| A Strange Taste in Men |
| Summary: | … is what Elyas Jordayne attests Lara Gargalen, when he finds out about a former relation of hers to one of his family. |
| Date: | Date of play (20-21/07/2015) |
| Related: | Seeds of Peace. Happens before the Wedding at Sunspear. |
| Players: |
 .. .. |
The day of the wedding has come. Plenty of well-dressed Dornish and foreign visitors have started to mingle in the courtyards of the palace in anticipation of the great event. For now there's music, free booze and the opportunity to watch new arrivals, exchange gossip and bitch about other women's clothes and waistlines. A little away from the general mayhem is one young Dornishman whose dress is flashy even for Dornish standards: Bright red silk pants, tucked into polished brown boots and a yellow silk shirt underneath a golden vest sparkling with gemstones. Glossy black hair is allowed to fall freely alongside his shaven face and those standing near him will testify to his very expensive smell. Right now he just leans against a pillar, sipping from a golden cup from time to time, while he watches the arrivals with a sneer on his pretty face.
Moving about in a casual stroll is Lara Gargalen, an airy gown of purple sandsilk charming her slender appealing form. The fabric shifts with each step she takes, her black hair falling about her shoulders, not being tamed into some sort of hairdo. She may be a little late, having had to attend to the bride in the process of finishing preparations for the wedding; now left with a bit of idle time, as Visenya prepares mentally for the big event. Lara’s hand extends, accepting a goblet from a servant in passing, her slender fingers curling about the stem of the goblet as she takes a first sip; her dark eyes meeting those of Elyas perhaps, should he look her way, as she lowers the goblet and straightens to cast a look around to check who is already there. One corner of her lips twists upwards, curiously, but she will remain where she is, her head tilted to the side, considering Elyas from afar with a sparkling gaze, as one finger moves to her lower lip to remove a droplet of wine that somehow has managed to stay there.
Elyas notes the attention of a pretty young Dornishwoman, how could he not? He stares at her boldly, measuring her up, looking pleased with what he sees. He lifts his wine cup in a toast/greeting to the stranger, but doesn’t shift either, quite happy leaning against his pillar, watching the people. His look is rather inviting, at least.
Hmm, Elyas does not look too bad either, or he would not have managed to attract the Gargalen lady’s attention. His appraising gaze is noted, alas, it will not cause any blush to sneak onto her comely features. Her lips are moistened with a quick flick of her tongue, Lara’s dark eyes narrowing ever-so-briefly while her lips curl even more, revealing some of her pearly white teeth as she shrugs and approaches – obviously amused by this staring contest and not too proud to lose it. “Here for the wedding?”, the question a formality, uttered more in the intent to start off a conversation than in the pursuit of a meaningful, deep exchange.
“No, here to rob the palace when all the attention is on the wedding.”, Elyas replies lightly, staring down her cleavage when she is finally standing close to him. “Breaks my heart to see another good man bound to a woman’s shackles and a foreigner at that. Heard, the Princess Visenya is mad as a box of frogs. One can only feel for poor old Torren.” He doesn’t bother to introduce himself for now, being so obviously Dornish. He does look at her though as if expecting some sort of introduction to be forthcoming.
A melodious chuckle is the response to his jest, Lara very much aware of his continued attentive study of her physique, as she shifts in her stance, allowing the light fabric of her attire to rearrange itself about her form. “Prince Torren has been married before,” she muses, lifting a brow at the familiar way the handsome Dornishman speaks of the Martell. “And… marriage won’t save him from any pursuits, I fear. No shackles will be strong enough to tie a Prince of House Nymeros Martell down, why, if he feels inclined he’ll still have all the opportunities.” Opportunities that possibly include herself. “He seems to be fond of the Dragon princess,” she adds softly, allowing her gaze to roam the crowd once again, as she moves to Elyas’s side, to get a better view. “Princess Visenya has so far been all charming,” Lara continues after a moment, with a faint smile adorning her features. “I am attending to her occasionally.” No introduction yet, sorry.
“Ah, well, be careful her dragons won’t eat you.”, Elyas grins, “Though I think at this stage they’re only just big enough to roast your toe. I met her in Oldtown.”, he adds casually, “She’s quite charming indeed, but as it’s always the case with beautiful women, you never know what lies underneath.” He gives her a pointed look, then sips on his wine and leans back against the pillar without saying another word, apparently content to just stand there and ogle.
Lara shoots Elyas a sideways glance when he states he has met Visenya in Oldtown. “So you’ve been to the North? How did you like it there? Are the men and women there really as uptight as they say?” She smirks, noting his pointed look. “The question is, do you really want to know what lies underneath?”, the black-haired lady remarks softly. It may be no coincidence that she shifts into a casual lean against the pillar, beside Elyas, a move that will bring her closer to him in a way but make any exchanges of glances more difficult, as they are no longer facing in the exactly same direction. “It seems Princess Visenya is eager to adapt to our Dornish ways. She is already wearing Dornish gowns and sips Dornish wine…”, the Cockatrice pauses, considering, before she adds with a soft chuckle: “Whilst keeping up an appearance of utmost innocence.” Which does not fit the picture.
“Told you she’s crazy.”, Elyas replies simply, “Besides, the way they dress in the Reach isn’t really suited for Dornish climes although I’ve been told it’s much colder further North. Doesn’t bear thinking about, being wrapped in furs all the time. Couldn’t tell the girls from the boys and now that would be a tragedy.” He ponders her questions some more, then shrugs. “It’s not really in the North, Oldtown. To the West rather. One just sails along the coast towards the sunset until you get there. Never left Sunspear then, Miss…?”, he asks, now clearly angling for a name.
