(121-05-22) You're Spilling The Wine
You're spilling the wine
Summary: Jorah wakes Riderch, and the two brothers have a heart to heart. And wine to face.
Date: Date of play (22/05/2014)
Related: Uhh, some?

This small garden is walled in dusty-brown coloured stone. Grape vines and morning glories grow up the walls. A few yards from the door to the manse is a pretty little stone pool. It holds rainwater that collects from the roof's downspout and runs along a miniature aqueduct to fill it. There's a single apple tree here, old and twisted but still able to bear fruit, and several slim and graceful young apricots. Under and between them is a set of smooth wooden benches and tables.

Further back, there are flourishing patches for vegetables and herbs. The back garden wall is the wall of a house the next wynd over, and its windows and those of the surrounding residences might offer a view of the garden, but no access.

It's a warm, but not yet too-warm summer morning. Birds have already started announcing the sun's return as it slowly ascends in on the horizon. There's a 'drip,' 'drip' 'drip' sound as the roof's downspout drips condensation into the little pool, all in a slow, steady rhythm.

All these sounds are gentle, ambient, which might partially explain why one condition has not changed. It's a curious sight. There's a man, here, lying atop an empty set of saddlebags stretched upon the ground, snoring. Riderch Blackwood is that man, still clothed in a shirt and breeches from what looks like the day before. He hasn't even taken his boots off. Sprawled out on the thing, he reeks of booze and it's a wonder that he made it this far out of the estate at all. That is, /if/ the estate was where he downed all that drink.

Inside one can hear a crash here and there, but not anything that is entirely out of the ordinary for this time in the morning. Stepping free and out into the back is another man, though he is missing boots and a shirt-he does manage to have pants on. It's but a small miracle on this warm day. Yawning inked arms are outstretched and fingers wiggled as toes curl into the damp ground once he's free of the stone of the manse. A low rumble of a sound escapes behind him, as hands smooth over his stomach and abs in an idle up/down motion. Lone good eye blinks, before he's sauntering further into the yard.

One slightly dirty toe is moved to poke towards the prone man's mouth as the soft snores of slumber, slink from his maw. Jorah for his part merely grins that that half awake half amused smile he likes to wear like a robe in the mornings. "Hey." he starts as he toes his little (half) brother again. "Hey."

The soft snoring continues on Riderch's part as his chest rises and falls. At least his beloved raven-feathered cloak was hung neatly elsewhere, otherwise all semblance of sanity would have seen to have left him. And let's face it, rumor has it that this semblance has not always been there to begin with.

"E-huh-EEUUUUGHHHH!" Well, /that/ did it. There's a cough and a look of brief horror as Blackwood's eyes shoot open, and there is a bit of red edging around the blue-green irises. " He winces, "Fucking Ancestors!" He shouts, in a mixture of indignant anger and just weary discomfort. Seriously, that must have been a lot of wine. "Is that how you killed all those Dornishmen, Jorah?"

"I used my spear." Jorah says before he is crouching down beside his brother. "And sometimes my sword. It just depended on what was needed." Apparently the crack about his filthy toes was lost on him. A grin shows on his face and merriment in his eye as one hand reaches over to muss with the poorly trashed Blackwood's head. "What did you do?" meaning the man before him. "I heard you singing out here, and decided best to let you alone." And then his eye shifts away. "Sides, I was busy." cough and he is looking back, before shaking his head. "We've water inside-or like more wine." it depends on how you self medicate.

And with that Jorah offers over his hand to hoist Riderch up. "Was it good sleeping out here, or like too hot? It was too hot wasn't it?"

"I'm sure all it would take is the bloody smell." Riderch intones, although at this point he's just going through the motions of being grumpily insulting or hostile. This is a clear case of hangover. "Ughh. More wine." He /does/ accept the hand up and then weakly pats his bastard brother's shoulder. "I remember — back when you were gone." Of course. "Someone dropped a flagon of ale on my head when I did this outside the sparring yard at home. I never figured out who that was. Although I have my suspicions." The lord-heir rubs his eyes some more as he takes a few tentative steps. "Wait. Singing?" He stops. Dead in his tracks.

Jorah looks back towards his brother as he helps him get stable. A look over as his hand pats down the other's shoulder. "There you are." a slight chuckle before he is raising a brow. "Well, I would have had you drinking it moreso than wasting it." he adds, as if that is super helpful. A pat to Riderch's back and Jorah moves back to the small table by the door where a flagon is waiting, though to Riderch's words he pauses and turns around looking at his brother. "Aye singing. Something about a silver hair'd maiden-and skin like snow. When you look into her eyes, you know, know know." he quotes in an exact deadpan reaction. This look holds for a few minutes before a rather wide and large shit eating grin is given. "No." Jorah admits quickly with a laugh. "I'm just fucking with you."

