(121-07-15) Showtime at the Whimsy
Showtime at the Whimsy
Summary: The premiere of the 'Pirates of Pentos'.
Date: 15/07/2014
Related: Some rehearsals
Players:
Loryn..Amadys..Ulyka..Iris..Madrighal..Ormund..Cora..Maera..Thadeus..Alaryn..Layne..Brynden..

Amphitheatre - Whimsy Theatre

The Theatre Whimsical Dreams is a three-storey, open-air amphitheatre, approximately ninety-eight feet in diameter, which can house some two thousand spectators. At the base of the stage, there was an area called the yard, where, for a three pennies, groundlings stand on the rush-strewn earthen floor to watch the performance. Vertically around the yard are the three levels of the gallery, with more expensive stadium-style seats.

A rectangular apron-stage platform thrusts out into the middle of the open-air yard. The stage measures approximately forty feet in width, twenty-four feet in depth and is raised about seven feet off the ground. On this stage, there is a trap door for use by performers to enter from the cellarage area beneath the stage.

The back wall of the stage has two doors on the main level, with a curtained inner stage in the center and a balcony above it. The doors enter into the tiring house where the actors dress and await their entrances. The balcony above houses the musicians and can also be used for scenes requiring an upper space. Above the balcony is the apex, which has windows and a battlement-style walk.

Large columns on either side of the stage support a roof over the rear portion of the stage. The ceiling under this roof is called the heavens, and is painted with clouds and the sky. A trap door in the heavens enables performers to descend using a rope and harness. The rest of the theater is crisscrossed with wooden support beams, over which a white oilcloth can be stretched to keep out the rain, and also provide a reflective surface to help light the theater.

There is very rarely any elaborate stage dressing beyond a few pieces of furniture essential to a scene, and there are no painted backdrops. Nor are their curtains to cover the stage. Instead, before a scene begins, someone hangs a sign at the front of the stage, which tells where the scene takes place.


The day of the grand opening has come. Lord Laurel and his players present the first play the young playwright and theatre manager has written. Posters had gone up all over town a few weeks ago, announcing "The Pirates of Pentos - A Comedy with Music" - there's bunting all over the forecourt of the Whimsy and a group of musicians welcome the guests as they start piling in to claim their seats.

Maera arrives unaccompanied. While this may cause a murmur of scandal for another woman, Lady Mormont is now well-known enough in the city that few bat an eye. The tall woman settles down into the Center Lower Gallery with no words exchanged to others.

Maera sits in the Center Lower Gallery.

Madrighal is amoung the musicians, dressed as a particularly flamboyant Pirate, playing a particularly adventurous sounding nautical tune on a lizard, a long, curving black horn.

Among those arriving to see witness the spectacle is a Tully heir, easily to be recognized as such by the fine attire of a doublet in red and blue, with a fish embroidered onto the chest in a silver thread, that goes along well with those breeches in dark blue and a pair of slightly worn but oh so comfortable leather boots. The expression on those handsome features is bored, alas, even though the three retainers that accompany him do their best to cheer him up, tossing random witticisms his way now and then. Thadeus scratches the stubble on his chin pensively as he ponders where to sit, his grey-blue eyes do brush the Mormont, linger even there for a moment before he shakes his head. There must be some comely company to be had somewhere. And so he lingers for a moment, waiting for more spectators to arrive.

At the edge of the stage a sly but worried look is thrown at the audience - the attentive observer could catch the sight of a tall silhoutte in a silvery-white dress, being tall enough to suggest one of the younger male actors has been chosen for the role of a girl. The slight trembling of nervousness at the edge of her lips (especially when Lady Mormont is spotted in the audience) speaks of an utterly female character to enter the stage soon. Ulyka Mormont swallows.

Backstage young Lord Laurel has turned into the Great Dictator, snapping at everyone about nothing. When he spots Ulyka at the edge of the stage, he hisses like an enraged snake. "COME BACK! PEOPLE CAN SEE YOU!"

In the month or so during which Cora, Lady Baratheon, has been in residence in Oldtown, she has made few appearances at the fetes and festivals of the local nobility — or anywhere else for that matter. Understandable, given her great age and frail health, and the parade of grasping hands with which Lannister money is customarily met whenever it takes the air. This evening however her small figure (swathed in red silk and golden lace) is carried in to the Whimsy by her steward, Elfrid Hill, at the head of a procession which includes both her personal serving maids and two knights attired respectively in the colours of Lannister and Westerling. All together they suffice almost to fill the second most prominent box, set opposite that reserved by custom for the Hightowers and their invited guests: the Westerland knights sit at either side of the widowed lady, and the servants bustle to see that their mistress's chair is set at the ideal angle vis a vis the stage, that her skirts (which trail far beyond her useless feet) and her lace veil flow neatly, that she has a good Arbor red to drink, dainty little bits and pieces to tempt her appetite, a clean handkerchief, and an ivory fan should the press of bodies from the yard up to the gods raise the temperature of the theatre beyond even what her ancient bones consider pleasant. They then stand in a stiffly regimented line against the back of the box, in case all these arrangements for her comfort fail to suffice. The box has one seat empty.

Feminine character on the stage? Maera marks no note of it. She's too busy staring at Thadeus after she noticed his lingering gaze, and little shake of his head. She stares for a few heartbeats before erupting into a full-fledged laugh. She laughs so hard she has to put a hand over her mouth to restrain herself. And when they laughter subsides she flicks her eyes up and down the length of the Tully's frame, and announces, "Pathetic." And then she turns her attention back to the stage. By then the other Mormont girl is gone.

Gone and well hidden. "And people can sense your frantic posture. Smile more, hiss less, Loryn," the girl being halfway turned into Maybel mutters (with an undertone that might suggest she is not quite as aerial, not quite as clutching the moment as she wishes to be).

The sound of laughter has the Bull Fish turn his head again, his brows quirking upwards as he notices it is actually the she-bear, maybe catching that assessing looks of hers - and mayhaps that comment too. A hint of a glare entering his grey-blue eyes for a moment, before it fades, and an intrigued sparkle appears in its place. "Follow me," is murmured towards his retinue, as he approaches the Center Lower Gallery - as he has obviously changed his mind. "Is this seat taken,…?", Thadeus inquires, not really waiting for Maera's response as he sits down beside her. "Now, tell me. What was so amusing, my lady of Mormont?"

Thadeus sits in the Center Lower Gallery.

Madrighal steps away from the other Minstrels and to the front of the stage. He bows to the audience, and his his clearly Dornish accent an expressive tenor voice addresses the audience, "Welcome, Ladies and Lords, men and women. Tonight we wisk you away to the High seas for romance and adventure…." He gives a broad guesture of welcome, then steps back to take his place amoung the Players with his lizard.

Another comely maiden is waiting anxiously behind the curtain, hurrying to finish last preparations. Already attired in the quite risqu? dress, she brushes her long black curls, cursing as she notices it is almost time. Her face already adorned with stage make up, that makes her face appear white, and those rouged cheeks stand out in a quite unnatural blush. And there, it already starts and Iris rushes to the stage.

The open stage is dominated by a large wooden ship with full sails. There are some colorfully clad pirates on deck, waving bottles of some strong drink, while they sing a rowdy song, accompanied by a minstrel. Apparently it's a birthday song and it soon becomes clear that they celebrating a very young and innocent looking pirate who's turning 21 today and thus reaching his maturity and independence.

Pour, oh pour the pirate sherry

hill, oh fill the pirate glass

And, to make us more than merry,

Let the pirate bumper pass.

For to-day our pirate 'prentice

Rises from indenture freed

Strong his arm and keen his scent is

He's a pirate now indeed !

