| Log Title |
| Summary: | Miranda solves a tricky theatrical problem and Loryn reminds her shooting is fun. |
| Date: | 01/02/2016 |
| Related: | Related Logs: Just about every Loryn & Miranda scene |
| Players: |
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It's a cool and drizzly day which means the actors of the Whimsy are bereft of any energy. Most stayed in bed at home. Only two stage hands are lounging about under the safe protection of the roof backstage since they have nowhere else to be. They'd point any visitor asking for Loryn up to his office. Where the young impresario can be found in his own bed, alone at least, reading a scroll.
Miranda's not bothered with a cloak as her robes and her wimple tend to keep her fairly comfortable even in the cool rain. Timidly she wraps on the door to the office and calls, "Ser Loryn? It's Septa Miranda. I had the most wonderful idea how to solve our dilemma!"
Oh Seven! Literally. Loryn considers the fact that he's wearing only a white shirt with leaves a lot of hairy leg exposed and decides to stay in bed, pulling the cover up to his chest quickly. "Oh, do come in, Septa!", he calls out cheerfully.
Miranda pushes in through the door, wearing a broad smile and looking quite pleased with herself. Her blue eyes go to the sitting table at once and reflect her confusion at not finding him there. It takes a moment for him to spot him in bed and she gasps. "Oh! Goodness, did I call at a bad time? Did I wake you? Are you ill?" She turns to the wall so not to look at him, covers in place or no.
"Er… no, I'm fine. And I've been awake for a while. I just… uh… didn't expect… visitors." Or rather one particular visitor. So he half-sits, half-lies, a little at a loss. "Um, won't you take a seat, Septa? I'm… quite decent, really."
Miranda looks quite flustered when she does glance back over, briefly. "It wouldn't be proper for me to call on you while you're abed, Ser. I can come back later?"
"But…", he begins, then realizes that it's really pointless to argue. "I can get up.", he offers and slips out of bed, using the sheet like some sort of toga he wraps around his lower half. He sits down and clears a few papers away. "Please, do take a seat now, Septa?", he asks hopefully.
"Well…" She takes a moment to compose herself. "I thought of how we can justify the rebels and not encourage the smallfolk to raise up against their rightful nobility."
Miranda keeps her eyes demurely averted until he's seated and any pants or lackthereof are out of sight and mind. "Well…" She takes a moment to compose herself. "I thought of how we can justify the rebels and not encourage the smallfolk to raise up against their rightful nobility."
"You have?", Loryn looks excited. Apparently it was worth the effort of getting out of bed for. "I was rather prepared to abandon the whole idea… so please do let me know…"
Miranda says, "We have to somehow establish that their current lord is good and noble and kind. Cares for the smallfolk. His… oh let's say son. His son is the opposite. A rake. Doesn't care, abuses the smallfolk and takes advantage of them." She seems pleased by the idea. "So with the old lord dying, the smallfolk are afraid the son will become a bad lord and thing will get worse. But!" Her smile is far to cheerful for a septa to possess. "He has a brother they would support. Another rightful lord of the family who could take the seat and rule wisely."
Loryn listens carefully, his eyes drifting around only once to locate a wine flask within reach and failing in the task. "It's… an interesting idea. But a fight for the throne would take the attention away from our main story, wouldn't it? Perhaps we should simply assume that the old ruler is dying and an usurper is threatening to take the throne and that's who they rise against? And towards the end, the hero and his family receive a note that the rightful heir has won the battle for the throne?"
Miranda smiles at that. "Perhaps the brother is trying to take it and the son wins, oh that's even better!"
Miranda adds, "And his death is what sparks the revolt; they're trying to secure the throne for the good ruler. There's your truth and freedom and liberty of the common man, Ser Loryn."
Loryn nods slowly. "That does sound like a good idea." A warm smile spreads across his face. "Thank you for coming to bring me this idea! It looks like we can really do this play then. We only need to add some rousing anthems now. I hope Mad Mads can deliver some…"
Miranda claps her hands togther happily. "Well! There you are, ser. A way to tell a good tale and be morally right and proper. I hate being your censor but at least I can help a little."
"No no, you're very welcome to be my censor.", Loryn encourages, "I… this is quite a different project from my usual plays, so I appreciate the input. I would hope that it shall find famous with you… and uh, the Seven, of course."
Miranda shakes her head, the wimple swaying alongside. "What I like doesn't matter. It needs to be pleasing to Them and then I'll be happy. If it can provide a good message of hope and love and redemption, then I am sure I will like it. I'm curious, how does your music get written?"
"Mad Mads writes my music.", Loryn explains and seeing that that probably doesn't mean anything to her, he grins and adds: "A Dornish minstrel named Madrighal. I have already informed him of this project though I am not sure if he is the right person for this kind of endeavor. Would you perhaps know someone musically inclined at the Sept?"
Miranda actually knows that name. "Oh! Yes, I've seen him perform, at your Dornish gala. He's also a brilliant rider. Were it not -horribly- improper of me I would have entered that mounted archery tourney he placed first in."
