(121-05-11) Encounter with an Exile
Encounter with an Exile
Summary: Alia teases Elionys in the streets of Oldtown, and Alaeyna encounters a ghost from the past. This is a partial log.
Date: 11 May 2014
Related: None
Players:
Alia..Elionys..Parizad..Alaeyna..

Sphinx Street
This long street runs along the West side of the Honeywine River. It is wide, and the large paving stones are well-maintained. The rows of genteel houses that line it are broken up on the West of the street by alleys and wynds, and on the East by a few small riverfront gardens, each occupied by handsome twisted old apple trees, flower beds, and a stone bench or two.

To the North, Sphinx Street ends at The Citadel — it gets its name from the two great green stone sphinxes that flank them. To the West lies the Champion's Way, a wide street leading to the Tourney Gate, and the tourney grounds outside the city. To the South stand the seven towers and seven domes of the Starry Sept, and beyond that, the guildhouses and the harbour, with the Hightower's blazing beacon above.

"Oh," her cheeks color again, for an entirely different reason this time, or at least a slightly different reason. Also possibly because of the tongue comment, so the reason isn't all that different. "Yes, of course, I'm sorry. How rude of me. I'm Elionys Targaryen," she finally says, stealing another glance at Alia, but it doesn't linger there for long. Somehow Parizad seems the safer one to watch.

Oh, safety is such a fleeting thing anywhere. But Parizad is not the one eyeing the Princess like a Lysene whore would eye up a ship full of Greyjoy's finest, so her reaction is probably sound. This is a chance meeting in the street, it would seem, as a Dornishman in white-and-gold and his bald, Essosi companion stand, chatting with a pair of ladies, one Targaryen, and one — apparent daughter of Amarei. "Well, Princess Eh-li-o-nys Targaryen." His odd combation of accents says this with a certain lilt. "Maelys' blood is a joy to meet, so all honors to you." He finally bows to the Princess, stiffly.

Straightening now, his cloak falls back over his shoulders, propped up by the spear with the ridiculously large blade-point strapped to his back glinting in the sun. "I suppose I would wish your sister to receive it as such." He now turns and says this again to Alia. There's a certain playful facetiousness in his tone, suggesting that he'd be amused by any reaction she would have. "But I have no quarrel with your blood. And my God has shown me that His true enemies lie…elsewhere."

Shameless Dornes. Not at all sorry, either — in fact, Alia seems to enjoy the flush on the pretty young dragon's cheeks. "I will not bite you, little princess," she soothes in sweet, low tones, "Umless you request it of me, hmm?" A torrent of breathy laughter chases the tease, and her attention flits back to the exiled Dornishman. "You are incorrigible, I can see it already," she accuses him impishly, hands rubbing together slowly in front of her, fingers entwining sensuously. "Oh, your God, hmm? Have you found a new one, in your travels, Parizad Uller?"

"It is very nice to meet you, Parizard Uller," Elionys replies, inclining her head to the man with a measure of respect. That pretty blush grows all the more at the mention of biting, enough that even her ears have a pinkish tinge to them. Though her head remains bowed a few beats longer than she meant it to, her gaze ticks up so that she's looking at Alia again, this time from beneath the fringe of golden lashes. "And it is nice to meet you as well, Alia of Greenblood." At least she was paying attention.

Alaeyna materializes at some point during the conversation, offering a quiet whisper at Alia's ear as she slinks in behind the Dornishwoman, a familiar hand placed to rest at the small of her back for a fleeting moment. Parting from her inaudible parley with her paramour, she asks no one in particular, "Oh good, am I in time for introductions?" But rather than introduce herself just then, she turns a measured eye on the Dornishman to hear him addressed by name, surprise writ large in her expression. "Parizad Uller," she echoes, as much in disbelief as anything else. Infamy, etc.

