(121-05-26) Starry Stroll
Starry Stroll
Summary: Abram and Elijah Dayne meet outside the Starry Sept.
Date: Date of play (26/05/2014)
Related: None

A small, relatively quiet residential street, leading to the prestigious Starry Sept of Oldtown. The manses of the pious (and rich) line the street, clustered in the Sept's shadow like children around an old, decrepit grandfather. The Sept rises skyward to the West, dominating the street. The famous Maidenday Gardens are spread out opposite the Sept's seven towers. To the East is the Starry Street Bridge with its seven arches and the multitude of seven-pointed stars decorating its stonework. It spans the Honeywine to connect with Hightower Street. To the North is the long stretch of Sphinx Street, and the towers of the Citadel at its end. The the South is the Guildhall Row with its somber, semi-fortified halls and guild-owned docks.

There are banner-poles along the street, with banners depicting the Seven-Pointed Star in gold, on a white field. The street is quite immaculate, in spite of the heavily worn cobbles, smoothened by the treading of the pious, on their way to the hallowed ground of the Starry Sept.

Summer evening, and the clouds make it hard to tell the moonlight. Instead vague shadows play in the streets and what lanterns hang from poles serve as the light out this evening. A warm breeze stirs, and keeps the air lively-and the sticky cling of the humidity at a minimum. Being the time of night it is, some still stroll-mainly men coming home or going to public houses. And the fact that the sept holds here, late night vespers are at an end and the bells toll softly giving the hour to those locals in the know.

It is down this street one man moves easily enough, a whistle to his lips as he strolls leisurely along. The whistle though airy-manages to hide the soft scuffle of boots as they dance along the pavement. His own direction is coming from the North where the formidable towers of the Citadel loom. Stopping, Elijah turns carefully to look at the Sept as one hand hitches to his sword belt, content to stare and stand square in the road, apparently unafraid of any traffic.

It is near the sept that Abram Florent might be spied or heard, as the knight's own lightly whistled tune clashes with that of the Dornishman. Once Elijah's presence pricks at his ear, Abram lets his own melody trail off a bit, turning a crooked grin toward the other man and making a jaunty little flourish of one hand to accompany a dip of his head to the other. The Reachlord's path was bearing him toward one of the nearby manses, though steps pause for him to bid, "A good eve to you-" his eyes flick down to note the sword, as he adds, "Ser."

The words seem to break him from whatever study was going on, and Elijah does turn his head and blinks once at the other man. A wry smile is given as he offers a dip of his head and a flourish of hand in a mimicking bow. "A good eve to you, as well-" and now it his turn to regard the other man and then supply his own title. "Ser." a chuckle there before he is turning away from the sept, letting the majestic building view his back. "Coming, or going?"

Abram glances back over his shoulder toward the majestic sept. "'Waiting', before 'Going'. You know, I hadn't been to a Vespers in over a decade? The things a man does to please a new wife." He merrily affects a manner of regret as the knight shakes his head in mock lament. Glancing back up he notes, "And yourself, Ser? On your way to bask in the light of the Gods, or seeking out the warm and comforting glow of the tavern? Each have their own pious allure," he notes before naming himself, "Abram Florent, the Knight of Derring Downs. If I've met you before Ser, I'm sorry to say I've forgotten."

"Ah." Elijah responds with a smile and look over his side for a moment. "I've missed them lately myself. I prefer vespers, personally. Less folk there." he adds before giving a light rasping cough. His hand moves to rub over his throat before his other hand comes off to stave any incoming questions. "Sorry-throat's still on the mend." he adds. "Nothing contagious-a mob inflicted injury." he comments before he is shaking his head. "We've not met Ser." and there he steps towards the other man and offers his arm. "Elijah Dayne." he supplies. "A knight of no where, folks here are usually acquainted with." added before smiling. "Ah-as for my own direction, returning home. Though sadly my-" not exactly wife. "paramour and children are abed. So I will be most likely sneaking a bite and sneaking to it. Though a drink sounds tempting enough." And there he watches the Florent knight for a moment before adding. "I believe you said you were recently married? Congratulations-Ser Abram."

Abram accepts the offered arm clasp, though a keen eye will note that in doing so he instinctively spares a glance for whether and how the Dornishman wears a dagger on his belt, to complement the sword. Still, the easy smile doesn't falter from his face as the knight wonders, "A Dayne of Starfall, High Hermitage, or someplace more exotic?" His head cants to a curious angle as the Florent asks, "Mob inflicted? Not in Oldtown, I hope?" The latter sentiments draw a deep smile. "I thank you for the words, Ser. Not even a week past. A goodly number of your countrymen were gracious enough to attend, which sat well with my lady wife."

The instinctive glade would get the knight some information. Elijah's dagger is worn slightly behind the hip and to the back-likely for a more covert reach if it is needed and thus adding for some concealment. As to Abram's question the Dornishman's smile piques again, and he offers a bow of his head. "High Hermitage, well done." he adds with a grin. "Most Reachmen, tend to think there is one House Dayne. Unless." and there he draws back after carefully and hopefully discreetly studying the other in return. "Unless, someone has served in the Red Mountains, or other areas." And then to sate curiosity, Elijah nods. "Alas, Ser-In Oldtown." and there he reaches a finger up to tug at his tunic and show where the rope had done it's work. "I will say this-some folk cannot hang a man properly. For that I am grateful."