"Oh you should have! I'm sure you would have done very well.", Loryn smiles cheerfully, "I didn't know you excelled at archery. Perhaps you would be interested in competing with me some time?"
Miranda's expression fades from elation to hesitant worry. "I haven't shot in years. It wasn't somthing my husband approved of a lady doing, and in the sept there's little need for archery. I'm afraid I'll embarass myself."
"We can go to the tourney grounds.", Loryn offers, "There are always people practising. Or if you feel that's too exposed for you, I can have a target set up in our gardens for a little practise. I very much approve of ladies being able to wield a bow and defend herself and her loved ones in times of trouble. Let us go now!", he says eagerly and leaps to his feet. Which, unfortunately makes the white sheet drop, exposing hairy leg from mid-thigh onwards.
Miranda lets loose a startled yelp and covers her eyes. "Oh, perhaps… trousers?" She rises from the chair, eyes still shielded. "I'll wait outside." She turns swiftly towads the door, her face fleetingly beet red which is impressive with her tanned color.
Loryn seems a little surprised by her reaction and looks down quickly to make sure that -only- hairy legs are exposed and not some altogether more private parts of his anatomy. That, though, is well-hidden beneath the long flowing shirt. Confused, he shrugs a little and doesn't make an attempt to stop her. After a few minutes he does emerge from the room somewhat probably clad in sandy-colored trousers tucked into boots and pretty embroidered vest covering most of the shirt. "My apologies, Septa.", he mumbles.
Miranda mutters something that sounds like acceptance. Her color has lessened to just pink. "It's my fault for calling on you while you were still abed, ser. Forgive me."
"It's quite alright.", he assures her cheerfully, "It's the nicest place to be when you have nowhere else to be." The life of a noble in a nutshell. He begins leaping down the stairs and waits for her at the bottom. "To the tourney grounds then?"
Miranda follows with reluctance. "I suppose… I have a bow in my cell at the sept." Cell being a perfectly normal word for small room and not a prison. "Or do you have a spare perhaps? A lady's bow; a man's draw is too much for me."
"A bow can be found for you.", Loryn assures her. One of the loitering stage hands is dispatched to Garden Isle to retrieve bows and arrows for both (as well as some drinks and snacks), while Loryn leisurely walks along the streets with Miranda in town, discussing a few more details on the show he is planning.
The Tourney Grounds stand just outside of the walls of Oldtown. There is a raised platform of several levels for noble viewers, with space for comfortable chairs and little tables to be set in place, and tall posts for canopies to be hung to keep the sun off. Not far stands the great board where the lists are kept. On the far side of the grounds rough tiered benches are available for the smallfolk, and past them there's a flat field for the knights to erect their pavilions in the grass.
The long log rail for the jousts stands right before the Lords' and Ladies' platform, with the space for the melee just beyond it. The archery butts are mounded at the Southwest edge of the grounds, where a great meadow of purple-red fireweed spreads off into the distance. The rough little narrow road to Blackcrown cuts through it.
Loryn totally did not get lost en route.
Miranda continues to chatter, albiet a bit more reserved. "Perhaps at the end, the dying hero is greeted by the souls of all those whose life he has set right? Welcoming him to heaven?"
Loryn considers this for a moment, picturing the scene in his mind. "Him walking towards his dead loved ones and the light… I can see this being an amazing tearjerker… not sure if my audience would appreciate it, but we could test it, sure.", he muses, "I mean, it's some sort of happy end, is it not? Nicer than him just dying?"
Miranda says, "I think it would help show how one man can make a world of good and save others - as well as himself." She gazes skyward for a moment. "Aren't most plays ending with someone dying after a long speech anyhow?"
Loryn laughs at that. "Not the comedies, they usually end with marriage. But yes, you have a point. In drama they tend to do. Or, as my father used to say: It ain't over till the fat lady sings." He looks a little embrassed and clears his throat, glad to see that two young men in Tyrell colours have been commandeering one of the targets for them. There are a few bows leading against the fence and a bag of arrows.
"Didn't know which one, so just grabbed a bunch.", Loryn's young squire informs him, squinting at the Septa shyly.
Miranda shrugs back to the squire as she takes one of the smaller bows, something that will fit her hands. She knows her weapon, at least, and tests the draw and checks the string first. "I haven't shot in a year or so," she reminds Loryn, "so please forgive me if it's a terrible showing. There isn't any call for a septa to go on a hunt or come to the butts."
"But imagine some raiders attacked the city and threatened your orphans. You'd wish with all your heart, you could defend, yes?", Loryn smiles and picks out a slightly larger bow for himself. He waits until Miranda has chosen one, then takes a step back and gestures. "Ladies first…"
The young septa blinks at that. "Oh of course! We must use every skill at our disposal when there is a need. The Seven are One, so a bit of the Warrior resides in a woman as well." It's more esoteric but she smiles all the same. An arrow is drawn and notched, and the lady holds her breath as she aims and lets loose.
Loryn seems pleased that the septa has discovered her inner warrior and watches eagerly. When she does hit the target, he claps. "Well, see, that wasn't bad at all! Do try a few more times!", he encourages.
