|Of Water and Wedding Dancing|
|Summary:||A water Dancing Lesson and Investigating at a wedding.|
Daevon's really, really been hankering to fight the other bravos, but no, instead he's being good. He's been training, absolutely obsessively. He's good with a blade, actually one of the finest, but he is far more used to armour, and a shield, than this style of fighting allows for. ANYWAYS today he's arrived where they train, with Malcolm in tow.
Malcolm has also been training obsessively, in order to rebuild his balance and conditioning after his near death at the hands of Ser Desmond. He has been wearing the sword openly, ready to try his hand again, but hasn't been seeking other Dancer's out. He is willing enough to come see Rona again, curious to see if time has changed her as much as it's changed him.
Rona's own family home has been the center of training for her new pupils…at least when she hasn't sent them out into the city to chase cats. The house is clearly meant to house many occupants, but for now it is just Rona and whomever chooses to remain her guest. Most beneficial to their training is the courtyard and garden in the middle of the grounds, surrounded by the house itself, which provides privacy. As usual, it is there that Rona can be found waiting.
Daevon's not seemed to get the whole chasing cats thing. What with the creatures always schmoozing up to Eonn it's not been particularly difficult. And he does cheat himself, using bribes. It's been one of the things that's just baffled him. He leads Malcolm and Tellur through to where Rona is , and offers her a bright smile. "Good day!"
Tellur has not been present, much, for some time. The water in Braavos appears to have caused him some problems, and as a result, he has lost weight rather quickly, and is now even more taciturn than before. If anything, he looks a little out of sorts. There is no Lord Carolis here to protect - and Malcolm can out-fight him. He nods to the Prince, serious and dour and murmurs "Good day, your Highness."
Orange Cat, who is not hard to catch but is desperately hard to hang on to if he doesn't want to be held, has sidled his tomcat way after the group. He's become a bit of a bravo himself, fighting other cats in the alleys, over issues of romance.
Malcolm, admittedly lets his own student chase gull instead of cats as she wishes, so may not be the strictest of judges. He has done what he could to cheer Tellur in their room, making an effort to find foods gentle on the pallette of a sick Northerner, but he's had things to do and training, which has called him away often, alas. At least the view is decent. He gives Rona a polite bow.
Rona stands under a tree in the center of the courtyard, her attention focused on something hanging from one of its branches by a string. She flashes a smile over her shoulder at the arrival of Daevon and his companions. "I was wondering when you would arrive. Ah, you have brought friends! Welcome to the Vielo home, my guests. My house is yours while you are here." The Lady Bravo spreads her gloved hands wide in a welcoming gesture. But then she points a finger at Malcolm, "Wait…I know you. The water dancing Westerosi."
Daevon smiles at Rona. "May I introduce, Ser Malcolm Storm, and Tellur Snow." He glances back and sees the cat. "And Orange Cat." He looks up into the tree to see what she was looking at.
Malcolm bows again, "I believe we met the day I met Dae and his brother and sister, and we talked of forming a dancing club in old town." That day he was in black practice leathers with cerulean piping. Today he is revered, with the cerulean dominant. That day his hair was black with a wide cerulean blue stripe along the tips. Now there is a wide bleached white stripe between his naturally black roots and the cerulean tripe. He has also grown a goatee long enough to braid, tricloured to match his hair. There is still a patch on his head where the hair is only a few niches long, growing back from a head wound months ago. To look at him today, one might easily take him for a local and not a Westeroi tourist.
Tellur watches the woman, her clothing - that shirt, and the sword as well. As Rona declares Malcolm to be a water dancer, he glances towards him with slightly quirked lips, as if to see his reaction. Then he sweeps a formal bow as Daevon introduces him. He is very pale, and has shadows under his eyes, not so finely featured as so many here. Instead, Tellur has a faintly foxish look to him, red hair, and somewhat sunken eyes. His clothing is very muted in colour.
