(121-07-29) Cloth and Cakes
Cloth and Cakes
Summary: Delwyn Rescues a Lady in Distress. Maester Garth helps him investigate.
Date: Date of play (29/07/121)
Related: http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:121-07-29-cloth-and-cakes http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:121-07-30-disturbance-at-a-party http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:121-07-30-discovery-in-starry-street

The cake shop is abustle. It is close to dinner time and there is a line of people getting baked goods to go. It is a fashionable crowd, with many fine ladies at tables and many maids and goodwives in line at the counter. It seems there is a fashion for new extremely brightly dyed silks, as many of the fancier ladies are wearing them. These silks seem unnaturally bright compared even to the standard Oldtown finery: bright Scarlet, Periwinkle, magenta, bottle green, electric blue, chartreuse, and the like. It is nooisy in a cheerful sort of way, with everyone chatting about the Mallister open house, the play at the Whimsey, and the new fashion in gowns.

What with the hangovers and such, Dhrae has been in need of some tender loving care. Delwyn is a thoughtful fellow, and on his way back from the market, he's stopped in at the cake shop. He knows what the prince likes. Jam cakes and lots of them. Though he does browse for others as well. Himself, he's fond of cakes with lemon or lime curd in them. He can't help but notice the bright silks. His mind starts working at the details. What kind of dye is that? What kind of pattern? How would one go about making it? What does this fashion say about upcoming trends? He says nothing of it, though he does smile at the people who make eye contact with them.

The dyes are clearly done with some new method. You can't get that saturation with ordinary vegetable dye, although a person with experience might guess some more familiar components. The reds and purples likely have some mollusk in them. The green, yellows, and blues likely have familiar plant components, but no plant, shellfish, etc. in Westeros could make those colours. A trio of of chattering young women in very fashionable gowns are in front of Delwyn. From their conversation, odds are they are hoping to husband hunt at the Mallister open house, in hopes of influencing their parents towards men they find pleasing. One is in a bright orange underdress and a rich lemon yellow overdress that compliments her dark skin and hair. The chestnut is in an electric blue underdress and a scandalously cut magenta overdress. The extremely pale red head is in a simpler, much more modest bottle green underdress with a kelly green overdress. The chestnut seems to have very itchy arms, to the point one might wonder about body lice or scabbies. The red head is teasing her about it. The raven tressed lass is very distracted, but someone across the room and they keep nudging her to get her attention.

Delwyn follows the dark-haired lasses gaze to whoever is distracting her. It's merely an idle glance as he says, "Pardon me, ladies, I don't mean to interrupt, but I simply must know where you've gotten these fine fabrics. I simply must send some to my aunt." His gaze strays toward the woman with the itchy arms, and he watches her a bit under the pretense of examining the fabric. Is her skin reddened or irritated at the wrists? If it's a rash brought on by the dye, it might irritate all the way down.

The raven haired lass is squinting now, "I'm not sure… What _is_ that?" The itchy girl does have a bit of rash at the wrists. She looks Delwyn over and clearly likes his looks "You have an eye for fine fabrics, I see." The red head touches her arm and gives her a warning look and a shake of the head. Itchy widens her eyes at her friend, then flutters her eyelashes at Delwyn, "you aren't with provost or customs, are you Ser?"

Delwyn's brows lift, and he shakes his head as he says, "No, I'm just here to get some cakes to take back home." He lowers his voice, leaning in a little now that he's not as worried about body lice. "Why do you ask? Is it hard to get these fabrics?"

There is nothing more alarming in the direction the raven haired girl is looking than a particularly decadent hat on the head of a society matron. The girl clutches her itchy friend's arm in alarm, "I don't _like_ it here!" Itchy rolls her eyes at her nervous friend. "Not hard, no." She lowers her eyelids, "Just a bit naughty. It's not exactly respectable so close to the harbour. There's that Red Temple and that… Dornish establishment." She giggles and blushes prettily. The red head sighs, but adds, "The cart isn't always there. I here sometimes people have to go to the Undercity to buy them."

Delwyn smiles crookedly at Itchy's giggling. "The Undercity, you say. Goodness, they're so fine, with such vibrant dyes, one wonders how they're not to be found in the finest shops. I knew Dornish silks were bright, but…" He glances again to Itchy's sleeves. Hmm. What does he know about potential dyes that could cause this kind of irritation?