Here's good luck to Frodric's ventures !

Frodric's out of his indentures.

Two-and-twenty now he's rising,

And alone he's fit to fly,

Which we're bent on signalizing

With unusual revelry.

Here's good luck to Frodric's ventures !

Frodric's out of his indentures.

oh pour the pirate sherry, &c.

"Well I know…? What?" Thadeus replies to Maera with an amused smirk. "Less handsome…?" He chuckles at his own jest, leaning back to echange a brief glance with his retainers. "I may not claim to cut half an imposing figure as you, my lady." He is not exactly rude, just his normal boastful and slightly impertinent self.

The pirates, be it noted, with the exception of their dark-tressed feminine comrade, are all attired in long, flamboyant wigs and beards of 'silver' hair (in fact largely blond and profuse, though apparently genuine, but charmingly spiced up with a little silver wire here and there, which catches the light with occasionally exotic results). The jolly drinking song muddles along, accompanied by a spirited, if chaotic, set of fiddlers and lutenists and flautists and what have you, with some particularly stirring, but discordant, notes emanating from the wings, where a strong, undisciplined, melodious voice appears to have substituted the words 'Arbor's bounty' for 'pirate sherry.'

It is, then, perhaps scarcely a surprise when Vixenbane in his flamboyant, even regal pirate captain's get up takes to the stage, his normally pale features flushing - and in any case rouged - ferociously from behind a luscious silvery beard. Unlike his crew, Valerio seems to have got his hands on a high-quality construction made of actual Lysene hair. He stands taller than his fellows, and, for all the flowing beard's intended effect, evidently younger than most of them, too. He carries a cutlass in one hand and a bottle in the other; neither look like innocent stage props.

Madrighal switches to the lute for the performance itself as he can't blow a lizard and sing at the same time. His counter tenor twines with the deeper voices of the other pirates as his fingers dance along the strings.

Somewhere between all those feasting pirates appears suddenly that fine young lass, black hair falls openly about her shoulders in a wild manner, a pirate hat resting above all of that wealth of hair in a slanted way. Her attire, well, something close to a dress, bound tightly about the waist, pushing her shapely curves a little upwards for a pleasing decollete, the skirt, slitted on both sides, revealing long shapely legs that will show now and then. This comely pirate wench suddenly moves to the front, with two other girls in tow. That is when the musicians will launch into a cheerful melody, and the blackhaired girl will soon join in, her pleasing voice intoning her introductory theme song.

"There is no rose without a thorn

That's just the way I was when I was born

I grew up in poverty, until I ran off.

The life in a village - it too put me off

To waste it there would be a sin. (and here she winks)

A lovely lass, I've always been

A girl of good looks such as me

Has plenty advantages with he and he

The Pirates are fierce for a reason.

To be without women through many a season.

It makes them grumpy as hell.

And makes them appreciate a beautiful gal.

Makes them appreciate a Claribel."

And here Claribel finally arrives before the young pirate and offers him a lascivious wink.

From the ruling Box, there's some soft murmurs of those whom the Hightowers call guests, as the rather large chair is taken. The figure kept out of view given the oe'r hang of the box, and that focus should be indeed on the stage. Once seated, the other guest is quick to quiet down the others in his box with a gesture of his hand, before eyes are to the execution of the action on stage.

Frodric, the young pirate, blushes a little when Claribel joins him downstage and winks at him. He heaves a big theatrical sigh as he explains how happy he has been to spend the last years as a pirate's apprentice and how much he enjoyed their company. Hers especially, if the look down her cleavage is anything to go by. But then he turns to look at the dashing Pirate King holding court and praises him as a fine specimen of humankind.

Layne comes in from the forecourt.

"You're pretty enough, Bull Fish." Maera says, "But half the men in the Reach are pretty. Pretty…" She stretches languidly in her seat, "And so very bland." Her lips curve up into a wry smile when she is called imposing, "Am I? Do you normally find women's trappings imposing?" She curves her arm back to brush it along her side without disturbing the occupant of the next seat, "Is it my gown? Perhaps my braids?"

The 'King' of the jolly Lysene band is courteous enough in response to his apprentice's fulsome compliments, declaring that a finer hand never swabbed a deck or rigged a painter and all that sort of thing, but it's pretty easy to tell that this is one Pirate King who has time only for himself. And, judging by a fleeting wink to the buccaneering lass, possibly at a distant second Claribel. He's clearly playing to the audience, though, saluting the Hightower and the Lannister boxes with a cutlass blade full of implicit aplomb, and searching the crowd with flashing blue eyes and a jeering grin through his silvery beard.

In the groundling court, to the wink there is some hooting and whistling, as the commonfolk do enjoy a good lacivious wink and of course pirates. What good course men could not enjoy pirates? For the most part, there's been no heckling from the masses located in the open yard. One man of nigh high height manuevers amongst the fishmongers, ale sots and others who spent their three coppers wisely to partake in a performance of the arts-though unlike the other unwashed here, he is not of these Southron blooded fools, and his own complexion and features give him off. Northman. And strange enough this Northman, Layne, sports the makeshift robes of a Septon-or so it should look.

"Th' mummer squarin' a th' Lysene is doin' a fine a job." he asides to some man beside him. "He's no paunch, but he fits the bark fine."

'Claribel' beams with relief as she has managed to deliver her song in a much better way than during the last rehearsal, her blue gaze drifting towards 'Frodric' next, her red lips curve even into a lop-sided grin as she notices his admiration for her comely front. She seems hardly able to shift her attention from young Frodric. But then she remembers her role, and Claribel's gaze will drift back towards the Pirate King, as he approaches, admiration (now that's part of her role) written all over her face as she draws near to the impressive man, leaving young Frodric standing where he is.

Frodric watches Claribel for a while longer, then catches up with her and takes her hand.

"Claribel, run away with me! Let's start our own pirate crew!", the young man begs of her.

But alas, he only gets a gentle laugh from the sassy wench, whose focus is now fully on the impressive Pirate King. Frodric tries once more to get her attention, but finally gives up with a sigh and wanders off to the far edge of the stage, head hanging low.

It is left to the fearsome regal pirate captain to explain to his pirates (and the audience) that they were handed Frodric as a young boy to be their apprentice until he'd turn 21 - which is today. Frodric steps forward with a little smile to start a speech:

"This afternoon my obligation towards you ceases. Individually, I love you all with affection unspeakable, but, collectively, I look upon you with a disgust that amounts to absolute detestation. Oh ! pity me, my beloved friends, for such is my sense of duty that, once out of my indentures, I shall feel myself bound to devote myself heart and soul to your extermination !"

The Pirate King nods solemnly to this: "Well, Frodric, if you conscientiously feel that it is your duty to destroy us, we cannot blame you or acting on that conviction. Always act in accordance with the dictates of your conscience, my boy, and chance the consequences. Besides, we can offer you but little temptation to remain with us. We don't seem to make piracy pay. I'm sure I don't know why, but we don't…. I am a widely celebrated Pirate King after all…."

Ensconced in her box above the common herd, Cora Baratheon has been watching the mummers disport themselves upon the stage with the same expression of reserved good humour with which she regards — well, the mummers upon society's stage, whose belated arrivals and cheeky departures and whisperings to their companions do draw some small quantity of her attention. Her own jewel-encrusted goblet hasn't needed to be topped up; but one of her maids leans forward now and again to pour for the knights flanking her, whose good humour is in consequence losing its reserve. In time, however, her gaze develops the habit of following the Pirate King in his extravagant perambulations, and she is obliged to send her fan flicking across the Lannister man's wrist to shut him up so she may listen.

