startling
Date: Date of play (28/04/2014)
Related: Maelys' Tournament
Players:
Riderch..Jorah..

Morning. It's a new day, in a new (ish) house. At least for a small contingent of Riverlanders who have managed to secure this housing. Nobody's really answered questions on what happened to the last residents, but at least all the blood and filth was cleaned up before new residents arrived. There have been a few rearrangements of furniture, too. One of them has involved a large, fluffy divan that happens to bear the reclining form of Riderch Blackwood, clad in a loose fitting black shirt, breeches, and a large red-and-black robe covered with embossed ravens. He is lazily looking at an unfurled Westerosi map, pointing at it with an outstretched finger.

Somewhere upstairs, the quork of a raven can be heard. "Arsehole! QUORK!"

Compared to the scent of shit and tears that seemed to soak the Widow's Walk where they had lounged before-this place is quite the catch. Even if it was covered in blood and filth at one point in time. Coming down the stairs the clomp of boots can be heard as a shirtless Jorah Rivers, is busy adjusting his eye strap, before reaching down to his black breeches to adjust himself over his codpiece. Hair damp, and body glistening-someone was clearly cleaning themselves up before water was tossed out the window into the garden below. You can give Jorah fine things-he just won't know how to use them.

Upon seeing his half brother stretched out on the divan, there's a brief grin before direction is changed and the knight seeks to join him.

"I like that bird. I've been trying to teach him to say cocksucker…Well-last night I was." a small frown there. "It comes out more like QUORKSUCKER."

"I was wondering how he got so good at this." There's a loud sound of a yowling cat in the back yard, angry at something. This place is just plain /hopping/. Riderch notes this with a sort of stiffness to his narration as he stifles a laugh.

"Ow. Gods, that hurt." He grimaces. "Crakehall. Crakehall." He momentarily concentrates on the map before he looks up at Ser Jorah — a little like kin, a little like kind, the two men are. "This is going to be a bloody /delight./"

"If you're to teach a lad somethin' Then ye must make sure to use th' rod an repeat it ten times. Specially for Bastards." Jorah intones in a deadpan rendition of their Father's proverbs. "But I won't hit the bird." Jorah quickly corrects. "He's like family. And he cusses like family." Something both Blackwood men can be proud of. And so he frowns down to his brother. "How fucking broken are you?" A good enough question before he is looking to the map.

"The map, or?" Clearly the elder wants further clues before he is scratching himself again. "We've a cat?" Apparently he did not know one lived here.

Eyes roll upwards as the recognition of the words sink in. "I don't think — that there ever was a special rule for bastards." At least not where second sons were concerned, by the sound of things. Maybe a wince in recollection too. Or just a general wince. He's clearly sore as all Hells.

"The cook Tel found has a cat. Or rather, the cat found her. And the cat found the rats. You can see where I'm going with this. She's a fat fucker too so I'm pretty sure she's very good at her job. — But you're right, anyway — I mean, it's bad luck to turn on something bearing your sigil. But I imagine he's going to terrify some of these people that we have to entertain." The younger man's face splits into a grin. "And I'll heal. Lady Maera /fucking/ Mormont just keeps collecting swords and someone gave her that one in her family — cut a nice gash in my maile before eventually knocking me on my arse and that was after I spent forever just beating on this big tall Reach Knight in plate until he finally went down." He breathes in a deep breath. "So — uh, I think I've been roped into a few obligations."

"Oh, Tel." he replies back with a nod. "All women collect cats. Beware the ones that have em locked in a room in their huts. Don't fuck them-brother. That's a breed of insanity that makes drinking fire seem like a right thing." Jorah opines, as if he has some experience there. Still he moves to come and examine over the map with straining eye, before he is looking up, a look over. "I would chide you for having your shit knocked by a woman-but coming from a Mormont." there's a nod of approval. "You should get her something pretty-like a skin." But then this is the same brother that advised hate fucking Elys Bracken-so taken with some caution.

"Have you?" And now he is standing up and holding up a hand briefly-before causing his pecks to dance. His grin almost says: Cool huh? "Which are those? I know we said we'd go looking for cargo-right?"

"Maybe Tel's sweet on her too. I don't know." Riderch waves a lazy hand, bemused more than anything else about his squire's predilictions and maybe everything else the big man does. It's clear that their professional relationship goes back years and this is commonplace. And probably mutual. "I'd go as far as to say all women are mad, but I think all men are, too. I've had it said about me a few times." His grin broadens some as he sets the map down.