People might be allergic to anything and dyes are likely particularly concentrated and potent, especially if the clothes are new, so not often washed. Indigo isn't a common allergen though, so odds are it's a fixative or a new additive that makes the colour so bright. The magenta cloth is harder to guess composition of, as no dye in use in Westeros looks close to that bright and intense. Itchy gets up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "It's smuggled in. No custom stamps." She is doing her best to be seductive, but the effect is ruined by vigorous underboob scratching. Raven Tress, is clearly on the verge of panic. he voice is _way_ too loud as she demands, "What _IS_ that! Why is it in here?" Red head is starting to look really worried and is maqking calming sounds at that distressed beauty.

Delwyn arches a brow at the seductive tones and smiles. He's a natural born flirt when he's not terrified for his life. A harmless one, but still. "My lady, I will have to go see these for myself, I think. Though you might want to give these a gentle rinse in cold water — very gentle, very cold. It's the fixative that sets the dye, I wager." Very soft and very discreet. At Black Tress' dismay, he blinks a few times, and he looks toward the offending hat again. Sidling closer to her, he asks, "My dear lady, what is it?"

The Chesnut maiden blushes to her ears at the descreet whisper. raven tresses is in full hysterics, screaming, "It's eating her head, it's eating her head!" Red head casts Delwyn a pleading look and tries to gently tug her friend towards the door. Raven tresses is having none of it. Heads are turning and conversation is dropping off.

Delwyn winces, and he tells Red, "Get her out of here, I'll join you in just a moment outside. He gives Chestnut a quick clasp on the shoulder. Very quick. He doesn't trust that fixative. "All three of you." He waits to see if they go before making another move.

The girls who are not panicking each grab one of their friend's arms and sensibly drag her out. The red head gives him a nod.

As the woman is taken out by her friends, Delwyn claps his hands and says, "Another fine performance from The Ladies of the Play. Be sure to catch their coming performance of The Riverrun Horror — A Comedy." He spreads his arms wide in a friendly 'lords and ladies' gesture, bows, and makes his way swiftly toward the door. Once he's out there, he tells the ladies, "I do not mean this in any presumptive way, but you need to come with me so we can take those dresses off." He starts toward whichever is closest, the Targaryen House or the Quill and Tankard. He just assumes if his unseen shadows see him approaching the Targaryen House, they'll warn ahead.

From this suite's large South-facing windows one can see the Starry Street, the Honeywine, and the great spire of the Hightower beyond. There are two sitting rooms, one very large and furnished with gracious gilded couches with elegant delicate legs and velvet cushions, positioned around the grand fireplace. A fine Myrish carpet in red and black and gold stands out against the white marble floor.

Oddly enough, a rough looking gentleman turns up with a covered donkey cart, which a man might use to discreetly transport three maidens to the dragon manse stable. Whether or not one takes it, the guards let them right through to the back stairs Delwyn generally uses. Draeghon is out, of all people, but Flox is there. "Is their ought you need, Master Delwyn?"

Delwyn is happy to go via the cart. He figures that he can either trust Flox or he can't, and if he can't, there is precious little he can do about it, so he might as well go all in. Once at the manse, Delwyn approaches Flox calmly but with the energy of one who has business in mind. "Two of these ladies need to get out of those dresses and into baths. There is something wrong with the dyes. I think the redhead is all right. Her dyes are recognizable and she doesn't seem to be having any ill effects."

Itchy and Red look at Delwyn like he's crazier than their friend, who is currently trying to catch dust motes and giggling. Flox clears his throat, "I will arrange a discreet bath to be filled in my room. That way the ladies might wait here in comfort. Would the ladies and gentleman like refreshments?" Itchy looks impressed, "You know a Prince? Is he unmarried?" Red is mostly fretting over Raven Tresses.

Delwyn offers Itchy and Red an apologetic smile. He doesn't explain himself, though. "I could take refreshment," Delwyn says in a light tone. There is nothing to worry about here, ladies. It's all okay. He keeps an eye on Black Tress though, uncase she wanders after things that end up leading her off a balcony. "He is betrothed," he tells Itchy. "Sadly for all the maids, for he is a fine fellow." Mostly, he helps Flox with the herding.

