(122-06-09) Merry Manners
Merry Manners
Summary: A brief meeting; Marsei meets Jurian again, who has already encountered Clovis.
Date: 09/06/2015
Related: A Prince Arrives
Players:
Jurian..Clovis..Marsei..

Hightower Square - Oldtown

This is a broad cobblestoned square, ringed by grand buildings hewn from stone. A massive fountain, also hewn from the same strong grey stone, stands in its center. It is wrought in the form of the Hightower in miniature. A tiny flame burns at its peak, and crystal waters pour from its base, pouring down the stony pedestal into the mirror-smooth pond below.

Stone benches offer places to sit, vendors cry their many wares, merchants ply their trade, and all around one can see the finely-dressed Oldtown wealthy meandering about. There is a pleasant smell of cooking food in the air, tingeing the ever-present smell of the salt sea, and a hint of perfumes and spices.

To the West, the Hightower street leads away. To the South, the archway to the Beacon Boulevard rises. To the North, with the Watch House standing alongside, is a stretch of street leading to the Beacon Gate and out to the Roseroad beyond. The cobblestone market square is quite clean and fresh, with nary a sign of any beggars, street rats, or grimy peddlers hawking stolen goods. The buildings here are in pristine condition.

A warm, clear, summer evening's peace is troubled only by the burbling of the Hightower fountain and the last few merchants who haven't packed up and gone home by now. The baker's stall is clearing out breads for half price. Jurian has parked himself on a bench to watch the people pass by, the flame burn on the fountain.

A clear pristine whistle painting the song of something Dornish in the air above bustle of Hightower Square squeaks along before the bard is seen. Lord Clovis Tyrell walks into sight with his arms clasped casually behind his back and merry foreign tune on his lips. The wordless song is sung in lightweight whistles composed of crisp recognizable notes. The blonde young man whistle unabashedly as he goes and nods at folks who looks his way or pay the eccentric noble any mind. He is sweet face and his disarming smile keeps his path unbarred.

There's an air of safety and richness here that's absent from the city's main square, and so it is not unusual that Lady Marsei is drifting about alone, although it is entirely possible she simply left her protective accompaniment further away. She's even absent the company of another lady or handmaiden, simply looking at this and that in something of a daze; not an unpleasant one, necessarily, but one that puts her attention far away as she passes by the fountain made in the image of her home. She's marked by a soft shade of blue this evening rather than pure white. She doesn't seem to spy the Targaryen on the bench right away, but smiles in an idle, appreciative way at the cheerful song coming from the Tyrell bard.

There's an air of safety and richness here that's absent from the city's main square, and so it is not unusual that Lady Marsei is drifting about alone, although it is entirely possible she simply left her protective accompaniment further away. She's even absent the company of another lady or handmaiden, simply looking at this and that in something of a daze; not an unpleasant one, necessarily, but one that puts her attention far away as she passes by the fountain made in the image of her home. She's marked by a soft shade of blue this evening rather than pure white. She doesn't seem to spy the Targaryen on the bench right away, but smiles in an idle, appreciative way at the cheerful song coming from the Tyrell bard.

Jurian probably does notice both nobles passing by. But he doesn't speak right away, watching for a moment. After a moment spent taking in each detail of melody, gait, and dress, he says, "I see the finest birds fly by night."

The whistling noble is not especially alert and so the subtle Prince by the fountain doesn't draw his gaze from the end of the day merchants closing shop. He stops the song at one point to talk softly with a beard merchant and they laugh but he wanders on with a song once more on his lips. Clovis is just acclimating himself with the square at dusk on his first day back in town.

Marsei is more startled than the words properly call for, but the tiny spark of tension that brings her out of her daydreams vanishes smoothly, not an ounce of it to be found in her scarcely-bared shoulders and certainly not in her smile toward the prince. As new as it is to her ear, it's clear enough she recognized his voice before she stops and turns to take notice of his face. "My prince," she greets with just the right amount of cheer and deference, "I am not so sure of that," she refutes— but only pleasantly, "should they not be home in their roost?"

"And yet they are not," Jurian returns. "Come and sit with me." He seems to expect she will comply, moving his gaze from her to Clovis. "Do you know the Tyrells well?"

As a matter of pure happenstance and pure Dumb Luck Clovis glances over and spots the Prince and Marsei from across the square. He inclines his head to them as his whistle clipped off smartly. Clovis waits a beat but he does begin his approach in a graceful gait.

Jurian is right: Marsei sits without question or pause, poised upon the bench. It is a bench made for sitting with poise, pristine to match her gown, her posture. "The Tyrells have always been friends," she answers; her words are vague, but don't seem purposefully so, in fact extending rather a sincere kindness to the Tyrell family. She looks to Clovis, following Jurian's gaze, but finds no familiarity in this particular Tyrell.

"Sit with me," Jurian tells Clovis as he approaches. He might have said 'us.' But at least he offers: "I will introduce you. This lad has been in Dorne so long, you may never have met, Lady Hightower."

Lord Clovis Tyrell walks with a practiced step as he approached the bench without ever really pausing. His poise is -rehearsed- in its way and he nods first to the Prince. "Thank you for the invitation Your Highness." He turns to Lady Hightower next and his grin is a genial. "Pleasure to meet you. My name is Clovis."

Lord Clovis Tyrell walks with a practiced step as he approached the bench without ever really pausing. His poise is -rehearsed- in its way and he nods first to the Prince. "Thank you for the invitation Your Highness." He turns to Lady Marsei next and his grin is a genial. "Pleasure to meet you. My name is Clovis."

A soft merry ah of understanding precedes Marsei's words — Dorne not only explains her unfamiliarity with the Tyrell, it also explains his song and his clothes. "The pleasure is mine, Lord Clovis," she returns. There's the faintest pause between Lord and Clovis, but he doesn't fit the image of a knight; she makes her guess. "Dorne seems to have treated you well?"

"Dorne taught him to dance, apparently," Jurian shares with Marsei. "He is bringing his Dornish dances to the Whimsy."

The hyper active young Tyrell only lingers long enough to bid Lady Marsei and the Prince a bit of his person in the gift of that cherry grin. "I shouldn't linger just now.." Lord Clovis says with a hint of disappointment that might be portrayed for the current company. "It is late and has been a very long day but soon.. I hope to show everyone the wonderful things I learned in Dorne. At The Whimsy." Lord Clovis takes his feet and nods to the others, "Your Highness, Lady Marsei." He makes a little flourish before taking his leave.

"Dornish dances," Marsei says in awe — polite awe, edged with just a hint of curiosity and uncertainty. "Ser Loryn must be thrilled to have new talent for his stage. The Whimsy is enchanting." She smiles kindly and nods to Clovis, seeing him off.

"Ser Loryn is insisting he audition," Jurian says with a smile. Perhaps airing that bit of news is his way of showing displeasure that Clovis takes his leave rather than sit as instructed. Jurian looks back to Marsei. "I think there's more to say to you, but perhaps the young lord is right to go to bed at a respectable hour."

"I suppose the evening does wear on," Marsei says genially, looking back toward the Hightower. That's where her bed lies, but she will make no move to take her leave until Jurian does so first.

Jurian gets to his feet. "Forgive me for detaining you, Lady Marsei," he says.

"You could not detain me, my prince," Marsei says by way of polite goodbye, standing now that he's risen; yet despite the words, she stays where she is, all smiles, detained by manners, to see him off as well before it's her turn to head home.

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