(121-05-06) Multiple Flagons
Multiple Flagons
Summary: Riderch comes to visit looking for Laurent, and finds Johanna instead.
Date: Date of play (06/05/2014)
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://gobmush.wikidot.com/logtitle)

Dining Hall - Little Bellhorn Holdfast Champion's Way

The dining hall of the Little Bellhorn holdfast was meant to serve a small garrison. There are three long solid oaken tables that look like they might just be as old as the gates outside.

The hall itself has thick heavy stone walls, unadorned, and floors to match. There are two fireplaces, one on each end of the hall, but the one that shares a wall with the kitchen is larger. There's a doorway beside it giving access to the kitchens. Perhaps it once had a door, but it's simply an open passage now.

During the day, windows opening onto the courtyard let in light. Big iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling and can be on lowered on their chains to let their many candles be lit, should the occasion demand it.

On this particular evening, Johanna can be found sitting at one of those long tables in the nearly empty hall, both a flagon and goblet of wine on the table before her. There is a book as well, a large leather bound tome without any on the cover or spine to indicate it's contents, but it's closed and shoved aside.

Loryn has been keeping her company, claiming it's out of concern for her and injured Quill. But maybe he's reluctant to return to his newest home. He's drinking wine and staring into the flames of the fire, occasionally still rubbing his knee.

As the door opens, the servants admit two men. Well, hold the jokes on that one. One of them is a beardless boy of no more than sixteen years old in black and red velvet. He is accompanied by an older, lean man wearing the same colors and sigil, who is walking a little stiffly. He even bothered to shave today. "Ah. Robb - pick up your feet, please. I make a bad enough impression in these places myself." He says to the boy, smirking a little, until he comes to a full stop, turning about. "Well - uhh, maybe this was a bad time?" This is Riderch Blackwood speaking here, unarmed in the home of Laurent Tyrell.

It's only once the door is opened and the voices of others carry through it that Johanna looks up at their guests. It takes a few beats, but eventually she smiles and lifts a hand to motion both Riderch and Rob further in. "It's a perfectly fine time, I am just enjoying the evening here with my cousin, but you are welcome to join us. Would you like a drink?"

Loryn looks at the strangers, whom he doesn't really know, then at Johanna. Hearing that she's asking them in and is fine with their late appearance, he nods. "Good evening.", he greets, looking curious, expecting an introduction.

"Oh!" Riderch's voice barks out suddenly as he looks about the area, a little nonplussed. "I was under the impression that Ser Laurent lived here now. I just returned from the Garden Isle. But it's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Johanna." His features curl up into one of those grins he commonly sports. "This is my cousin Robb who just came down —"

"Killing Wildlings!" The beardless boy interjects. "Yes yes." Riderch cofirms. There's a little roll of his eyes. He glances at Loryn and additionally shoots the man a nod. "Evening. And I don't mind the offer if you're sharing."

"You are under the correct impression," Johanna informs Riderck with more of a smile, one that pulls up just a little higher on one side, leaving it crooked. No introductions are given immediately, it doesn't even apear to occur to the Oakheart Lady that they need be done. Instead she gets to her feet and makes her way, slowly and more carefully than usual, to the sideboard to fetch collct another couple of cups, and a second flagon of wine. The other one is near empty. That might be Johanna's fault. It's possible that she's not entirely sober. Even so, the cups and booze are carried carefully back to the table and set down before she retakes her seat. "Killing wildlings, mm? Not something you hear about here very often."

The Tyrells are never where they are supposed to be. "I don't believe we've been introduced.", Loryn informs Riderch, since nobody is telling him a thing. He makes a "stop!" gesture to Johanna to stop her from refilling his cup. "I should return to the Hightower. I don't want Ser Brynden to think I've gone missing on my very first day…" He sighs deeply.

"Gods, Robb, show the Lady a little respect."The boy is slouching a little and Riderch nudges him, smirking all the while. "No, And Lady Johanna — congratulations on your brother's duel. I saw that sorry shit-show and wanted to offer you my condolences."

"Yes, Lady." The boy echoes, looking a little unsure of what to do here.