Seizing up a pennant with the dread black ensign of Lysene privateers, Vixenbane now launches into his most popular early number, touched up, be it whispered, by his own hand…

"Oh, better far to live and die

Under the brave black flag I fly,

Than play a sanctimonious part,

With a silver head and a blackened heart.

Away to the cheating world go you,

Where pirates all are well to do; (at this juncture he waves at the Lannister box with his cutlass),

But I'll be true to the song I sing,

And live and die a Lysene King…"

Madrighal switches to a hurdy gurdy in a sling so as to dance along with the other Pirates for the number.

'Claribel' will notice Frodric's reaction, and when he moves off, she'll hurry after him. But not until the pirate king has presented his song. "Frodric! Stay. What is the matter? I'd love to go with you…!" Her voice trembles, and tears threaten to spill from her comely blue eyes, as she extends her arms for a tender hug. And then she suddenly pauses and lets go of the young pirate, slowly turning towards the audience now, in very convincing bewilderment. "Now what in the Seven Hells is a comely pirate wench to do? Take this… admittedly handsome young Fordric and look after him, help him, encourage him…. bah. NO! Or…" And here her gaze shifts to the Vixenbane. "Or rather choose to be with the PIRATE KING as his PIRATE QUEEEEEEN?????" Her voice raised in a very stagelike exaggerated manner. before she turns towards the auditorium. "So…? Which one should I take?"

The horde of not all that well-disciplined 'silver-headed' pirates are now, naturally, all the while bellowing how it is it is a glorious thing to be a Pirate King, or Lysene Thing, or whatever really comes into their fair and nugatory heads.

The audience is clearly divided over the issue, with some of the groundlings pointing towards Frodric in his corner and others towards the Pirate King. "Take the tall one, Missy, 'e's richer!", one man shouts and his female companion adds: "An' better hung, I reckon!" There's some whistling and hooting from the bystanders and it seems favour is now shifting towards the King, helping Claribel to make a decision.

A confident smile curls the Bull Fish's lips at Maera's statement about him being pretty. "I am more than that, I assure you," he says shooting her an amused glance, before he pauses, pondering her question. "It is certainly not your attire nor the way you wear your hair, Lady Maera.", Thadeus replies then, evenly. "But let me put it this way. I recognize a bear when I see one. There is some of a predator in your gaze. As if you'd want to spread fear wherever you go. That may be a safe road, my lady. But, a dull one indeed - because how to have fun when there's noone to have it with? So… isn't it ironic indeed, you accuse me of being dull,… when mayhaps we'd be the perfect pair?" He chuckles softly, his gaze drifting towards the stage now to linger on the comely pirate wench for a long while.

"Take none!" The Northman issues out with a bellow, which likely get's a laugh from some of the other groundlings, though it seems more and more favor the King, which the Lysene must be making a good show of himself to have won over the yard. Though there are a few cheers of None, as who knows where the story would indeed go. Layne, merely grins, is teeth easily spotted as it turns into a smile. It really is a fine show.

The 'King' may be rich and may be virile, but he's certainly bloody pleased with himself, and he takes the audience's approval as an invitation to launch into an encore of his opening tune, with a slightly fresh, and more ferocious verse. Perhaps he aims to serenade Claribel, but in truth it looks and sounds more as if he's simply playing to the gallery. Especially the boxes.

"When I sally forth to seek my prey,

I help myself in a royal way :

I sink a few more ships, it's true,

Than even a kraken ought to do ;

But many a king on the Iron Throne,

If he wants to call his crown his own,

Must manage somehow to get through

More dirty work than ever / do,

For I am a Pirate King…" …and so on.

The line of Lady Baratheon's lips grows faintly thinner each time the Pirate King takes it into his fair and nugatory head to salute her with his gaudy glass-jeweled cutlass. She beckons forward her steward and without taking her eyes off the stage murmurs to him certain directions; he bows to her back and extracts himself discreetly from the box.

Madrighal hesitates, then makes a quick bridge to reprise the Pirate's opening tune.

'Claribel' lets her gaze drift over the auditorium, tilting her head here and quirking a brow there as she hears the various suggestions coming from the spectators. "None?", she echoes, pondering. "Then whose bed will I warm at night? As night's do indeed get /cold/ now and then…" The pirate wench pauses again, to shoot Frodric a glance. "The cutie?", she muses aloud, before she gives the pirate king a look next, smirking as he launches into that encore. "Or the… hottie?", she asks once he is done. It is then that she shrugs and returns to Frodric.

"I am soooo sorry, Frodric dear. But the answer is: No. I will stay with the Pirate King."

Frodric looks very much dejected by the rejection and heaves a theatrical sigh. "Then I must seek my own way in the world!", he declares dramatically and, after offering Claribel one last hurt glance, wanders off. Behind him, stage hands craftily sneak on to roll the pirate ship off stage along with the pirates, the Pirate King and Claribel. Where the ship had been, a rocky shore and a small beach is now revealed. Frodric stands alone for a moment, a picture of utter teenage desolation. But there is giggling heard and steps approaching, so he quickly runs to hide behind the "rock" to watch what wil happen.

In the wings, though, the pirates are still in character and discipline and tranquility does not immediately come over them…least of all their captain, who bows and gives Claribel's hand a swift and gallant kiss. "My dear darling wench, you were quite marvellous tonight," he enthuses… "Quite wasted in a tavern! Even the finest tavern in Westeros, which I admit the Quill probably is, …while you reside in it, anyway."

"I've never heard of a predator being called dull." Maera says easily enough. "And you think I am alone? Hmm. You may think what you like. But, do you know what I think?" She pauses for affect, "I think you're used to passive little beauties who let you do as you please when you please. You see women as objects to do things to. Not people who make their own way, and trust me. I make my own way." She smirks, "You wouldn't know what to do with a woman like me because you don't know how to treat women as your equal."

A group of girls emerges, climbing over rocks of painted wood, chattering, giggling and huming all along. Amongst them there is one that catches the eye, one with a dress more fair and notably more glittering than those of the others.

Maybel's wig curls in golden (very, very golden!) perfection, having taken care of everything that could remind of the beary brown that grows usually on her head and turning the youth with a few swift nudges from bear cub into the radiant young girl.

The fierce eyes are outlined with and softened by coals, her lips reddened by the constant biting paid as taxes in the reign of her grave concentration but now bent by a smile of mirth and merriment. Soon she let's her chirpy, chirrupy silver-singing easily convince of the actress' jittery swamp-rabbit-temperament, her knowsomebetter hay-lark-demeanor.

(well, at least no one could hold a lack of enthusiasm against her. She flutters her lashes really hard while she sings)

"Climbing over rocky mountain,

Skipping rivulet and fountain,

Passing where the willows quiver

By the ever-rolling river,

Swollen with the summer rain

Threading long and leafy mazes

Dotted with unnumbered daisies

Scaling rough and rugged passes,

Climb the hardy little lasses…"

There's a bit of a snort that comes from the Hightower's box, as the Voice, seems somewhat amused by the sligh indication of Lannisters being pirates. But, for the most part-Ormund remains silent as he continues to watch and seemingly enjoy the play. A servant quietly comes up with drink, though it is declined. Instead he places his hand up and shelves his chin there.

Madrighal blows his lizard off stage to support the love song.

Frodric watches the group of girls larking about with wide eyes. But at some point he loses balance where he is perched on the rock and a small boulder rolls away, towards the girls. One girl notices first the boulder, then the young man and shrieks in alarm. Her shrieks alert the others who shriek as well, until they all giggle and stare at the surprise visitor curiously.