Miranda's first shot is met with a few less than successful followups. She is truly rusty but can manage to hit the target on occasion. "I wonder if it's the weight of the robes, I'm not used to shooting with such heavy sleeves."
"They are not conductive to holding the bow exactly right.", Loryn comments diplomatically, "But you should also hold your left arm a little more like this, giving you more leeway to draw the string out -" He begins to demonstrate and delicately puts a hand on her arm. "If you permit me…?"
Miranda's skiddish to the touch as if instincts tell her to flinch. "It's been a long time, really. I'm just a bit out of practice," she protests weakly.
Loryn tries to keep the touch as light as possible while he corrects her posture. Though he obviously doesn't mind standing rather close for a few very long seconds before stepping back again. "Now try again?", he suggests.
Miranda manages a smile as she makes a solid shot. "I used to go out riding all the time when I was a girl. Hunting as often as my father would permit. My brothers and I had shooting contests; I was never as good but Warrior bless me- I am so out of practice." She chuckles a little.
"I'd be happy to share lessons regularly.", Loryn offers with a smile, pleased to see that she has hit the target again after his corrections. "I know that it takes constant practise to maintain your talent…"
There's a reuctant smile as she shakes her head. "It's a kind offer, but it's not very… practical for a septa to be shooting. I've little cause for it now, and it seems silly to practice a skill I no longer need. But thank you for the offer."
Loryn looks a little deflated by the sudden turnaround. "What happened to the Warrior inside you and protecting defenseless orphans in times of need?", he wonders, while he busies himself with finding the perfect arrows. "Defensive skills are always in need."
Miranda's caught by her own logic. She looks a little guilty. "I'm sorry, that wasn't a very honest answer of me, Ser Loryn. I was more concerned with gossips commenting on you and I being social together in public, and the other septas chiding me for being in the company of a man."
"I see.", Loryn replies thinly. "Well, if any septa should remark upon your practice, you tell them of your desire to be able to protect those in your protection by all means necessary. And as I said, if you would rather not be out here, a target can always be set up in the Gardens, away from prying eyes."
Miranda turns an arrow over in her hands as she considers it. There's some kind of mental debate going on that's written on her face. "I could do that, I suppose. Or here is suitable since it is in open public and that won't be questioned as much as my calling on your estates quite so much."
"Certainly. Whatever you wish. Or we could alternate.", Loryn suggests. He's obviously babbling now and concentrating less on the shot than he should. Not surprisingly, the arrow goes wide, missing the target altogether. Cough. Feetshuffle.
Miranda takes another shot with a bit more conviction this time and does well, placing it closer to center. Perhaps she's adjusted to her heavy sleeves. "That could be pleasant. I took the bow with me when we went hunting the dragons down but at this rate I'd never be able to hit something even that big."
"With a little bit of practice you shall soon be able to bring a sparrow from the sky, never mind a dragon.", Loryn assures her. He picks out two more arrows and stops babbling to actually focus on the target. He gets rewarded with two shots straight to the inner ring of the target. Not the bullseye, but not bad either.
Miranda's aim is stil off but she at least has a bit more technique. "Oh I doubt that, ser. Perhaps I could hit a target or a slowed stag, but not a flying bird." She tsks softly at her poor shot, head shaking again
Loryn seems content to have proven his own talent and lets the arm holding the bow drop. "That, my dear Septa, depends entirely on how much you are willing to practice. And I am your willing teacher, whenever you wish to call upon me."
Her blue eyes fix on his face for a moment as she smiles, her head shaking at some private thought. "I haven't had much cause for shooting as of late," she muses. "My… late husband did not think it was seemly for a woman to bear arms, even one as widely accepted as the bow. I am adjusting to doing things of my own will, or of the Gods will. And not his."
He doesn't point out that she told him this before and just smiles warmly. "I am sure it takes a little adjustment… and rest assured, I am a patient man." He gestures. "Do you wish to practise a little more or shall we withdraw to the inn for some refreshments?"
Miranda shakes her head briskly. Her wimple swings a bit as she clears away some thought. "Oh yes, a bit more, I suppose. I'm only starting to feel the pull in my arms again. Lifting books and orphans isn't quite the same, you know."
Loryn seems pleased with her prowess, especially when her next shot hits the target much closer in the middle. "See? Your abilities are still there, they just needed a bit of waking up.", he encourages.
Miranda rolls her left shoulder as she nods. "As I said. A year or so. It's there, just… it's been so long." She selects another arrow and readies it. "I had forgotten how much I enjoyed this, to be honest. My days are mostly spent in reading and prayer- when was the last time you saw a septa do anything remotely physical?"
"To speak the truth, I rarely see any septas.", Loryn admits, "And I believe that physical exercise is a key to everyone's wellbeing. It refreshes the spirit as much as the body." He then seems to climb off his mental soapbox and adds in a softer tone: "It gladdens me to see you happy."
"This is happiness of a different sort," Miranda replies. But his words seem to hit some mark with her as she smiles back briefly before looking away to the target. "Reminds me of my childhood and that I can do more than just read and scrape wax off marble all day."
Loryn smiles at this…. and doesn't respond. For once the Tyrell knows when to shut up.