Daevon's hair is all purple, and blue. He's in DISGUISE! Not a Targaryen here. Nope. His clothes are similarly bright. But he still has the wide-eyed wonder about the city that clearly screams TOURIST! He does rather love Braavos.
Rona smiles and nods to Malcolm. "I remember, Ser Malcolm. That was not very long before I had to leave Oldtown." She turns to Tellur and dips her head in greeting. "Just so. I am very pleased to make the acquaintence of a friend of Dae's. Please make my home your home." Finally, her eyes settled on Daevon again, smirking as she follows his glances to a silver ring, of the sort one wears on a finger, dangling from the tree. "Your challenge for today," she explains.
The orange tom cat sits on Tellur's left foot and looks up into the tree at the sparkly dangling there.
Daevon eyes the ring and then laughs, something amusing him. But he shakes away the thought. "So, what do you want me to do with it?"
And didn't Prince love the other, freer places? Tellur is watching him, as well, quietly, and then he shakes his head. Maybe that is amusement. As Rona speaks, he says in his Northron voice, all gargling snowballs "The honour is mine." His eyes raise "…shoot an arrow through it?" he rumbles, and then he looks down at the cat. Oh, _now_ he smiles - at a beast. Tellur lowers a hand "Puss puss?"
Malcolm says, "It is a shame. We never did get a chance to spar. I always wanted to…. That seems more your sort of challenge, Tellur Snow. We are in the land of Swords now.""
Rona chuckles. "Swords. Precisely. Dae, you must put your sword through it. Simple, no?" She adopts such a wicked grin. Her training exercises are never so simple.
Daevon laughs, and goes to collect his sword. "Yes. Stick my sword through the tiny ring, as it's all spinning around? Try not to lose my sword. Similar to jousting?" He then smiles at Tellur. "I'm sure you could manage an arrow through it. If I was using my normal blade, I'd just cut the rope."
Tellur says to Malcolm dryly "Fight with blades? And risk ruining this pretty face?" He does have a dagger at his side "Mmm. That's more agility than my arm has to it after the last raider attack, I am afraid. I will sit back and watch."
The orange cat is an oversexed ball of muscle and scars covered in dense fur. He gives a rumbly sort of meow at Tellur and rubs his face against the man's ankle.
Malcolm says, "But precision is everything. Especially with moving targets…." He flashes Tellur a grin, "Think of it as another stag exhibition only with less bleeding and broken antlers."
Rona steps away from the tree to make room for Daevon, gesturing to the dangling ring. "Just so. Surely you can do this." She arches a slender eyebrow at Tellur. "I think that I would not mind seeing you put an arrow through it as well."
Daevon picks up his blade and unsheathes it. He walks over to where the dangling ring is hanging. He stands, deadly still, focusing only upon his target, or so it seems, and then, with a lightning fast movement, he stabs the ring, easily managing the task at hand, setting the whole thing spinning as he quickly removes his blade. As he does this he moves, lightly upon his feet, looking for his second chance to hit it. Daevon's not just good with a blade, he's one of the best and he's actually not a stranger to this exercise. He moves, time and time again, managing to hit the ring, set it spinning, with grace, ducking under it at times to come at it from a different angle. He makes it seem so ridiculously easy, all precision and control.
"Rawrr," the cat informs Tellur, crossly.
Tellur says to Malcolm "You Stags with your great desire to ram one another and claim the does. I think I am more of a porcupine." He licks his teeth "Well, I should say wolf. That's the traditional Northron choice." As Rona speaks, he grins "I said what was less impossible for me than a sword - I am not half as good as the least here.. I could maybe do it with an arrow with no head and a weighted tip. And luck." So annoyingly realistic. Tellur lowers his hand to stroke the cat all over again "Good lad," he murmurs to it, despite all evidence to the contrary "Ah, Dae. This is why I have no idea to be on the wrong end of you."