Soon the muffled sounds of servants heating water and preparing a bath can be heard. Flox orders a selection of tasty things that may be eaten with flatbread, chamomile tea, and a selection of tarts for the guests. Raven tress turns out to require some herding, as she tries several times to get out on the balcony, before attacking the wall hangings with her nails. Red looks deeply distressed by her friend's condition. Itchy keeps trying to flirt with Delwyn as he's clearly a fine prospect, if she can attatch him.

Delwyn is happy to be respectfully flirtatious with Itchy. It'll keep her distracted, he hopes, from the rash that can't be feeling good. He helps with herding Black Tresses, too. He's very gentle, and his words are kind and soothing. There are furtive glances given toward the direction where the baths are being prepared. The wait, while the dresses remain on the ladies, clearly has him worried.

The food comes, and itchy drags raven tresses off for a bath. Raven puts up a bit of a fight and it ends up taking both ladies to drag her away. Flox has, in the meantime found gowns somewhere that they might wear after. Despite the thick walls, the occasional scream of pure terror can be heard, suggestive of what might be heard some nights going the other way.

Delwyn glances toward the screaming, and his cheeks color. He says nothing, though. Nothing. If he doesn't acknowledge it, it never happened. Clearing his throat, he helps himself to a little something to eat and says, "I found them in the cake shop. They said they got the fabrics from a cart found by the Red Temple or sometimes that Dornish place, though the redheaded lady told me sometimes one had to go to the Underground to get it. At first they were afraid I might be a customs officer."

Flox's cheeks colour too. He pours tea, not making eye contact. Flox says, "They likely mean the Dornish only sex club on Harbour Street…. Likely contraband if they are selling silks that fine in unsavoury locations." More screaming. Flox clears his throat, "Do you think one of the Prince's sleeping draughts…?"

Delwyn doesn't meet Flox's gaze either. "Yes, I think that might be best," he says. "At least until it's worked its way through her system. Perhaps a healer as w— or anyone with a knowledge of poisons I suppose." And who could that be? He has no idea. "Whatever it is, it's on the fabric, and I don't know if it's intentional or if it's negligence. To get colors that vibrant… let's just say if it were safe and easy we would all be doing it."

Flox nods and goes into the Prince's bedroom. He returns with a dropper bottle and doses one of the cups. He takes it to his door, knocks, and passes it over to the red head with directions that Raven tresses ought to drink all of it. Raven can be heard screaming about spiders. Red's dress is very wet and being of thin silks…. Flox keeps his eyes on her face until the door is closed again. "Do you know much of dyes? It might be we need an alchemist rather than a poisoner."

Delwyn takes his gaze away from the lady in question, very politely, and if asked he would claim he never saw a thing. "I know a fair amount," Delwyn says. I've done some dyeing in my time. We don't always get a lot of pre-dyed skeins out where I grew up, and my master, when he was training me up, made me learn all of the process from sheering to tailoring and everything in between. He told me about dyes I never dreamt of until I came here. But he never told me about anything that would get that bright of a hue. T'isn't anything I've ever seen. They've been cropping up a lot, though." Of course he would notice things like that. Ask him about any of the women he's spent the past however-long with and he'll know more about their dresses than their features.

Flox listens with his most serious expression, "If you were trying to figure out how the dyes are made, what equipment would you need? I have glassware for distilling and the like if it would help. He winces as there is a loud thud against the other side of the door. "Let us hope she grabbed nothing valuable."

Delwyn frowns as he thinks, and he chews at the inside of his lip. "It would be easy enough to extract the dye from the fabric. I would be very surprised if it has been rinsed well enough not to still have some of it locked up in the fibers. Do you think we could get a snippet of the fabric? Put it in some warm water, not too hot, and see what happens. Once you extract some of the dye and distill some of the water off it, you might be able to tell through seeing how it reacts to different things? I suppose you'll want an alchemist for that."

The red head emerges, having changed gowns, "Annabella's sleeping. Thank you for your kindness. The… dye has marked the skin." She blushes bright on her pale Northern skin. Flox looks relieved to have something to do. That should be easy enough to set up once things are… quieter."

