(121-04-29) Apologies
Summary: Visenya has some to make.
Date: Date of play (29/04/2014)
Related: blaaa some

The Maidenday Gardens
The Maidenday Gardens are perhaps the loveliest of Oldtown's public gardens. The gracious footpaths are paved in white stone and lined with with flowering trees and rosebushes bearing pink and white blossoms. The beds alongside them are thickly planted with narcissus, lily-of-the-valley, trilliums and wood anemones. An occasional arbor arches over the path, supporting a clematis or wisteria, a virgin's bower or a honeysuckle. Most of the flowers are pale or blushing, but splashes of bright yellows, purples, and blues are not uncommon. True red is all that is absent. In the evenings little lamps hang from slim iron posts to light the paths.

There are benches here and there, and pavilions enshrouded with flowering vines. There are also shrines to The Maiden throughout the garden. They feature statues of stone or wood, some painted, some plain, some large, some small, some dressed in real clothing. All are beautiful and all have a little altar before them. While this is a public garden the rest of the year, on Maiden's Day it is closed to all but maidens. Those girls who feel the ritual at the Sept is not enough to express their piety may, under the watchful eyes of the Septas who maintain this place, light candles at these altars and sing more of their songs of innocence.

The night is hot and dark, visibility made worse by the persistent drizzle of rain. As the hour grows later, the gardens see less and less traffic, all save the Septas who watch over them and a few pious stragglers in attendance —

And then some. It would be a stretch to call the Tyrell twins pious, and they're definitely not septas; but one of them is definitely here in the gardens tonight, huddled under a cloak that hides the reverent splendour of her gown. She stands before one of the shrines, the candles all doused by the rain, looking rather vexed.

Most would scoff at the thought of Visenya Targaryen being religious, despite her recent interest in piety and charity. Still, the Princess is out in the garden as well. She wears a cloak over her pale hair and clothing, and is trailed after by several maids and a guard with the Targaryen badge on the breast. She spots another set of twins, and hesitates for a few moments before taking a step towards them.

<FS3> Saskia rolls Alertness: Great Success.

Septas, spirituality, all this talk of religion is a new interest for Saskia, especially after encountering the red priestess. Moving through the gardens and dressed in a slate colored jerkin and pants with her sword belt ready by her side, she makes her way towards the shrine that Keyte is standing before. Eyeing the candles and not wishing to disturb those who may be in prayer, Saskia looks a bit lost as to what to do now that she is here. A sidelong glance is given towards Keyte. "Psst," she starts off softly, then repeats a bit more insistently, "/Psst/! What the fuck are we supposed to do here-…" Her voice starts off high but dips down low as she notices Visenya and her maidens approaching. The closer Visenya gets however, the more Saskia realizes the pale hair and purple eyes, even in the darkness of the night. Widening her eyes she quickly steps back and away from Keyte.

It's just the one twin tonight, though she's as easily recognizable as her sister. Keyte is annoyed by the rain, clearly, because how is one meant to light a gods-damned candle in this drizzle. Really. It's Saskia's psst that draws her attention, an uncharacteristic frown tossed that way. "Well I don't know," she huffs, stage-whisper, before noticing Visenya in her peripheral vision. She ducks her head. Very abruptly, very determinedly. IF I CAN'T SEE YOU, YOU CAN'T SEE ME.

<FS3> Visenya rolls Attention-1: Failure.

"…I can see you." Visenya says to Keyte as she notices the Tyrell girl scrunch down. But she can't see Saskia! She pauses awkwardly as rain drizzles down on everything. "…I wanted to apologize to you and your sister. Sometimes I get a bit carried away?" There's a pause, she sniffs slightly, and adds, "…And I'm sorry to hear about Lord Garvin's kidnapping. Even if he is spreading horrible rumors about me to everyone, he probably didn't deserve to be kidnapped."

Kidnapped? Saskia quirks her eyebrows as she listens, but she remains behind Keyte and out of direct sight. The bastard listens intently, her ice blue eyes flicking between Keyte and Visenya. She will be riiiight over here, minding her own business, really.

