(121-05-16) A Comeuppance And A Cousinly Drink
A Comeuppance And A Cousinly Drink
Summary: Aevander delivers the former to Riderch as some ladies look on in secret, and Keyte shares the latter with Loryn.
Date: Date of play (16/05/2014)
Related: Things and ones.
Players:
Riderch..Aevander..Elionys..Kesha..Keyte..Loryn..

It's a warm, muggy eve outside. and the Fist and Falcon is well, one would say moderately populated with an assortment of the usual regulars, ruffians, and training afficianados. A sterling crowd for a sterling place. On this evening, Riderch Blackwood is seated at a long table, having doffed his training gear a while back and in a comfortable, lightweight black shirt with a red sash, bearing a Lord's sigil and similarly dark-colored clothes.

"Better than I expected. Better, in some ways. than I'll be one day, Tel. That's a bright future." The man's hair is shorn to a tight barely-grown head of hair and it looks more or less clean-shaven. At least, a couple days ago. The Lord is talking to his squire who is a large bald man somewhere in his thirties, he has the look of a man sworn to service for a long time, who sighs. His squire looks clearly as though he's had a few. "Well, M'lord, at least I will have options once you release me from your service." There's some barely explained contextual joke there to any onlookers, and no elaboration is made. Riderch smirks at him lazily as he continues. "I'm off to the privy. Going to see if the 'Smoked Dorne' is still in stock when I get back. Looks as though this may /take/ a while."

Blackwood dismisses him with a wave, still smirking all the same. "Oh fine, Tel. Fine. Go take a walk and walk it off. I know you want to go see 'Maeggie.' Well don't let me stop you." Blackwood, for his part, is looking at map of the west cost of the continent of Westeros, south of the Neck. He's nursing a cup of wine. Who knows how many he's had so far?

And with that, His man goes off for a walk. It doesn't look like he's headed to the privy.

And into this idyllic scene of drunkeness and dubious hygiene steps a dragon. The human kind, not the big scaly sort. Aevander Targaryen pushes through the doors, moving quietly, calmly, but with clear purpose. He's in his usual black shirt and trousers, though his jerkin is a vibrant red (go Team Targ). Making his way over to where Riderch Blackwood sits, now minus his large and lunking squire and perusing his map, Aevander stops at the riverlander's table. "Ser Riderch Blackwood," he says. And that's the only warning the knight gets before Aevander draws back a fist and lets it fly, aiming squarely for Riderch's nose.

"Mmm. Shield Islands. Blackcrown. Red. What's a /red/ sigil there? How could this touch anything west of Seag—" His squire having already vacated the premesis, Riderch sits, speaking to himself as he focuses narrowed eyes upon the map with a jabbed finger upon its surface, thumbing his wine with his other hand. He's engrossed in whatever little mystery he's cooked up, which could essentially turn out a bit embarassing for him if someone were to catch him unaware.

But who would do that to the jovial Raven Knight? Who would have a vendetta a —- oh.

Aevander clearly got the jump on him and the fist goes flying into his face. His chair knocks back a bit and he grabs the only thing he has at hand to steady him. The table. Except it's not the table, it's the map. Which was /helpfully/ sitting under his wine cup. What happens next would probably make most onlookers laugh. "Ances—Fuck!" he barks a broken oath as he takes stock of the situation. And oh yeah, the wine spilled onto him too. Good thing he's wearing matching colors. He looks up at the Targaryen, his eyes widened a bit in puzzled shock. "That wasn't a 'hello'…was..it, Prince?" That probably hurt a little bit at least. He at least recognizes the man, which will probably make his mood worse.

Outside the window, two - or is it three? - starkly contrasted figures are peering inside. Conspiring womenfolk, one silver-blonde and the others brunette, all dressed as elegant and lavishly as their respective Houses ought to. Keyte's dark locks are secured under a golden circlet, and whilst he guard stands back, she leans a little closer to the pane, pressing her hand up to it to better see within. "I'm not sure this is the sort of tavern for girls like us," she admits, recoiling with a shocked gasp as the fist of one man collects the jaw of another. "Oh, my."

Aevander looks none too pleased, but he gives his now aching hand a shake as he glowers over at Riderch. Nobody ever mentions that it hurts when you slam your fist against a block of bone wrapped in skin. "The next time, ser, you take a Targaryen princess out on a boat, you will remember that your first priority has now become her safety and well being. Not a ship in need. Not and intriguing mystery. Not the exploration of a boat of corpses while in her company. Do I make myself absolutely and completely clear?"

"I've been in there," Elionys admits in a hushed voice, as though the three exceptionally pale faces aren't visible through the glass, and a raised voice might alert someone inside. The punch is thrown and she flinches, not going so far as to gasp, though she does lean a little closer to the window so that her nose almost presses to the glass. "Do you think he's alright?"

"Oh, this is definitely the sort of tavern for us," says Kesha as the fist of one man connects with the jaw of another. The sort where they can gawp and people and gossip, obviously. "Maybe," she answers Elionys.

"Which one? Aevander or the Ser Riderch?" Keyte stage-whispers back to Elionys, as she presses up to the glass again. Hello, trainwreck.