"Riderch, meanwhile, isn't going to turn down a free drink. The two Riverlanders make their way into the room, partaking. "Oh, you don't need to leave! This isn't some kind of wild political play which requires utmost confidence. I just wanted to speak to Ser Laurent, but I believe I found Lady Johanna instead. And I don't want to drive you from this place." He says this all to Loryn quite sincerely.

"Very well, if you must, but," Johanna reaches across the table to try and capture Loryn's wrist in her hand, while the other hand levels a finger on him. "I have my eye on you, I saw that earlier. You know what I mean, so just watch it. Watch it, because it only goes bad places if you don't." Whatever that's supposed to mean. If she was able to take his wrist, it's released now, and the hand draws back across the table. "Thank you, Ser Riderch, I was quite pleased with the outcome of the duel. I never doubted my brother for a second," she lies, but it sounds convincing enough. "The apology was just terrible, wasn't it? I suppose he thinks I ought to thank him for trying to hit me, because it was by the glorious hand of a Targaryen, and shouldn't we all just be grateful to be touched by such a hand?" She makes a sound, nudging the flagon in Riderch's direction to take, or not, leaving that decision in his hands.

"I would like to linger, Ser, but my brother sent me back into slavery, so I must return to my captor before the gates are shut for the night.", Loryn explains somewhat dramatically. Then Johanna adds some more genuine drama by grabbing his wrist and issuing a warning that makes him blush something fierce. "It's nothing, I swear. I'm just concerned.", he claims and once he's released, starts fleeing for the exit with a limp bow. "Good night, cousin. Ser. Squire." Assuming that's what Robb is.

"Maybe — maybe a Targaryen can just be a twat." Riderch chews on this idea carefully. Maybe it's a hard concept for him. "I've been fortunate enough to avoid these types. And maybe Aegon the Liberator's legacy is a little sullied in places." His shoulders slump forward and then he shrugs, however slightly. "I won't pretend to understand the relationship your brother has with the Dornish. But he's been ever a decent man to me. Is he well?"

The boy starts to speak and then thinks better of it.

Riderch's mouth opens and closes again. "In any case, decency is not a hard concept." Robb meanwhile again starts to stiffen as he's called 'squire,' but Riderch nudges him again. This is just a thing that seems to happen. The Elder Riverlander looks between the two Reach nobles and pauses, a bit nonplussed at their exchange.

"Mmhmm." Johanna's eyes are on Loryn as he makes his escape, but whatever the issue is, it's all but forgotten once the Squire is out of sight. "I think anyone can be that, Ser Riderch, and every family has at least one of them. Maybe he's just it." She pauses for a drink of her wine, a dark red wine of Dornish variety. She may hate the people, but she likes their wine. "My brother is a decent man, and he's recovering very well. It all looked rather worse yesterday, with all the blood and broken armor, but he will be just fine."

Loryn has left.

Loryn's departure is also noted by Riderch and his little cousin, who goes off to nose around the room after availing himself of a glass of wine. Riderch too follows suit, but seems a little less enthusiastic about scamming off Johanna's hospitality. "Mmm. I guess I just got sucked into some nonsense from some Northerners." He offers neutrally. "Some good people I suppose. But thank you. I'm glad your brother /is/ recovering. Now maybe we can put this all behind us if certain people grow up."There's that wolfish Riderch Blackwood grin again. "I'm pleased to see you didn't need to cave anyone's skull in. At least I /think/ you didn't."

Johanna doesn't seem the slightest bit put out that they're helping themselves to the wine, and as they do, she picks up the nearly empty flagon to top off her own cup. "The wildling business?" she asks of the Northern nonsense, head canting to the side a touch as she considers the Knight across from her. "Truth told, I hope that it is behind us. The matter needed seeing to, but I don't want to risk my brother that way again unless I have to, not over my own pride and occasionally loud mouth." She drinks in a deep breath before taking a healthy gulp of the wine that she's already had a fair amount of. "Oh, ho," she says, grinning more easily than usual as she leans into and over the table, towards Riderch. "No one that you know of."