Frodric takes a brave step forward, bows deeply and introduces himself: "My name is Frodric… and I seek to start a new reformed life on the shore… would one of you fair damsels be willing to help me?", he asks with his best puppy-eyed look, adding a few lines in song:

"Oh, is there not one maiden breast

Which does not feel the moral beauty

Of making worldly interest

Subordinate to sense of duty ?

Who would not give up willingly

All matrimonial ambition.

To rescue such an one as I

From his unfortunate position ?

Thadeus' attention is soon distracted from the pirate wench on stage as the Mormont continues their little discourse. His grey-blue eyes shift to meet Maera's gaze and clearly there is a sparkle of amusement in his glance. "I could say exactly the same thing," he quips back, attempting a faux menacing glare there. "I've been called such now and then. But probably in another sense." Again a soft chuckle leaves his lips. Then he adds: "Oh, I like them rather active, really," smirking before he falls silent again. Her remark about treating women as equals has him snort. "Pshh." He shakes his head. "You've got some strange convictions, Lady Bear."

The glittering girl steps forth, a movement with enough vigour to honour a sword-fighter in a fray but mayhaps not quite the elegance to be expected of fair Maybel. Luckily her voice does not fail her, clear and full it fills the room with sweetness as she picks the lad uplike she would have plucked a spring flower.

Poor wandering one !

Though thou hast surely strayed.

Take heart of grace,

Thy steps retrace,

Poor wandering one !

Poor wandering one !

If such poor love as mine

Can help thee find

True peace of mind -

Why, take it, it is thine !

Take heart, fair days will shine ;

Take any heart - take mine !

Now the other girls join in, daintily following Maybel's melody but not without commenting on Frodric's ruggedly handsome charms with:

Take heart, no danger lowers

Take any heart - but ours !

Be that as it may - Maybel is obviously smitten. Sighingly smitten, smitten with fluttering lashes and even an emphatic hand raised to her young, quivering chest - this time delivered with enough sincereness to convince a bigger part of the audience

"Pirates ain't reformed they're hung!" someone says from the yard, to which Layne is turning back. "Not all o' them laddy buck!" and there a gesture is made to indicate the -ahem- length in which one may carry their sword. This gets a few laughs from the other groundlings, but then attention is back towards those on the stage, specially when there is singing afoot. And there eyes a squint for a moment to the stage.

Maera's smirk widens into a grin, "Tell that to the Warrioresses on my Island. I'd wager than more than half of them could lay you out flat on your arse." That said she looks towards the stage just as 'Maybel' saunters forth with her swordswoman swagger. Any amusement in Maera's face is quickly extinguished, and her lips are pressed into a thin line.

Frodric is instantly smitten by the fair Maybel and her sweet charming voice and soon enough his arm wraps around her as he hugs her and joins her for the last bars of the song, turning it into a sweet duet. But - OH! While they are still singing at the front of the stage, it seems the gang of pirates is sneaking up upon the other girls, who are still milling about by the rocks.

Some say the Dornish are no better than pirates themselves. So, it must be with a fair frame of reference that Prince Alaryn Martell apparently enjoys the show from a small gathering of his household with a fine vantage point of both crowd and stage from near the fore of the amphitheatre's upper seats. While the Raptor of Dorne has shown some attention to the comings and goings of various faces— familiar and not— for the most part he's worn a look of whimsy and amusement whilst sipping strongwine and taking in the unfolding drama on stage with an intent and observant eye.. and no shortage of quiet chuckles.

"Hanged!" the 'King' corrects to the crowd as he pounces back upon the stage, but through all his swagger and rouge he looks a little paler. Not only has Claribel kept resisting his blandishments, but a short visit from a yellow (genuine) haired serving man has brought about his worst fears. So there is a certain tetchy sincerity in the fierceness with which he leads the danced out kidnap of the hapless maidens…bellowing his way after the brief struggle into, yes, a fresh song…

Madrighal sneaks with exaggerated care, going all out for the campy comical. He lurks. He tiptoe darts from rock to rock. He pops up suddenly from behind a rock with a step ladder, so as to cover the tallest of the chorus maiden's mouth's. As he is barely 5'3" and the maiden is a strapping girl of six feet, the ladder is clearly necessary. somehow, he manages to drag the fainting maiden of stage with much tugging and comical strain.

"The play is not over," Claribel mutters, although her mien is lightened up with a smile, surprised at the compliment perhaps. "But thank you, you are giving an impressive performance as well, Valerio." A shy smile flickers over her mien, when she hears their cue. "Quick! The assault!" And she rushes back on stage.

Indeed pirates have sneaked up on those poor innocent comely maidens, and Claribel is among the kidnappers. Enjoying it, as it seems, as she roars. "Hahaha. Poor girls. Your ours now!" Said as she turns to the pirate king who just appears by her side now.

The maidens shriek and cry out in panic and there is a big flutter of silky skirts, shawls and hat, arms waved about and one unfortunate pirate is hit over the head with a lady's dainty parasol.

"Here's a first-rate opportunity

To get married with impunity ;

And indulge in the felicity

Of unbounded domesticity.

You shall quickly be parsonified,

Conjugally matrimonified, By a maester of the citadel,

who was unchained when he split a girl…"

But for himself, the King stands aloof as he sings, and only grins diabolically at Claribel by his side.

"I do not find anything wrong with getting laid, my lady," Thadeus quips back. "Although… I'm curious. What kind of man would such dominant personalities such as these warrioresses prefer? Subservient weaklings? Or… bears, rather?" Noting Maera's look, the Bull Fish will follow her gaze towards the innocent Maybel on stage. "Is there anything amiss?"

And amongst this declaration and much equally edifying hooting, the pirates carry their unfortunate prey back offstage.

Frodric has been watching the kidnapping in helpless anger and now looks at Maybel, clearly upset. "Seven Hells!", he gasps, "What are we going to do?" Obviously expecting the fair young lady to have a solution ready.

The steward Elfrid Hill insinuates himself once more into the lioness's den, and bends to clear his throat just behind her golden-veiled ear. He speaks a few words. Lady Baratheon breathes a question. He speaks again. She nods, and indicates that she shall have a drop more of the Arbor red after all. Why, as the pirates make good their escape, she almost appears to be enjoying herself.

"Are men all separated into the category of weakling or bear? Are they not people?" Maera's tone is distracted. The flirting is done, it seems. She draws in a breath, and releases it before saying, "The gold-haired Maiden is my sister. I did not give her permission to do this."

There is a worried expression on the actress' face, but the light-hearted optimism of Maybel soon shows it lingers more on the Ulyka part of the girl that glances at the audience. Of course there is a solution at hand, and a swift one!

Chirpingly Maybel assures Frodric. "Don't you worry. Neither you, nor those girls won't have to fear anything. For my father will surely help us out. Yes, yes, he is a famous Reachknight! "

A tall, stern looking man enters the stage and echoes his daughter's lines in a sonorous (and slightly threatening) barritone "Yes, yes - I am a famous Reachknight."

After another song the threatening undertone turns into more soft-hearted verses that speak of the father's jovial competence and the willingness to help the two young ones out.

At the sudden apperance of a famous Reachknight, Ormund leans forward as eyes narrow in small scrunity of who indeed could be there, likely trying to see whom they are lampooning with this sudden twist. A small frown showing on his visage, and then he is leaning back. Apparently the Reach lord in attendance is not entirely amused.

The famous Reach knight promises to rouse the gold cloaks and go hunting for the pirates to free the girls. Once he's rushed off the stage and Maybel chirpily announces she'll prepare dinner for her new happy family. Leaving Frodric alone on stage to wring his hands theatrically and in clear dismay. Here's his love for Maybel, there's his love for the pirates that took care of him. "Oh, what am I going to do?", he asks the audience, but obviously he expects no reply, for he slowly wanders off the stage….