Lara cannot help but agree to the tragedy Elyas mentions. “Indeed…”, she smirks, leaning a bit forward and to the side to shoot her handsome company a glance while offering a better view of those nicely wrapped assets. “The West,” she echoes pensively then. “Well, outside of Dorne, in some of those Northron kingdoms. For me, they are all in the North.”, she admits with a light shrug of a shoulder. “I grew up in Salt Shore, and was sent to Sunspear four years ago, for the first time. I’ve recently returned from a visit to my home, and now I am to serve Princess Visenya as a lady-in-waiting…” She shakes her head ever-so-slightly, perhaps amused at the irony of it all. “I am Lara Gargalen. And you? What is your name, handsome?” She regards him curiously, her gaze drifting over his frame in a similar appraising manner he had displayed before.
Elyas’ eyes narrow a bit at the mention of her name… perhaps it does ring a distant bell? While he doesn’t mind her ogling him, in fact he might even stand a bit straighter to allow his rippling physique to show off, his look becomes a bit wary. “I’m Elyas… Ser Elyas Jordayne.”, he adds, pointedly, eyeing her to see her reaction.
Lara is having another sip from her goblet, taking her time to give her charming companion an inspection, leaving indeed her comfortable lean against the pillar, the smile curling her lips suggesting she likes what she sees. Even so, the mention of the name has her eyes widen a bit as they shift back up at once to meet his gaze. “I am… pleased to meet you, Ser Elyas.” A hint of surprise showing in the way her brows lift, a bit of hesitation occurring before she dares to add: “I’ve been… acquainted with a relative of yours, here in Sunspear. Lord Zephyr Jordayne.” Late Zephyr Jordayne. She sighs, a bit of fondness sneaking into her gaze; a bit of sadness as well. Not much unlike the sadness that claims someone when speaking of a deceased pet. Oddly enough, this brings about some colour to her cheeks, and she bites her lower lip, regarding the younger Jordayne, to gauge his reaction.
“My Great-Uncle, Lord Zepyhr, I presume.”, Elyas responds, eyeing her thoughtfully. “I heard of his demise…” He gives her a loooong look, as if considering something, then pauses to sip some wine and watch a couple getting into a heated argument nearby until the woman flounces off angrily, then he finally turns back to his own companion. “It was you then?”, he simply asks.
“Me?”, Lara echoes in a tone that so very much tries to sound innocent, but failing there. This perhaps an area where she can still learn something from Visenya. Air leaves her comely nostrils in a soft exhale when the Gargalen lady realizes there will be no use denying it. “Yes,” she admits then with a sigh, after a moment of consideration. “I was with him, in the night when he passed away.” Her openly flirtatious manner fading into a somewhat sobered thoughtful state. And leaving no room for speculation, Lara will clarify, by adding: “At least he died a happy man…” The statement devoid of mockery, even if it is slightly ambiguous. Candid, even.
Elyas considers her for a while when the confession comes. His expression is impossible to read, though it’s certainly not unfriendly. Measuring, thinking. Finally one brow quirks, his lips widening into a smirking grin. “Way to go, I’d say, between the legs of a comely young lady. Tell me, did you exhaust him too much? Wouldn’t you be better suited to a younger man? Or were you after his well-filled purse?”
Lara studies the Jordayne knight, noting perhaps a bit of hesitation on his part as he digests the information. She still stands before him, her hands moving to rest on her hips, her head tilted to the side, her dark eyes glinting with a bit of caution, even if there may be also a hint of amusement as well. She seems relieved when she sees that grin finally emerge on his face, a smirk on hers the prompt reaction. “Maybe,” Lara muses softly in response to his first question, lifting a brow. “He asked me to ride him, and well, I did…” The admission comes with another slight shrug of her slender shoulders, a touch of bad conscience there in the way that smirk fades. Even so she will chuckle as Elyas continues with his inquiries. “Not his purse, no. I am wealthy enough,” the Gargalen lady smiles. “In fact…” And here her dark gaze wanders appreciatively over the physique of this younger Jordayne. “I usually tend towards the young, strong and tenacious…”
“So why my Great-Uncle then?”, Elyas asks, fully aware of the look, “He wasn’t young, you say you weren’t after his money… I can’t remember him as particularly good-looking or charming… so maybe you just have a strange taste in men?” He peers into his now empty cup and straightens a little. “Perhaps I shall ask you to dance later… during the festivities. I believe it is time to actually prepare for the tedious ceremony of two people pretending to be in love and looking forward to being hitched to each other for the rest of their lives. Speaking of which, I should also find my own lady who I mislaid somewhere…”
“Zephyr was a charismatic man,” Lara disagrees, “he’s had quite a number of lovers here in Sunspear, despite his age. I had been with him before,” she exhales softly, biting her lip. “And I assure you…” Not that he would want to know any details. Her voice trails off and she sighs softly. Instead she takes another sip from her goblet, studying the Jordayne over its rim as she does. A smile adorns her comely features when he mentions the possibility of a dance later at the feast. “Perhaps I shall accept,” she replies with a vagueness that matches his own. Even so her brows lift when Elyas seems suddenly very eager to get away from her. “I need to prepare as well,” says the Cockatrice, her other hand running through her black hair that still falls openly about her shoulders. While the mention of another lady is met with a slight upturn of her lips. “You could have searched for her, yet you choose to converse with me? I am lucky indeed…” She turns away from him, goblet in hand, shooting him a wink over her shoulder. “See you later then, perhaps, Ser Elyas. If you can’t find your lady, I’ll be happy to offer any consolation I can…” Said as she moves of, her hips swaying ever-so-slightly in a manner that sparks the imagination.