(123-01-08) Chickens... Away!
Chickens… Away!
Summary: A fracas on Beacon Boulevard leads to several mishaps involving chickens, flying eggs, horses and a dog.
Date: 08/01/2016
Related: None
Players:
Loryn..Viola..Miranda..

Beacon Boulevard — Oldtown

The boulevard is a large, stately passage, wide and well-furnished with green grass, trees, and flower-gardens. There are benches for one to sit and rest a bit between their travels, made of smooth grey stone. To the North, the Hightower Square of Oldtown awaits, with a steady throng of well-to-do people in fine raiment going and coming, either empty-handed, or clutching many parcels from the merchants in the square.

To the South, the more ragged, common city-dwellers can be seen crowding about the gates to the the Oldtown Square. There are a few shops here, nestled amongst the stony buildings, and some vendors crying their wares from their carts or stalls.


The sun shines down on a pleasant and cool day, with the streets of Oldtown being their usual crowded selves. Perhaps the beautiful weather draws more out than normal, as there's a bit of a congested crowd. Wagons, foot traffic, the occasional horse, and of course the litters of the highborn on business — all compete to move even with the wide corridors. The merchants call out to tempt passersby, and enterprising urchins hold out their hands or offer penny-flowers picked from the fine garden beds when no-one is looking.

From the Forecourt of the Whimsy Theatre steps theatre impresario Loryn Tyrell. He stands before the entrance and looks around for someone. Did a date let him down? Or did he merely ask his housekeeper for a trip to the market together?

Amongst this all, a humble wagon moves through the southern-gates bearing wooden crates of noisily clucking chickens and barrels of carefully packed eggs. The two tired looking draft-horses draw it slowly as a weather-worn farmer in dusty garb tries to maneuver up the road to his eventual destination. When the crowds give enough leeway, he hee'yahs the horses onward and up the road they go.

"You've got to make it sound a good deal better than that, now, dear, if you want to catch their eyes. Hold it up to the sun. There we are." The Tyrell house servant, Viola, rises from bended knee; she'd been talking pleasantly — though it sounds a good deal like business advice — to one of those urchins, though she hasn't a penny to give. The woman, middling in age, with a hard-worked and firm-lined, smiling face, wearing the dullest approximation of Tyrell colours, has a hefty parcel from the market under one strong arm. Loryn's parcel and his housekeeper are not far from his side for long, striding through a bit of the dawdling crowd just several feet away.

Miranda makes her way through the market with a basket on her arm. The septa is met with respectful nods and requests for blessings as she travels, all of which she happily responds to. She gives the flower-girl a few pennies and takes a daffodil to stuck in the corner of her wimple at her ear. Clearly Viola's suggestion holds merit, and the young septa gestures to the retreating woman's form as if to illustrate her point. "Good advise, child. Seven bless you for your willingness to listen and learn from it." She looks past the housekeeper to the destination and smiles, raising a hand in greeting.

A young lad in tattered but clean clothes emerges from a side-alley with a dog bouncing around his heels and a rag-ball in his hand. He tosses it into the crowd and laughs uproariously as the dog scampers twixt legs and under skirts to fetch the prize.

Loryn spots Viola when she rises from her knee and starts to head over. Which almost gets him to collide with the speeding chicken wagon. He mutters a rather filthy curse at the driver, then heads over. "Hey Viola, got the shopping done already?", he asks her, having not spotted Miranda yet. Or at least not recognized who's underneath the septa's wimple.

The driver starts to curse at the man getting in front of his cart but then begs pardon when he sees Loryn's finer clothes and attendant approaching him. The lad with the ball continues to lob and laugh, eliciting dirty looks from some of the finer patrons on business. The dog yips and barks happily with each bounding leap. A man carrying several bolts of fabric trips and the fabric tumbles from his arms into the street.

"Unless you've more to add to my list, m'lord," Viola answers, rather gaily acerbic; it would be something of a feat for her to carry any more, but she's all humour about it. She gives a sharp turn of her head toward the cursing man in the cart after the fact (out of her lord's sight, her own look is a bit dirty, itself) and mumbles something quiet and incomprehensible under her breath as fabric goes-well, bolting-through the street.

"Seven, the drivers get worse all the time.", Loryn grumps, "Maybe we should have a chat with the Hightowers about shutting the main roads for wheeled traffic during parts of the day." He starts holding out his arms to take the biggest parcel off Viola's arms, but then fabric goes bolting and he stares. "Oops.", he comments. Not that he'd move. Tyrells don't do that.

Miranda pauses to help the man pick up his wares, offering condolences. Some of it will require a bit of dusting off, a bolt of white summer linen is likely ruined with a bit of road-dirt clinging.

