(121-05-12) Boy Troubles
Boy Troubles
Summary: Magden's got 'em.
Date: Date of play (12/05/2014)
Related: I'm sure there are some. There will be more.

Acacia and Leopard Hall

The common room is not as lounge-like as the rooms downstairs. The carpets are not so thick, and the couches and chairs tend to encourage one to sit upright rather than sprawl. They're covered in summer-day yellow and blue silk. There are large windows here, quite unlike the near windowless ground floor, and they look out onto Harbour Street, providing a view and flooding the room with sunlight during the day.

The far wall, opposite the windows, has a row of doors leading to private chambers.

The afternoon sun streams in the large windows upstairs here, making the room and those within it seem only brighter. The chairs in their sunny yellow and searing blue do not call to Alia, with their uncomfortable straight backs and small seats, and so it is by one of the panes she stands instead, watching the streets below. With her silky tumble of gold-and-black hair adorned with ribbons to match her red lace gown, she's quite the vision in the sunlight; her feet are bare, and peek out from under the shorter hemline. There are — noises, coming from one of the private chambers. One can guess what's going on in there.

Magden comes creeping up the stair, perhaps drawn by said noises, looking puzzled in the way one's puzzled when one thinks they can't possibly be hearing what they think they're hearing. She's far less a vision, her hair and skin pale on pale, only her startlingly blue eyes and the smattering of freckles setting landmarks for the eye. Unless one us a fan of bone structure — she certainly has plenty of that, the small slip of a squire doll, all angles even in her over-sized tunic and trousers. She glances at Alia, or means to glance — she stares, instead. And blushes, looking toward the sound of sexcapades. Her nose and eyes crinkle in an apologetic wince. "They do that a lot," she observes, by way of hello.

If Alia hears Magden creeping up the stairs over the sound of all that sex, she doesn't let on. Her hands weave and writhe in front of her as she watches what there is to watch out the window, a little smile crooking in the corners of her plush mouth. Hidden bells jingle dully amongst her hair as she turns her head toward the sound of the little squire's voice, deep liquid brown eyes drinking in the sight of all those pretty angles and all that pale, approving, before she drawls her reply: "That we do, my darling. Does it bother you?"

"No," says Maggen, the denial a breath of wry laughter. She ghosts over and leans in window, opposite Alia. She looks down at the view below, lips twisting in a little smirk. "No. Not really. I'm jealous, a little. I think."

There are people down there, the bulk of them Westerosi, some giving the Dornish building dirty looks as the scamper past. "That is a lot of denial," Alia observes, all gentle amusement and heavy vowels with her thick Rhoynish lilt. "You are jealous, you think?"

Magden nods, silent for a while, listening to the lovemaking in the nearby room crescendo and diminish, rise and fall, pitching higher with each rapturous swell. "I want someone who… doesn't want me," she says, without shame — just… puzzlement and frustration. "I don't know how to make him want me." She twists her fingers together, fretfully, and stomps her foot. Stupid him. "So… yes. I think it's — how you all want each other. It seems so easy. You all make it seem so easy." And hot, maybe, too. But that's not the point of this conversation.

Her hands still writhing — she enjoys the feel of it — Alia is as comfortable in silence as not, especially with the ambient noise to fill in the gaps. She glances aside again, from the windowpane to Magden, her brows lifting in silent chide. "Oh, sweet girl," she laughs deliciously low, reaching out to offer one of her hands, palm upturned to the squire. "I find it hard to believe any man could not see you and be so inspired, hmm? What makes you think this one doesn't want you?"

The pale girl seems stymied by that — where does she even begin. "I'm not you, for one thing," she says, without flattery or pretense. Simple facts, to the point. She considers the woman's offered hand, not sure what to do with it, then hesitantly places her own hand in Alia's. "Or her." She lifts her chin to the lovers' chamber door. Oh, but also, "He runs from me. He's — been avoiding me." There. There's real hurt. "I… can't believe that I'm so horrible, just the thought of — and he can't be around me."

Alia curls her fingers around poor Magden's hand, gently stroking the top of it as she tucks in a step closer. "There is only one me, only one her," she agrees, thoughtful. "But there is only one you, as well, mm? You are not horrible, you must know this, little flower." For the hurt, there is real sympathy, writ in a small wrinkle between her brows. "There must be some reason he avoids you, no? You have confessed to him your feelings, then?"

"Yes," says Magden, sighing. She seems to relax at the stroking of her hand, uncoiling by little increments, shoulders first. Such straight, disciplined shoulders. "I mean… not in so many words." She frowns, a line etching between her brows. "We don't use a lot of words. Either of us. But he must know. I — everything I do is so he'll know."

Alia laughs again, soft, not without empathy. "Oh, darling," she murmurs, still stroking Magden's hand. "You are so precious, my sweet girl. But the men, they are not so subtle, hmm? Perhaps he feels unworthy of such sweet devotion, little dove, I cannot say. But if he can look into those eyes of yours and tell you he doesn't want you, I assure you — he is a great liar."

The poor girl looks… just unspeakably grateful, and more than a little enchanted, at Alia's confient praise. "Thank you," says Magden, softly. "You're so beautiful. Coming from you, that really means all the world." She looks down at her hand in the other woman's, just resting her gaze there in a moment of thought, then back up into Alia's dark eyes. "Do you think you could help me?"

She is just so darling, this little squire, and Alia is every bit as charmed by her beguiling sincerity. "Sweet girl, we are all beautiful," she responds rather objectively, "Though your compliments touch my heart." Such similar heights they are, and looking straight into those startling sky-blue eyes, the dark little Sand woman surely cannot deny her; "But of course," she drawls, obliging. "What would you have of me, darling?"

There's a bright, sunny smile that rewards the Dornish woman's assent. Magden hesitates, unsure even how to ask. "Could you… could you possibly show me how to — " she looks Alia up and down, gesturing to the whole presentation, at a loss. "Be? Like you? I… don't even own a dress. Or… ribbons or anything."

"You are so gorgeous," laughs Alia, buoyed by Magden's smile. She tugs ever-so-gently on that hand, seeking closeness enough to slink her arm about the girl's shoulders. "I can do this, but of course. The prettiest of dresses for the prettiest of girls, hmm? And perhaps a little kohl, just a smudge, around those pretty eyes. When you are wrapped so in silk and ribbons, this man of yours will fall at your feet." A beat. "And if he does not, you will give me his name and I will beat him so soundly, yes?"

"That would be — " Magden glows, blushing happily as she's pulled closer. "I don't even have words. You're like when a wish-granting spirit shows up in a story, on the night of a prince auditions brides." She laughs. "His eyes will fall out of his head. And… he'll probably run away, again, but at least he'll… probably trip over things as he goes." She nods. Satisfaction's where you find it, and sometimes the pickings are slim.

"He will be unable to think of anything but you, the image of your beauty burned into his head for all eternity," Alia assures, canting her head so intimately close to little Magden. "I am but a woman, of sand and salt and earth," she laughs again, such sweet musical sounds. "But there is magic in being a woman, my dove. Come, you will see. The magic is yours as well." She plants a soft kiss to that golden hair, and uncurls her arm to gesture toward the stairs.

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