(122-02-13) Harassing, Historically
Harassing, Historically
Summary: Maesters at the Starry Sept become rather aggressively determined to speak to Lady Marsei after prayers. Camillo and Visenya aid in herding them off.
Date: 13/02/2015
Related: Citadel & Sept
Players:
Camillo..Marsei..Visenya..

The number of Maesters at services are down to a stubborn few and they seem more interested in each other and the congregation than the architecture and the service. A few familiar faces are there. The one Camillo saw in the Quill that time, the bald one that snuck into the high tower. several other who had been interested in the statuary. The Lady Marsei's presence did not go unremarked.

Camillo gives a quick glare to the first maester he sees, but gets himself under control quite rapidly. He makes a significant donation and spends some time quite seriously at prayer. Perhaps he is troubled, or perhaps he is only as serious about prayer as he seems to be about everything else. He makes sure that the Lady Marsei is finished here before coming unobtrusively to collect her.

As she has not gone unnoticed by the maesters, the maesters have not gone unnoticed by Marsei, the bald one in particular causing her wariness, but she is dedicated to her prayer. She's quietly fervent under the glow cast by the candles in front of the Mother, warming her hair to copper and her freckles to life. When she's finished, or at least as finished as she can be without remaining hours in the Sept, her knuckles turned snow white from clutching her hands together so fiercely, she drifts to Camillo, easily collected. She remains looking unsurely at the statue for a moment — her eyes seem rimmed with moisture — before turning, glancing the way of the nearest maester to mark his whereabouts. Alongside the Hightower servant, she begins to stroll, her steps are slow and measured, a reflection of her mind.

The same Septons and Septas that had been keeping the Maesters in line are about. As the Widow and servant make ready to leave, several Maesters make as if to converge on them, all glaring furiously at each other.

Camillo lets Marsei walk ahead of him so that he can keep an eye on her. And while he seems not to look to either side, the convergenc of Maesters seems to somehow make his shoulderblades pop out a bit under his homespun clothes, and his height reduce about an inch as he bends his knees. But he keeps moving.

Realizing the wall of robes they might be about to encounter, Marsei mumbles a complaint softly under her breath; rather than a curse at this turn of events, however, it resembles a rather characteristically benevolent "my goodness". Without making eye contact with any of them, she veers slowly to the left, attempting to take a natural course around the maesters, as if giving them the benefit of the doubt.

The bald one with the striking eyes is pushiest and he others seem unwilling to jostle him, though from the look of him, they would like to do more than jostle if they thought they could get away with it. Most give up and go back to their pews. Two trail behind the bald one, giving each other wide berth and glares of dislike. The bald one steps deliberately and aggressively into her path. "May I walk with you?"

Camillo moves so that he is on the side of the violet-eyed Maester, but he says nothing, and rather than look at him to try to dissuade him, instead gives a hard look to the other two hangers-on.

Marsei takes the time to put a pause in her step to greet the insistent maester. "Hello Maester," she says in kindness and, by the sound of it, nothing but — although she does rather make a point of being polite. She glances past him, to the door of the glorious sept, where she'd rather be— but allows, "Of course you may."

The other two back up, to give them more space, but have the look of men waiting their chance to grab a turn. They trail a discreet distance behind, but they do trail. The Bald one with characteristic confidence strides along beside the unwilling lady, "I have sent to you brother for permission to examine the architecture of your hall, but he has been rather equivocal."

Camillo makes no further effort to scare the Maesters off, since there is not much he can do given his station. But he keeps close enough to Marsei to hear everything heard.

Marsei notices the trailing maesters with a bit of tension at the edges of her mouth to show for it, which is purposefully melted away in order to smile politely at the violet-eyed maester. "My brother has many matters to attend to as Lord of Hightower," she tries to assure him and let him down gently but certainly, "I cannot speak for him."

The Bald Maester gives her a smile he likely thinks charming, but which is actually predatory. "I thought you could just give me a tour so that we needn't bother him with such trivial things, him being so busy.

Camillo speaks up, which is rare for him in a situation where two social betters are conversing. "This would be an inconvenient time for visitors, as we are giving the main areas a thorough cleaning," he says. "Since a few Maesters were showing up uninvited, it seemed best to clean the public areas of the tower for the benefit of such guests."

"Ah— " The maester's manner puts Marsei on edge, his determination and smile threatening to unsettle her into a small fluster. Her politeness remains intact, smile unwavering, but Camillo's interruption — though she looks quickly to him when he speaks up unexpected — is welcomed. She nods, confirming. "I appreciate your interest in the architectural history of the Hightower, Maester," she says in a complimentary fashion. "My brother will see to you in due time, I'm certain!"