To this, Riderch simply picks up his discarded cup with a groan as he stoops, staring at his one-eyed bastard of a brother with a stern expression. And then he whips the cup around as if to throw its contents in the man's face. But the cup is dry. And the whole situation just looks a little sad and very, very droll.

Chuckling now, he just shakes his head from one side to the other and states, "I don't think that would be a good idea at this point, Jorah." Before doing anything further, he reaches for the water. Water this time, not wine, squinting in the growing sun.

"What the wine, or fucking with you?" Jorah asks, before he is opening the wine up and taking a swig straight from the flagon, much like some quaint mountain yokel. Resting the jug on a bicep, the older of the half brothers is now silent as he is fully studying the other, and even moves out of Riderch's way when he goes for the water. "What's the matter? Someone wrong you?" because-you know he'll hit them right? Small concern shows through his usual gruff goofiness. "Or is something else on your mind, perhaps to which why you got yourself stinking drunk?"

To this, Riderch answers as ambiguously as possible, addressing all these questions at once, giving him an eye for drinking straight out of the container and arching a brow /sharply/. But he just sighs. "Good thing I'm not going for the fucking wine." He observes, before actually giving his answer. But first, a sip of the water he just poured himself, greedily. Well, not a sip, but a gulp, attacking the whole cup.

After this though, he wipes his face with his sleeve. He's not so elegant here, either. "Yes." He states, simply. "Yes. And /I/ wronged me, I think." He shrugs a little bit, helpless. "Speaking of, well, nothing. Where have you /been/ lately?"

A frown again shows on Jorah's face before he is looking to the Flagon and back to his brother. "It's an old one, I assure you and not a good one. I'm just drinking it's dregs." so even then, Jorah knows not to waste the good stuff on a hangover. He's learned much in life. Though with his brother gulping down water, Jorah waits as he continues to mountain sip from the flagon. "You want to talk about it?" he finally asks once his brother starts wiping his face-only to blink and stammer some unworkable words for a moment. "Ah. Well." Shit the look seems to say, before he is taking a breath. "I've been on purpose looking for reasons to run into a woman, and then doing so."

That other Ser, Riderch Blackwood, snickers into his cup. His weary exasperation fades a bit in the face of a hint of his affable cheer, as he glances up at that apple tree, smirking now more at a a couple crows chasing each other above it. Attempted murder is a funny thing. His self-absorption ensures that he doesn't notice his brother's discomfort, for a moment. "Talk about it? What's there to talk about? I made a horrible fucking mistake, got a little blow to my pride, and then it passed. And I never, ever, ever, asked the right questions, for all I blather." He gives the man a sidelong glance now with a tilted head, coughing a little as a refill of the water is taken. "Sounds like we've been doing a bit too much of the same thing. What's going on this time? This isn't like you."

"Oh." Jorah says after a moment, as this ser clearly regards the other. And then extending a somewhat sweaty arm over, Jorah does go for an embrace and a light shake of the other, once he is sure the man can handle it. After all he'd not like to be on his brother's bad side this morning, even if he already toed the line. "I am sorry, then. I shouldn't have made that joke." And to his credit, even if he is a bastard he is a sincere one. "Ah, well." And then he is lowering his shoulders..Apparently more wine is needed. "She's above my station. Noble." A glance to Riderch. "You know her."

"Mmmph. It is what it is. I have sort of said all I can say, and I know people have been saying a lot more. Pretty much everyone /knows/ now and it's only a question if I'd want to do something potentially dangerous or impossible, and you know what? I have to start thinking of someone other tham myself. Even if I hate it." Riderch's response comes flatly, but he makes it abundantly clear that he's not flailing about or angry here, and his smile is even there, if rueful. " Bottoms up, son. Setting the cup down with an exhale, he pauses a bit, cautiously, as the two eyes glance at the one eye.

"Heh. Don't tell me you just wandered over to Maera Mormont's yard. She will /beat/ you, Ser, until your arse is red and bleeding."

"Oh I've run into her, and have had drinks. She's interesting." Jorah says with a slight smile. "But no, I am not talking about Maera Mormont." he states before raising his head a bit. And now he is offering the flagon over if his brother is wanting it. "You'll do what is right with yours I know..With mine? I'd have to be a Blackwood to even have a chance." he adds as the flagon is still waggled out. Don't worry he doesn't backwash.