Well, he was looking for something red, all right. There's a small trickle of blood coming from his nose and the knight reaches not for anything other than a rag. He doesn't even bother looking around here, and quite frankly, it's anyone's guess /what/ the reaction to such a confrontation would be, given Prince Aevander's status and rank. For a moment the man looks confused. Not even that angry at the punch at first, until he does something, slowly ambling to his feet as he dabs the blood with the rag, looking, well, all of a sudden raising his eyebrows in an indignant stare at the man.r
Oh yeah. There are ruffians here but they are not moving to /touch/ this one.

"Prince. /Ser/." He begins after patting his nose with it, wiping the wine off his pants. ''tcchhh.'' "That is what this is about? I'll have you know one thing. /She/ had come back to shore with even so much as a scratch or a bruise and I came back at /all/ I'd be sending a raven to King's Landing offering my head in a bloody /box!/ Now if you were anyone else, and this was over anyone else I'd be calling you or whatever champion you'd cough up ever since Prince Maelys got done for out to the Tourney Field and we'd be settling this like knights. And I'd /show/ you what I'd do in her defense." It's an absurd thing, the bleeding man. He even looks like he kind of means it. "Besides. We had Ser Prospero Storm." He finishes, sourly.

Aevander doesn't abuse his station often, but every now and again, like now, he takes full advantage of the fact that folks don't entirely know what to do when a Prince of Westeros misbehaves. "She bore witness to a ship of murdered men, ser," the Targaryen snaps back, eyes narrowing. "That is injury enough and will leave its own scars. The fact that she bears no others is sheer and stupid luck. You knew not what you were sailing towards, and you brought Princess Elionys into possible danger. If that is not a treasonous act, it is most assuredly a foolish one. You are a knight, ser. Know your duty and your place."

"I don't know," Elionys admits as her nose touches the glass, trying to get a better look inside. "Both of them?" If she gets any closer, her whole face is going to be smooshed against the glass, but for the moment she manages to hold herself back. "Can you hear what they're saying?"

Keyte smudges her nose up against the pane, curling her hands to it by her temples. "No," she complains. "I don't think either of them are 'all right' and I can't hear," comes the explanation, accompanied by a short, sharp sigh. "Should we go in?"

"I would change all that if I could and by indulging her request I made myself look a /fool./ That charge I will accept." The Riverlander states, with raised eyelids, arched brows, and a towel stuck to his face. Which he slowly pulls away. "I will say one more thing to this. The Men of House Mallister are the best trained for this sort of thing you will find this side of the continent. I had several famous knights with me also following her — maybe hasty suggestion but I indeed brought all this together. So before you go off to find my kinsmen, Ser Kevyn Cockshaw, or Ser Prospero Storm and share this similar advice — I'll ask you as a knight. This once. Let the issue and the responsibility for this end with me." He grunts from the sting, but it's not really slowing him down much except for the mess. Man's had worse.

Aevander thinks on this, giving a small sniff as his good hand idly kneads the one with throbbing and reddened knuckles. "I would have their apology for the part they played in this debacle, as I would have yours. If they will offer that, to myself and to Elionys, I will consider the matter resolved."

"I thought I heard the word treason." Did you really, Kesha? Or are you just seeing what reaction that gets? The Tyrell girl peers into the window like her twin, trying to get a good angle, and then smushes her ear up against it instead, though that helps very little. "I do not know, they are not alright, more like FINE." You know, the angry sort of 'fine'. "Not much of a fight, though, whatever it is about. Or who."

Keyte huffs peevishly, prompted by something her twin says. "I see what you did there," she quips to Kesha, pressing her nose a little harder against the glass. The three girls - twins and Elionys - are all standing by the window of the establishment, faces and ears smooshed against the glass as they observe the goings on inside with fascination, sharing hushed whispers about it.

"You have an apology. You'll even have an apology from a man who's not wearing a flagonfull in his trousers." Riderch suddenly observes with a touch of deatchment. "If you give me a chance to chage." He starts wiping the back of the blood-dripped rag on his pants, trying to work on the wine-soaked portion of said trousers.

"As far as the Princess goes, an apology is probably the /least/ of which is owed her, I know full well and she will receive this." His back stiffens a little bit as he makes /eye/ contact with her cousin. "For this, my pride demands one /small/ thing in return, your grace." His eyes drift towards the spilled wine cup. Is he? Is he /really/?

"He didn't!" Elionys' eyes go wide at Kesha's suggestion, totally buying it and looking into the tavern with visible concern. "He wouldn't say it was treason," she hopes, not having any idea precisely just how wrong she is. "Should we go inside? If we go inside they'll see us they'll probably stop."

Aevander looks at Riderch, looks at the toppled cup of wine, then looks back at Riderch and raises one single pale brow in silent query. If the Blackwood has a request of Aevander, it seems the man will have to voice it.

"I did not do anything," Kesha denies to her twin with her own identical huff. Though the comment hit its mark, so it doesn't matter. "They might stop, but they will probably band together to turn their ire on us instead." Which is a guess, but it's a well reasoned guess from experience. "Of course, we will actually know what is being said," she mutters, ear still pressed to the window.

"Yes you did," Keyte tosses back accusingly to her twin, her frown growing. "Why do you have to be so annoying," she mutters, pulling her head back to glance at Elionys. "I don't know," she wavers, about going inside. "It seems like a bad idea?"

"Since we aren't going to settle this in a martial way, I would request we seal this in the /Old/ way." The bloody-nosed Heir to Raventree Hall says with surprising smoothness. He actually raises his empty cup and looks over at the barkeep, tavern girls, /anyone/ in the distance who is of a mind to service this request. They stand. And stare. Looking to the Prince now. Were you surprised?