Delwyn rises to his feet and winces with sympathy. "The good news is it should come off with repeated washings." To Flox, he says, "That answers that question. Poorly rinsed. No wonder the fixative was irritating the other lady's skin." To the redhead, he says, "It seemed like an intervention was the best plan. I would suggest staying away from those fabrics, and tell your friends as well." He smiles then, softly, and adds, "Besides, I think yours was the prettiest of the lot."

The red head blushes again, clearly charmed by Delwyn, "We will be more careful in future.. Are they all tainted? Might not washing solve the problem?" Just then the chesnut emerges, rosy from the bath and steps forward, to get her share of the flirty, "You were like a Prince out of stories coming to our rescue." She scratches her ribs, "Will you be at the party tomorrow?" Flocx set about getting the apparatus ready for delwin and gathering the gowns as the youth would know best what to snip.

Delwyn grins as he ducks his head, and lo, there are dimples. Dimples Oldtown isn't even ready for. Dimples Westeros can't even handle. He scratches the side of his nose and says, "I was just at the right place at the right time is all." Getting cakes for his lover the Prince. "Of course I do intend to at least poke my nose in. The Mallisters are a fine family from what I've heard. As for the washing, why don't we wait and be sure, hmm?

The ladies are helpless before the power of the dimples. The are soon surrounding him, finding excuses to touch his arm. Chestnut asks, "But what is the name of our bold rescuer?" Red asks, "Surely you must be a Lord or a knight, or perhaps a Prince?"

You invite Garth to meet you for RP.

Delwyn is surrounded by women. He doesn't seem to mind, either, though having three close in on him at once has him casing the room for exits, just in case. But their questions make him smile, and the smiles means more dimples, and it's a cascading effect, honestly. "Hardly a Prince, my ladies," he says. "I am Delwyn of Tarth." He then adds, hastily, "Lord. Delwyn of Tarth." That's the part that still trips him up.

On seeing the Maester's robes, the guards send Garth up to Dhraegon's room for a medical emergency. The Prince is nowhere in evidence, just Flox, Delwyn, and two ladies, one with red hair and one with chesnut. The darker girl's hair is wet. A selection of savory things one might eat with flat bread, tarts, and camomille tea is in evidence. Flox is setting up alchemical equipment. (Flox is a small nodescript man with a long suffering air about him.) A connecting door is open to the next sweuyite, where a raven haired girl is aslerep on the bed and a bath is in evidence. A pile of those bright silk gowns is near the alchemical equipment.

An emergency, in the Prince's quarters…hopefully this one will not involve any pregnant ladies, or hysterical ones. The Maester's already horribly scars are added to to by what look like claw marks at that side, although the marks are too far apart to have been made by most domestic beasts. He hesitates long enough to look towards where the Lord of Tarth is surrounded by females; Garth frowns a bit at the general picture… food, fine. Drink… fine… women…possibly understandable… at a stretch of the imagination… but the silk gowns? When he sees those it is as if a light has just gone on over his head.

"What is goin' on? Where's the Prince?" Maester Garth voices, most likely the question is directed at Flox, but it's open for anyone to answer it.

At least the hysterical lady got knocked out by a drought. The other two seem calm enough. When the Maester arrives, he looks up from his conversation with them and offers Garth an amiable, though subdued smile. "I'm afraid he's out. His man here was good enough to let me come. It was the nearest place I knew, and there was an emergency."

Flox explains, "The lady was taken ill and the young Lord thought the dresses might be to blame. we were about to attempt an experiment." The chesnut haired girl is scratching absently at her arms, and won't look directly at the Maester's damaged face, "Annabella became hysterical in the cake shop." The pale red head takes ion the Maester's face impassively, "I amn't having trouble, but my dress got wet and better safe than sorry."

Garth grunts. "I'm goin' to get a reputation for havin' women outta their dresses at this rate. If anyone asks, you can tell 'em it was all professional." He rakes his fingers through his brown hair and then furrows his brow at the pile of silks nearby and the alchemical equipment.

"Where'd the silks come from? Distinctive colours, already seen one woman taken ill from wearin' one of them - she's still in the Healin' Halls." He turns his head away from Flox and back towards Lord Tarth.