"You know they serve /fried turnips/ at that field." Riderch says to Johanna as an aside as he tries the wine. His voice is scandalized. "I do not understand why anyone would do that? Especially when one doesn't spend coin on turnips." His face crinkles into an indignant, challenging glare, until it crumbles as he bursts into a guffaw. "Seriously, though." He looks to Johanna to see if she needs a refill and is fairly pointed about it. Nope!

"I'm probably better for not knowing. I say this often. And in any case, permit me to say something I have observed about this place — many knights are here, taking oaths. Oaths to Gods which are — well, Gods of this place. And then they seek to bloody ignore them. That's what I don't understand."

And as far as the Wildling business goes, he barely comments. "Lord Stark had some problems. But apparently, with help, he had solutions. Some people on the Wall sadly did not understand the honor of their service."

"I did not, I fear I didn't pay a bit of attention to the foods that were being sold," Johanna admits, propping an elbow on the table so that her cheek can rest against the back of her hand. "It does sound awfully questionable. Turnips. Who eats a turnip at something like that?" No one, that's who! Except Riderch, apparently. She takes another healthy swallow of wine, having had enough that her cheeks take on that rosy glow that comes with being pleasantly intoxicated. "Well Maelys Targaryen is a knight, and while I can't deny that he is damn fine with a sword, he is no knight in the sense that he has any bit of honor in him. You don't taunt the family of the person that you're going to kill. Going to try and kill. He told me I ought to cry for him, and if I was pretty enough about it he might spare my brother. He's as bad as his nephew." The words require another swallow of wine to wash away the bitter taste left behind.

Sandy brows in Riderch's countenance screw up a little as Johanna admits a certain level of food disinterest. This is clearly something foreign to the Riverlord. "Questionable indeed. Tel had to finish the turnips because he'll eat anything, and there are starving children in the Crannog lands so it would be only fair. "Before there were knights, my people called men like Maelys Targaryen warlords. It's much the same thing.

"I do not want to sound like I am oversimplifying, but there is generally no need to taunt one at all unless you were specifically in the mood. His tongue clicks as he analyzes Johanna's response. "This man isn't winning any popularity contests.

It is rather more likely that it was less an over all disinterest in food, than it was concern over the fight about to take place. At least, that might be the presumption if one were to judge by Johanna not at all waifish, and instead slightly generous figure. "I think warlord is an apt title for him, and I can only be glad that the crown saw the truth of him. I shouldn't like to see him with any more power than he's already got." The already half empty cup is set on the table in front of her, brows furrowing as she listens. "You are probably right on that, it's not necessary. Sometimes it can be awfully enjoyable, but in the end I'm sure it only leads to more trouble, and probably isn't worthwhile."

"With power like this I wouldn't want to see this man either." Riderch notes, deftly as he balances a drinking vessel on his open hand, and as beardless Robb gets himself up to something horrible in the edge of the room, whatever that may be. "To the buzzards with him, then.”. His face is painted with mirthful joy as he downs his vessel slowly. "And here I was, thinking of bringing Laurent some sour nonsense and this happened instead."

Johanna pays very little attention to what Robb is getting up to, Riderch and the cup of wine in front of her seems all she's able to focus on at the present. "What sour nonsense were you thinking of bringing to Laurent?" she asks, sounding amused suddenly. "Is this better, or is it worse?"

It's a good thing, because Robb could be breaking things at this very minute. He doesn't appear to be a very seasoned drinker. "Oh, hum.." The boy begins while investigating the stonework of the walls. "Hmm." He says wordlessly as his fingertips trail along the wall. Maybe he'd make a good Castellan if such a thing were ever needed? (The answer is — probably not).

"Me poking my big bloody nose in where it probably doesn't belong." Riderch chimes in, burying said nose in his cup as he leans against the wall himself. "Trying to see if I can help him mend things at home — if you know what it is that I mean and I think you might have an idea, mm?" He pauses a beat. "Oh, and if that doesn't work, seeing if he wants to be involved in an endeavor to give him a little bit of a change of scenery."