"Ah… probably," Thadeus replies to Maera's question, a faint smile curling his lips. Some of the lightness leaving his features as he hears the shocking news. "You don't say…", he mutters, and there is surprisingly little mockery in his tone, as his grey-blue eyes follow the proceedings on the stage, studying Maybel for a moment, before he shakes his head ever so lightly in astonishment.

Maera lets out a sigh that might best be described as defeat, and says nothing else.

Madrighal returns with his lute and bows, "As our fearless Reach Knight prepares his expedition against our dashing pirates, please enjoy some refreshments and the charms of our lovely orange girls? He returns to the troop and begins to play a dance tune of clearly Dornish origin. The accompaniment is simple, mostly percussion for beat and a viole de gamba carrying the melody, while Madrighal plays increasingly intricate counterpoint progressions the weave around the melody like a snake.

"Marry yer hand!" comes one yell. "Get Drunk, laddo!" another bellows out from the yard, followed by raucous laughter. Layne, for his own self, chortles along with the other commonfolk in the pit. Though with intermission coming, he with the others-claps and whistles. Clearly there are high hopes for the second half. And now he's looking to see what vendors will be let back in. Mayhaps he can snag an apple, from an apple-girl or some other refreshment.

Backstage, Vixenbane rushes about frenetically, congratulating each and every one of the minor maiden singers…and stealing a flower from each one. This hastily assembled bouquet is stuffed into a startled pirate's grasp, and the fellow is hurriedly dispatched over to the Lannister Box with the Lysene King's compliments.

The Dornish bard playing a familiar tune is a welcome outro to the first act of the production that extends the stay of the thoughtful, wry smile on Alaryn's features, which has faded only slightly from the performance of the Reach's famed knighthood. A murmur is passed to the attendant beside him, before the Raptor's attention lingers on the performers playing out the intermission with that same, amused consideration. One of the benefits of status is wine to refill one's cup without seeking it out, and so the Prince of Dorne stays settled where he is, watching the variant show that continues below.

Having been placed in the audience, Brynden leans back in his seat a bit thoughtfully now. He's keeping silent as he does, glancing around at the others watching as well for a few moments.

Orange girls filter into the theater with very low cut gowns and trays of refreshments. The have the titular oranges of course, as well as comfits, roast nuts, Dornish delight, and cider. A number of other more discreet services are generally available along with the refreshments.

But not in the auditorium!!!!

Ormund quietly comments to a few of the guests in the box, his own views on the play, and his own soft laughter mingling in with others in his box and below. though likely his own thoughts do not filter beyond those seated close to him. This being his first performance to attend here in Oldtown, he's clearly making the most of it.

Whilst the minstrel below declares an interruption to the official piratical goings-on, Lady Baratheon's retinue prepares for boarders: those relations and acquaintances of hers who, having been acknowledged earlier with a nod or a small wave of her lacy white handkerchief, feel obliged now to come and pay their respects to the well-heeled fossil in question. The knights who have been paying court to her throughout are excused one by one to stretch their legs (and possibly inspect the occasional orange), leaving two places in her box for callers to be rotated through on a strict basis of two minutes apiece, or three for family. How many minutes, then, for a pirate bearing a lopsided bunch of wildflowers? No minutes. No minutes at all. The maid Vika brings in the floral apologia, holding the ribbon-wrapped stems fastidiously betwixt thumb and forefinger: she repeats the accompanying message, and is directed by her impassive mistress to place the flowers on the wide ledge which curves round the front of the box, next to the fan and the handkerchief and the goblet of wine. Then Lady Baratheon simply sniffs and indicates her willingness to receive her next round of guests. One never can avoid that Lefford creature for long.

When some 'Dornish Delight' is offered the half septon, there's a queer enough grin given the girl, before he is shaking his head. "No no, pet. You won't get silvers from me." he adds, even though she does try to up the ante with a peek of fest, from low hanging bodice. Another shake, and instead he reaches for an apple on the girl's tray of wares, and pays 5 coppers, a bit more than an apple costs-which should hopefully abate the disappointment. However, there's a nother male in the crowd, whose' not for apples and is quick to fork over silver. Parting ways, Layne moves an elbows his way to get closer to the stage.

All whist munching an apple.

The tabor player slowly increases the beat, the viole and lute, speeding up their Dornish dance tune to suit. By the end of interval, it is a race to see who's fingers stumble first. In the event, it is the viole de Gamba, player, who fails a change of cord, bow screeching across strings. The drummer and the lute carry to the finish of the progression, when the taborist brings it to an end with an emphatic thump on his skin. All three musicians bow, the diminutive lutenist stepping forward yet again to declaim, "Ladies and Lords, Men and Women, prepare to be amazed as our performance continues!"

Once the general hubbub of the interval has ceased and most of the audience is in their seats again, the show resumes. The second act begins with the Reach Knight strutting back onto the stage with a bunch of goldcloaks in tow. They all sing a fierce and proud warrior-like tune, promising to bring the pirates down to a swift merciless end and to restore law and order in Pentos. While they are still dancing and singing, Frodric and Maybel appear again at the side of the stage, their arms entwined like two people happily in love. But the more the goldcloaks sing about killing the pirates, the more Frodric's smile freezes and turns into a frown. As the number ends amid a big round of applause, the knight slaps Frodric's shoulder heavily.

"It's most kind of you, young man, to lead the way to the pirates' hide-away and help us bring them down!", he announces confidently, before striding off as well. Frodric tears himself away from him and Maybel, bemoaning once again his conflicted loyalties.

A wander around the stage brings him to a rocky cove somewhere at the coast… and there seem to be two people… once again Frodric hides behind a rock to find out what's going on here…

Thadeus leans back in his seat, gesturing for one of his retainers to bring him some wine - and the lady of course, should she wish it. He will be quiet for now and let his grey-blue gaze drift over the auditorium, to check if any acquaintances are about. The retainer returns and hands the Bull Fish and the She-Bear a goblet of wine each. That is if she is still there and does not object. Because now the play is about to continue.

"Amazed indeed," Brynden mutters to himself, words kept very quiet as he looks to the stage again, watching the happenings now.

Those two shapes are soon revealed to be noone else but the Pirate King and the sassy pirate wench Claribel, enjoying a moment of… supposedly unwatched tranquility. Again, the music begins to play, a dreamy and somehow seductive tune. And again, Claribel raises her voice, a voice that manages a clean and nice delivery that is easy on the ears - just as before.

"Evry Pirate King needs to rest now and then

Enjoy a bit of wine with me - and tranquility

Come over here and rest your head

Can you hear my heart beating

As I hear yours too

Hear yours too…"

And here Claribel pulls the Pirate King closer and mayhaps a touch down that his ear may be close to that comely decollete of hers. Raising her voice once again for the second verse.

"There are times for raids and times for love,

And every Pirate King needs his Pirate Queen

B'sides a Pirate King needs a Pirate Heir

And Pirate Heirs - they don't grow on trees

They don't grow on trees?"

And here the music fades and Claribel's voice trails off into a moment of silence, as she raises her blue flickering gaze to meet that of the Vixenbane, moistening her lips, preparing what will be a chaste kiss to the pirate king's cheek, but hesitating as she shoots him a sideways glance, one of her brows rising a touch, as if in a silent warning. Those lips however, are curled into a smile.

"Bloody Kiss him!" comes a woman's voice from the Groundlings, who is quickly and quietly shushed by a few of the men around her. There may be a sniffle there as well, followed by snickers. The groundlings are indeed enthralled in this moment of faux and spied upon intimacy. The commonfolk love their stories.