"I'm afraid she's not someone I have my eye set on. Heh. Heh heh." He chuckles at the thought. "Although before she doffed her helmet I personally saw her cut down four fighters in the field with that damn sword. And Maelys Targaryen gave her another one at the end of it all, I don't think /he/ bloody cares." Fingertips drum on the edge of the divan. "To make matters worse, the Joust ended with a hedge knight /knighting/ another woman behind a bloody mask. For all I know, Maelys Targaryen is building a shadow army of heavily armed women with expensive weaponry to make a play for the fucking Iron Throne. Maybe their House Words will change to Fire and Tits." The way he words this indicates he's probably quite a bit less scandalized by this crazy idea, and the crazy tourney happenings than a lot of these Southerners. Or maybe he's just bemused by the chaos and scandal it caused.

Riderch adds, "Oh, uh, about what Mormont wanted…"

"Who do you?" asks Jorah. "Cause, I know how to woo ladies." Perhaps he is not to the quantity or quality of Justyn Mallister, but he does bring in his fair share of tail, or is at least out enough to equate for something. "I have a piece I am fond of, I'll tell you of her." but not right now. Apparently he is looking back towards the younger and proper Blackwood, before taking a seat on the arm of the divan. A nice half straddle, that has him lazily scratching his chest now. "Wait-so a hedge knight knighted a woman. Like a real women with tits and a cunt and everything?" Likely such inspection wasn't given on the battlefield, but the question must needs be asked. "Huh." And he is shaking his head. "These Reachmen are fucked in the head. They worry about the oddest things, and then something like this…I thought they were supposed to be the knights in stories..and the knights who upheld chivalry. Tournaments and everything."

And now brows rise. "Uh, yes.."

"It's probably a terrible idea, climbed atop a list of terrible ideas and even I'm not mad enough to entertain it outside of a dream." Riderch's grin is rueful now as he answers his bastard brother. But he pretty much enjoys this all the same, it's clear. "So who're you chasing, mm? Sometimes I wish I was in your shoes." There's a piece of irony.

Riderch is a man who jumps topics like a madman, allright, as he stiffly sits up. "Yes! You should have seen it. Ser Fulk drew steel, questioning her sword and armor and tutelage and looked like he was going to gut her on the spot. They were the last two in the tourney. And instead — he seemed to know the man who taught her. And he just brought down his sword and fucking /knighted/ her on the spot. The crowd was in an uproar but I don't think Maelys Targaryen's people cared. I don't think that man's people care about bloody anything. It wasn't even the Reachmen, although I agree with you in a way."

Finally. "Oh. Right. So — apparently the Night's Watch stepped on their own cocks and some Wildlings made it south of the Wall. As far as Crakehall, I'm told. So, the Northern houses are rallying and Mormont said she'd forgive my ransom if I'd fight with her. Not that I can't pay it with the ones I took of course. But gold is gold. And we share blood, in a way, with all those houses." He snaps his fingers. "Did I miss anything?"

"Well you never know, unless you know." Whatever the fuck that means. "You will have to share. As I am curious as curious can be." And with the other question there's a bit of a guffaw before he rubs at a cheek with his hand. "You will find, that I am fucking a healer in town." No name to follow, but the grin shows well enough to state it is a good enough thing for him. "And I wouldn't. Sure I can basically do as I please-but I am also a bastard Riderch. We're not seen in the same light as you and your mother see me."

Caution like the wind-wait? Is that a thing? Who cares. Jorah, clearly is used to the jumping about on conversation tracts, as he makes the switch with ease, already leaning forward before shaking his head. "Well I'll be. I imagine most of those who bloody well care them them that did that whole septing shit." which Jorah and likely Riderch never did. "His reputation, not mine-so who am I to judge. Was she a looker at least?"

And then back to everything. Here the one eyed knight has some trouble placing the pieces on the cyvasse board, but is soon quick to suss it. "So A horde of Wildlings are making their way down. Fucks and all." A whistle. "So- we've been asked to go an kill wild northern screamers from beyond th' wall. And-Aye we do. We share blood." and other things. "Oh-What about the Mallister ship?"

"No, but — The problem with Highborn Ladies is this. The time you finally find one worth something, there are a number of disturbing complications that would get in the way." Such a dramatic sigh from the younger Lord. "And I know. I'm not making light of things." Riderch twists his lips twist in a sudden half-frown.

"Pretty enough, she was. If you like a rough sort of woman who can beat you into the ground and laugh about it afterwards. Which mind you, isn't necessarily a /bad/ trait from where I'm standing. Particularly if she does it to people you don't like." How enlightened of Lord Blackwood.

"Well, that's the long and short of it. I guess, stop the wildlings from making the North look bad — which I'm fine with. And I think some of them might be amenable to helping us with our missing ship problem, particularly if Ironmen /do/ turn out to be the culprit." Well look at that. Killin' Ironborn becomes the topic once again, and his smile reappears. He can sometimes be predictable, at least.