Though Johanna doesn't notice the unseasoned drinker inspecting the walls, it's likely that a guard, or some passing man-at-arms does, and is likely amused at the harmless tomfoolery. "Mmmm, yes, I suspect I have a good notion of what it is you're talking about," she replies, reaching for the not-empty flagon to fill her cup again. It's half-empty and this needs to be remedied. "I don't know if there is wisdom to be found in meddling with the relationships of others, but what do I know? Mmm?" She pauses for a drink of the refilled wine, discreetly using her thumb to swipe away a dribble from her lower lip. "The men always get the good distractions. What do women get? We run the houses, and deal with the children, and sew. I have never understood how anyone could find sewing fun," she continues, on this little tangent of hers. "At least cloth, clothing. I'm much better at putting flesh back together than I am making anything useful."

"Well if you're saying that, I believe you probably know more than me." Riderch's hands rise a little bit. Well, a hand, at least, as he's still cup-bearing in the other one, brows raising a little defensively, his eyes widening just a tad. "Unfortunately I've heard plenty from the other side and am /really/ trying to stay out of it, save one offer I intend to make to both parties, after which, I will /aggressively/ wash my hands of it all. I just spent a short while on a merry jaunt with a large number of Northerners which tends to fill your head with a lot of things."

Maybe Riderch never thought long enough about this. "No. No, that isn't fair, is it? That being said, this isn't a distraction for sane men." He buries his face in his cup again. And then he decides, rather honestly as he peers over at Joanna with a head tilted like one of those bloody ravens on his sigil. "I don't know how often you hear this, but what would you /like/ to be doing?" He's certainly nosy.

"I couldn't begin to say, except that I lived in the same house as both of them, and have heard a little from either side," Johanna remarks with an unconcerned gathering of her shoulders. "They will fix it, or they won't. It's not mine to try and see that either thing happen." The talk of hand-washing gets him a grin, a broad and cheerful thing. "Northerners are odd, and so many of them are so serious. Are they all like that, or is it just that I've only met the melancholy ones?" The cup in hand is set down a little too hard, the sound of impact carrying a little further than she expected. "What do I want to do? I don't know, if I'm honest. What I am doing, I suppose, except more—" more something, but she can't seem to find the word she's searching for. "Not a hobby, you know? I don't treat it as that, but some people view it that way."

"I — see what you mean." Indeed. Hand. Washing. He lazily I am probably a better and a worse person to ask about the North." Riderch observes, clicking his tongue. He's swirling his wine about but not necessarily into pounding it back at the moment. "We're close cousins, my family and most of them. I think it's like the Gods decided to amuse themselves by shuffling the Manderlys up North and leaving us right in the middle of things, but — I imagine the weather up there changes you. And the Wall." He snorts. "That bloody thing that it seems impossible to manage. Which is why I went where I did. You might like the Stark Lord who was staying with the Tyrells though, if you haven't noticed them already. He's amusing." There's a snicker there.

"The land changes you." He simply repeats, almost as if it were a mantra of some sort. He's a jumpy type too, lurching suddenly at the sound of the cup's impact. "And I /think/ I understand what it is you are saying. I imagine it's hard, when all people talk about are all things knightly, and you have the Citadel which —" He trails off, nonplussed. "That I do not understand. At all."

"I imagine a lot of things change people, life is different up there, I'm told," Johanna rattles off, as though he doesn't know this. That thought seems to occur to her a moment too late, brow furrowing when it does. "I met him once, but when I was in the manse, I didn't see him a lot, and then he was out and I haven't seen him since. Should I seek him out? Is he worth that effort?" she asks. There is a faintly apologetic look when he jumps, but no actual apology is given. "Yes, it's hard. It's hard when that's all that matters, or the only thing that resolves anything. Sers and swords, bashing away at one another. Would that I were younger and any true notion of how useful the skill would prove, I'd go back and learn how to bash, rather than to repair the bashing after the fact," she complains, though she doesn't sound entirely serious.

"If you like amusing, he's amusing, good-natured, and not a coward. I've said many worse things about many different people." Comes Riderch's estimation of the Stark Lord. It appears honest enough. He's also quite beyond being startled, but it looks as though he /is/ jumpy. And sore, as he grimaces a little when rotating his free arm in its socket.