WHAT IS THIS SORCERY. Keyte is thoroughly red when she lifts her head, rain beading off her well-oiled cloak. She huddles under its hood, dull blue eyes almost black in the night's cover. Reluctantly, she draws a step toward Visenya, head tilted like a curious cat. "You — you wanted to apologize?" Forgive her, she sounds skeptical. But open, open enough to entertain the possibility of sincerity, with just the slightest of upward inflections. Keyte is not the greatest at pretending to be Kesha.

Visenya looks totally sincere! It's no joke! She's actually attempting to be nice! She grimaces briefly, "…Yes. Apologize. I'm very sorry for being mean." Her teeth grind slightly, "…I hope we can move past it."

Doo-eee-dooo, Saskia remains where she is, her ears straining to listen to the conversation but she does not interrupt, not yet at least. Oooh, look at those Septons over there…

Don't make it look so difficult, Visenya. You picked the right twin to apologize to! Keyte straightens her head, and straightens her cloak as well, needlessly. "Oh." A beat. "Oh." Another. These things take time to process, you know — hey, wasn't there another girl here somewhere? After a quick glance to try and place wherever that voice went, Keyte turns her attentions back to Visenya, chin lifted in that haughty Tyrell way. "Well I'll have to tell Kesha," she caveats, accidentally revealing herself, "But… thankyou, princess. I don't mean to be ungrateful, of course, and really and very much appreciate your apology, of course. I said of course twice. Oops. Ummmm…"

"You don't sound ungrateful." Visenya reassures. She smiles in that way all the Princesses are trained to smile. "I just…uh, I should have been nicer. Look at all we have in common. ….I have a twin. You have a twin. Kesha…you are Lady Keyte then?" A pause, "Daevon and I used to look exactly alike. When we were children."

Twins, two twins. Saskia listens intently, but when Keyte glances towards her she quickly looks away to examine a nearby tree that looks /awfully/ fascinating. Just look at that knot! It is amazing!

It's not only Princesses who're trained to smile like that, and Keyte does her very best civil smile in return. It's a little forced on both sides, really. "Ah… guilty as charged," she replies with another duck of her head. Relenting a little, she laughs as she peeks up hesitantly, "Not so much anymore, if I may say?" She flashes a brighter smile, for a very brief moment her expression true to her feelings. But wait! No. She clears her throat, glancing aside again as an excuse to keep her distance. Helloooooo, Saskia.

Visenya cracks a more genuine smile, "Ah. No. I suppose he isn't nearly as girly looking as he used to be." She clears her throat slightly, and her eyes go towards here Keyte glances to spy Saskia, "Oh…hello."

When Keyte looks towards her, Saskia blinks, eyes widening like a kid with their hand caught in an oatcake's jar. Whoops. She quickly lowers her head in a stiff little bow, very apparent that she isn't used to being around nobles very much. Despite her new fancy threads and striking Baratheon resemblance, this woman is most definitely a commoner, especially noticable when she speaks. "Mi'lady, Mi'p-..Pincess," she offers gruffly as she dips into a deeper bow for Visenya.

"He's very nice, though," Keyte rushes to assure Visenya, perhaps wary given her and her twin's past perceived offenses. "He used to come and visit Garvin, though not anymore. It's a bit sad, really," she rambles on, her attention flitting between this commoner and the Princess. "Um. Hello." She lifts a brow, wondering if the Princess knows her?

Visenya is trying very hard to be nice! Alas, nice doesn't come naturally to Visenya. Nice is, as Keyte says, for Daevon. "An who might you be?" She asks Saskia rather bluntly before punctuating it with a faint smile. Keyte gets a nod. "I suppose they were friends. Once."

"Saskia," is her immediate response, no need to upset anyone just yet. "Your family sponsored me at the Jousting Tourney when I was outted," she tells Visenya, looking over the princess' right shoulder rather than directly at her. "I wanted to thank you, for the priviledge, though they may receive some scorn for it I am grateful for an opportunity I never thought would happen."