"But — no news on the ship though. I heard Justyn was petitioning."

"Aye then, likely I'd fuck her." Jorah announces with a faint grin. before heis leaning back-almost to the point of falling off the divan. There's a wild and erratic movement of his limbs as he tries to maintain his upright positioning. And for a second it looks like he is going to fail. However-he manages to in some moment of spectacular balance to right himself again. A low whistle and he is looking back towards Riderch as if to ask if he saw that.

"Someday, tell me who she is. I hear riding gloves are the thing to give." he adds before now getting off the arm of the divan- his lone eye looking for a chair to slump into-which doesn't take too much time. "Oh I never would accuse you of such. You're a fine brother-and a good man. I'd rather you be what you are than worry about this. You'll be a good Lord. You have time."

As for the Wldings he's already plucking at his beard. "I don't think I've ever known a Stark." Well he knows no starks "To turn down killing squids. Aye-" a grin showing fast and steely. "I am in with you, if you want my company."

Jorah's acrobatics probably do earn an appreciative nod. Blackwood blood means one thing — you know how to move. Unless your name was 'Tewdric.'

He addresses the business of warfare first and foremost as his chin is scratched by his idle hand. "Well, I wasn't going to volunteer you but it seems like it would be a little adventure to ride with our Northern kin. And like we just said, it may pay off later." While impulsive, he does have a mind for making alliances and getting people to owe him favors. At least when it comes to warfare.

"Hm. Riding gloves? That's not half a bad idea. But — " suddenly he shakes his head.No no no, that's the thing, Jorah. It's not like one of those passing diversions or Oldtown wenches." She's the most charming woman I've met in I don't know how long." Riderch's admission comes, as his brother just wouldn't let it go. "And she wants my help in planning a feast. I don't know if this place is great or grand enough, but she's the type — if you met her you wouldn't say 'no' to anything." Tossing the map aside, he bounds to a sitting position as he tries to (stiffly) make his way to his feet. "And since you're so insistent I'll tell you why it's better to just put this thing out of my mind right now. She's a fucking /Targaryen./" And with that, the smile fades some as he stares his half-brother right in the eye, awaiting a response.

Tewdric had two left feet in which the big toes were broken. It is known

Jorah plucks at his beard, before he has nabbed something and a look of disgust is given before the louse or whatever it is is flicked away. "It could get me renown, or in the skirts of a Northern Shield maiden." he adds. "I've never killed a Wildling before-I think I should add it to my list. I've killed Dornishmen, Ironborn, and regular men. What is a wildling?" he adds with a faint shrug. "If it gets you a better position I will do it." For Jorah, Warfare is part ot the game of life- and is an event he excels at.

"Riding gloves, with real leather. Then you can put their House Sigil on it, incase it doesn't work out. I saw a Stormlord do it. She was impressed." he adds before he is looking back towards Riderch. "What is she? A noble? Get her a Horse. We could steal one from the Brackens.." Already new gifts are being thought up before he is looking back to him. "Wait-she wants you to plan a feast?" Highly confused there. However the bone laid out for all his whining and begging is much bigger than the Rivers could have foreseen.

"Holy Fucking Shit."

"Wildlings aren't our problem and I suppose we normally have the Wall to thank for it." Riderch indicates, letting out a soft 'hmm' and an unusually solemn nod. He's of a similar mind about warfare, although it seems in the past few years his targets have all been a little more personal. The Heir to Raventree Hall just sits there, as the raven upstairs belts out with almost eerily perfect timing, "SIMPLETON! LACKWIT! QUOOORK!"

And this momentarily disarms the tension as Riderch's voice suddenly falls apart into a painful gasp of laughter." He shakes his head now as he just gives his one-eyed bastard brother a hapless glance. "So it all makes sense now. Doesn't it? See what I mean? There's nothing good that could /ever/ come of that, so — keep it quiet." His shrug is slow, sore, and hapless.

"My brother." Jorah begins before he is coming o'er to clap Riderch on the shoulder and bring his bare nipple close-dangerously close to his brother's face. "I will take it with me to the grave. But know, you're going to be Lord fucking Blackwood. You are worthy of a Dragon." a pat there on the other man's arm before he is motioning to the map. "So Crake hall huh? Walk me through this-" And so the brothers opt for talks on killing, moreso than courting.

This is one of those rare moments where Riderch looks positively hapless. Maybe a little embarassed. Scandalized even. "It's not /like/ that, Jorah." He offers up a tired protest. "How much gold and how many swords do you think Father's sitting on?. You know this. Not that I wouldn't—" He shakes his head as roughly as he can manage. "Let's just leave this." But they continue walking along. Talking, and planning. There will be plenty of time to gossip over things during the coming journey.

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