"But yes. There is a certain — separation of deed and consequence that goes on here. That little Prince ended up leaning on the Big Prince and look what good it did him?" Oh, back to the duel again. It's on everyone's mind, certainly. "And if you think about it, the last time Maelys Targaryen stepped on that field, he nearly died too. If you're the more pedantic sort, there's a lesson here." His smirk is a thin, thin thing.

"I prefer clever, though not being a coward is always nice," Johanna points out as she picks up her cup again, holding it halfway between table and mouth. "You have been seen to by someone, yes?" she asks, for just a moment stepping out of this somewhat drunken, and occasionally jovial haze. "You weren't too hurt?" It seems almost more professional curiosity, than true concern for his health. The cup goes the rest of the way for a drink, then lowers again, quieter this time. "Maybe he should stop stepping onto the field. Maybe he's getting too old for it." Snark.

"I suppose there's a certain wisdom to noting that 'not being a coward' has nothing to do with throwing your carcass in front of arrows." Riderch notes bemusedly as he taps his upper arm again with his free hand, wincing even as his smirk holds. "But I'm discussing a world that I don't always live in."

The Riverlander has actually been pacing himself and he's still on his first cup. Meanwhile, his cousin Robb is mumbling something to one of the guards in the main hall, chatting about armor or somesuch.

"Tore up my armor some, but the armor was punished more than /I/ was." He looks towards Johanna, banishing the idea. "Those poor lawless Bastards coming down from North of the Wall. We don't even know what they wanted." He lingers over his cup some and finally comments further. "Agreed. I understand standing for your kin, but when your kin doesn't have a shred of sense…Remind me never to make your brother angry, mm?"

"I did say I like clever too," Johanna points out with a quiet, throaty laugh. "Throwing yourself in front of arrows isn't often considered a clever move. Not in most circles, in any case." The Reach Lady hasn't been pacing herself much, and she's been at this whole drinking business for a while now. That fact is becoming increasingly evident. "Glad to hear it, I should hate for any of the decent men in this city to get too torn up. Let's leave it to the indecent ones." She sets the cup down now, slightly aside, as though trying to decide whether or not she's had enough. "No, making my brother angry has never been the wisest of moves, and yet people keep making that mistake. I imagine

"And that is — not clever. Point taken." The more sober of the conversationalists here expands on Johanna's point, burying his snicker in the last of his vessel before he empties it. "But as far as wise decisions that involve in keeping your limbs attached — I can handle that. To be perfectly truthful, I try not to get involved in most of the local problems because that is the /last/ thing my family needs." He sets the cup down now, wiping a bit of red from the cup's edge with his hand and leaving a few splotches on it, narrowing his eyes. "Which is why I need to be more careful. A /lot/ more careful."

Johanna notices the empty state of the goblet and reaches out to pick up the flagon, though only to go so far as moving it closer to him. "I would say I don't get involved, but that would be a lie. I do. Sometimes. I don't always enjoy it, but with my family," she makes a vague gesture. "Being careful is a good way to go when treading in the world of politics, it's the ones that aren't careful that make a misstep and wind up dead."

Trouble? Did someone say trouble? Fortunately, Riderch's little moment of caution has been thrown to the proverbial wind and there's a devlish little smile curling on the Heir to Raventree Hall's lips as he barks out a laugh. "Lord Hightower has a presence at his court that spells a sort of trouble I can't abide and the sort that may pose some real problems very soon." This is cryptic, but the intent is clear — Blackwood is likely not bringing a plate full of buttered cakes to this mystery person.

Riderch fortunately is mobile enough to step forth for a refill. "Many thanks." He pauses a bit before pouring, looking over his shoulder to get a glance at wherever Robb disappeared to. "That boy." He shakes his head. "Mm, to be honest, I'm not looking forward to any of this. Or having to devote the rest of my life to it."

"And by that do you mean a lack of presence?" asks Johanna with a laugh, turning in her seat so that she can lean in with one elbow resting on the table. "You should tell my brother, or Laurent, they might be able to talk to Brynden Hightower, if you need the help. They're friends with him." Or near enough friends, in any case. "Who among us does look forward to the things that we're told we must do? I think it's in our nature to recoil back from those sorts of things, and resent them on principal."