Keyte blinks rather surprisedly at Saskia's name forthcoming so easily, curling her arms about herself under her cloak. She doesn't feel like a curtsy is appropriate, so she just sort of… stands there, waiting for the response from Visenya and cuddling herself. She does repeat: "Once."

"Oh! You're the girl who won the joust. Ser Fulk knighted you." Visenya's voice becomes more animated as she realizes who Saskia is. "Ser Fulk is my sworn sword." She explains to Saskia, "He's fantastic. Like an antique that is still in perfect working order. She waves a hand, "Think nothing of it. Everyone scorns us for something. Why, they even make up things to scorn us for." She looks back to Keyte. "I wish I could say I was sorry, but Lord Garvin treated me rather badly."

At the mention of Ser Fulk, Saskia snaps her eyes back towards Visenya more fully as she stands straighter, her lips pulling back into a savage little grin. "Ser Fulk is a knight among knights," she returns, obviously quite fond of the old man. The mention of him being in Visenya's employ causes the woman to study the Targaryen a bit more intently, as if her features may somehow explain the connection between the two a bit better. "Tis one of the downfalls of being a mighty house. Princess Elionys has asked me to be in her employ as well."

Keyte doesn't doubt it, given the briefly sympathetic look she bestows upon Visenya. She catches herself, though, and schools it more neutral with a firm nod. She does feel the need to ask, expression rather worriedly curious, "Is it true that you called off your betrothal?" She glances apologetically between the women, a bit abashed for bringing it up. But she did. So it's out there. Even if she is interrupting a rather amiable exchange about Ser Fulk — whoever that is.

"Princess Elionys would be an excellent woman to work with." Visenya reassures Saskia, "She's one of my brother Aevander's closest friends." She lets out a soft sigh at Keyte's question, and shakes her head. "No. That's for my father to decide. What happened is I…uh, well, I returned Ser Corey's head…" She glances downwards bashfully. For all she knows Corey was Keyte's father, "And Lord Garvin began demanding that we marry at once. Apparently his brother suffered an accident? Well, I told him that it was quite impossible to be married that soon, and that I was a Princess of Westeros, not some broodmare. So he goes Ah Ha as if he'd planned it all along, and starts accusing me of breaking the betrothal, and saying he is going to demand recourse from my family."

Saskia blinks at the mention of a broken betrothal and she looks between the two, especially when Visenya mentions bringing heads in. Oh damn, well isn't this Princess utterly fascinating. Her eyebrows quirk and she remains silent, eager to listen to this exchange.

"Aevander squired at Highgarden," Keyte interrupts all pleased to announce such familiarity. "We used to prank each other, he and me and Kesha…" She trails off, finally realising that perhaps she's overstepped again — there is her cautiousness kicking in. "Um. I mean, the Prince was, obviously, a very esteemed guest at Highgarden. Uh." She will just allow Visenya to tell her story, listening with great care, and sharing a shocked look with Saskia. "Ugh," she finds her commiserating with Visenya, "I'm sorry. I… mean, Ser Corey," not, apparently, her father, "Was a horrible tragedy, unspeakable, and I'm sure you don't condone that, but… well." She lifts her brows to the Princess again and simply says: "Garvin."

"Aevander seems to think very highly of you and Lady Kesha." Visenya says to Keyte. She nods, "Ser Corey did seek out my Uncle, but it was certainly wrong of him to do…what he did. Awful. One shouldn't do that to a body." There's an awkward moment as she searches for what to say, "Yes, well, now the Pansy is telling everyone I broke off the betrothal, and am some…some whore" She whispers the word, "who rides naked on dragons." She frowns, "I wasn't naked. I was wearing small clothes that covered everything. …I had made a sling out of my robe to hold the dragon's eggs that the Whoremaster gave me. And now everyone is drawing these horrible pictures of me, and making lewd jokes." For a moment it seems as if she may tear up. She subtly flicks a finger under her eyes, and squinshes her face to prevent the flow of more.

Saskia is listening intently, especially when there is mention of something called a whoremaster who gives out dragon eggs. Damn. Her eyes keep flicking between the two women as she rests her hand on the pommel of her blade. Her brows knit at the mention of lewd drawings and she parts her lips to comment but quickly shuts it as she looks away.