You say, "I always did say you'd make fine Dancer if you took it up, Dae… I fear I've sworn off the chasing of does and my blade is now my solace, Wolfling."
Rona claps her hands in approval of her student's prowess. "Very good. Your skill is unquestionable. But as you know, the water dance is so much more than mere swordsmanship. We dance in the place where the waters of awareness, agility, and anticipation meet." She pulls her sword out, still in its sheathe. She reaches it up into the tree and, using the tip of the scabbard, knocks down more rings down from the branch they had been resting on. The three rings dangle and glitter in the sunlight. "Now do all three…in one thrust."
Daevon laughs at this, joyously. He looks at them, spinning as they do, calculating. He doesn't do it the first time, no, instead he just keeps moving, he hits one ring, and then another, setting up their movements to make things easier. He taps on a third, trying to get it so that they'll all line up. He keeps moving as he does this, inspecting. It's a near impossible task with them all moving, he decides. So he works on getting them to stop, to see if that's easier. If they'll line up that way.
Tellur looks at Malcolm direly "When were you struck entirely blind? What a tragedy." And he finds somewhere to lean, in the shade, so he can watch mildly "…it's too hot here to wear full plate, it makes those delicate blades more effective." And he scratches behind an ear, then calls out "Miss. Does anyone here ever wear heavy armour - with a gorget, and all the rest? Or is it too warm to move in it?"
Malcolm watches Daevon's tactics with some interest. His voice is low, "They do say that about Love, wolfling. And Justice." Louder, "I wish you and Cat might have learned to fight this way when you were younger and less scarred. It is not the Northern way, but it is a goo way."
Rona glances to Tellur. "Foreigners. Many quickly regret it. It is not just the heat, but also the humidity. The stench of armor padding after a day in the Braavosi sun…" She gives a shudder, accompanied by a playful chuckle. Her laughter heightens as she realizes how Daevon is trying to manipulate the rings. "Oh ho! My pupil believes he can control his environment so easily, hmm?" A few casual taps of her scabbard to the rings sends them careening about, ruining Daevon's careful arrangement of them. "The world will not wait patiently for you to arrange your targets so neatly. Listen to my words, my pretty one. Awareness. Agility. Anticipation."
Daevon laughs at Rona. BUT! He then follows suit, using her example, he thwaps the strings of all three rings, at the same time, banging them into each other with the edge of his blade and then attempting to skewer them with the tip of his sword.
Braavos is in fact quite a ways north, and the chill of autumn is starting to cut the heat, but the city is all the soggier for it. The cat watches the sparkling rings with keen yellow eyes.
"Mmm, I think I am not built so much for this - the agility required is fearsome, and to be quite frank, Malcolm - you know that amongst our people, I _am_ the fast moving, dexterous one. This is almost terrifying to watch," says Tellur, with some humour. And then he says to Rona "I don't wear it so often in the North. This lug here," he nudges Malcolm "Does. But it takes considerable strength to have flexibility in it. I have a set of light leathers here, but I'm not sure they'd stop much around the armpit." As Daevon's abilities show themselves, and Tellur says "…Gods of the Moon…"
Malcolm shudders nearly in unison with Rona at the thought of feild, or worse yet jousting plate in this climate. "It's why there is no point in me trying to replace my gear until we get back. This… this is what I always wanted to do anyway. The rest is practicality. This is love and calling. I think it is a matter of what one is used to. I started learning to dance at eight, and had been already learning Westeroi style sword. You start anything young enough, it becomes normal. You and your beasts, people like us and our swords. It is the same." Smiles gently, the little scar on his upper lip making it subtly lopsided, "Dae is among the best, Wolfling."
Rona tsks, shaking her head. "Do you wish to learn, or do you wish to think yourself clever? Why is it that you will follow instruction for one ring, but when you face that which will test even your mastery, you cower from the challenge? Do not fear failure, my pretty one. Fear cuts deeper than swords, and there is no better teacher than failure." She sets the rings careening again, then walks around behind Daevon. "Watch the rings. Listen to them sing. Feel the wind that blows at them. You have the skill, but you do not have the patience. Your moment will come. Wait for it."