Aevander considers the offer before he nods. "Two glasses of wine," he instructs the room at large, presuming someone will hop to now he's made the request.

Having salvaged some shred of dignity, Riderch dabs at his nose a little more. It's been quite a night. It would appear the Fist and Falcon's staff have figured out what to do. Exactly that. They aren't large either, and for once in this sordid establishment's history, they are shockingly clean. A mousy-looking barmaid saunters over in mad haste, putting them down on the table. She doesn't make eye contact.

"… are they… making up?" Keyte wonders in amazement, as she squashes her nose to the pane once more. "Surely not."

"You are going to be so mad when I am right. Again," Kesha snaps back at her twin, with no real idea if she is right at all. But Keyte is always getting 'I told you so'd, so she has gotten used to it. A cup is raised and two more brought out after. The Tyrell girl pouts in disappointment. "Oh, are they just going to drink now?" How boring. "They are terrible at brawls."

Despite the unknown audience and their growing disappointment with the entertainment, Aevander picks up one of the glasses and gives Riderch a small nod that he may do the same. Because being a slightly gratuitous prick is kind of what tonight's all about.

Unlike the two ladies with her, Elionys looks a bit relieved when the fight ends there, exhaling against the glass before drawing back slightly. "That didn't go as bad as it could have."

Silently at first, Riderch was waiting for the prince to take the first cup. And follows suit as he draws in a breath, and the strange man is doing /everything he can possibly do/ to look like the Lord he may one day be. If he doesn't get himself killed first. He's choosing the words. And they are known. "Valar Dohaeris. And I /will/ serve."

Oh, were we meant to be relieved? Sorry, Elionys. Keyte's annoyed, still, even moreso by her sister. "Would you just stop," she hisses, sighing heavily. "I suppose we could go in now, if they're just going to drink."

Kesha wrinkles her nose at her twin, but is otherwise (Blissfully? Unusually?) quiet. Should the other girls go in, she will follow.

Aevander lifts his glass to Riderch and offers a somber nod for this promise, given now as it was given by the first Riverlords to Aegon the Conquerer. Probably, Aegon had to do more than punch a guy in the nose to get his pledge, though. "Good," Aevander allows as imperiously as any prince one might wish. "Serve better." His final dig landed, he raises the cup to his lips for a swallow of the wine.

"Do you think we should?" Elionys asks as she leans back to glance in the direction of the door. She doesn't seem certain, but does take a tentative step in that direction, glancing to the twins to see if they're following. THIS REQUIRES A TEAM EFFORT.

There's a slight twitch of the nose on Riderch's part. And his mouth. For a second, /merely/ a second, it looks like it might be a petulant wriggle /or/ even a grin but it dies before it goes anywhere. And he dabs at said nose, maybe a few moments after he takes a return sip. "Ever higher, Your Grace." That being said, he sets his cup down. Standing. Waiting. "I will do what needs to be done soon. With dry trousers." His murmur is quite — dry.

Well, it also looks like the entire bar is staring. A couple drunk patrons look like they want to applaud. Or cheer. Most — are just shellshocked.

Well, if a Princess of Westeros needs backup, who are two Tyrell twins to deny her? (Unless it's Visenya, but there's history there.) Keyte peels back from the window as Elionys steps, glancing at her twin before taking a step as well. Towards the door. TEAM EFFORT.

Aevander sets his own drink down and gives Riderch a curt nod of approval for this promise. He turns to leave… and stares at a trio of women with their faces mashed up against the window. Or maybe not anymore. BUT HE SEES YOU. He clears his throat and crosses his arms, simply standing where he is and waiting.

OH SHIT.

Good enough for Vassal work, as they say. Right now he's silently cursing his squire for going off to 'the privy' which may or may not have been a voloptuous girl named 'Maeggy.' If for no other reason than the fact that the man could help him clean up the mess. Riderch Blackwood merely stands, eyeing the now wine-stained map sitting on the table in front of him after giving Aevander a quick glance. He traces a fingertip across the map idly before he stops looking. Just pretend you're doing what you were doing. Yes. Yes indeed. It's fine.

Well damn, caught. Elionys doesn't even try to hide when she spies the disapproving cousin gaze aimed teir way. SIGH. "Come on," she says, no longer hesitating as she trudges to the door, pulling it open to step through. A guard, as ever, follows at a distance.

Isn't this the part where we run, though? Keyte glances between the two Targaryens, one closer and one behind the windowpane. "Um." Why are you moving toward the door, Eli? "Shouldn't we… ummm, not go in there? Did you see the look on his face?" Nevertheless, she's moving after the silver-haired girl, ducking inside with her own guard, and presumably her twin.

Aevader waits until the trio of peeping thomasinas step into the inn proper before he offers, a touch dryly, "Ladies. Princess. And to what do we own the unexpected pleasure of your presence in such an establishment?"

Oh, look! More patrons! Nobody bothered hanging a 'closed for business' sign above the door so it's not in particular anyone's surprise. Riderch remains dabbing his bloody nose with a rag and trying to look like he would rather be doing something else. Like opportunely studying the stained map below him as he stands, leaning on the table with an open hand.

Of course, Aevander's attention diversion was not completely unnoticed and look — his eyebrows shoot up and for a brief moment he smiles. But then he doesn't, looking immediately more reserved as he most obviously recognizes the trio. For now he just stands there. Don't push your luck.