The Bald Maester glares at Camillo with the disdain of a man proud of his blood but uncertain of his position at someone he can safely bully. "I'm sure your sanitary preparations are adequate. It will not take long. I just need to take a few measurements. All you need do is let me in. You needn't bother further."

"I'm afraid I would face flogging from Lord Ormund if a guest he hadn't given word about were admitted on my watch, my lady," Camillo says, as if appealing to Marsei to protect him.

Marsei smiles encouragingly over at Camillo. "You needn't worry." But before the maester can get his hopes up over her meaning too greatly, she adds, "You shall abide by my brother's rule." She puts a noteworthy hurry in her step toward that door. "The Hightower has stood for hundreds of years," she tells genially tells the sneaky maester this information he's already well aware of, "and shall continue to stand tall in the time it takes to allow for a small amount of patience. Good eve, Maester!"

"You are too kind, lady," Camillo says, then looks from the bald maester to the others trailing. He doesn't say anything just yet.

The Bald Maester makes a loud "Harumf! And stalks off. Alas, the other two trailing Measters are eying each other and both step forward in hopes of accosting her. One is the gentleman Camillo saw being bad at espionage at the Quill, the other is about fortish, with eyes as large and pale as Camillo's.

Marsei sighs, a delicate noise of distress lost to the air by the time the other maesters are in their path. She smiles at them both, naturally cheerful even if she does not feel it, but bows her head in apology. "Good maesters, I am in a bit of a hurry to return home from prayer. If you don't mind— "

Camillo eyes the other two Maesters, putting himself between them and Marsei without making his body language directly aggressive towards them. He's just…in the way.

The one with the thinning hair bows politely and says in the Accent of the South Vale, "Pardon this intrusion, My Lady, but I am Maester Praeton, and would have a few words with you, if you've the time." The Big eyed man bows just as politely and says simultaneously in a not particularly elevated accent from the region of the Neck, "Forgive my Boldness, My Lady, but might I have a word?"

As the maesters' efforts to speak to her supercede Camillo's valiant effort to stand in their way, Marsei meets them after all, having a hard time simply breezing past. She looks from one to the other. "Maester Praeton?" she queries, tenuously curious. "What is this regarding?" She looks to the Neck maester again, including them both, since they're both so eager at once, and ventures, "Is it terribly urgent— ?"

Camillo is quite clearly bristling at this point, though he still keeps his peace. He may not do so for long.

The Measters are glaring furiously at each other, but turn back at her question and accidentally answer in unison, "It is, My Lady." From their expressions, each thinks the other is mocking him by talking when he talks.

"Please," Marsei urges simply, encouraging them to go on with her expectant, virtuous gaze. At the same time, if they must, and before Camillo explodes.

Visenya emerges from the Dragon's Door Manse followed by a lady's maid, and one man-at-arms. Judging by the lace veil over her hair it appears that she intends to go to the Sept to pray. But, the maesters and the look on Marsei's face causes her to pause, and she changes direction towards Marsei, Camillo, and the Maesters.

Maester Phaeton seems to have won the glaring contest as the other Measter lets him speak first. Maester Praeton steps forward and lowers his voice, "There are rumors that something of historical import might be occurring in Hightower, and I thought you might want someone to document it. Discreetly, obviously, for posterity. I've skill with languages as well, if such might be needed." He gives her a knowing look. The Maester from the Neck keeps his distance and says humbly, "If anything of importance has been discovered, is it not proper experts be called in to aid your house?"

There isn't very much Camillo can properly do about the situation at this point. He's looking rather exasperated with the situation, but it isn't his place to make decisions.

Marsei does not notice the nearing presence of Princess Visenya immediately; she's too focused on the maesters who are so focused on her. Praeton's knowing look is met with nothing of the same in the lady, whose eyes are nothing but sweet and guileless. "Are you talking about architecture as well? It's my brother you should speak to." Just then, she looks aside, spying the veiled Targaryen. "Princess Visenya, is that you?" she exclaims quite happily, looking at her like she's a timely gift from the gods and rushing thataway.

"Oh, of course it is me." Visenya responds with a bright little smile. Her gaze lingers on the maesters a moment, and her smile fades ever so slightly. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"

The Maesters have their backs to the Princess. At least these two are politer. Maester Praeton blushes, "Yes, Architecture or… other things." he eyes the man from the neck and whispers, "There are rumors of architectural oddities recently uncovered." The two Maesters look alarmed as a Princess has snuck up on them. Both are bowing low to her and fixing their eyes on the road.