"Parizad Uller. It's fun to say, yes?" Whatever Essosi inflections he had from that mishmash of Valyrian-derived languages, Parizad's sudden interactions with people of his birth are rubbing off on his speech a bit. You can never really shake the accent you were born with. These words are delivered to Alaeyna now. "Clearly I was living in the wrong part of the world for far, far too long. I know now why Maelys came back." His smile is quite courteous, if not exactly a model of warmth and friendship.

"I was merely informing our kinswoman here of my good intentions. And answering her question. I have found an old God. And I have found the the Lord of Light is favorable. He does not cast a kind gaze on traitors, murderers, thieves, and other sorts that I can simply not abide." He gestures to his bald, silent, scarred, tattooed friend in a strange mixture of leather and scale armor. "This is my man Serdar." Serdar just bows again.

And to Elionys, Parizad dials back the smug a bit. Probably not a good idea to burn all your bridges at once, Uller. "I see I am in good company, Princess. Please give your kinsman my best, I shall attempt to see him again when his household accepts visitors once more."

"Mmm, it is good to see you," Alia purrs over her shoulder in reply to the striking Lady Fowler's whispers, taking in the sight of her lover every bit as lewdly as she's just finished ogling poor Elionys. "The pleasure is mine, Princess," she continues on the same, to said girl, dipping her head inoffensively. Her laughter brooks again at Parizad's response to Alaeyna, and her liquid brown eyes light on the Uller once more. "The most musical of names, hmm? But not as a pretty as my darling Alaeyna Fowler's," she supposes, by way of introduction. "I regret I cannot stay for more tales of your Lord of Light, mm. Perhaps you will indulge me when you call upon my sister. Princess, Parizad, Serdad, my sweet love," are all bid farewell by the uttering of their names — or in Alaeyna's case, pet name — and a nod as the Sand takes her leave. "I will be at the manse, lover," she adds with a suggestive smile for the last.

"Your Lord of Light and I have three things in common, at least, for I cannot abide the same," says Alaeyna, offering Uller's man a nod of her head when he's introduced. To Parizad himself, she says, "I once attended Hellholt with my father, when I was a girl. You kissed my hand and I begged him all summer to arrange a marriage between us. I must have had no more than thirteen summers then." She flashes an appreciative smile at Alia for her aid in their introductions, catching her by the wrist to press a kiss to either of the Dornishwoman's cheeks before she leaves. "I'll be trailing not far behind," she promises, letting loose the captive limb.

"I will be certain to tell him so, I'm sure that he'll be happy to recieve you once he's recovered," Elionys leaves off the 'again' at the end of that sentence. She manages a smile at Parizad, though the exchange between Alia and Alaenya sets her cheeks aflame once more. The poor girl's face is going to stay this way if this keeps up. "Ah. Have you been in Oldtown very long?" she asks, trying not to look at the women.

"You probably saw a few of them in the Hellholt, then. If I recall correctly." Parizad's voice is laconic. But there is a twinge of recognition there. "My Lady." This is directed to Alaeyna here, with one simple follow-up. "And yes, that was so long ago. Strange how our past catches up with us, though." He smiles a tight smile to her that almost reaches his eyes. "And fare well, Daughter of Amarei. Please do pass along my message. I imagine my dear uncle will be sending one of his own soon enough." And with that, his smile loosens some, a slightly wild flash of something in his eyes that could be mirth, or hate. Or something in between.

The strange Myrish perfume that the man adorns himself with wafts as he turns to study Elionys now. "The battle of The Lothan Fields, Princess." He reiterates to this. "He will remember, I doubt either of us could ever forget. And I arrived three days prior. It was an unpleasant journey, but sea travel always is."

"History shall judge them, my lord," is Alaeyna's reply, "But let us say that House Fowler does not frequently find occasion to treat with House Uller, these recent years. Strange indeed to meet one of its scions in the streets of Oldtown." Her hungry stare follows after Alia as the curvaceous beauty takes her leave, flitting next to Elionys, who works so purposefully at keeping her attention trained on Parizad. This only interests her further, and she takes to studying the Targaryen while her once-countryman speaks to her.