Ah if that's the challenge then. Daevon stands, he breathes, in and out with the wind itself, as instructed. He watches, sword in hand, searching for that perfect moment. Does he trust Rona behind him? Will she sneak attack him. He pushes that and other concerns aside, there's just him, the blade, the rings and that moment. He waits, and he keeps on waiting. And the moment it comes, he lashes out with his blade and again catches all of the rings. Yeah he didn't even chance for failure.
Tellur murmurs "People believe anyone can tame a beast - less so for swordsmanship. Anyway. There is no 'tame' or 'wild'. There is 'bred for purpose' and 'not'. One can _train_ just about anything…" It must be an old argument he has with people, chewed over. He claps Malcolm on the shoulder "You know I'd never have managed it. I am built for different things. I can admire the beauty, though." Daevon cannot focus on much else right now, and Tellur says, frankly "There is a lot of beauty in that."
Malcolm pats the Northerner's shoulder, "I could never do what you do, Wolfling. I'll not argue." He flashes him a grin, "Ah! So you do admit there is beauty in it?" And then Daevon has skewered his rings and Mal is stepping forward to give Rona another little bow in complement of her teaching.
Rona smiles and claps Daevon on the shoulder. "Better. Much, much better." She takes a deep breath, making no real effort to disguise the way she looks at Daevon after such a demonstration of bladework. "Now, do that fifty times. I will leave you to it. I must go look in on a friend." She turns to meet Malcolm's approach, returning the bow. "Forgive me for leaving, Ser Malcolm. You and Tellur Snow are welcome to stay, of course. My home is your home."
"Every day I wake up at dawn and practice," Daevon says. "This is what I live and breathe. This is all I've ever wanted. Of course, my birth has granted me the freedom to do just this. To not have to work for money, to not be forced into another occupation. But it's never been easy. And I still lose. Frequently. There's men who're naturals to this, who can pick up a sword and just be good. Who haven't dedicated their lives to it. Some who just fight as a hobby. There's Knights who just decide to be knights because of the status. Who don't care about what it and the sword means. And some of them are still better than me. I'm never going to be tall, I'm never going to be as strong as the likes of Desmond." He smiles at Rona. "Fifty times. I'l likely still be here when you return then. And next week too, maybe."
Tellur murmurs "I was born to it, that's all. As Daevon says. It is a thing I never had to work for - save, ah. That one long incident. But it was chance." He shakes his head, and then he touches his breast, and inclines his head as Rona leaves. He looks to Daevon, and he does not say something - not here, and not now. But he is clearly thinking of it. "Hrm. I am not tall either," is all he says, amused.
You say, "Your hospitality is much appreciated, Thank you." He explains to Tellur, "I think this is why Dae and I became friends so quickly despite all the differences between us. We are swords first and the drive to be the best forged us."
"Perhaps that is my plan, Dae," Rona teases. "Remember your lessons, and you can do it. I will be kind and save the blindfold for tomorrow." She gives all three men a final nod, and even one for the orange cat, and makes her way into the house to depart.
The cat blinks scornfully at Rona and curls up to watch Daevon.
Daevon smiles. "You expect me to do this blindfolded?" He seems amused by the idea. He looks at Tellur.
You say, "There is not always light where one must fight."
Tellur says to Daevon "I'd be lucky to hit the ring full stop, do not look at me! For me, a knife is a better weapon than a sword, for all that Malcolm has me practice. And you know I prefer not to be seen in combat." Malcolm speaks of drive, and Tellur looks troubled, and then he sighs, and he says "Any fruit from the cameo?"
Daevon hits a ring, setting it spinning, and he closes his eyes to listen. He frowns. "Blindfolded."