There has to be a reasonable excuse for their presence that doesn't have to do with snooping outside and watching the fight, but Elionys doesn't appear to be coming up with it. Instead she smiles, just a little guiltily, glancing from Aevander to Riderch, then back again. "Good evening, cos. Ser Riderch."

Oh, hi, boys. Keyte tucks in closer to Elionys, trusting her newfound friend to come up with an excuse. Ahem. OH SHE DOESN'T. THANKS ELI. The older of the Tyrell twins beams her brilliant smile at her childhood friend and Riderch both, spreading wide her swishy chiffon skirts as she dips a curtsy. "Good eve, Sers. You both look very handsome tonight!" Smiiiiiile.

Mmhmm. The other brow lifts to join the first as Aevander regards first his cousin and then her companions. "Good evening," he replies. "Well, are you for a drink then?" Because why else would three people walk into a bar. Surely not to spy. "Have this table cleaned, please," he adds to whichever employee is closest, gesturing to the table where Riderch is busy reading his very soggy map.

Who offers excuses up front? Not any of the three of them, apparently. Kesha looks a little wide-eyed, doe-eyed even, in what is supposed to be a youthfully innocent expression. Will anyone buy it? Maybe Riderch. That's about it. "It is a lovely evening for getting out of one's usual haunts and seeing something new, don't you think?" Riiiiight.

Somewhere there's a valuable lesson in all this. "I would greet you /properly/ but I am a bit indisposed at the moment." Riderch's general, genial flicker of a smile is a pale shadow of its normal thing, as he holds the bloodstained rag to his nose with one hand. Having just enacted a pale shadow of the ritual that sealed the fealty of the nobles of the Riverlands to Aegon I (although in that case, burning their Ironborn tyrant was a far sweeter incentive than what just happened), he's generally a pale shadow of what the girls are normally used to. But so it goes. "This is something of a surprise. You all look — lovely." His eyes flicker between the Tyrell twins (probably the one he /thinks/is Keyte first which is no help) to Kesha, and then finally Elionys. He does manage an actual smile. "But then again, you always do."

Sorry Keyte, will getcha next time. For today, Elionys lets Kesha make the excuses and then nods along with it. "It was time to see something different," she adds, because she can, moving slowly towards the table with the sodden map and bleeding knight. "I made some new friends," she tells her cousin cheerfully, gesturing to the twins. "Oh, they're the ones who sent the lizards, aren't they?" She looks around to them, smiling suddenly brighter than before. "Thank you for that. They were just the most adorable little things, and I've still got one of them." With that done, she looks back around to Riderch with a flicker of concern, but the smile is quick to return. "Thank you, Ser. You are kind to say so."

Spy? Who would think such a thing of three innocent maids? Keyte weathers both Aevander's skeptical gaze and Riderch's halfstrength smile with her own brand of resilient warmth. "Oh, wine sounds lovely, yes please," she gushes, her smile tending smug as she follows Elionys over to the table, tugging Kesha by the hand. This is better than any prank, including the one the princess references! "Do you need a maester, ser? We could send for one, he'd be here right quick, I'm sure. — We spent an ungodsly amount of time putting their wings on, actually," she says, rather proud.

"They are indeed those Tyrells," Aevander agrees, smirking faintly. He gestures towards the table once it's been wiped clean and tidy, and places an order for a carafe of wine and two more glasses. "Did you put them on yourself?" he asks. "It was very fine craftsmanship. Who designed them?"

"Oh, how kind of you both…" Oh, right. Those lizards. That is such an unexpected comment that Kesha actually freezes for a moment, mischievous little mind skipping like a record scratch. "I…could not imagine what you mean," she begins, as though she could plausibly deny it, but then Keyte gives up the whole thing so she just looks up at the ceilingSeven help herand says, "They were very wiggly and clearly unaccustomed to staying still for any manner of time." It was hard work, you guys. If they are going to admit to it, it might as well be with praise. "I designed them, although I was not as talented at putting them on the creatures." She squints over at Riderch on and off, eying his bloody nose. "You should really…do something. About that." Very helpful.

"Well I have my moments, Princess. I have my moments." There's an actual bow of Blackwood's head, but he does comment on the establishment and the clientele here. "There are better places to see. If you will excuse me." Riderch says a little haltingly. The bleeding's more or less stopped though, but what to do about the rest. Oh, and the pants. "I'll be more fit company at another time." He's busy gathering up his map now. "Somewhere else." There's a flush of his cheeks and for a moment here it's not entirely certain who or what he's reacting to. He leaves a generous number of coins upon the table which would probably be more than enough to cover this amount of drink. "Oh, I am fine. I've taken an /arrow/ before and it couldn't slow me forever. This is a small thing. Except for — well, you know."

All the while, he's pointedly avoided looking at Aevander. Until now. "I will take my leave. But first. Another small thing."

"The wings were adorable. I had to take them off eventually, but I wish they could have stayed on," Elionys admits with a quiet little laugh. She slides another look over at her cousin, trying to measure his level of annoyance discreetly. The attention shifts back to Riderch as he begins to make excuses to leave, brows furrowing as that hint of concern returns, but is left unspoken. This doesn't seem the place to question whether a knight is okay after a punch to the nose.