The merchant waits until the Tyrell lord and his attendant clear out of the path, with much mumbled apology. The lad with the dog lets loose a small cheer at his 'victory' as the fabric tumbles. Seeing the septa with the merchant, he changes targets quickly. The ball is lobbed just behind Loryn and Viola in a high arc. The dog stands on its' heels and bounds off immediately - dashing towards them through the legs of the draft horses. This is when it all starts to go wrong…

It is not Viola's place to comment on what the Hightowers should or shouldn't do, and so she is silent on how completely inconvenient she thinks Loryn's suggestion would be, only giving him a restrained look. She keeps close hold of the parcel. "Yes, a pity, m'lord," she says as she watches the fabric's ruination. Her pale eyes catch sight of the fast-moving ball before it flies behind them, and she turns her head to just glimpse the dog long enough to remark with some quick, low-voiced concern, "Ser Loryn— "

Both see the ball soaring. Loryn sees the mangy little spaniel dashing -right- for the horses as they draw up the street.

Loryn notices the dog as well, but wavers. He might have slain a ferocious beats, but he sure isn't getting into the way of two big draft horses with huge hooves and teeth. So he does the noble thing and calls out: "Someone stop that dog!"

Miranda's too busy dealing with the merchant to notice the dog. She looks up and misses it entirely.

The driver- hearing something about a dog, pulls back on the reins to try to stop the horses from moving any further. The boy lets out a yell of "NO! HEEL!" A farmer sees the dog and makes a lunge at it but the little creature is just too fast. It dashes past him and into the horses. One screams and rears back while the second dashes forward. The wagon, with this uneven pull, lurches forward at bad angle. Bystanders shout and scatter out of the way.

"'Ave you seen a spooked draft? I'm afraid it's too late for that," Viola hurries, taking one look at those horses' hooves and teeth and calculating. While she doesn't go so far as to grab her better's arm, she reaches for it and hovers her hand above his elbow, impressing urgency. "This way!" she shouts and rushes ahead into the scattering crowd just as the horse prove her unfortunately right, the screaming equine almost drowning out her considerably loud voice.

Loryn picks up on Viola's urgency and starts moving along, but then the horses act out and the cart rumbles and soon enough chaos ensues. "You aren't safe here.", he tells Viola and places his hand firmly on her shoulder to steer her away from the melee. Looking around, he also catches sight of Miranda for the first time and ohs. "It's Lady Miranda, I need to - uh - help her… somehow…" Not that he springs to immediate action.

Miranda's not close enough to the cart to be at risk but she is knocked over by the scrambling crowds as she looks up from the merchantman.

The horses continue to try to go in -two- directions at once, rocking and rolling the cart. It slams up into flower-bed on the avenue and TIPS. Screaming both human and horse is soon met with CHICKENS clucking in frantic worry. Barrels of eggs tip and crash with yolks flying everywhere. Feathers and wooden splinters fly. The crowd tries hauling in all directions causing general chaos as birds launch into the air.

…and some enterprising urchins immediately rush to try and catch chicken for their own dinner or to sell them on the black market…

Viola is easily steered, shifting the package under her arm to instinctively hold it even tighter in the chaos against opportunists. It takes more than a few wild horses and fleeing people for the tough servant woman to show a speck of fright, however-but her eyes certainly do go wide. "Sweet gods high above and below! Ser, the eggs, watch the eggs!" Now it's the servant attempting to protect the knight, taking his arm in an effort to lead him away from the splattering anarchy of yolk and feathers and toward the downed septa.

Wiser heads work at calming the horses. Enterprising children start to search for eggs that landed in grassy beds or chase chickens. Pickpockets, not that there -are- any in Oldtown, set to work.

Some yolk ends on Loryn's pretty coat but luckily the yellow goes well with the golden embroidery of the green coat. "Watch the eggs? There's nothing I can do to save them…", he points out with a bit of irritation. "Miranda!", he calls out in alarm when the septa is knocked over and unceremoniously elbows a few people aside to get through to her. "Make way or I'll stab you!", he threatens a fat elderly gawper angrily.

Miranda's not the only person battered by the crowd, but thankfully the wide streets mean there are no casualties or severe injuries. The farmer starts to shout and yell, searching for the urchin with the dog that started the whole ordeal while trying to turn his wagon back off its' side. The boy, however, seems to have made himself scarce. The dog, on the other hand, continues yipping and running around chasing the chickens in joy.

