(121-05-24) Satisfaction
Satisfaction
Summary: Arrick has choice words for Alaeyna; she wants satisfaction for it.
Date: 24 May 2014
Related: Dornish Darts
Players:
Arrick..Alaeyna..

Second Bedchamber - White Stone Manse
This large bedchamber has windows overlooking Starry Street. Like the rest of the house, it has white walls and polished floors, clean and cool-looking.

There is a large canopy bed in here, curtained with fine gold and blue silks, enough to obscure sleepers in a gauzy veil but still allow light. Its headboard is pressed against the wall opposite the door. Near the windows are a pair of chairs, padded in yellow leather. Beyond the bed a wooden screen, painted blue and detailed with a geometric design in gold leaf, separates the part of the room where a capacious wardrobe, a wash stand, and a dressing-table are positioned.

The day has come and gone and Ser Arrick Gargalen was not seen anywhere about Oldtown, not a trace. The reason for this is rumored to be a nasty cut he received playing games down at the Acacia and Leopard. No one is particularly sure, but he definitely limped into the white stone manse last night, a trail of blood and angry words that led straight to his room. He's Dornish and this isn't an unusual sight, him staying in the next day however is very unusual…

Lying in bed with his bandaged leg propped up and a skin of wine in his hand has been how Arrick has coped with how last night and today has gone. What a waste…

Alaeyna lets herself into Ser Arrick's quarters without so much as a knock of warning, she being the kind to barge into matters and physical spaces she may or may not be welcome without want of an invitation. She's dressed in crimson silk the dark hue of blood itself, when first spilt, her wild mane of curly hair worn down over her shoulders, the metal bands she wears on her wrists and arms chiming a quiet song as she enters the chamber. Most of all, it's the talon she wears around her neck, resting in the swell of her ample cleavage (now covered) that serves as a visual reminder of the threat she represents, should her legendary fury be invoked. But today she seems in placid enough spirits, moving to Arrick's bedside with slow, slinky steps. "Still abed at this hour?" she asks him, her voice spiced with a hint of a tease.

Arrick elbows his way to the far side of the bed and says angrily, "What the fuck do you want?" The knight is prepared to roll out of bed if he needs to, these bandages are merely an eyesore, not anything that'd stop him from doing what he must. "You think I'm interested in your company? I'd sooner throw myself off the Hightower than call you to my room."

It wasn't necessarily the greeting she might have expected, but it's probably not far from it, because Alaeyna simply arches her brows at the squirming knight when he scrambles away from her. "Worried I'll get your other thigh, darling? Don't be. I only came to see if you wanted for nursing." She sits at his bedside, smelling like some lush desert flower that blooms only in Dornish oases. The quip about taking a dive off the Hightower has her rolling her eyes. "Don't let's be dramatic. Why shouldn't you like me in your room?"

Arrick peers down at his good leg and says, "I'm not being dramatic." The knight then whispers towards the lush desert flower with a pained expression upon his face, "You managed to insult me not once but twice in a matter of minutes. I don't forget…" The knight pops open the skin and drinks heavily, adding after a gulp, "I need someone who knows how to stop bloodflow, not someone who only knows how to produce it." There's many different types of bloodflow that Lady Alaeyna is known for, some good, some bad.

Alaeyna reaches for the skin of wine in Arrick's hand, seeking some of what's his for herself. She goes so far as to lay her hand atop his, but not so far as to force him to relinquish it to her with an insistent grip. "Twice, was it? How many times did you insult me within the course of our first meeting here? I've lost count. But I thought us friends now, the sort who might speak plainly to each other. Am I mistaken?"

"There's speaking plainly and then theres…" Arrick lets the skin go and his facial expression moves from anger to utter surprise. "There's what you manage to do rather consistently…" The knight stays silent a moment as HIS wine goes elsewhere. Finally he says, "You pushed me too far when you speak of me as nothing in regards to the Princess, friends or not. If you were a man I'd have challenged you last night, bloodied leg and all."

Taking a swig of his wine, Alaeyna swipes an errant trickle from her lower lip, closing her lips around her fingertip to suckle it dry thereafter. She offers him back the skin, eyeing Arrick with a measured look, as if to weigh whether he means what he says of challenging her for satisfaction. "She's a princess of Dorne," is all she says, as if those few words justify whatever comment he refers to from the night before, the knowing look she offers him indicating she remembers it well. "All I did was state a fact."

"You're a fool then and I'm not sure we can be on friendly terms otherwise. I will not continue to suffer through your facts with little to no recourse. I also have no interest in fighting whatever viper you pull from your purse. Besides, I likely would find an endless supply breathing down my neck as you gather men who'd fight for you like a shelf gathers dust in Sunspear." Arrick takes back his wine and drinks heavily again saying nothing afterwards.

The raging, furious heat that resides in Alaeyna's dark, pointed stare is warning to the Gargalen knight that he treads perilously close to incensing her legendary temper, the look she fixes on him as she speaks a calculating, methodical one. She suffers being called a fool for the moment, in favor of addressing some other part of what he's said first. "Do you know why my men would fight for me? Because I am loyal unto the death. I would no sooner ask others to shed blood for me than I would shed blood myself at their side. I do not betray those I take into my confidence, and I never hesitate to take what is our rightful due. I protect my own, and my own protect me in kind." Her impassioned words are offered in a fierce, low tone, cutting through the relative silence of the second story chamber. "I would send no man to fight you in my stead. I would sooner champion you at the point of my blade."

Arrick scoffs at her words and he says with his own anger rising, "Then a fool you MUST be my dear Fowler, do you wear an invisible blinder very much unlike your house sigil?" Arrick sets his wine aside as he continues "You act like it's loyalty these men fight for, they likely fight for the ride you offer them nightly!" Knowing the fury that could head his way at any second, Arrick scoots further to the edge of the bed and he adds as he swings his legs over the side, "This could easily be settled at the point of a blade, for the first time in your life you'd be put on your back without receiving the pleasures you've come to expect." Or maybe she'd like the point of a blade? Hmm. Arrick stands now a little wobbly as he turns back. "Throwing daggers and fighting are different milady, you don't have what it takes, fury or not." Arrick goes to the nearby drawer and opens it, retrieving a shortblade. "Now get out."

Rather than reward him with a violently spectacular outburst for the insult he lays at her feet, Alaeyna rises slowly from the bedside, like a coiling snake that prepares itself to strike, the anticipation of her next move hanging heavy in the air. Evidently her fury wears many faces, and this may yet be one of the most dangerous ones, the silent disdain that heralds the calm before the storm. "How little you know of so very much," she says in a voice that comes out surprisingly calm, only her darting stare belying the gears that turn in her pretty head. "It is I who shall have satisfaction. I do not wish to see your face until that leg is healed and you are prepared to do battle."

Arrick lightly taps his leg and he says, "Unlike most, a bandaged leg is nothing to worry about. I'm ready whenever and wherever you want me." Arrick lets it all hang out as he eyes the the usually furious woman before him. He's raises the short blade up and he repeats himself, "Get out…" Arrick then twirls the blade a moment as if in thought and he says with disdain dripping from voice, "I'll meet you outside the city, we can settle this."

"Sun up tomorrow," is all Alaeyna says in reply, taking the knight at his word, bravado or otherwise, that he's ready to meet her for a duel at her whim. Without so much as a further glance at Arrick, she stalks out of the chamber, as eager to take her leave of it as he is that she get out.

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