"What's right, is for me to back the fuck away and listen to my father's ever-insistent advice to settle this matter before it's too late." Riderch begins, as he starts to reach for the flagon now. It is worth noting that as he says this, he sounds a touch — unconvinced. First the water he reaches for as he processes what his brother's said. It's been a long night and he is slow this morning.

And then it clicks in his head as he very calmly looks at the flagon, and then his brother, picks up the wine flagon and studies him for a second. There's a sigh, and with sharp raises of his eyebrows, he heaves the flagon upwards to dump the entire contents at Jorah's face.

And like that flagon is upended in his face, which would be comical, save for the amount that splashed back into his lone good eye. There's a scream as Jorah rolls back, stumbles and falls over himself as his hands cover that lone working ocular bundle of goo and nerves. "Fuck the Stranger." someone he doesn't believe in, by the by. "That's my lone eye you-" and he's laughing after blinking and tearing. There's some snort of snot as he scrambles to right himself, as his shoulders slump.

"I deserved that."

"No you didn't deserve that." Riderch suddenly begins, heaving in a deep, deep breath as he stands there, staring at the flagon he just upended and the drink dripping off Jorah's head even though he makes no immediate move to apologize or even help. Hie stares at the damn thing, finally setting it down absently with a cold stare. And he retracts his hand, peering at his bastard brother with a slight opening of his mouth.

"What you deserve is to have me fucking RIP OFF YOUR FUCKING SKIN AND FEED YOU TO HOARESEBANE, YOU STUPID SHIT!" And with this, he picks up the flagon and hurls it against the wall. "THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING?"

The flagon crashes, though there's not entirely too much wine that hits and sprays everywhere. This has the bastard flinching before he is looking back to his brother with one raises brow. Perhaps it's the next line that has him rising up to his full height. And looking down to his younger (half) brother. "YOU FUCKING WOULDNT." because that might be a little off compared to whom he said he had interest in. And now Jorah flexes his pecs, because that helps him remain serious.

'What am I thinking?!" Jorah asks before he is leveling his look on Rids. "I'm thinking, I like someone's company. Someone who is actually good with a blade and bold with her tongue. She just happens to be Elys fucking Bracken."

"You have no idea what I fucking would or would not do. In the past week, I considered taking a fucking Targaryen's head off, Jorah." Riderch says, with an eerie, composed calm. He has no sword on him and actually, he is not making any move or threat of violence. It is only talk. And Jorah probably knows that deep down, this is bluster and without a hand to guide it. Even still, he stands straight, tall (enough) with his chest puffed up, staring at the man with a composed half-fury.

"What are you thinking? You find the one woman I never want to see again…Well, whose name isn't Bethany Terrick." Cough. Let's try this again. "The one woman who I thought I would happily never see again. When Aine and I buried Tewdric I thought it would the bloody end of it. And here she shows up. Look, if you want a sharp woman who can hold a blade, I can introduce you to that 'never-knight' the Hedge Knight knighted and the Targaryens hired on. She's got fire and she's pretty, too. And you know what the best part is?" There's a pregnant pause here as the Riverlander winds up the punchline of the whole speech. "Her name is Storm. You know what her name is not? BRACKEN. I don't care if her horse fucking shits gold."

A narrowing of his eye and then he's snorting. "Which one, her brother or her cousin?" That's all Targaryens marry right? Still Jorah seems to glower back in face of the bluster. Both men clearly rooted in their rightness in this matter. Still it's two ships bearing down and who knows what.

"There's Betha-" Right Riderch catches it and he coughs back, before turning away to pace for a moment. As some Storm is mentioned he looks back over. "The Knight with Tits, Aye-I've heard of her, but she ain't." Elys, but that's not said. Instead he keeps a raised brow before planting his feet. "She says she didn't do it. You even said she didn't do it-or believed that. Why's it matter that I might have a shine on Elys Bracken?" he asks. "It's not as if she returns it." A beat there. "I am surprised you didn't mention Bear House, with your pause there."

"Stop. Just stop. Do not even speak of her like that. She's not like that." She's not like that. Riderch says it, so it must be true, his blue-green eyes smolder, even with the reddish tinges around them. "She — just because these arseholes don't think of the lines of the Old Kings like ours does not mean she shares these ideas." The She isn't even named, because she doesn't have to be. The sitting Blackwood heir is clearly in something of a bad way, here.

A little bit of the fury subsides as he listens to his bastard half-brother speak, and if he were to have made a hostile move, he would have by now. "I — Look. It's not a matter of whether she did or did not. The stories fly, she stares at me. Her men jeer. And —"

Suddenly, something hits Riderch like a series of wagons, all at once. "Bloody Gods, Jorah. You didn't. Did you? I mean," he makes a gesture indicating exactly what it means. The old wagon-goininthetunnelifyouknowwhatImeanandIthinkyoudo.