Camillo makes Visenya a bow when she approaches, but says nothing. Which isn't surprising in the least.

Please interrupt, Marsei tries to transmit to Visenya; outwardly, only a subtle widening of her eyes. "Not at all; I was just on my way back from prayer." She nods congenially, with definite finality, to the maesters and attempts yet again to walk past them, closer to Visenya and her accompaniment, remarking no more on the subject.

Neither of these Maesters have the arrogance nor ill manners to actually touch the Lady Marsei, though they do trail in her wake like hopeful puppies.

Visenya holds out her hand to Marsei when she approaches to squeeze her hand lightly in a companionable manner, as the Lady and Princess commonly do when they meet. She seems to sense her friend's distress, and continues holding on to the Hightower's hand. As the Maester's approach she levels her vivid amethyst gaze on them. "Who are you?" She asks rather bluntly.

Camillo backs off a little so as not to crowd the princess, and perhaps to use that as an excuse to crowd back the Maesters a little.

The one with the thinning hair bows politely and says in the accent of the South Vale, "I am Maester Praeton, Your Grace." The Big eyed man bows just as politely and says simultaneously in a not particularly elevated accent from the region of the Neck, "I am Measter Tayle, Your Grace."

Companionably attached to Visenya hand-in-hand, Marsei stands near the princess with one small shoulder facing the maesters, signaling rather clearly that is done with her conversation with them. "I'm going to make my way home," she tells Visenya in a quiet aside, leaning in to whisper a quieter, "Thank you." She seems to have full trust that the Targaryen princess will be capable of dismissing the determined maesters from her trail.

"Have a good night." Visenya says in a gentle aside to Marsei. She smiles faintly to Camillo before saying, "Good evening, Camillo." As the Hightower and her servant pass Visenya gives the maesters a much less amiable look. "Why are you bothering Lady Marsei?"

Camillo makes Visenya another bow in appreciation for being recognized by the princess. But his main aim is to escort Visenya home.

The Measters looks horrified, mouths gaping open and closed like fish, as they both try to gibber and excuse about just wanting a word and meaning no harm, while talking over each other and looking like they want desperately to flee.

Marsei gives Visenya's hand a parting squeeze and whisks away. Once she's several steps free and clear from the front of the Sept, she breathes freer. "Let's enjoy a peaceful walk, Camillo," she suggests, relieved, now that they've — presumably — left the harrassing maesters behind. A glance behind at their faces confirms it well enough.

Visenya taps her heel against the cobbles in the street. It makes a rythmic click that seems to foreshadow the displeasure in her next outburst. "I asked you a question. When one asks you a question the proper thing to do is respond. Not stand there talking amongst yourselves."

"Yes, my lady," Camillo replies, bobbing his head. He lags just a little behind for a while lest any of the Maesters come rushing up again.

The men look at each other in horror. Being old enemies, talking over each other is common with them, but they avoid addressing each other unless insult is involved. Praeton babbles, "I merely which to document any interesting architectural features of the Tower." Tayle babbles simultaneously, "I just wanted to make sure the proper academic authorities…" he glares his hate at the other Measter "learned of any developments."

"Oh." Visenya says. And her expression seems to soften. "Academic authorities? Oh! That makes sense." She looks to her lady's maid, and lets out an airy little laugh. Her lady's maid must sense what is coming, and smiles uneasily.

Still smiling brightly. "Funny. I thought the authorities in Oldtown were the Hightowers themselves. I had no idea part of the maester's job was to go behind a Lord's back, and harass his widowed sister."

The Measters are visibly quaking. Praeton says quickly, "no offense was meant!" Maester Tayle says, "It was Maester Lorrelys who was being rude. I just didn't… My apologies."

"Tell me of Maester Lorrelys." Visenya commands.

The Measters are slowly backing up as if planning to make a break for it. Measter Praeton says, "He's proud of his blood and ambitious." Maester Tayle says, "Best to be asking the Lady. I caught his tone, not his words, but he's an arrogant one, thinks he's as good as any Lord."

"You are to leave Lady Marsei alone." Visenya commands the two of them. "Your business is with Lord Ormund, and not her." A pause, "Where can I find this maester?"

The Measters bow deep. The squeak in accidental unison, "The citadel!"

Visenya lets out an exasperated sigh, "WHERE in the Citadel?"

They babble various locations he might be found including the exact location of the man's sleeping cell and where he likes to write letters and treatises.

Visenya lists the locations mentally before shaking her head and sweeping past the two maesters to the Sept.

They scatter in terror and flee, posts abandoned. There are a number of Maesters lurking in the Sept, but have the sense to avoid the Princess.

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