For every person Loryn elbows and insults, Viola loyally — or simply bitterly — gives them a follow-up look of additional disapproval. Her harsh expression turns to true concern as they near Miranda, even more haste in her step. She doesn't know the woman more than she knows the yapping dog, but she's a woman of the faith, and Loryn seems to know her. "Are you all right, septa, are you hurt?" When she speaks so fast, the Riverlands portion of Viola's common accent comes out strong.

Miranda's got a good deal of egg splatter on her robes but they're grey, they'll wash out. She tries to get back on her feet as she hears Loyrn calling and she looks around just in time to take a frantic chicken to the face. She pushes it aside and blinks at Viola, a feather or two stuck to her face. "I'll…. need to lie down," she says weakly, looking shaken. The dog barks gleefully and chases a rooster straight towards the trio.

A chicken has the nerve to cross Loryn's path and gets kicked for its trouble. It squawks in a mix of panic and annoyance and pootles off. Loryn then knees down and offers his hands to Miranda to help her up. "Come, Mylady, Viola and I will take you home. Do you need the attention of a maester?"

A rooster proudly flits to the top of a roof and crows loudly. People start to filter out of the roadway - the lower classes with squaqking chickens under their arm, the wealthy complaining about needing to clean their clothes. Chickens continue to hop and squawk in the streets with feathers gently floating through the air.

"She might if she takes a rooster to the knee. Devils, them, talons like eagles." Viola, her sights set firmly on the rooster and dog, looking as though she's quite ready to tackle one or both of them, but when the fowl prances onto the roof, her shoulders visibly calm.

Miranda is helped to her feet and she wobbles, clearly dazed. "Oh, Ser Loryn, hello… There's a lot of noise. I am… fine?" The dog continues to yip and jump, pawing at Viola's skirts in his joy.

One arm still around Miranda's waist - merely to support her of course - Loryn manages to kick at the dog to get him away from his faithful servant. "Are you certain?", he asks the young septa and looks at Viola. "Let's take her home. There's no need to stay here any longer than necessary in this hellish noise."

"Aren't you a little troublemaker," Viola says down to the dog, a mixture of annoyed and endeared. She gives Loryn a curt nod and turns away, ready to depart on his cue … but not before slipping a tiny piece of bread from the pocket of her skirt to toss behind her to the dog, giving him a sly wink over her shoulder.

Happy yapping continues apace, followed by squawks, shouts, and even a few cries of 'MY PURSE!' There's still a degree of chaos but at -least- there's no one seriously wounded. The dog follows the bread and gnaws noisily.

"I think I hit my head," Miranda admits, touching her hand to the back of her wimple. "Slightly dizzy, vision blurred. The ringing in my ears is likely the noise." She seems reluctant to let him help her. "No taste of copper so that's good." She looks to Viola and tries not to smile as the bread flies.

Someone has even alerted the city guards lurking in nearby Oldtown Square and when Loryn sees a quartet of them approach the scene of chaos, he knows it's time to duck out before they're held for pointless questioning. "Come, then -", Loryn urges Miranda and since he still has his arm around her person, it's easy for him to steer her onwards along the boulevard, away from the mayhem and noise. He uses his free hand to reach out and pluck a single feather from Viola's shoulder wordlessly.

Walking with long, quick strides and keeping dutifully quiet, Viola shifts the parcel from one side to the other in order to swipe a hand over her previously feathered shoulder. Tucking her head down, she glances about the rest of her uniform, just to be sure she's otherwise unmarred by the incident.

The guards set about their task as the trio make their escape. None are unscathed from yolk on their garments but it's nothing a simple scrub won't remove.

Yap! Yap! Yap. The scrawny spaniel barks as it starts to follow Viola…

* * *

Grand Hall - Garden Isle Manse
Sphinx Street

The first floor's main hall is grand, open room dominated by a massive fireplace and high-arched windows facing the street, protected by heavy iron bars. The white walls and polished white marble floors make it seem airy and bright. The starkness of the walls is softened by three long tapestries, depicting fantastical hunting scenes, while the marble floor is cushioned by rich Myrish rugs.

Down the center of the hall is a long, wide dining table, able to seat thirty comfortably. At the head of the table is an enormous chair of elaborately carved rosewood, with a door behind flanked by two high windows, giving a view of the sunlight gardens. Near the fireplace are smaller chairs, cushioned benches, and small tables for more intimate conversations.

Alcoves and doors at either side of the great hall lead to servants quarters, kitchens, and smaller sitting rooms. At the northwest and southeast corners of the building are square towers holding the stairs up to the floor above, where the bedchambers and other sitting rooms are found.