"I'm sorry," Keyte hisses again, shaking her head to dissuade Visenya from further speaking against her cousin in common company. She's also not heard quite that profanity about the whole thing, though she may have witnessed a drawing. By her sister. And laughed. THAT WAS PRE-APOLOGY. She is suitably horrified by all of the above, of course, and as Visenya wipes tears, her expression tends helpless. "Oh, no," she worries, "Don't cry. Gods, no, please don't cry!"

Visenya's bottom lip quivers, and she totally starts crying. Way to go, Keyte! "It's just so horrible! I rode a dragon, and all anyone cares about is how I was supposedly naked! Not that I found the thing, and ever since I found it we've been feeding it, and it hasn't ate one person since then!"

Oh no, crying women. Saskia looks very trapped. Her eyes are wide and she looks about herself in a panic. She does not know how to handle this that's for sure. What is she supposed to do?! Argh! So she stands there, looking very uncomfortable while turning to Keyte with a 'DO SOMETHING!' look of desperation.

Growing up in a household of girls, clearly Keyte is no stranger to tears. She does, however, share her helpless look with Saskia, slightly accusatory in the crinkle of her brow: YOU DID THIS. In the rain and depsite her absolute loyalty to her twin — whom will likely be utterly DEVASTATED by it — she ducks a step forward to place her hands steadyingly on Visenya's shoulders two. "No," she argues, yes argues! "No. Now, you stop that, you're a princess, aye? It were very brave of you. Very brave!" She's now comforting Visenya in front of one of the tributes to the Maiden, with Saskia watching on. It's all rather awkward to witness.

"I'm sorry…" Visenya says, and makes that weird face one makes when they are trying to stop themselves from crying. She fans herself with her hand, and lets out a whimper. "…I just want people to care more about it than those stupid drawings and all the rumors!"

Saskia did nothing! All of this is said with her own expression of incredulity as she seems to converse with Keyte telepathically (or via minute facial muscle twitches.) When Visenya bursts out about the rumors once more Saskia is not able to hold back; really she had tried for so long to keep her silence, but finally she snaps out. "Fuck them!" She then stops, clears her throat and tries again. "Your highness, their words should mean nothing. I have been taunted and jeered when I was in the tourney and most of my life before that. There will always be taunts, always be naysayers, but you know who you are and that is all that matters. Not everyone will like you, but then damn them to the pits of the Stranger. I still managed to win and their jeers got worse; the more powerful you get the more adversery you will find. Rise up to it."

An incongruous - though, perchance, not an altogether unwelcome - sight now lollops into the gardens dedicated to the Maiden; a grizzled, wiry, bow-legged fellow distinctly past his best days, riding on an adequate and well-kept looking dappled gelding; and, quite rarely for him, dressed in decent woolen clothing of a peaceful complexion, various shades of dark green and scarlet. His weathered face is one that's become just a shade better known lately. Ser Fulk the Subtle looks positively rural and carefree today…until he takes in the interesting little…exchange…before him. "M'princess," he murmurs as he nears the ladies and the…damsel at arms… "is there aught a'can do for you?"

Keyte's about to offer her own opinion when Saskia bursts in, though she does keep ahold of Visenya's shoulders. Maybe she can get some credit for that little speech of the commoner's, no? Despite the profanity. What is it with people and profanity, sheesh. "Surely you aren't unused to it," the Tyrell girl adds, speaking with the authority of someone who is, indeed, used to it. "Little lords and little ladies say all kinds of things, that doesn't make them true." She glances again aside, this time to Fulk, though not knowing who he is she simply frowns. Really, Fulk. They're having a girlment here, it's like a broment but in girl form.

Visenya doesn't seem scandalized by Saskia's outburst. Instead, she lets out a wet little laugh. And then she sucks in a breath, and fans her face one last time before she manages to get a grip. "Oh, this is so embarrassing! I never cry! You're right. Both of you are right. I'm being silly." One last fortifying breath is taken in. And then there's Fulk. Hey Fulk! "Just a moment of weakness, Ser. I'm fine."