The 'Vixenbane' seems to strut onto the stage with a new daredevil confidence, a supplementary twirl of his whiskers and his cutlass, a heedless, defiant attitude to…whatever restriction has hitherto held him in check. He has absolutely no hesitation in pulling in Claribel close, and kisses like a man who has never heard of the existence of resistance. Kisses like a Lysene. Like a pirate. Like a king!

Maera takes the glass of wine with a murmured thanks. She has a good swallow out of it before resting it on her knee to watch the rest of the performance. When the Vixenbane kisses the Pirate wench her brow creeps upwards, "Amadys Baratheon is still good at something, it seems."

There may be light twitch of her brows, a gasp of surprise when the pirate king pulls her close and turns the kiss into a much less chaste version than intended, in a fervent way that has her gasp for air when it is broken. But then her hand moves to the back of the Vixenbane's head, as 'Claribel' once again brings her lips closer to his, kissing him back actually this second time. This kiss may last for a scandalously long time…

Until…

Frodric falls off his rock with a loud thump and a slightly less loud curse. For a moment it's obvious that the young actor has lost his grip on the character and looks clearly annoyed, then he rallies and pulls himself together. He gets to his feet, clears his throat and calls out in his stage voice "Pirate King! Claribel! I'm so glad that I have found you! YOu are in grave danger! The goldcloaks are looking for you!", he announces breathlessly without looking either of them quite in the eye.

"And somewhere, men are cringing-and Novices in the Citadel weep with envy." Ormund murmurs to his companion, who allows a demure laugh at his jape. A lick of his lips, and there the Voice leans back, shifting ever so in his large comfy-and plush chair. And three as the kiss continues there's a look over to a knight in his entourage for a moment-that is until Frodric seems to appear and interrupt. "Thank you.." murmured and back to the action at hand.

With all eyes on this disgraceful display of adolescent lust, probably no one notices Cora Baratheon in her box above, draining her goblet of wine and gazing frosty-eyed at the stage whilst she holds it out to be replenished.

With…consummate…professionalism, Valerio suddenly breaks off from the embrace and whips out that…cutlass…again…perhaps leaving his fellow performer gagging for further excitement…depending upon her own self-discipline. His theatricality seems assisted by a little special sincerity as he rounds on his unfortunate former apprentice with fury worthy of a raging stag…ahem…in those dark, dark blue eyes. "What brings you crawling back, you cur? What rashness goads you to this place? / To creep where betters dally, with your Westerosi face!" He chants, rather than sings these lines, as he leaps forth, cutlass veering gleefully from its sash.

Claribel will stare at Frodric with astonishment and maybe a slightly guilty look to her face, as she jumps to her feet, her voice shaking with indignation. "How dare you, Frodric? We were having a private moment. Right?" Glaring daggers at the young and innocent pirate, before her gaze jumps to the auditorium again and she turns to address the audience. "That's very ill manners to sneak up on a romantic scene as this. And sort of sick too…" Rolling her eyes there as she pointedly turns her back towards Frodric.

"Dear Seven, I wouldn't wanna be poked with that." someone comments on the rather excited cutlass work going on, on stage. There's a bit of cackling there, as more shout out their own responses, before dying down. Layne continues to chomp on his apple, noisly munching along, which earns a bit of a shush from someone nigh him.

'Frodric' is fully back in character how, lifting his hands as if to ward off the Pirate King's fearsome cutlass. "Pray, calm yourself, good King, I've come to issue a warning!", he repeats urgently and frowns at Claribel as well, "The crew so stupidly kidnapped fair damsels from the village and now the goldcloaks are after you to kill you all! Do not tarry, flee, while you can!", he implores them both, taking another step back from the mighty cutlass. THough he actually looks a little wistful as he seems to remember his good times with the pirates now.

Brynden raises an eyebrow as he watches now, looking a little amused as he does. There's a glance around at the others nearby, before he looks back on the stage and the happenings there.

"Oh yes, he is, obviously," Thadeus comments on the kissing ability of the Baratheon with a slightly amused smirk. His eyes flitting briefly towards Maera, noting she has accepted the wine when he raises his own goblet to his lips to take a sip of the wine, while his attention returns to the action on stage. There is a laugh at Claribel's indignated comment towards the audience though.

The Pirate King's stagey wrath appears to be assuaged after he has some fun play-fighting, effortlessly disarming Frodric, pinning him against a ruinous pillar and so on. But then he sheathes his cutlass all of a sudden. "W shall not flee till we have taken what we are owed…you, Frodric!"

Whereupon, the maritime monarch launches into his second major number, a song of trickery, treachery, and legal chicanery, worthy of such Lysene scum.

"When you had left our pirate fold,

We tried to raise our spirits faint,

According to our custom old,

With quips and quibbles quaint.

But all in vain, the quips we heard,

We lay and sobbed upon the rocks,

Until to somebody occurred

A startling paradox…"

With an increasingly lascivious, gloating tone the merry 'King' reveals that poor Frodric is in fact bounden in service not merely for one and twenty years…but summers!

"One and twenty summers!", Frodric gasps in dismay, "But… but…! I will still be bound to you for years! Oh, what do I tell my fair Maybel? It will break her poor little heart!" But admit much sighing, he does finally nod - perhaps he's not so reluctant to rejoin the pirates after all… "I shall have to inform my dear Maybel!", he announces, "In the meantime, courage, dear King!" He makes a fist and throws his arm up in what he hopes is a gesture of encourage, "Stand tall against the goldcloaks…!"

Frodric then runs off, shouting for "Maybel! Maybel!" and looking around for her while he sings. Finally she appears and he falls on his knees in front of her, explaining the mistake of the pirate contract and that he will be bound to them for one and twenty summers.

"Please, dearest Maybel, wait for me!", he implores her and sings a mournful little tune:

"I find my duty hard to do to-day!

My heart is filled with anguish dire,

It strikes me to the core.

Away, away I must!"

"What is this tripe?" calls someone before another answers back "Boring tripe me thinks." and more catcalls insue, though the crowd, while not angry is starting to become rowdy as apparently the groundlings have no stomach, or care for such things as legal documents. And so, some attention wavers, but they are staring-even if aglazed to the stage.

Ormund raises a brow, as he continues to deny another drink offered him. A look is given to a nearby knight before he is motioning. "He can have mine." And there a yawn gets past the Voice's lips, as he continues to listen to the legalspeak. Interesting addition to a play, in but a boring way.

"This is stupid." Maera murmurs in agreement. "I mean, why apprentice under a pirate if you have no intention of being a pirate? It's like someone apprenticing under a blacksmith to become a butcher."

When Frodric steps forth to the edge of the stage, others buzz back and forth to rebuild the scenery and deliver him to with his sad little ballad Maybel.

The longing and -quite- tragic expressions to fit with the lines she proclaims are, naturally, delivered with the utmost passion.

When Maybel reaches out to gently touch Frodric's hand, Ulyka makes sure her squeeze is strong enough to make sure the lad hits the high notes as clearly as needed. Her own voice does not fail her today, on the contrary! Gold is poured into the audience's ears (as rare as they may be today)

Ah, leave me not to pine

Alone and desolate ;

No fate seemed fair as mine.

No happiness so great !

And nature, day by day.

Has sung, in accents clear,

This joyous roundelay,

" He loves thee ? he is here.

Fa-la, la-la, Fa-la.

Frodric joins her in the sweet but sad duet:

Ah, must I leave thee here

In endless night to dream,

Where joy is dark and drear,

And sorrow all supreme !

Where nature, day by day,

Will sing, in altered tone,

This weary roundelay,

Both. Fa-la, la-la, Fa-la !