"You've some involvement in all of this? What sorta experiment were you planning? Don't go stickin' any more of those dresses on anyone else… best if you burned the lot of 'em, cloth too if you ask me." He peers at the alchemical gear and the cloth, not bothering the scratching woman just yet - was she still wearing one of the dresses?

"I wouldn't dream of besmirching your good name," Delwyn says with a nod toward the Maester. He then shakes is head and adds, "I only noticed the ladies' distress when I was in the cake shop. I'm a bit of a fanatic, I suppose, when it comes to fine fabrics, and I've learned a little bit about dyes in my time, so I suspected that might have something to do with it." He glances to Itchy with a look of concern. "Is it still bad?" he asks.

Flox waves in the general direction of the women, "I borrowed older gowns from some of the ladies who serve the Princesses. They aren't as fine, but are safe for the ladies to wear home. The silks are Kelly green, bottle green, electric blue, magenta, orange, and yellow, all in that over saturated dye. The ladies are wearing garments popular several years ago, in ordinary, if festive colours. Flox, having readied the equipment, yields his place to Delwyn and the Maester. The chestnut pouts. "It's just a little itchy is all." The Red Head asks, "Is there ought I might do to help?" she eyes her friend, "It's all over wear the fabric rubbed and weeping…" The Chestnut glares and thumps her arm, "It's not that bad."

"If the affected ladies are lucky, it won't go beyond being itchy," The Maester says. "If they're not then… delerium will come next, possibly hysteria, hallucinations." Whilst he doesn't seem to have come with any obvious kit, there's likely things hidden within the many pockets of his robe (and there are MANY). He considers the array of flasks, bottles and other alchemical equipment.

"Somethin' in the cloth, I couldn't identify it last time," Garth confirms to Delwyn. "Well, that was the conclusion at the time. Where did all this silk stuff come from? Some merchant in the town?" He moves closer to the brightly coloured cloth to inspect it more closely.

Delwyn glances toward the room where the lady sleeps within, and he grimaces. "I'm afraid Lady Anabella has already begun to have the hallucinations." Itchy gets a concerned look, too. "Perhaps we should send for a healer." He then adds, quieter, "T'isn't anything to be ashamed of, my lady. It's these gods bedamned silks. In any case, please come have some tea, all right? I'll join you in just a moment." He doesn't necessarily want them hovering when he steps toward the Maester to discuss all that doom they've got hanging over them. Quietly, he tells the man, "They told me they got them off a cart that was sometimes by the Red Temple and sometimes by that… place. The Dornish run. But also that they sometimes have to go to the Underground to get them."

It is definitely the same high quality silk with unnaturally bright dye. The green and magenta may even have been from the same bolt as the other unfortunate lady's clothing. The red Head bites her lip, but sensibly sets about distracting her friend. The Chesnut blurts out, "But Anabella hasn't a rash!"

"I'll do what I can for the ladies, of course." The Maester says in direct reply to the business of sending for a healer. "I'd likely be able to do more if I could work out just what it is that's in the silk cloth that's causin' the reaction. Normal dyestuffs don't usually do that kinda thing… well, not if properly applied. Might it be that there's just too much saturation? Though," he frowns at the exceptional colours. "These aren't usual colours, some new means of dyeing? You," This obviously means both Delwyn and Flox "were trying to see what the colour is?"

"There is definitely too much saturation," Delwyn says without brooking any doubt. "Too much fixative, I wager, on the lady's." He nods toward Itchy Chestnut. "But there are no dyes I know of that can make those colors with that intensity no matter the saturation." He gestures to the magenta without touching it. "There are roots you can use, and minerals, and mollusk shells and even a kind of beetle that will give you a range of reds, pinks, and purples, but none of them are that bright. Nothing I know of is. So that is what I would ask." He bows a little to the Maester, adding, "Not to overstep myself, and apologies if I am."

Flox sets a basin of clean warm water where they might use it for their experiments and sets about distracting the ladies with nibbles.

"I have a base understanding of the procedures needed in dyeing cloth but I'm no authority, My Lord," Garth says to Delwyn. "Your knowledge clearly shows…I'm no alchemist, though. I left that kinda stuff to others who'd more of a mind for it an' other higher arts. So you're not treadin' on my toes if you want to have at it." He gestures towards the alchemical parephenalia. He gives some more thoughts as to the origins of the cloth.