When Ser Fulk shows himself, Saskia can't help the smile that forms across her lips before she looks towards Visenya then back at him with a shrug. She didn't do this, honest. "Ser Fulk," she greets him with a bow of her head, her body releasing the tension within her now that someone she recognizes is here to patch the awkwardness between the commoner and highborns.

"It's probably the air, m'princess," Visenya's new sworn sword replies sagely. "Too much scent startles horses, mare n' stallion alike, so don' see why shouldn' be the same for ladies. Even dragons." With such easy folk-wisdom does Ser Fulk unknowingly insinuate himself into the floral company of a Tyrell, to which lady he delivers a decorous bow, before returning Saskia's greeting with a grin.

"Miz Saskia. Heard you let a packet go for some fine horse flesh lately. Fame n' fortune suitin' yer? How," he continues with irreverent slyness, "are you findin' the…service o' House Targaryen? Or did that service fade into myth n' legend when the tourney was done?"

OH GODS. THIS IS SER FULK. Keyte can't hide her surprise as it's confirmed, her hands dropping Visenya's shoulders like hot potatoes. She wasn't touching her, honest! It's paranoia on the formerly-scorned Tyrell's part, of course. (But seriously, wasn't touching her, ok?) "Aevander used to speak so highly of you," she elects to share, tone hopefully helpful. "I mean, he still does, obviously. You ought to be proud, Princess." She has a polite nod for Fulk's bow, not harboring any distaste for him, just this horrible guilt. She looks from the knight to Saskia to Visenya. She's really not sure what else to do, here.

"Ser Fulk this is Lady Keyte Tyrell. Lady Keyte, Ser Fulk the Subtle." Visenya makes the introductions with eyes that are rapidly drying, but still slightly red from her earlier tears. "Surely it is the weather." She glances to Keyte briefly, and gives her a grateful look before turning once her shoulders are free. "Princess Elionys is thinking of hiring her."

At the mention of her new horse, Saskia perks up with a wide grin of pride. "Piddles is a fine horse, a proper destrier with a heft to match. Ol' Tinkles would not be able to carry me much longer, but she did a fine job 'til now. She is in pasture." Same horse her old mentor rode it seems. The old mare is still kicking. At the mention of the Targaryens, she pauses to look towards Visenya, have to be careful what to say in front of the highborns. "They gave me until the feast to make my decision. I would take it," she quickly informs, "if it weren't for Daemond Lannister being my original sponsor. I honor those I sell my sword to and I need to inform him before I depart his service."

"Pleasure, m'sure, m'lady of Tyrell," Ser Fulk appends speedily. "A'was born in Norcross lands, and damme if we didn't curse the destiny that had planted us so far from Highgarden every time the Durwells came by a-hunting for kine, blood-stock, fodder and wenches. We knew we should always find justice from your family."

As tactful a description of a Reach childhood as the hedge knight can contrive, for the moment, before he swivels back to Saskia with a guttural bark of mirth. "Ye're Sol's girl, orright; only he n' his could be so damned awful at namin' horses. And honorin' y'contract, I understan' that well enough. Lannister needs to up his game if he wants to keep you, n' y'know he can afford to. He didn' pay for a tourney champion. Or…a knight!" Fulk's smile is as indomitable as it's uneven.

Keyte has just another nod for Ser Fulk at their formal introduction; she's still hoping he's not going to arrest her for laying hands on Visenya, or something equally dire. His geniality is somewhat… confusing. "The weather, aye," she hurries to agree with the princess, making a show of rubbing nothing at all from under her eyes, hands held into the rain briefly for a dampening. "This rain, it's a Reachman's delight, but to any else a constant complaint, we're used to it!" The names of Saskia's horses overheard give her pause to duck her head. Seriously, what?! But, "Uh. I should be getting home, before I'm missed amidst the panic," she apologises with a curtsy to all. "I could see you out, Princess Visenya?" Presumably she's got some sort of Tyrell entourage happening at a distance; they have an excess of guards as it is.

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