Malcolm drops his voice, "They make a sound when they touch, but mostly, you get a sense for where they are if you are still enough.." In a normal tone he says, "We thought we might go to ask portrait painters if they recognize her or at least the artist."
"That sounds good to me," Tellur says to Malcolm "We can wait for Dae to finish - or tell him where we are going, and he can join us there?"
"I have to do this fifty times," Daevon says. "Get enough of a sense I can do this blindfolded. I can help once I'm finished. However long that takes."
Malcolm spends the time doing exercises of his own, not being one to loiter when he might practice. Once Daevon is free an they have had refreshments, he rows them to the quarter where the good portrait painters tend to cluster.
Daevon's still not a big fan of boats. He much, much, much prefers walking. Or pretty much anything else. He's especially not a fan of boats without Eonn around. Still he goes with them.
You paged Tellur with 'Tyb has been quietly trying to defuse the thing all this time. Remember when Tellur thought cam hated him? he kind of did because he was pretty sure Mal was his boyfriend, and he'd been pining since he first set eye on Mal during the Strange festival.'
Tellur, for his part, is already tiring somewhat. He is recovering, but he clearly finds the whole thing more than a little wearying - and was glad to rest under the shade of a tree while the others practiced. He climbs back out of the little row boat, and peers around "There are a lot of cats in Braavos," he decides.
The little water-taxis are faster than wandering through the city, but one can get /most/ places by walking, though one tends to go out of the way to find bridges. Orange Cat does not accompany them to the street of Artisans. It's noisy, there seems to be a party going on in front of a group of merchant's houses, the sort with the shops on the first floor. There's a band, and streamers of late summer flowers strung between the buildings and over the street.
Malcolm tries to make the movement of the boat as smooth and gentle as he can for both his passenger's sakes, though he hasn't Eonn's skill with it. "It should be up here a little way."
Daevon watches the party curiously.
There are likely cats if there are canals, and Tellur glances around. He looks at the streamers, and he smiles, and then he helps the others up "This is truly the city for both of you," he says to them.
Daevon smiles at Tellur. "I wish it were a city for you as well. I do like it here. It will be better when I've learned more of the language though."
Malcolm ties them up at the island's edge and steps lightly out, offering Dae a hand out. "It will be better when you are more up to trying the food, Wolfling. Is it very different than the Valaryian of the south?"
Braavos is almost entirely treeless, all cobblestone and canals, but it's not without interest for a man like Tellur; there are indeed cats. And dogs. And pigeons and gulls and falcons, both black and white ones, and great big satin-furred water-rats, and otters, and seals, some of which are friendly as the dogs.
The party has a table set up by the front doors of two of the shops, there's a banquet of cakes, but the dancing has spread out into the street. It's couple's dancing, with partner spinning and partner trading, and when somebody walks right through it, or worse, here comes somebody leading a goat that's pulling a cart, it does get comically out of whack.
Daevon nods. "It is. There are some words in common but not all of them. It can add to confusion." He looks at the party, the cakes in particular, but the dancing too, oh so curiously.
Tellur waves a hand to Daevon "I like wild places," he tells him "And my people. But! Since the world is not built in such a way, we will make do with what we have." And then he has his attention on the dancing. Though he is fond of seals due to his friend back in the great city "…hola!" he calls out, as dancers wheel through "Who has the best eye for a painter here - there must be someone who can make a sage's guess at any brush stroke!"
Malcolm's eyes are all amusement at the tangle the got cart made, but he is careful not to show it too openly, "Perhaps we ought to go around and see if we can find a shop open…."
Daevon smiles as Tellur speaks up.
The goat makes it through the dance, but the man leading it gets whirled away by a grinning woman in a red gown. It must be a wedding; there's a couple who are particularly spectacular, a young woman with a dozen bright colours of silk ribbons on the sleeves of her white gown, which is sewn with flecks of mica. Not too many, they're not terribly rich folk, but it does look grand. Her groomsman has a short cape of peacock feathers.