Once the little party arrives at Garden Isle, Loryn steers Miranda into the grand hall where a little fire is crackling away to warm the thick stone walls. He sits her down on one of the cushioned benches, then straightens and suddenly looks like a little boy way out of his depth. "I… uh… Viola!", he calls for the housekeeper, who might have brought the parcels to the kitchen and/or tried to smuggle a yappy dog into the house. "I… uh, would you take that thing off, Mylady?", he asks Miranda, gesturing at her wimple, "Viola will need to check your head for injuries."

Miranda moves slowly on their way back, favoring her right leg slightly. "My thing?" She blinks uncertainly at Loryn and touches her hand to her holy star. "My… necklace?" But wait, he said head. "Oh…" She gingerly removed the grey and then the closely settled white headdress underneath. Her hair is a wheat-brown color with the occasional lighter highlight, and plaited in several neat buns against her head.

Viola is between one room and another, on her way to heed Loryn's call when— that bark again. It's muffled, but they know that bark. Half of Beacon Boulevard knows that bark. There's a distant mumbling — "seven bloody hells." — and the servant disappears and reappears again in a few moments, the yapping no longer audible. She carries a tray with a cup, a perfectly silver pitcher of water and a clean white cloth. She sets it down upon a low table and moves to stand behind Miranda, staring at her plaited head. "Does it hurt any place in particular, septa?"

Loryn totally hears that bark. It causes him to frown deeply. But luckily for Viola (and the dog) Miranda removes the headdress and he gets totally distracted, gawking at the young woman. "You look… nice.", he decides limply. Whatever compliments he had ready are swallowed when Viola appears with the tea.

Miranda misinterprets Loryn's comments and smiles faintly. "So no bruising or blood then?" She touches her hand to the back of her head in light experimentation. "Back here, I'd think. I must have smacked straight back on the cobblestone. It also hurts…. where I sit." She flushes a little at that, unable to say 'tailbone' in polite company.

"Well, we won't be taking a peek there, at least not in this company, eh?" Viola tells Miranda with a sideways look to Loryn. She touches a hand to the back of the septa's head, then; her work-worn hands are gentle as a wisp at first, to let her know she's there, before prodding slightly to take a test of any injury. "I think you'll live," she says with a chuckle under her breath, moving around Miranda to reach for the cloth. She dips it in the pitcher of water and hands it to her. "Hold this to it for awhile. It's good and cold."

Colour rises to Loryn's cheeks when Viola comments about company and taking peeks. "I… uh…." He clears his throat, "I could leave you alone or you could take the lady to one of the bedchambers where she may lay down and rest for a little?", he suggests helpfully. At the same time he does crane his neck to see if there's an actual wound on Miranda's head.

Miranda's not bleeding but she does wince tenderly even at Viola's soft prodding. A lump will no doubt form, hidden under her coiled hair. "I should be getting back to the sept," she protests. "It's nothing too severe, I think. The maesters suggest falling asleep is not good after hitting one's head. I think." She looks aat Viola again as if hoping to confirm.

Viola is but a mere servant, though an increasingly more senior one - but instinct kicks in, call it motherly or womanly or simple wisdom, and she gives Loryn a briefly chastising look for his colouring cheeks. This is a septa in their midst. "A nap's not the best, no, the maesters're wise — though I think you're just fine. Have a drink of water before you go." She's already pouring it.

Loryn finds something very interesting to look at beyond the window suddenly, when he finds Viola giving him that look. "Let one of the guards walk you to the sept, if you must go.", he finally turns back to Miranda when he things it's safe to look, "It would reassure me greatly to know you arrived safely."

Miranda accepts the cup and sips slowly. She nods but then winces a little and does her best to keep her head still.

Viola takes a step back and simply stands by, her hands clasped behind her back, ready to take Miranda's cup and cloth when she's finished.

Miranda says, "I will stay a bit until the dizziness passes, if that's no trouble?" She looks to Loryn and then Viola as if ask permission, pressing the cool cloth to her forehead. "And then they can walk me home."

Loryn watches the wince with a slight frown, then without further words leaves the Great Hall. After some minutes he will return with a kindly looking elderly Tyrell guard in tow.

Viola's smile seems to grant permission easily, although she does clearly study Miranda's face for signs of unwellness even so. "Wrong place at the wrong time I suppose," she says eventually, giving in to her natural inclination to chat while Loryn is away; she stands up taller and quiets when he returns with the guard.

Loryn looks from Viola to Miranda and smiles. "This is Rulf, he will take you safely to the sept, Mylady.", he explains with a nod to the guard he brought along, "It was good to see you again, even though I wish the circumstances had been more favorable. Please do me the honour to join me for tea here at Garden Isle some time." He seems ready to depart but stops to give Viola a look. "I'll need a word with you in a bit, Viola.", he informs her and steps out.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License