It's as though Elionys knows she's being studied, measured even, and though her gaze remains quite firmly fixed on Parizad, she unconsciously straightens her postured and squares her shoulders. "I have no doubt of that, and I will be sure to mention it to him when I see him next. I'm certain he will regale me with the tales of it." It's not until Alia is well gone, all the way to the manse and beyond sight, that she turns her head just slightly so that her odd, purplue-hued gaze can finally rest on Alaenya. It seems safer now. Possibly.

"If only. History is often written by survivors though. With my Lord's Grace. I mean for there to be a proper account." Alaenya's statement has given him pause for really the first time here and his swagger is tempered by a certain degree of curiousity. "I admit I had not expected to hear that. But, well — I've been gone from these lands a long time. I am here simply because it is better for me to be here than Dorne." His companion Serdar's attention has wandered a little, it would appear, and the strange Essosi man watches Alia depart. Probably thinking typically unclean Essosi thoughts, which are belied by his blank, expressionless Essosi stare. Maybe it's a cultural thing.

Ah, turning back to Elionys, the Dornishman gives her a slight smile. "Maybe. That day set me on a journey. But your kinsman and I knew victory that day. I hope that you will be able to feel that same thing at some point in your life, if you have not already." Yup. That's a zealot's fire in his eyes. Right there.

When Elionys meets her gaze, Alaeyna treats the beautiful creature to a smile, but seeks to scandalize her no further. Instead it's to the lost son of House Uller that she speaks. "Is it not your duty to do so?" The question is evidently rhetorical, because she waits for no reply before going on to say, "I hope to meet you again, my lord. You may call on me at the White Stone Manse if you find yourself craving reacquaintance with Dornish company. Kiss my hand before I go, and let us see if it's as much a thrill as it was a lifetime ago." Her speech is rife with the Dornish lilt, her tone warm and gaze direct as she regards Parizad, poised to take her leave and follow her lover down the street.

There is some small measure of relief when Elionys is only met with a smile, a young woman can only handle so much scandal in one evening. A small smile is issued in return before she's looking back to Parizad. "I hope to know that feeling as well, I fear my lifetime has thus far been terribly lacking in what one might call victory, unless you can count the very small ones. I imagine, though, that those who are able to count the very large ones do not."

"Princess, there are people in this world who you would count as enemies whether they carry weapons of war or lies and insults. But you know this. You are a Targaryen and I would not presume to know more about your world." Parizad says this as the words flutter in the air like the faint smell of poncy Myrish perfume in the wind. "Than you yourself. But the reason I mention this I should make clear. There is nothing, nothing in the world, sweeter than taking those who would challenge you and see you brought down and having them laid low like dogs. Laid low, and knowing that their defeat was writ by you." The smile he delivers is in fact genuine, but there's something cold. Very cold there.

Finally though, Lady Fowler's words have clearly given him pause. "My duty has barely begun. I thought it had been over with one thrust of a spear. But should you ask, this Exile would oblige." And just like that, he reaches for Alaeyna's hand. His smile remains, composed and calculated as it is deftly brought to his lips. "I was a little fool then. But maybe this was one thing I did that was not foolish, no?"

Though the words are intended for Elionys, Alaeyna's dark stare sparkles with complicity as Parizad speaks, the rapt manner in which she regards him giving her something of the appearance of being spellbound by his speech. Though she snakes her gaze sideways to take Elionys's measure in the wake of his words, it's but a fleeting glance before he takes her hand and restores her attention. At the brush of lips on her knuckles, she says, "I'll expect you to run when I call. It would be foolish to keep the Fury of Skyreach waiting." She withdraws her hand from his hold at length, perhaps overly familiar by Westerosi standards in both her manner of speech and the way in which she brazenly prolongs the touch shared between them, but the Lady Fowler seems almost to forget their mixed company, or at least not to care overmuch about it. She offers Serdad another nod of her head before she takes her leave.

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