"What?" cries somebody to Tellur, as they go whirling past in the dance. The goat stops and looks around, considering its situation.'
Daevon looks to Malcolm. "Maybe in braavosi?" he asks.
Tellur pauses. This is a terrible moment to do investigative research! He looks up to see if he can spot signage, or something hanging. As the goat examines things, Tellur eyes it back, tentatively.
Malcolm says, "Poor goat!" He does switch to Braavosi, «Are there and painters hereabout?»"
An old man, carrying a piece of cake on a wooden board, winds his way around the edge of the dance area towards the group.
The goat is pulling an apple-cart and knows it. It contemplates for a moment longer and then proceeds a few yards, where it attempts to bump one wheel of the cart over a doorstep.
Tellur pauses, then he says something, a long, low rill of Old Speech.
Tellur reaches out and he tugs on Malcolm's shirt and he tells him "They are busy with their new love - they don't have time for this." His voice is not in the least reproving - and how could it be? It is a wedding "Let's look - down there. If we can get there!"
That was Mal's first plan, but people had been wanting to mess about with the wedding. He attempts to skirt the crowd and the confused goat.
"Lots of painters!" calls the old man, "And lots of men with the best eye of them all! Have a piece of cake."
The goat has matters in hand; it's cart-bumping has spilled a couple of apples, and now it backs up to eat them and wait.
«It is a fine party and and a fine couple». He is eyeing the old man with interest, wondering if he is what he seems, but knowing better than to ask.
Tellur says to the man "We're looking for an artist - a particular one, who painted a cameo." He then takes a piece of cake, eyes brightening a little "Could you direct us to somewhere we could talk to people without interrupting such a wonderful celebration?"
He's a short old man wearing a long coat striped in purple and green, and he's still offering out cake. «It is,» he says. «A very nice party. And good wine. Are you strangers? Wishing to have your portraits done??» He blinks at Tellur's comment, "Interrupting?" he echos in Westerosi, looking a bit bemused. "Show me painting?"
Malcolm thanks him politely for the cake in his own language, then produces the portrait of his half sister for the man to inspect.
"Ah!" says the old man, holding the cameo in the cup of his hand and peering at it with an appraising magpie's eye. "You want to sell it?"
Daevon loves cake, and so he accepts some too. «Thank you.» He tries out his own Braavosi.
Malcolm shakes his head emphatically no, «We are looking for the one who painted it. We might be interested in one like to match.»
It's almond cake. There's a layer of crispy burnt sugar under the white icing.
Tellur has his cake, but cannot speak Braavosi. Instead, he licks the icing, and he looks satisfied. Then he quietly nudges a fallen apple closer to the got.
The old man eyes Malcolm skeptically, and points at the portrait in his hand with a bony finger. «I can do better, you know,» he says. «Or I can make it match.»
Daevon eats the cake in tiny little bites, savouring every single morsel, letting it dissolve on his tongue. So much pleasure. So good. Mmmm.
Malcolm contemplates that, «I would still like to speak to the man who painted this one, but… which is your shop? If we decided we'd like to shop around?»
Tellur beams at Daevon. He has realised that he cannot speak the local language - and they cannot speak his probably. Or very much. For some reason, being 'hidden' socially is pleasing.
The old man shakes his head and laughs, not a 'no' sort of head-shake, but an 'all right, I give up' one. He says, «Everybody's at the party,» and points down the street, «I am Nikolos, that is my shop, you see the green door? But this painting, the Selkirk did that one, ask any man here, and that» he changes the direction of his pointing, to a nearer door, once painted yellow and in need of attention. «Is his shop. He is not everybody, sad to say, and is not at home or in the street either. His nephew is here.»
The goat is pleased to eat as many apples as it can before its master finishes his fling around the dance floor, but it doesn't gobble them. It's a contemplative goat.