Riderch pauses a beat. "And no. Not Mormont. Gods. That woman has never laughed a day in her life. What do you expect me to do there?"

"I expect you to be my brother." He admits before looking down for a moment. He's quiet now since his little pacing outburst, and allows his arms to slide over his bare chest. Wine moves over his sans like well formed bloody rivers-perhaps too much of a reminder of blood spilled in their own conflicts with the House which shall not be named at this moment. And there Jorah Rivers stars down to his feet. "Her men Jeer at everyone. Even the Tullys.." which doesn't say much and is a weak line of defense.

"She stares, because no one takes her seriously-they treat her like a horse fucker and not a damned shield maiden. She is one…Not a horse fucker-but the other." Jorah is quick to rectify in his answer, before he sighs. "Look-I know." and there he stares his brother head on instead of watching ants crawl on his toes. "—I know. Because I know she-It's difficult." he adds before he's looking up. His eye widens before a loud: "PFFT-Fuck you." and he's laughing as one hand comes out to push at his brother-somewhat playful somewhat pissed. "No. No, I'm notagodsdamnedidiot." all rambled out. "I haven't. I've not even kissed her. All we've done is talked and sparred." Honest.

"And I am your brother. Which is why I backed Tewdric and why I will ultimately stand behind you, Jorah." Riderch spits out the words, a little indignant. "Trust me, I've learned that our blood is all I have to rely on, here. Not Mormonts and Starks," he names off a list, "Not bloody Tyrells, and not Targaryens." And with this he heaves a heavy sigh as he goes hunting for a rag, it's a futile gesture, for sure, but he does find one, as he walks it to the other man and grimaces a little.

"Forgive me for being a little skeptical. I know she's not like us. And I know she didn't kill Tewdric." Because he knows. "Poor, stupid Tewdric. If only…" this twisted exclamation of regret is banished before it even begins. He accepts Jorah's push and just sighs. He's not laughing himself. "We're terrible with women, aren't we? So — Elionys told me she's in an arrangement with some ponce, but I was too stupid to press for his name."

Jorah looks back and raises his hand. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have implied." He didn't really mean to hit that particular button, but it came out and it was punchy. And with Riderch's words-Jorah seems to calm a bit further and gives a heavy sigh of his own. "We're all we got down here. The Starks and Mormonts-they're Northmen. We share blood-but they don't know what it's like to be down here amongst all these false gods and fake niceties." A grumble and he moves to sit down in the dirt-one hand out to take the offered rag. He'll rub down his sweet abs on his own.

"Forgiven-" easily without waiting for the rest of the words. "We are." a grin there wild, if not relaxed. "I like a Horse fucking bracken, and you a silver princess." A frown shows and he sighs too. "So- an arrangement doesn't mean marriage." A pause " Did it feel like she was putting you off?"

"We've had to fight our way out of the dark? Haven't we?" Riderch looks as though he forgot he was mad, here, letting his arms fall to his sides of the rumpled tunic. "What are you going to do, Jorah? I stood by Tewdric when he was going to marry that —" that. That. THAT. Elys doesn't even get the proper pronoun here, and his mouth opens and closes like that of a fish.

"I don't know, Jorah. Maybe you could tal—." This idea is shut down, faster than an eyeblink because let's face it. Riderch can occasionally be impulsive but he's not that kind of stupid.

He leans a hand on his chair. "I think she's overwhelmed, and doesn't want to offend her family. I took her to the fucking weirwood. The one at the Citadel." Well, that's easy, that's the only Weirwood in the entire city, if not the Reach. "Her cousin seemed to think I should press a suit. But I don't want her father's approval first. I want hers." He pauses a beat. "You know what? I sound like an arsehole here. Don't I? We should go hit the town and forget about all of this. Horse and Dragon, brother. Just you and me. A couple of Ravens, dressed up right. Which means you need to wash your sorry arse."

"Elys?" Clearly Jorah didn't make the land jump with that one. Instead he clears his throat and then clues back in right there. "Oh, Yeah-well She's a dragon and I imagine with it comes it's own huge costs, which we will not understand." And then he falls silent for a moment. "For what it is worth-" clearly ignoring his own girl problems in this-Jorah plans to try and help Riderch with his own. "You're going about this the right way. There is no use in trying to chase a woman, who doesn't want to be your woman. I know this." he adds with a wry grin.

