(122-07-23) Unbecoming Glances
Unbecoming Glances
Summary: … towards Prince Torren is what Visenya accuses Lara Gargalen of and makes it very clear that such conduct will no longer be tolerated.
Date: 23/07/2015 (Date of Play)
Related: Marital Advice; Wedding logs, and others where both Torren and Lara have been present.
Players:
Visenya..Lara..

The Dornish travel the desert at night as it is far too hot during the day for the horses. They begin making camp a few hours after daybreak, and sleep through the hottest portions of the day. The tents are up, and the sun is shining outside, but Visenya is getting ready for bed. There is simply not enough water for a full bath so it is washing off in a basin for the Princess. She sits naked on a towel in her tent, and runs a wet cloth over herself to get clean. “I had the most interesting conversation with Lady Fowler when we first stopped.” She says to Lara as she washes, “She mentioned you are a cousin of sorts.”

Lara is still attired in a beige gown of sand-silk, not too flashy for travel and rather tame for her standards. It is light enough though to make the hot climate a little more bearable. The Gargalen has entered the tent some moments ago, sitting now on a cushion in a slight lean to one side, supporting herself with one arm, while the other lifts a cup of water to her lips. The pale-skinned physique of the Princess has drawn her gaze only momentarily. Her own black hair is worn in a braid, to keep it from becoming much of a fuss on the voyage.

The remark about Lady Fowler makes Lara look up, and she smiles. “My mother is a Fowler,” she admits with a light lift of both brows. That smile grows a bit wider, “I would not want to miss this wedding, I am sure it will be a memorable event.” A bit of ambiguity flashing there in those dark eyes of hers. “What do you think of her?”, she asks then, looking a bit curious.

“She is to be my Aunt, and she carries my Uncle’s child. She is family.” Visenya says of Alaeyna with a light little shrug of her bare shoulder. She has finished washing, and drops the cloth in the basin of water. A bottle of perfume sat out on the mat is picked up, and she dabs some on her neck, behind her ears, behind her knees, and finally on her wrists. Then she draws the simple light colored robe about her up and over her shoulders to cover her nakedness. “She and Prince Torren are friends, and she knew his first wife. She could prove to be a powerful ally.”

“She has had many paramours.” This is well-known, of course. “She gave me some advice on how to stop a woman from looking at my husband in an unbecoming manner in front of me.” Her words are soft. Unassuming. It’s hard to detect the iron edge there in her voice, but there it is.

The Gargalen takes another sip of water from her cup, studying the silver-haired Martell wife attentively over the rim. Her lips remain curled as she lowers the cup, observing the manner in which Visenya adds some scent to her freshly cleaned form. “She is powerful, indeed,” that smile turns into a smirk. “And yes. She has a number of them.” This added in regards to the paramours. The next remark will have her lift a brow though, a bit of amusement showing in the Gargalen’s bearing, mingled with a hint of amorous competitiveness. “An unbecoming manner, your highness? Your husband is a Prince of Dorne… He is bound to attract many glances.” Ignoring the iron edge in Visenya’s tone, if there is any. At least outwardly.

“My husband is more than the Prince of Dorne.” Visenya says with a lazy indulgent little smile. “He is the heir to the ruling Princess, and he exercises quite a bit more authority than his siblings.” She ties her robe closed and lifts a hand to motion Lara closer. “Come. Sit with me. I will tell you what Lady Fowler told me.” She smiles again, and it almost seems friendly.

Is Lara wary of the silver-haired princess? The confident curling of her full lips seems to suggest otherwise, but her brown eyes stay focused on Visenya as she shifts closer, following the request of the Northron. Not reacting to the remark about Torren being the heir, apart from a faint sparkle in her eyes. The cup of water she drains and deposits on the ground, before she settles herself beside Visenya Martell. “What did she tell you?”, the Cockatrice asks, lifting a brow as she shoots her a sideways glance.

Lara is close enough to smell the light floral and citrus nodes of Visenya’s perfume. When the Gargalen sits down Visenya shifts forward slightly, and suddenly she is very clearly in the other woman’s bubble. “Oh. Not much of anything. Really.” And then she shifts closer until their upper bodies are nearly touching. Her amethyst colored eyes slide over Lara lazily before she says, “You know how some women prattle.”