"It'd involve cutting the little Greyjoy contingent out of the Hightower and the whole thing would likely look like I was leaning on your kin to pursue a frivolous vendetta." Riderch smiles thinly as he hefts the cup to his mouth. "Although I've met Ser Brynden before; he seems a fair enough man. But aren't most vendettas frivolous?" They are, to be sure, at least to someone.

"Oh, I know, unfortunately. Young Lord's Lament and all that. Put my little brother in the chair the moment he's old enough to walk and just bloody /run/. I just want to go bloody fishing. And actually catch something worth eating for a change, not those nasty carp you find in the lake." His whole face wrinkles as he physically recoils, much in the way Johanna just used the word. "Ugh, bloody horrible things."

"Who cares if it appears you're leaning on them," asks Johanna, face screwing up a bit as she considers the matter. "Isn't that the point of alliances, and friends? They're the people that you turn to and lean on when you need something done that you can't get done on your own? They have fair enough things to say of you, I'm sure you could lean a little bit." Having apparently forgotten that she decided not to drink anymore, she reaches for her cup and downs more wine. "Not a carp man, mm? No, that face says not," she observes, laughing. "Fish then, do that too, you're not lord yet are you? What's the point of not being in a position if you don't get time to do what you want occasionally?" Well, it makes sense to her currently, in any case.

Johanna's words are indeed considered a moment as the Riverlander stands in silence. "See, that's the thing. I view favors as — this." Riderch stubs a finger at his cup and takes a drink, downing a measured sip of wine. "You have this cup, see? It seems plentiful. But if you're a greedy, drunk sort like myself," He takes another sip and swallows, pointing at the more vacant space in the cup. "And sure, you can refill it." He gestures towards the flagon but doesn't actually make a move to physically do it as this is all simile and rhetoric anyway. Isn't it? "But sooner or later, the flagon runs dry. And you're left with — an empty flagon, a bloody headache the next day, and no wine to drown out the fact that you're sitting in a stone chamber with your arse in an uncomfortable seat, listening to Councilor Fartbreeches flap his mouth about useless drivel that doesn't really matter anyway." He then sets the cup in his hand down on a table next to him, sighing dramatically. "And isn't that the point of having the wine in the first place?"

He gives Johanna a bemused, sudden laugh as he addresses one other (seemingly) unrelated point. "No. No carp. Unless my options are severely limited, and all men must make do with what is at hand. And — I don't know how to answer what you just asked. My father never goes fishing." His face screws up in a ponderous response.

Johanna props her cheek on the back of her fist she listens, eyes narrowing slightly as her alcohol saturated brain struggles to keep up. She manages, but only just. "That's why you get other flagons," she points out, though it's after several moments to consider. "Other flagons, other friends, other favors, different cups, you don't pour all your wine into the same cup, that's foolish," she rattles off, and speaking of cups, she nearly knocks her over as the hand slips from beneath her cheek to gesture as she's making her point. Or at least she hopes she's making a point. The chosen name of the Councilor wins a decidedly unladylike snort of amusement though.

"Maybe your father hates fishing, and just doesn't know how to tell you," she replies in an almost thoughtless way, pushing back from the table and getting to her feet. "I think it is time for me to retire." While she can still walk. "But I will tell Ser Laurent you came looking for him in the morning." If she remembers. "It was nice to see you. Oh, and thank you for the mace. I'm told it's well made." She gives him a grin, another of those broad and toothy, and frankly somewhat goofy looking, then turns to make her way for the door. And into the rain. The damn rain.

"You have a considerably bright outlook. I should do well to take a lesson from that." Riderch's not as tipsy as Johanna, by any stretch. Goofy grin is met with goofy grin and a bow of his head. "Thank you for that, and thank you for the hospitality, m'lady. Have a delightful rest of your evening. I'll make sure my cousin doesn't burn the bloody place down after he trips over his own feet." After watching Lady Oakheart depart, he looks down at what's left of his wine cup. Maybe it's time to take her advice. Right now, there's /plenty/ more wine.

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