Abram dips his head to the word of 'well done', sparing a 'you got me' grin as Elijah pists service in the Red Mountains. "I've campaigned for some years in the Dornish Marches- I wonder if you call then the Westerosi Marches across the mountains?" The idle whim dismissed with a shrug, he notes with a wince at the rope injury, though he barks a laugh at the last words of gratitude. "Ugly business, that. Hope to the seven hells that it's done with, at least for a year or two."

"I usually call them a boneyard. Ripe with flowers for plucking." Elijah opines before shaking his head. "I jest. We do not count things beyond our lands. I've no interest in Westeros, beyond the Citadel." he adds with a nod back in the direction he came. "Yes." he adds back with a nod. "Ugly business-the men they were seeking to lynch were Maester novices, one a braavosi, the other was a Flowers. But you look Dornish enough and you'll swing from a post-or would." and there he readjusts his collar. "Somehow, I was more named a Dornish lover, than Dornishman." he adds with wry enough grin.

"Indeed, though I believe this unpleasantness rather benefited your side, more than it did my countrymen." and his own kin-but the look says what words do not convey. "I think all would be glad if there was someone else to point swords at."

"Symapthies may not be worth much, Ser, but you have mine anyhow. For your throat and your kinsman," Abram offers with a rueful grin. "Smallfolk have small minds, its true enough. They get even worse in a crowd, and when they fumble into a mob?" An idle roll of his right shoulder in a half-shrug. "Well, then they'd need luck and a loud bark to tell their neighbor from a stray dog." The notion of pointing swords at someone else, draws a ready smile. "You've come for the Citadel, then?"

"Yes." The knight answers before he is giving half of a shrug in response to the sympathies offered. "Do not worry yourself over it. It was a trial and the seven weighed in. We move on." And like that Elijah is shifting his weight briefly. "But-yes to your question I've come for the Citadel. Well, partially-" he's quick ton interject. "I am to be an ambassador in the Court here, though that was taken up by Asharah Martell, I believe. So now I am another Dornishman here. I've set my mind to scholastics, really. I've forged a few links, but I'll never be a Maester." and then his own grin shows. "I like life too much beyond books."

Abram a nod to moving on. "From your tongue to the Gods' ears, Ser." And just like that the topic is let lie. A knowing chuckle to Elijah;s grinning latter comment. "A fact your paramour and children are grateful for, no doubt. I wonder, what links have you forged-" Abruptly, he changes tracks, "I don;t objecvt to conversing in the street, but my family keeps a house right there-" the Foxearth manse is indicated. "Would you prefer to speak over some wine?"

"I have them. Mind you I don't wear them-that'd be something a vainglorious bastard would do. But they are connected and the chain is small. I don't mind you knowing if you are honestly curious and not politely so." Elijah counters with a grin before he chuckles. "Ah yes, I am sure they are. Should you see them, they look like Daynes-which means we could pass for Crownlanders." save for their accents. That does give them away. There's a look over towards the manse as indicated before he nods. "I would like that, but perhaps sometime when I know I do not have a woman waiting for me in bed? I am already going to be skinned for staying late to chat with other learned men, instead of attending some dinner here."

"Best not let her know that an unlearned one kept you any longer, I see," Abram chuckles quietly at his own expense. "I am curious, in fact. I hardly expect it to coincide with my own recent curiosities, but it isn't often that I chance upon well educated fellows who aren't so boring as to make me crave a blow to the head, so that I might black out in comfort." Belatedly, he adds, "Consider the invitation a standing one, then. My own lady is speaking with the Septas and somehow I was seen to be slightly… unhelpful in such a conversation."

Elijah grins and bows his head. 'Soon, Ser. I promise." For the wine he means. "If you prefer, should your wife not care for Dornishmen in her house.." though that is unlikely as many were in attendance at the wedding, "I also go hunting out in the meadows and a small bit of wood outside of town. I prefer taking my falcon-if you do that or Hawk." that given as well as an alternative. "But, I will call upon you." A grin there.

As he turns in the direction of the white stone Manse, where many of the Dornish in the city, live he does pause. "That so?" a grin there. "Somehow Ser, I don't think Septas are fond of wit and intelligence." A bare wink of his eye. "Good eve to you Abram Florent. And good luck with the Holy ones." a waggle of fingers and the Dornishman breaks off for the short jaunt home.

"And with that Ser, you assure that we will meet again," Abram quips with a keen smile. "Falconry is one of my abiding passions. As my lady wife has no aversion to Dornishmen, she might join us on a hunt, she has begun learning the craft with a little kestrel." The slight wink earns a quiet chuckle and shake of his head. "No Ser, they do not. A good eve to you as well, until we meet again."

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