Oh. Keyte's shoulders tense, sensing that her twin had planned on denial rather than crowing as a first resort. Um. Oops. "Kesha did the most wonderful job on the wings, didn't she?" If in doubt, resort to flattery. It's always worked for her. "They weren't very happy to be held," she adds, of the lizards. If Riderch is going, she'll pause a moment before taking a seat, out of politeness. "Oh, you have to leave so soon, Ser Riderch?" At least, from her previous remarks, he can probably tell she's Keyte.

"Yes, catching them was a bit of a bother as well," Aevander agrees. "They weren't very keen on being held, then, either." With a glance to Elionys there is a small quirk of his mouth. So, a bit annoyed, perhaps, but not so very terribly. Then he looks over at Riderch and nods. "A pleasant evening to you, then, ser, if you must be on your way." Though he waits, regarding the other knight, for that last 'small thing'.

"Oh, well. At least it was not an arrow," Kesha says, hiding her disappointment well because she thinks that would have been more exciting. (Although she would be wrong). "Especially not to the knee." Ha ha, so clever. "Mmmm, I suppose they were not meant for a long term attachment," she tells Elionys with a thoughtful look, as though considering other wing designs. She does pat Keyte on the arm for her flattery, which is both acceptance and forgiveness. Besides, she looks awfully smug that Aevander thought they lizards were trouble to catch. No one should encourage her like this.

"Thank you, Prince. That was graceful. But the small thing is not for you. It is also not really small. I also believe I've said /everything/ I will ever need to say to you, here." Riderch begins as smoothly ever even with a little bow of his head as he stows the rag somewhere hopefully far away. It's /impeccably/ polite-sounding in tone. So very polite.

But first to the Tyrells. "Charming as always, Lady Keyte. Lady Kesha. But I do not understand — who said anything about knees?" He is not some mere guard, after all. He adds all of this in turn in a dry but still polite tone of voice with a drawn smile.

Now — finally, the small thing target club has gotten remarkably small. "Princess Elionys." He begins, to the willowy Targaryen girl, drawing a breath and for once actually not smiling at her. It's a deferent, respectful look. "I have wronged you and I wish to make amends properly." He says to her seriously. "I will call upon you if I may do so? This is not the place."

Riderch adds, as his eyes drift down to his trousers, "Or the time." They're still a bit wet. Tch.

A bit annoyed. Elionys can work with a bit annoyed, and with that understanding she lets out a small, relieved breath. "I feared it might end up doing the lizard some harm," she admits, apparently intending on keeping it long enough for that to be possible. "So I had it taken off, though I still have them. It was all very cute." Encourage. Encourage. She listens as Riderch addresses first Aevander, then the twins, and when it's her turn her brows creep upward with some visible surprise. She looks as though she's about to dismiss the need for it, but after a quick glance at Aevander, she thinks better of it. "Of course you may do so, Ser Riderch." She pauses, then adds, "Do try to have a good night, yes?" in a quiet, but encouraging tone.

"Kesha!" Keyte seems to find her twin's joking needs checking, apparently. After a brief scolding look to her twin — look, you are not ALWAYS right, despite your byname — she curtsies to the Blackwood knight, assuring him, "The pleasure is ours, my lord! Do be well, now. There are feasts to attend, after all." Her smile is as warm as her words are delivered, head canted in sympathy for the bleeding knight. It's really not his day, is it? However, his small thing draws the arc of her brows, directed toward her sister first, then Ser Aevander. Calling upon the Princess, hmm? Making amends, hmmmmmm?

Aevander's own brows lift first at all that careful courtesy, and then as Elionys becomes the one responsible for that 'small thing' which ends up sounding more like a flirtation than an offer to apologize, to Aevander's ears. Hmm, annoyance level elevates slightly. But, he only pours four glasses of wine and picks up his own for a swallow. "Good evening, Ser Riderch," Aevander says, though tonally it's a bit more 'time for you to go away, now'.

"Because you would fall to one knee if you—oh, nevermind." A joke isn't very good if you have to explain it. So Kesha doesn't, giving up with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. Weirdo Riverlander. Keyte gets stubbornly eyed for her scolding, like 'What? He didn't even get it'. "Yes, I am sure next circumstance we see each other under will be more of a pleasure for all, ser." Can't be bloody noses and wet trousers all the time. She follows her twin's arc of brows, the pair of them looking between the others in the room. She need not physically nudge her twin to get the gesture across.

"I'm sure I will." Somewhere else. Is the implication in Riderch's tone. "And I am sure I will have one." Partings stated and parting shots fired, the man's chin goes up as he strolls towards the door of the establishment, only stopping to retrieve his sword, juggling the map annd his few small belongings as he straps it on, looking back at the table only once. There's just a languid shrug on the man's part before he proceeds on out. Of course, right when he opens the door, what does he see?

His large, bald reliable squire holding a massive ham leg. He looks at Riderch in slight surprise and confusion. "M—' he notes, hauling the ham leg away from his face to attempt to do something after getting a look at him.

"Other way, Tel. We're going somewhere else."

"You mean the Ponce Inn?" Tel inquires. "I thought we weren't going to do that anymore."

"I thought so too." Riderch sighs. And with that, they are gone from this place.

Four glasses of wine are poured, and Elionys reaches for one of them, sighing quietly as her gaze follows the departing Riverlander. Sip. It's not until te door closes that she looks back to Aevander, brows lofting once more, as though she expects something more to come from him now.