"Not been bought from any reputable source then, 'specially if sometimes the women have to go and by it from the Underground. Is it being sold with deliberately malicious intent…or are these just unfortunate victims of someone's lack of understandin' what they're doing." He shakes his head - another look at the ladies.

<FS3> Garth rolls Poisons: Success.

Delwyn glances at the equipment, and he shakes his head as he says, "Oh, no, I don't have such an education. It's just the dyeing part, not the alchemy." He chews his lower lip, briefly, then admits, "If I was going to…" He's briefly distracted by the bottle green silk, and he tilts his head as he studies it, but then he snaps himself out of his reverie. "If you know what it responds to, then maybe by process of elimination you can know what it is? How it takes a fixer, how well it stays after it's actually been washed enough. How if it's caustic it might require different handling from something that's acidic."

<FS3> Delwyn rolls Weaving: Good Success.

Garth grumbles and prods at the bits of silk cloth again, his attention lingers on the shades that were favoured by the woman he had originally encountered in Oldtown Square. He draws a small pair of shears from the bench and cuts little scraps from the cloth - a bit of each coloured one. There follows some very very basic alchemy - he sets some green scraps into a little metal crucible and then lights them - the resultant smoke smells both of sulphur and garlic. The Maester sniffs. "Smells like… arsenic. I recognise that much, it can be used for killin' insects on animals and stuff, in small doses. Too much…" he frowns "… and the effects'll be felt by bigger things, ladies fer one. Though doubt that's what's causin the hallucinations." He goes after a different coloured cloth, the magenta.

"It'll be a different calamity for each color I'm afraid," Delwyn says. He wrinkles his nose at the unpleasant scent of the smoke. "Arsenic can be used to produce green," he says, "but it has fallen out of favor on account of how it can kill you. With this high saturation, every time a lady sweat in it or just had it on her skin day after day… This can't be an accident unless it's the work of someone obscenely stupid. Maester, what would one look for in terms of arsenic poisoning?" He glances to the redheaded woman briefly. "She's the one who had it on, but there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with her.

The red head goes even paler at the mention of her dress being poisoned.

Garth puts the magenta coloured slivers of cloth into a glass bowl and pours on some clear looking liquid, maybe some sort of acid. The liquid soon turns a different colour and once again there's an odour released - this one smells more of green plants, a member of the laurel family. "Can't /quite/ place that smell but I know the family of plants - they're all poisonous ones, though birds don't seem to get poisoned by 'em." He taps his fingertips on the edge of the bench. "So, not great stuff to by dyeing clothes with but…I don't think that's what's causin' the worst of the symptoms, just the rashes. If they were to wear the green fabric, the arsenic dyed one, a lot then… headaches, rashes… maybe some confusion, blood in the urine if exposure was prolonged."

Delwyn watches the Maester work with intense interest. "I've heard of something like a laurel making an acidic dye, but I never saw it, myself. I heard it was an irritant, and there were better ways of achieving the same color, more or less. I never worked with it myself." He clears his throat. "Is that what it is?" he asks hopefully. "I'm afraid I don't really know what it does outside of what I heard." He glances toward Itchy. "At least the part about it being an irritant seems right."

Flox clears his throat, "Would not breaks in the skin make poison easier to absorb? Not that I would know anything about poisons."

"Like the arsenic, the laurel stuff can be used as an insecticide… but it's not goin't to be causin' the hallucinations. There's somethin' else in the cloth as well. The mordant most likely," The Maester says and then cocks his head to one side as he listens to what Flox has to say. He nods. "Well, yes… of course. A break in the skin would let the poison into the body more quickly, rather than having to let it be absorbed slowly through the skin. So… if the irritant makes some people out in blisters, they scratch 'em and then that lets the poison in."

Delwyn nods quickly to Garth, and there's a soulful puppyishness in his eagerness. He knows a thing! That thing Garth just said. Mordants. Probably knows more than he'll ever let on, but never mind that. He's successfully having a conversation with a Maester about a thing! And that grin, it's pretty dimpled. The dimples have dimples. Craziness. He clasps his hands together, steepling his fingers against his lips. "That would make sense," he tells Flox. "So what's in the blue, I wonder? She was wearing it with the magenta. Gods, I've been seeing these fabrics everywhere. How many more people are going to get sick?"