He loves thee ? he is gone.

Fa-la, la-la, Fa-la."

Fa-la, la-la, Fa-la!" the two actors sing

Frod: In eighteen decades I of age shall be,

I'll then return, and claim you ? I declare it !

Maybel. It seems so long !

Frodric answers with " Swear that, till then, you will be true to me. "

Maybel, finally ends with an optimistic: " Yes, I'll be strong!"

As the sweet duet ends, Frodric wraps his arms around Maybel to pull her in for a soft happy kiss. But apparently the actor is still a tiny bit riled over what he witnessed just a few minutes ago and takes the kissing a little bit too seriously….

Maera does not look amused.

Alas, at least Claribel seems not to be around to witness Fordric's endeavours. She seems to have vanished from the stage.

Ormund raises double brows here, before he is leaning forwad in his chair again. "Well..I don't believ that's how one kisses someone they love." he adds briefly before leaning back. My this play has all sorts of complex issues.

Maybel's fervent promise is soon drowned out by the sound of belligerent men, waiting to cross their wooden, but steel-coloured swords.

And a furious, blazing war cry announces the readiness of the Lysenes under their black ensign, with ther silver-blond manes whirling, for ruthless combat. "Away, away!," their captain half carols, half bellows, "my heart's on fire,

I burn these goldcloaks to devour.

This very night my vengeance dire

Shall glut itself in gore!"

A fanfare of trumpets announces the charge of the Knight of Great Renown and his squadron of goldcloaks! In their plate-pasteboard armour, with lances and blades and occasional human horses, and the advantage of a sudden and remorseless assault, they appear to be putting the Lysene corsairs to something close to rout, for all their 'King's' somewhat over-elaborate ferocity…

"Finally some bloody fighting. Kill 'em all!" And now raucous cheers come back up from the groundlings at the Knight of Great Renown's charge and the followed attacks of the goldcloaks on the Lysene corsairs. Layne continues to munch on his apple, until he's to the core, and now he is even considering that, as his next treat.

As the young Frodric leans forth to land a kiss on Maybel's lips he has not calculated on her strong Mormont hands to lead the strayed wanderer purposefully on her reddened cheek. "May the Maiden guide our way!" she hums with a mieschievous smile into the audience.

Madrighal emerges dressed as a gold cloak but waving his lizard about instead of a sword, tootling on it occationally for comic effect.

It is when the battle rages hardest that Claribel reappears, standing there suddenly on a nearby rock. She shakes her long black hair into place, and… her attire has slightly changed. Indeed, it is even more revealing than before, but then, it has to be given the task she has to perform. A bit of red coloured cloth has been wrapped about her chest, held in place by a brooch at her back, a bit of naked flesh showing as her belly and small of her back are not covered. Another piece of cloth in the same colour to match the other one, wrapped about her hips, leaving her long legs almost bare - in an definitely scandalous way. The black hair is whirled about, as Claribel launches into a slow seductive dance, her arms move like snakes. Her feet - bare as they are - move to step carefully from one stage rock to the other, as she turns, a shake of her hip here, and a twist of her shoulder there. And music can be heard as well, a reprise of her previous tune, albeit a slower and certainly more enticing version. After another moment she jumps from a 'rock' right into the midst of the fighting, her fingers brushing the faces and hands of the combatants, each of which will cease fighting upon the touch and suddenly look slightly dazed. As if she were the Maiden herself, bringing those stupid males to their senses by reminding them of the true priorities in life…

Brynden leans back in his chair as he watches now, his gaze still on the happenings out there on the stage.

This time, all is as it should be, no untoward collapsing occurs, and while the poor goldcloaks and even the normally solemn Knight hesitate and stagger about, hypnotised, the pirates easily disarm them. The Pirate King approaches Claribel very closely after forcing the Knight to yield…and after a moment takes her hand as an equal and formidable commander. "Bravely done, m'lass. Now, put 'em to the cutlass!"

Meanwhile the goldcloaks and Lysenes merge into a versatile, ringing chorus. "We / you triumph now, for well we trow

y/our mortal career's cut short,

No Lysene band will take its stand

At the Lord Confessor and Master of Laws' court."

But the piratical victory is overcome by the canniness of the knight of great renown, who perceives they are not what they seem, and demands that they yield in the name of their true king, Viserys the First of His Name of House Targaryen. In a blizzard of abandoned silver mains and applause, the buccaneers reveal themselves as Westerosi exiles in wigs…and therefore, one and all, suitable matches.

None more so than the unwigged, black of haired, very obviously and openly unmasked Amadys Baratheon, late of the Citadel…

"Shall I really?", Claribel replies to the pirate king's play of words. "I'd rather have our pirates to the dirty work, love." A little wink there, as a cloak suddenly is draped about her comely form, and she becomes a more proper display. She will move to the background however, to where Frodric and Maybel are, to await the end of the battle at a safer distance.

At his point, Ormund turns his head from the stage, even so as Claribel begins to dance and work her 'magic' on the men fighting on stage. Coughing slightly, the Voice of Oldtown waits until there's a bit for the dance to end, before he is looking back.

….and there was much rejoicing.

Especially among the girls who have suddenly found a bunch of handsome and noble future husbands to marry and who now come rushing onto the stage to take a better look at the unmasked nobles and see who of them will take their fancy. Suddenly a pirate no longer, young Frodric goes to find Maybel to embrace her again as the show finds its happy end. It concludes with the full cast singing another refrain of their song:

Poor wandering ones !

Though ye have surely strayed,

Take heart of grace,

Your steps retrace,

Poor wandering ones !

Poor wandering ones !

If such poor love as ours

Can help you find

True peace of mind,

Why, take it, it is yours !

Poor wandering ones…!

Apparently the dancing is what the crowd wanted even if the nobles did not. With a whole lot of cheering- and wolf whistles, the yard erupts at Claribel's performance, and indeed there are some men who are not accustomed to good choreography and so a few coppers have been tossed to the stage-because, why not? And then as the Knight and his men are defeated-there's laughter and some more playful boos.

That is until the Knight calls for the surrender under King Viserys-and thus more cheeping and clapping, though it does die down so the song can be heard.

As the theatre erupts into loud applause, cheering and whistling, the cast steps forward to take their bows - first the chorus - the girls, pirates and goldcloaks - then the leading players, each introduced by the Minstrel: The Knight of Great Renown played by a local actor of the Whimsy's troupe, fair young Maybel, being played by Ulyka Mormont, dashing young Frodric being playing by Loryn Tyrell, sassy pirate wench Claribel played by Iris and finally the great Pirate King himself, played by Valerio Vixenbane.

Maera claps, but her expression remains rather dour.

Madrighal may just be in the chorus, but he is a professional performer, by the Seven. Somehow he manages to dance, play the hurdy gurdy, and sing in his ridiculously lovely counter tenor, while tossing in little bits of business with the extremely tall chorus girl and a jealous rival .

Brynden watches the happenings stil, applauding as the bows are taken now. He doesn't add any cheers of anything, but keeps on applauding for now.

Eyes widen as they catch sight of Maybel, and there Layne pauses for a moment-before he is turning and pushing his way back through the crowd on his way towards the exit. He's likely not lingering for any further encores or curtain calls. A faint glance is given the boxes and seating available for the more wealthy-as he does stalk out.

Iris seems to enjoy her big moment as she bows, her hands busy to keep that cloak in place, her cheeks flushed even below that stage make up. Straightening her gaze will brush the Vixenbane briefly, before she looks over towards Loryn and beams.