He didn't even get it, but that's not the point now, is it. Keyte equally stubbornly eyes her twin, but as usual, she is the first to give in, with an exasperated roll of her eyes. She curtsies again for good measure before Riderch starts strolling, but the bulk of her attention is on Aevander. You're just gonna let a vassal leave like that, after implying such indecent things as he did? She collects a cup of wine, and flops dramatically into a seat, FINALLY, gray-blue eyes shifting concernedly to her new friend. You must be scandalised, Elionys.

Well, Aevander could have punched him in the nose again, one supposes, but redundancy is so tacky. Instead he sips his wine and watches said vassal make his exit before looking back at the trio of females in his company. "He's mooning over you, you know," he says to Elionys. "It would be unkind to lead the nit on."

"Well," says Kesha, as if she's some affronted dowager and not a teenage girl laughing a touch maniacally in her own mind. Ahem. "Quite the evening already. I had no idea this establishment was so exciting patronized." She is deceptively lady-like, gliding across the floor and over to a seat, which she settles into with as much grace as she can muster before she takes up her own wine. She puts an elbow on the table (and that is not very lady-like) leaning over to look at Elionys. "Are you leading him on?" Well that was direct.

Whatever scolding she might have expected from Aevander, apparently this wasn't at the top of her list. By the look on Elionys' face, it may not have been on the list at all. "He is not," she protests, looking at the door with a slight frown. "I'm not," she adds, and then looks over to Keyte. "I'm not! I'm just nice to him. That's not leading him on." She looks entirely flustered and on the verge of rambling, but instead of doing that, she fills her mouth with wine. Mmm, wine.

"He's not a nit!" Keyte chimes in defensively for the man she half considers a friend. He's absent, someone has to! "He is, though," she repsonds to Elionys' look, all apologetic. Sorry, honey, Riverlander be moony-eyed. "Do you like him?" Rather than scandalised, Keyte is thoroughly delighted to press on the same vein her twin had. Excited, maybe. As young ladies tend to get, over these things.

"He was a nit, tonight," Aevander replies dryly before wetting his mouth with another sip of wine. As Keyte backs up Aevander's claim, the Targaryen knight offers a small nod. See? Definitely moons in those eyes.

"He is," Kesha echoes Keyte, just so Elionys gets the confirmation in annoying stereo. She does at least look sympathetic, and it probably isn't even faked. Aren't moon-eyed boys just the worst? "I have never gotten the impression it takes much to lead men on," she observes, smiling at Aevander cheekily instead of apologizing and sips at her wine.

When not just one, but all three of them chime in and say the same thing, Elionys' flushes bright red, all the way to the tips of her ears. "He's a nice man," is all she manages before she sets the cup down on the table. "I'm going home." Aevander is given a look, and it's far from the friendliest look he's ever gotten from her, but it's quickly given and softens before she looks to the twins. "It was nice to meet you both tonight. I'm sure I'll see you both again soon." She delivers it quickly before turning to make her way for the door, her guard following.

"He's not a nit," Keyte insists, adding, "You punched him in the face, Aevander. Give him a break." Rather over-familiar for a vassal, isn't she? Her tone takes on a very Kesha-like arch, brows lofting accordingly. Yeah. However, she has to break her judgy mcjudgerson to agree with her twin on the subject of leading men on, assuring Elionys very candidly, "It really doesn't. You give them an inch, they take a mile." She seems to be the authority on this, if those wide, sincere eyes are anything to go by. Mile, league, whatever. Oh, she's leaving — Keyte stands, polite as ever, to see her new friend off. "Of course! Do be well, Princess. You're very and truly and honestly a delight." Cue to curtsy.

"It doesn't take much," Aevander agrees with a nod to Kesha. "We are hopelessly optimistic creatures." To Keyte he adds, "I did punch him in the nose, and he deserved it." At least according to Aevander, this is so. Sniff. Oh! Elionys is leaving? "I'll walk home with you," he tells his cousin, whether she wishes for that company or not. "Ladies," he addresses the Tyrell twins, "if I'm leaving this establishment, so are you. Shall we?"

"Optimistic is not the word I would have used." Gullible. Ridiculous. Idiotic. Self-centered. Kesha at least keeps her list to herself, smiling in a way she thinks is innocent and two people here know is anything but. It doesn't help that she watches Elionys turning bright red with the interest of a cat watching a mouse. Of course, then everyone is standing to say polite goodbyes and the like. Unfortunately, being lady-like often means being polite, and Kesha isn't terrible good at that. So she gets to her feet to bid farewell, only to be told she is leaving as well. "Ugh, fine." FINE. Look, she can tell when an argument is already lost.

If he's going to walk her home, he's going to have to walk fast, as Elionys is both upset, and has legs long enough to give her a decent stride. As soon as she's out the door, she's walking quickly down the road and away from the establishment. HURRY AEVANDER, SHE'S GETTING AWAY!

Oh. So Aevander is chasing after Elionys, taking Kesha and Keyte with him… but the latter has not even finished her wine! Nor had the chance to ogle the seedy clientele of such an establishment. She takes her sweet time readying to leave, as it were, lingering with an encouraging nod — oh, I'm coming, just a second! — to the Targaryen knight and her sister. As such, they're all out the door as she hurrying after… quite unhurriedly. Her guard remains, where Kesha's has gone with. Everything's alright, here!

The people storming out can only just avoid bumping into Loryn who's on the way in. Frowning as he identifies those who are in a hurry. Is that… one of the twins. Yup. Which one? He isn't sure. ANd look, there's another still left. So he wanders over to Keyte, lifting a hand in greeting. "What was all that about?" Avoiding names until he knows which one it is.