"I don't know, someone oughta go and find these merchants who're sellin' this cloth though. Do the merchants know what they're sellin' or are they unawares… there's a difference between sellin' somethin' and understandin' how it's made. In either case, supply needs to be stopped… maybe that Northerner found out something." He scratches his chin and its stubble. "Is it just smallfolk who're buyin' the stuff?"

I can't find who you're trying to page with: Delkwyn

Unable to page: Delkwyn

Delwyn shakes his head and says quietly, "The cake shop was full of nobles all wearing it. Now that it's popular, they're all going to want it. That's how these trends go." He rubs a knuckle against his jaw, though the youth has no scruff to scratch at. "If I can find someone who might be able to go to those places unnoticed, who could maybe ask the merchants…" He does not even glance Flox's way. Shows no sign the man is even still there. "Not really my social circle, though."

"There's bound to be someone we could employ, always someone willin' to work for a few coins. I'd volunteer my services, but there's likely some code of ethics against Maesters engagin' in that kinda deceit. Sides, I'm easily recognised." He obviously means his scars, he rubs his face a little as he feels the marks left on his face by the previous victim. "In fact, I already /have/ an idea…" He smiles a bit. "Much as it ruffles my fur the wrong way, so to speak, I'll go do some research at the Citadel."

Delwyn lowers his gaze as the Maester mentions being recognized. Even a polite lad with the best intentions can't exactly fail to see the horrible scarring. "I'm afraid these sorts of intrigues are beyond my purview," he says, "but if there is any way I can assist you, I would know of it, Maester."

"Might be, my Lord, if an' when I can discover the substance that's causin' the majority of the symptoms. Though… seems you know your way around a fine cloth, and the places that those of high-birth are likely to be. If you could dissuade ladies from wearin' the stuff, tell 'em what you've seen?" He smiles again and then reaches into his robe to withdraw a jar of salve. "Common salves will likely be effective against the itchin', along with washin' and avoiding further contact." He frowns then. "Might be men too, of course." Oldtown's likely to have at least one dandy that'd enjoy such colours.

"More than a few," Delwyn says wryly. His own doublet is a fine silk brocade of deep sapphire blue. It does, however, look like a fabric that exists within the normal palette. The craftsmanship is particularly fine. "I will tell them what I've learned. You mentioned a Northerner and a woman?"

"Recently, in Oldtown Square.. one of the women.. from the Bawdy Bard I think.. collapsed, she was wearin' this stuff. A lad with a dog went to see what happened, he and I were the only few of course. What's the loss of one whore when there are so many more where they come from?" Garth sounds as if he is, at least in part, voicing opinions there that are not his own.

Delwyn frowns, and he doesn't argue that that is in fact what people would think. Not agreeable to it, but. "It's the big city for you. The Northrons seem a lot more interested in the affairs of the common man. Was she all right? The woman?"

"It's easier to be interested in the common man, the smallfolk, when your position's not so far removed from 'em," Garth says honestly, though in a quiet tone of voice. "There's some who see the smallfolk as animals or less than, forgettin' that it's smallfolk who grow a lot of the food, catch a lot of the fish and take out a lot of the shit… excrement, my Lord of Tarth."

Delwyn starts to say something abrupt, but a sidelong glance at the ladies forestalls him. Instead, he replies, "It's as you say, Maester. I don't find there to be anything lofty nor noble about looking a man in the eye and seeing anything less than a man. Or a woman, in this case. It's the way of these places, but I find it vulgar."

Garth nods. "So far as I've heard, the woman is conscious and aware enough to be sayin' that she wants to leave. So… with proper treatment it seems that the poison's not fatal. That's hope at least but still, no reason to hang about and let more of this tainted cloth circulate."

The set of Delwyn's shoulders relaxes, and he lowers his gaze as he quietly says, "Thank the Mother." He nods then, quickly, and he says, "I will tell everyone I know, and perhaps it might do to hire a crier. I can ask about that. You can usually find me here, or the Prince will know my whereabouts, should you require anything else of me."

Garth inclines his head politely towards Delwyn. "Yes, my Lord." Following that he'll see to giving the ladies some of the salve, to ease any itches that they might have.

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