(122-07-20) Loose Cockatrice vs Uptight Dragon
Loose Cockatrice vs Uptight Dragon
Summary: During the later hours of the wedding feast, Prince Rhaegor Targaryen encounters Lara Gargalen.
Date: Date of play (21/07/2015)
Related: Happens after this log, but still during the wedding feast.

The wedding feast is still in full swing, at least as far as such things go following an outburst like the one that took place perhaps an hour earlier. Rhaegor had disappeared to parlay with his Velaryon kinsman, to assuage the man's temper and to take a more detailed account of what led up to the outburst he'd witnessed. Now he is returning from this errand, crossing a walled courtyard on his way back to the feast. The moon is bright in the sky, and it's a balmy evening. In this rare moment of solitude, his expression is grim; there is no need to wear the mask of pleasant neutrality with no one to witness it.

The evening has already progressed, as have the festivities celebrating the wedding of Torren Nymeros Martell and Visenya Targaryen inside of the Palace. Wine and food has been had, in fact, more of the former, when Lara Gargalen very much enjoyed the kisses of a certain Dornish knight she had singled out to keep her company on this occasion. When tempers flared, she had of course noticed, even if she was slightly displeased with this development. Especially as it would make that handsome knight leave her side and seek out some of his fellow knights to discuss what had just transpired. Leaving a slightly pouting Gargalen behind. She had risen from where she was so comfortably settled, a half-filled goblet still in hand, and left the hall. Her steps have led her outside onto the courtyard, where Rhaegor can glimpse her now. Her dress of purple sandsilk shifting about her frame in the light evening breeze, her black tresses still arranged in that fashionable, albeit at this point already less orderly hairdo. Her dark eyes are directed upwards, in contemplation of the starry sky above them, she for a moment lost in thoughts - or just a little drunk, who can tell?

Rhaegor spots her from a distance, and as he charts his course across the courtyard, and he passes her by, he offers a cordial, "My lady." But she gives the appearance of enjoying her solitude, as he had been as well, and it would seem he intends to only pause just long enough for the exchange of pleasantries. The tall Targaryen prince is dressed in a crimson robe of Dornish sandsilk for the occasion, his blond hair oiled and swept back from his face, a light scruff on his jaw.

Lara lowers her gaze from the intense study of the stars, not that startled by the interruption as she must have heard his steps approaching. But when she beholds who it is that provides the interruption, her eyes cannot help but widen while her lips curl into a smile. "Your highness?", she greets softly, looking impressed with his impressive appearance. "Prince Rhaegor," she adds then, a bit breathlessly perhaps, as she allows her eyes to wander over his frame.

The Targaryen prince inclines his head to her when she turns and greets him, and now that he has the advantage of recognizing her, he realizes, too, that he has the disadvantage of not knowing her name. "Forgive me. I have seen you in Princess Visenya's company, but we've yet to be introduced."

Lara's eyes lift to meet his gaze when Rhaegor addresses her, and she smiles. "I am the lady Lara Gargalen, one of the ladies Prince Torren has provided your sister with to keep her company." Introducing herself right away when he mentions it. Her brown eyes flicker as she considers, a brief moment of hesitation occurring, before the Dornishwoman adds: "I have not yet had the chance to congratulate you on your betrothal." Her tone is polite, her gaze attentive. After all she has been there, in the hall, when Princess Emira's spirited temper showed.

"Princess Visenya is not my sister; she is a second cousin," Rhaegor clarifies, but not unkindly. Targaryen lineage is something of a confusing matter to those not well versed in their interwoven web of a family tree, the distinguishing of relations further obfuscated by their habitual practice of wedding brother to sister. But anyway. Introductions. "Lady Lara. Well met. I suppose that you will accompany us to Oldtown, if you are to be a companion to the princess." When she congratulates him on the betrothal, he does not hesitate to say, "Thank you."

"Oh," Lara lowers her gaze, biting her lower lip. "Forgive me; your cousin, then." She chuckles softly, shaking her head, then takes another sip from her goblet. Dark eyes moving in another study of his physique as she raises her gaze once again. Her cheeks showing off a rosiness, perhaps from the wine. "Yes," the Gargalen replies to the Dragon's question. "I will apparently. It will be… interesting, I suppose. I've never been away from Dorne so far." His measured reaction to her congratulations draws a chuckle from her lips. "My, you are uptight," she says, taking a step or two to cross the distance to the Targaryen. Maybe it is the Dornish Red she has had over the course of the evening; maybe it is her Dornish blood; most probably though it is because she is Lara Gargalen, when she extends her hand and will have her fingers brush gently over his cheek - if he allows it. "Enjoy yourself, my prince. We are here to celebrate, are we not?"

Perhaps it is precisely on account of the celebratory nature of the evening that Rhaegor merely catches her wrist when she lifts the hand for his cheek, intercepting the touch and letting her go just as swiftly. On another night, in another place, the dragon might very well do more to discourage such a presumption. The look he wears would seem to imply that he isn't, precisely, in a spirit of revelry. His pale violet stare flicks pointedly to the cup of wine she has to hand, and then returns to her rosy-cheeked face. "I find myself wanting for wine," he says, rather than comment on the attempted caress or that she's called him uptight. "Perhaps we ought both rejoin the festivities, yes?"

Her brows twitch upwards when Rhaegor catches her wrist, a bit of surprise flickering in her dark eyes; a hint of displeasure as well at such evident rejection. A bit of air leaves Lara's comely nose as she straightens, lowering that almost caressing hand until it hangs down by her side. "You are uptight, by the Seven," the Cockatrice murmurs, more to herself, before she raises a brow. "Wine? There is plenty of it inside." Her lips curl, revealing a glimpse of her pearly white teeth. "Enough for both of us, I daresay." Said as she inclines her head to his proposal, slightly amused - and surprised at the same time he would ask her to accompany him inside.

He senses, immediately, that she mistakes him; Rhaegor merely attempted to remove the sting of his rejection with the suggestion. And so rather than further encourage the misunderstanding, he says, "I will take the air a moment longer, Lady Lara. And no doubt your presence is more sorely missed than mine. Enjoy yourself." An echo of her own advice to him, as he gently bids her to go on ahead of him.

Lara's eyes widen ever-so-slightly before they narrow. Her lips remain curled though, the glance she gives the Targaryen curious as she tries to figure him out. "You are flattering me, your highness.", she intones softly, shifting in her stance, the fabric of her gown rearranging itself over her comely form. "I will leave the fine Dornish air for you to enjoy then," the corners of her lips twitch upwards. "Alas, this means you'll have to do without wine for a moment longer, while I," she raises her almost empty goblet, "will get an immediate refill." Leaving it at that she turns, her armbands jingling, the purple sandsilk of her gown twirling about her slender form. A low giggle escaping those wine-stained lips of hers as Lara shoots Rhaegor a last glance over her shoulder, before she vanishes inside.

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