Keyte's caught by her cousin, wine stil in hand as she un-hurries after her twin and the Targaryens. Oops! She's entirely too well-dressed for this establishment, burgundy and gold brocade and same in chiffon skirts, her hair tamed down by one of her favored circlets. "Loryn!" She seems delighted for an excuse to stay, beaming her brilliant smile at her cousin. "Oh, come sit, and I'll tell you all about it. How are you? I heard you're doing just splendidly at the theater." Still no hint as to which twin she is, sadly. Sorry, Loryn.

Loryn can take an educated guess by her being so nice to him. But he'll just keep avoiding names. "Well, yes, it's been a great success, me taking over from Garvin.", he agrees proudly, "I hope our cousin will soon write another play." He orders an ale from a passing servant, then takes a seat. "Just came for a quick drink after practising… Ser Brynden is rather strict.", he sighs, "But do tell me all that happened… that was the lady Elionys, wasn't it?"

"Oh, I hope so!" Keyte's loathe to reference their better-born cousin's trouble, but there's sympathy in the meaningful look she fixes on Loryn. It's been a long few weeks for the Tyrells, hasn't it? She slips back into her seat too, her guard content to linger as necessary. The others will hopefully realise she's not coming. Sooner or later. Anyway! "Oh, is he? He has that wife, who always runs out on the tourney field to see to him. Poor knight." And thus, the sympathy is shared with her cousin, to a degree. But: scandal! She grins wickedly, leaning in to share, "Oh, but yes, it were! She's all moony-eyed after Ser Riderch Blackwood, and he as enchanted with her. I think I foretell another grand wedding in the making, hmm?"

"Oh, really." Loryn's face falls at that news, "The Blackwoods are not that grand of a house, I'm surprised the Targaryerns would consider such a match." Looking sour, he welcomes the arrival of his ale and takes a big gulp. "And what has this to do with them running away like kids planning mischief?", he then asks.

"You and me both, cous," shares Keyte in earnest, with a quick fluttering of her lashes. "He is the heir, I suppose. His older brother were murdered some years ago by the Brackens, if I remember it true. Never proven, but — Gods." How horrid, speaks her expression, and the hearty way in which she gulps at her wine. "Oh, well! I simply asked the Princess if she fancied Ser Riderch, and off she scurried, see! Aevander had to scurry after her, insisting we leave with him. Tsk. He'd only just punched the ser right in the face, you know — perhaps over her moony-eyes, I'd say."

"So Lord Aevander is not keen on the match either?", Loryn asks, a glimmer of hope appearing in his eyes, "I hear he has some influence at court in King's Landing… so if he is not keen, this might not happen at all. Girls do tend to have strange infatuations." He frowns and chugs some more ale, then eyes her a little. "You like the Blackwood?"

"Me?" Keyte holds her wine close, a little affronted to be asked. Isn't her infatuation with some minor vassal common knowledge? "Oh, no," she assures, "He's a wonderful knight, but not for me, cous. Ser Kevyn asked to court me just the other day, did you know? He asked me, myself, before he thought to ask our families." And by the Gods, doesn't that make him even more swoonable. "I told him not yet, of course." As good girls do.

"I see." For some reason this only sours Loryn's mood further. "He's a lucky man, marrying up into the Tyrell family. But if you like him? Why not? It seems everyone get to marry who they like." Except him. Not spoken, but the woe-is-me look telling enough. "Man, I should have stayed in Highgarden. This town is doing my head in.", he finally complains

"Oh, Loryn." Keyte's at least not oblivious to the downturn in her cousin's mood, head canting sympathetically. "Who do you want to marry, then? You're not doing so badly, squired to Ser Brynden and taking the town by storm upon the stage, hmm?" She's trying to buoy him, but, well… perhaps a sip of wine and open ears might serve her better in this regard.

"I just feel stupid now.", he grunts and falls silent for a bit. Brooding. Then he looks up at her. "Can you keep a secret?"

"No, you shouldn't!" Keyte's insistent, leaning forward across the table with her wine in hand. "Of course, cous. What is it?"

Loryn leans in as well to be able to lower his voice. Though before he speaks, he first blushes. "I wrote to Prince Aerion last week, asking for the Lady Elionys' hand.", he finally admits, not meeting her eyes.

"Ohhh," murmurs Keyte, her expression quickly flitting between shock and — well, even more sympathy. "Oh," she says again, straightening up. She regards her cousin long, scrutinising him for his lack of eye contact to check her. "And what, he turned you down, in favour of Riderch Blackwood?" She doesn't seem to believe it.

"I have not yet received an answer.", Loryn points out. A raven hasn't the speed of e-mail alas. He sighs. "But this just changes everything. Even if he'd say yes, because, let's face it, who'd prefer a Blackwood over a Tyrell, what do I want with a woman who's infatuated with someone else? Who'd hate me for coming between her and that man?"

"Oh." It's a bit of a mantra for her, when things get tough, isn't it? Keyte's clearly uncomfortable, but she's trying. She sips deeply from her cup again, considering her proper reply. "Well, I suppose nothing," she surmises. "I'd not want to marry a man who wasn't enamoured of me. But what will you do, if he says yes?"

"I don't know." Loryn shrugs. "I mean I wasn't planning on marrying any time soon. I want to earn my spurs first. But since people are starting to think about betrothals for me and send stupid girls my way for meetings, I thought I'd get one step ahead of them and secure the hand of someone of my own choice. And I figured, what better than a Targaryen?" Loryn, the great romantic.