Malcolm bobs his head, doing his very best polite young man, «You are the green door. I will remember. Thank you.» He takes the painting back gently, «Might I trouble you to point out the nephew?» He turns to Daevon, "We ought to come see this man's shop on a day when they are not all celebrating, I think. For now, we might see the cameo painter's nephew here."
Daevon smiles back at Tellur. He looks over towards the door, and then back. "It is good cake." He says to Tellur.
Daevon nods at Malcolm. "We shall. Will you be looking to have your own portrait painted?"
Tellur merely says quietly to Daevon "It is good." Then he says "You should get it painted, Malcolm. In a cameo. I know someone who would like that."
"He is a terrible painter," says the old man, letting the miniature go and shaking his finger at Malcolm. "Do not let the name fool you. Come to me." He laughs, "Besides, it is /my/ niece who is needing the wedding gift of her old uncle having some work to do, to pay for all the wine he drinks. Come have some." He gestures, trying to coax them back towards the table.
Malcolm laughs softly, "And here I was thinking someone might like Tellur's." He turns to the old man, «It seems that there is more than one miniture needing painting. Introduce me to this nephew and we will come by tomorrow to see if we can afford your price for a cameo.»
Daevon enjoys his cake. Nomnomnom.
"Ridiculous!" says the old man. "There, you see him?" he points towards the dancers. "One in green, yes?" Of course, they're all wearing so many colours… The old man knows he's making confusion and laughs. "Come on, wine! Do you not know how to dance our dances?"
Malcolm attempts to pick out the right one for later. "I have seen it before, but I have not danced it."
Tellur pauses, and then he says to Malcolm "That is what I was thinking, yes." And then he says to the old man "Please indulge us - you've won us over, but we do need to find the man who painted this cameo. We think we might have found distant relatives in the North, and it's a fancy and an adventure to find out more information." He then looks startled "I cannot dance!" Which is a lie. He can. With flaming brands.
"Dance and have drink!" says the old man. "He'll come to get some wine himself soon enough and you can show him your pretty portrait. You saying you are not know the girl?"
"I want to dance," Daevon decides. He's been watching the dancers, trying to work out how to join in. "It will be fun."
Malcolm holds up the cameo to his face and leans close for the man better to see the nearly identical eyes, and colouring, and the similar shape to their lips and chin. He had been hoping not to share all their business, but knows when to give in to the inevitable. "I would like to."
The old man grins at Malcolm. "Ah!" he says. "I don't know girl." He cuts another three pieces off one of the cakes and puts it on the board, then hands it to Malcolm before beginning to search around for glasses. There are quite a lot of them about, but in no order, and the fellow ends up rinsing one with water from a jug, tossing it over his shoulder, and refilling it with gold wine to hand to whichever of the three reaches for it first.
Tellur says to Daevon "You have feet as light as a deer's - go dance, Daev…Dae. It will be absolutely perfect." And he nudges Malcolm a little, before he finds a wall to lean on. And in his own way he regards the party with a sort of delight.
Malcolm tucks away his cameo first, «Thank you for the hospitaity.» He eyes Tellur dubiously, "Are you sure you don't want to try?"
Daevon looks around for someone to dance with, wanting to join in the merriment. He even turns his back on the more cake.
Getting too near the dancers seems to be a pretty good way to get swirled in. Or possibly one just steps in in front of somebody during the partner changes, which allows you to steal a round with a favoured partner, but might leave the person you were /supposed/ to have partnered with according to the dance-pattern alone and ready to grab anybody who seems partnerless…
Tellur says to Malcolm, gently "Yes. But I want to watch you both. I'm recovering, and I will need time, eh?" He does, indeed, seem pale. And is dressed absolutely oddly - he has not had time to buy local clothes.
Malcolm is… comically bad at it, really. For all his grace with a sword, he can't seem to get the hang of it. Maybe it is all that practice for all those years designed to render his footwork arhythmic and thus unpredictable.
Daevon dances, enjoying himself. Whee!