Visenya may notice a slightly spicier, more sensual note in the scent the Gargalen emanates. “Not much of anything?”, Lara echoes, not looking by any means troubled by the woman’s proximity. However, some implications may be made within the Cockatrice’s head, and a wave of mirth rises in her chest to break free in a melodious chuckle. “She told you to divert the attention to yourself?”, Lara inquires then, meeting that amethyst gaze with apparent amusement.

“No…” Visenya says, and she leans forward a bit to stare into Lara’s eyes for a moment. “She did not tell me to divert the attention to myself. That would be silly, wouldn’t it?” And then she reaches forward to stroke Lara’s cheek lightly. And then she leans back, “She told me that if a woman ever laid eyes on her man in front of her, and showed such disrespect that she would cut her fucking tit off.” And then Visenya pulls her hand back to strike Lara across the cheek.

"Would it?", Lara counters, lifting a brow. One corner of her lips is raised, and she does not pull back when Visenya reaches to touch her cheek. “Laid eyes… I mean… laid with him before your eyes, that would be different…”, she jests lightly. Biting her lip, when her brows twitch upwards at Visenya’s rather candid threat. Seeing the hand come a tad too late, she manages to at least shift enough to receive the slap when it has already lost a bit of momentum. Besides. It would show disrespect to evade the slap of a silver-haired Targaryen Martell, would it not? Her head is flipped to the side from the impact, her cheek showing a bit of redness where the royal hand hit her. Still, there is a wry grin on the Gargalen’s features when she glances towards the silver-haired Princess. She chuckles. “You are a Northron fool, Princess Visenya, if you think you can keep all of the court in Sunspear from laying eyes on your husband. Why, he may feel inclined for the company of others now and then, which is his right, as the heir, and a Prince of Dorne. Will you deny that to him?” Lara shifts away from Visenya and moves to stand. “It could even prove pleasurable if you allowed him and yourself to extend your interests.” The words are brought forth softly, without any hint of mockery. “Am I dismissed, your highness?”, Lara adds after a moment, with a charming smile, regarding Visenya attentively.

“I don’t give a fuck who puts their eyes on him.” Visenya says, and the word fuck seems more profane in her sweet sounding voice than it might otherwise. She stands up from the floor, and crosses the mats that keep sand out of the tent to be toe-to-toe with Lara. “But you are a fool if you think I will allow you to disrespect me in such a manner. You want to try bedding my husband? Do it out of my sight. I swear to the Seven I will rip your fucking throat out with my teeth if you disrespect me further.” She gets closer to Lara. So close the other woman can feel her breath, “Understand this. Even if he ever does fuck you? Which I doubt will ever happen because if he wanted a whore he could pay for one and get a lot less trouble. Even if he bedded you? You will never be my competition. You will never replace me. So try all you want. But keep it out of my sight.” When she asks if she is dismissed she takes a step back, “Of course.” And then she smiles sweetly, “Have a lovely rest, lady Lara. It’s a long ride we have ahead of us.”

Lara shifts in her stance, the beige sandsilk of her gown reacting by rearranging itself over her comely physique. Her dark eyes remain on Visenya as she rises and approaches, the expression in her gaze unreadable, even though her lips remain slightly curled. “You mistake me, Princess Visenya. I have never meant to disrespect you.” She falls silent allowing the angered words of the Dragon princess to wash over her, a brow lifting at Visenya’s expressed doubt the Gargalen would ever make it into Prince Torren’s bed. Lara cants her head a bit to the side, her hands moving to her hips, her eyes rolling ever so slightly. “Very well, your highness,” she replies softly then, inclining her head. Discarding any other less respectful retort that may have been about to jump from her lips. The smile is met with one of her own, albeit in a less enthused version which fades from her features completely after she turns to leave the tent, a faint line of displeasure showing between her brows.

Even that expression will fade eventually, when the Cockatrice lets her gaze drift over the camp, in search of someone to ‘share’ her rest with, to make it lovely indeed.

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