"Oh, I understand that much," Keyte commiserates, of not marrying anytime soon. Who wants to get married? Ugh. It's enough to drive her to drink again, draining her cup of the remaining bitter, somewhat watered-down wine. It's no arbor's red. "Is Elionys really what you'd want, though? I'd heard she were sickly, Loryn. And her sister betrothed to that twit who tried to hit cousin Jo." A grave offense, in the mind of this Tyrell.

"Well, yes… I don't know.", Loryn admits, "The Targaryens are all a bit crazy. And I'll never forgive them for murdering my father and my uncle. But I thought, one foul egg among their nest shouldn't mean they are all to be avoided. And that an union between our houses would be useful. I could move to King's Landing with her. Have a Tyrell at court… can't hurt." Apparently he -has- been thinking about it. But really wanting Elionys? "I don't really know her.", he admits, "She seemed nice though"

Surprised, Keyte blinks. "You have given it some thought," she murmurs, searching for similar words for her prospect. Perhaps she'll find them in the dregs of her cup, looking there despondently. "She did. Does! But is that enough? Kevyn seems awfully nice. And he doesn't mind my shouting occasionally. But is being nice enough, Loryn?" Though she'd like it to be, she's clearly worried, lifting eyes surrounded by the crinkles of a frown to her cousin again.

Loryn shrugs. "It should be, shouldn't it?", he wonders, eyeing her carefully, "Do you think that this … what? Kevyn? will make you happy for decades to come? Do you think he's perfect? Honestly, I don't think perfect exists. And when it does exist, it's beyond reach.", he adds sourly, perhaps revealing a little more of what's going on inside him. "I don't care honestly. All I want is being able to choose for myself. Not have someone inflict some girl on me I can't stand."

"But if you look to the lesser houses, you can," Keyte argues, tilting her glass to Loryn as though it were some rod of accusation. You! "There are not many brides whose fathers could turn down a Tyrell groom, you know. Save the royals." She glances into her cup again, trying to find some answers in its bottom. Instead, she lifts it to signal for more wine — it's safe to do so, in this establishment, isn't it? "I think he's very handsome," she says of Kevyn, hand in the air. "And he's brave. And he's sweet, and charming in his way, and he'd protect me as best he could. But he's not rich." And here her eyes dart ashamedly to look for a server. It's an awful thing to admit, isn't it?

Loryn chuckles at that. "Oh, it may be an awful thing, but it's also a very female notion - the handsome charming brave knight… who cares if he's penniless." He narrows his eyes slightly at her. "He is not penniless, is he? He can offer you the life you are accustomed to?"

"I don't know," Keyte admits, finally making eye contact enough to flag down a waitress and some wine. It's considerably less noble in here than certain other inns in Oldtown. She glances to her cousin again, as wine is poured. "It's not a thing you ask your suitors, is it? 'Could you buy me everything my father or uncle might have'. It's insulting. I don't want to insult him — I… well, I think I like him. Like like him." She flushes, no small creep of pink, but a deep, resounding red in her cheeks. "But I couldn't leave Kesha."

"Well, you know, if he's poor and can't offer you what you're accustomed to, you may sour towards him some time.", Loryn points out, watching her order another wine, "Say, you want to go out for drinks and he'll tell you, 'just one cup, my dear, and please choose the cheap swill from the Vale, not the good Dornish stuff, we can't afford that'" He imitates a squeaky voice for that before he returns to his normal voice again, eyeing her. "What do you mean, not leaving Kesha? Surely she'll be getting married some time too?"

Keyte laughs, scooping up her glass again as soon as the server's finished pouring. "He doesn't sound like that," she scolds good-naturedly for his squeaky voice, still caught up in her giggle. "And I don't think he's that bad off… I don't think. I don't really know." And that's the part that's worrying. As for Kesha: "Well, of course. But… I can count on one hand the number of nights in my life I've slept apart from her, you know. We're twins. She's… she's the better half of me, I can't think what it would be like to be without her." It's enough, again, to drive her to drink.

"Maybe Kevyn will take you both on?", Loryn asks, trying to keep his face straight, then chuckles. "Well, she'll be wed some time too. So even if you do marry before her, you'll have Kevyn at your side and she whatever unlucky sod she managed to get hitched to." He declines the offer of a refill, giving Keyte an apologetic smile. "I can't linger much longer, coz, "Ser Brynden is expecting me at the Hightower." The woes of a squire.

"Hah," says Keyte, amidst thirsty mouthfuls of her wine. Ye olde twins fantasy. It's not the first time she's heard it. "And you, Elionys, mayhap," she hazards, setting her cup down half-full, and scraping out her chair. "It's alright, cous, come, let's go. You can walk me some of the way home, the fierce and handsome Loryn, Laurel of the Whimsy, suitor of dragons, et cetera, et cetera! The grumkins should shrink in fear, I would think."

Loryn just wrinkles his nose at all the titles, but his mood has cheered considerably. "Just promise you won't tell anyone of my letter to King's Landing.", he warns as he gets up and waits for her to be ready to walk out of the pub, "If … he says no, nobody ever needs to know about this and if he says yes… people will hear Laurent yelling at me through half Oldtown." He chuckles and shakes his head, opening the door for her so she can walk out first. Then he'll take her home to Garden Isle before finally reaching the Hightower.

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