Now the play - or the flirtation? - is done, Valerio's feelings towards his luscious fellow-performer Iris seem warm, but only with affectionate friendliness as he delivers several swaggering bows between her and Loryn. His eyes, dark and clod, scan the stands, the boxes, the stalls, even the groundlings for a face he cannot seem to discern…and it is with a sigh that he smiles impishly back up towards first the Hightower, then the Lannister box.

Thadeus cannot help but applaud. Some very enticing elements of the play he had obviously pretty much enjoyed. Although his gaze turns a bit pensive when Maybel is introduced, and he shoots Maera a glance.

Flushed and exhausted 'Maybel' hurries from stage after the appropriate bathing in applause. Hoping not to cross her sister's path with the wig still on her head. Overpowered by joy she looks at Loryn, Iris, Amadys, Madrighal and the rest of the performers. "It went well!" she rejoices, only to add a quick "… I have expected."

As the audience finally begins to file out of the theatre, Loryn goes around to hug his fellow performers, though perhaps he hugs Iris just a bit tighter than the rest. Then he steps back with a grin and looks between them all, including the chorus. "Alright, after-show party at Garden Isle!", he announces, "Free drinks and food for everywhere!"

Alaryn and the Dornish with him applaud the affair rather heartily, lingering chuckles and murmurs passed between those gathered to spectate, including one from the prince to his sister, before rejoining the rounds of applause greeting the performers as they take their curtain calls. The Raptor shakes his head once, but it doesn't dull his smile. If he has eyes for any particular person in this sea of clapping hands and smiling— or not— faces, it scarcely shows.

The Voice of Oldtown politely claps, from his place in the rather posh box that is afforded a man of his place and stature. A glance is given the stage, and he waits for a moment as he looks to Valerio's glance and he carefully rises up and moves to the end of the box, before reaching for a flower passed to him. There's a glance to the Stage, he tosses it down, with a brief nod to the cast-before he too turns to file out carefully. Likely there will be a visit at another time.

Beneath the rest of the audience's raucous tribute, Lady Baratheon speaks a few words to her retinue; her long-fingered, clawlike white hands come together in quiet, measured applause which varies not according to which of the players is taking a bow, and ceases as soon as she's offered the necessary courtesy. Her servants are already packing up empty plates and goblets, to the chagrin of at least one of her knightly companions, who wasn't finished with that, dash it all. When the Lyseni Thing endeavours to catch her eye he finds it waiting for him — steady, inflexible, lingering, chilly as a northern lake. Oh, what a delightful chat they've got to look forward to, come tomorrow morning.

Maera waits until the audience begins to disburse before standing from her seat. "Excuse me." She says softly to Thadeus as she steps around him. Her steps take her towards the stage itself, and she climbs them rather briskly before pulling back the curtain and walking briskly towards the crowd. "Ulyka."

"Remember what I said about the takings when I signed on," Amadys remarks quietly but suddenly to Loryn with a surprisingly businesslike and chilly tone as they retreat from the stage into relative privacy. "I think there may be rather a lot of them, after all…ah, my dear Lady Ulyka. Once you saved your sister from my ravishments. I fear I am too busy to repay the favour right now and save you from hers…"

"Well, yes… takings should be well, if we are able to keep to our scheduled performances in the next weeks.", Loryn reminds him. He notes Maera's appearance in the backstage area and smirks. "That is, if none of my cast members are murdered by irate family before the last performance is done…"

Madrighal gives an extra bow in the direction of the Dornish royalty, before making his own exit. He compliments various performers back stage.

"I know how she feels, I think," Amadys replies simply, but not very sympathetically. "That was my dear step-grandmother up there in the Lannister box, and she's already let it be known she didn't miss a single line or note…"

Having removed the wig and having slipped under a cloak of dark wool the young Mormont is about sneak away from the scattering crowd and back into her Northern garbs. Unfortunately Ulyka's version of stealth includes an inconspicuous lowering of her gaze - a swift little movement that throws her right at her sister, almost bumping into the tall Northern lady.

Maera grasps Ulyka by the shoulders rather firmly, and lets out a sigh. "You can't be a proper lady, and be an actress. Do you understand me? ….I just…I don't understand you. You act as if you want to be this prim and proper southern lady, and then you take up acting? Do you know what they say about actresses, Ulyka? They say they aren't any better than prosititues. Do you think a nobleman will want such a wife? How dare you reject our lifestyle, and criticize what I do, and then do this." She releases the girl's shoulders, "You need to decide what you want, Ulyka. You can't have everything."

That said, she takes a step towards the assembled actors, "Lord Amadys. You look well."

Madrighal spots the towering, angry, and notably dangerous Lady Maera and starts quietly and quickly collecting instruments in advance of doing a bunk. The Lannister who is out for his blood may not be here to start a riot, but an angry Mormont is more than enough danger in once place for his tastes.

"And you, my lady," Amadys answers smoothly, making the best of the distinctly inideal situation. "Happily, it would seem I provide an interesting example for your sister's education." He strides forward on sudden, melodramatic impulse. "Now you have seen me upon the Whimsy's stage, my lady…are you more, or less, intrigued by the notion marrying me, I wonder?"

Ulyka is speechless. All the replies she has had prepared, all the pointing at the young Tyrell, the nobles on stage and in the audience room, all the praise of art and defense of it's chaste and pure core are dired out as Maera leaves her with those bits of the dour monologue. The young bear swallows again, this time it is neither nervousness nor anticipation, it is the well-known fury that is about glimmer in her youthful eyes.
Baffled, but almost thankful she looks at the young stag's attempts of flirting with her sister again - and obviously immediately uncomfortable as she notices her own motions.

For now adolescent bear remains sullen and silent.

Maera leaves Ulyka in silence. Indeed, she keeps her back to the younger girl as if too disgusted to focus on her. Her attention goes to the young Baratheon acolyte instead. "My dear Lord Amadys, an actor needs a wealthy wife to support his lavish lifestyle, doesn't he?" Her lips curve upwards, "I am currently in talks with the Flints. IF I do not find myself attached to something big and bearded, and your brother provides ample allowance to support your lifestyle…well…" Her smile broadens, "We'll see."

Brynden has remained seated for a long while, but now he's gotten to his feet, and is preparing to leave the theater as quietly as he entered it.

"I fear you might be wedding yourself to a pair of storm blue eyes alone, in point of fact, my lady, in such a case," Amadys mourns, though he sounds oddly light-hearted about it all of a sudden. "Neither my brother nor the Seneschal are like to be amused by this night's work, and my step-grandmother is bound to apprise both of 'em of it ere daybreak. I don't suppose you're up to taking me on out of charity? My other plans," he admits with a mock-gloomy glance to the floor, "are vague. I might have to elope with your charming sister here instead, after all. It seems we are closer than we ever knew…"

A flicker of suspicion crosses the younger Mormont girl's face, but the defiant quality of the stag's words lure her into leaving out the appropriate objections.
Instead she says "The stage is as small as any kingdom, Maera, the lessons you can learn there just as sweet or harsh as anywhere else. Baratheons, Tyrells, Mormonts - Maera, I have not simply played a game with some singing whores."

Maera turns slightly to look to Ulyka, "When I want life advice from a girl of four and ten I'll ask." That said, she looks back to Amadys. And she continues to smile. The Lady of Bear Island leans forward to murmur something into the young stag's ear, her lips inches from the appendage. She then clasps the young stag's cheek before turning to go.

Maera whispers: If my sister eloped with anyone she would soon find herself a widow.

Amadys Baratheon is left rubbing a slightly ruddy, stinging cheek, and pondering on the ambiguities of nobility, of marriage, of mummery, of fame…until desire for a drink overwhelms him, and he leaves in quest of such a boon with evident relief.

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