And then he leans back for a moment before he's laughing. "You do as well." meaning yes, let's hit the town. "I'll even put on nice clothes." he adds. "But we both need a bath or something. You smell like booze. And I?" Well-he won't touch that one.

"He was. But he is not. I likely won't either." a chuckle. "But that's my birth right. Let's not worry about it, eh?"

"These are costs I never even thought about. Because I never thought about any of it. All I thought about was — well, let me be fair." Riderch admits. "The Brackens would think twice if the Hall had a Dragon in its roost." He narrates, snapping a finger. "I suppose you're bloody right, Jorah." He looks down at his rumpled tunic. "I suppose you're right."

Shoulders within a black shirt shrug languidly as Riderch stares at his brother, with widened eyes. "A bath is a very good idea. Let's walk this off and you know what? Stop talking about Elys for now. We'll deal with her in our own time, the same way I'll deal with another Lady-whose-name-begins-with-the-same-sound-but-is-completely-different." At least he'd hope she's different, otherwise this is a doomed enterprise.

"He was. But he's not. But we are. And fuck these people. I'm tired of cowtowing to them all, Lord-Mummer-Bugger Tyrell, shitbirds who fight over imagined slights, hypocrites who pray to gods who don't listen — it's time we did something for ourselves, once." So fuck them. Fuck them, I am a fucking Raven. And today, you are too. And what do Ravens not do, Jorah?" He stands, expectant, looking at his half-brother, with his nostrils flaring. "You smell like shit. So do I." That wasn't what ravens do.

"They don't fucking Mourn, Son." Jorah says before offering his fist out, but that's lost as he leans over and then wraps up Riderch in a shit smelly hug, because smelly brothers have to do that shit. They have to hug it out, even when they've thrown wine on another, or poked someone with a muddy toe.

"Riderch? Fuck the Tyrells, and Fuck the Idle Hightowers. They do nothing, but sit on their thumbs and go to plays. We're men. Scratch-We're First Men and we don't bow to men who kneel before stone gods." Well the Targaryens, but he's not speaking treason here. "We have our own accords to hold and business to do. And if they won't do it. We will." Likely it could be anything. "Let's go bathe-but not at the Lysene Baths. I hear they have crabs."

Fist raised meets fist raised. And then the hug happens, because let's face it, this was going to happen. Smelly, winey, this is just what happens. Riderch throws his arm over his half-brother's shoulder. "And yet we stand tall." He states. All of Jorah's words are processed, but he doesn't comment further. Riderch finally sighs a little bit drawn, and tentative. "We do, that. Look, brother. I'm making a bloody fool of myself, here. Let us be respectable for once." And finally he takes stock of the thrown flagon and a few other things before idly moving to pick them up, not waiting for a servant to do so. "You think father would even care at this point? I just feel like this is what he'd exepct."

There's a pause from where he stands, before he is ambling over to pick up the empty saddlebags, allowing for Riderch to see to the broken flagon. "I think he would." Jorah finally answers. "I mean it's father" and all that connotates. "But, he does care. Even when he is content to call us fuck ups or anything else that he think will inspire by tearing down." And there he gives a wry grin. "When I won my knighthood, he seemed proud, but reminded me I am always a bastard." A laugh there. "I knew that wasn't going to change." A shrug. "As for making a fool of yourself-I wouldn't say you are." And there he slings one set over his shoulder before picking up the other. "I'd say you're on track."

"What does any of it mean, really?" Comes Riderch's noncommittal shrug, as he is about to let something slip. "He favored Tewdric for this. For one reason. Tewdric never felt conflicted and never strayed from the path." There is no warmth in his tone of voice when his brother is named. He could go into a deeper, tireless rant about fate's lack of concern for mens' lives. But what's the point?

"I could have made an issue over what I did, but I did not. I — Forget it, and forget all of this."

"Brother." And there is a familiarity right there as he looks to his brother and he comes up to stands next to Riderch. Jorah bumps his brother, before trying to shake him a little, if anything to get the man's attention. "Never compare yourself to Tewdric." And there he watches the heir right there, in his silent grapple. "You'll never be him, and our House is better for it." he adds. "If you don't want the wings-pass them to Benjicot, and Father can train him as he did Tewdric. But you're not him. You won't be. You're a leader." And he'll let that sit there, before he starts to head inside.

"Ha — ha, hahahahahahaha." Riderch's laughter comes as an unsteady thing as he looks the other man in the eye(!). "That's not my path either. I have to do what I have to do. So — let us enjoy our time." This last bit is offered as the rumpled lord stands in the garden, shaking his head as he watches his bastard brother depart before he himself follows suit some time after. "Were it so bloody easy." He says, now. Only to himself. And then he too departs.


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