(124-09-30) The Big Cheese
The Big Cheese
Summary: Ser Loryn, Camillo, and Tybalt attend the Harvest Games
Date: 9/30/17
Related: None.
Players:
Loryn..Camillo..Tybalt..

Some of the contests best being done with features like hills, trees, open fields and the like, a large portion of the city's Smallfolk who could get away for an afternoon have joined the more rural element outside the city walls. Pennants wave, amateur musicians play. Long tables are set with ale and assorted harvest foods, and an air of holiday prevails. Children race for apples and twists of sugar plums. Adults vie for more serious prizes.

Loryn Tyrell had given as many staff members of Garden Isle the day off as possible, so they could go out and have fun. He himself turns up at the site outside town on horseback when the sun is already past its zenith, accompanied by a few friends and his squires. He looks a little surprised by the size of the festival and smiles warmly. He knows his wife had donated quite a few things to the festivities and while she can't be at his side now, he knows she'll be pleased to hear this.

At the archery butts the few nobler contestants stand nearly shoulder to shoulder with the rougher element. This being a festival no one asks if some of those men are poachers and not city watch or men at arms, but surely some might think it.

Tybalt is, for once, dressed decently in the clothes he wears to guard the Stark grain warehouse. He has fine green leather trousers, so new they creak a little when he walks, a good padded tunic in matching forest green over a brown linen shirt, and the thin braids that hang amoung his mostly loose hair are adorned with green beads, tiny shells, and thin green ribbons. He is… not clean exactly, but only mildly grubby. He is carrying a bow so fine one might think he had pinched it fom a noble, beautifully polished with a fine knotwork pattern, with a quiver in green and brown with a matching pattern around the rim. He lines up next to the Tyrell heir, the badly scarred cheek facing the high born Lord.

Camillo happens to be on leave, himself, wearing his second-best clothing. He holds a sturdy old bow in his own hand and quietly takes up a space beside Tybalt, though he can only really hope to get lucky, not being a well-known archer.

Loryn is still surveying the scene when the stranger suddenly turns up beside him. He looks a little surprised, but eyes the man with some interest, especially the bow. "I hope the archery contest is not yet over?", he asks, "I had hoped to have a try…" He notices Cam rock up as well and offers the man a nod of recognition in greeting.

Tybalt's accent is a weird combination of the extreme North and something significantly more foreign, made thicker by a sibilance and slight slur caused by the old wound to his cheek and jaw. "Just starting, I think." He looks between the strange Lord and the Hightower servant. "I'm Tybalt. Like in the Old story." There is nothing of deference in his tone or bearing, but his tone is polite rather than defiant.

Camillo gives Loryn a respectful nod in return and a, "My Lord." There is more deference from him than the Northron. He adds, "We are only lining up."

"Pleased to meet you, Tybalt.", Loryn says easily. He doesn't insult the man's intelligence by introducing himself. Instead he dismounts and hands the reins of his horse to one of his squires. "Go and water the horses", he instructs, "Make sure they're safely hobbled in the shadow before you go and have fun…. and give me my bow." He takes the bow and some arrows, the finally turns back to his new companions. "Excellent, I'm in!"

Alas, Tybalt does not know much of anything about these Southron Nobles, despite his knowledge of Northern politics. He has guessed that Loryn might be a Lord, possibly a Hightower and definitely not a Fossoway. He gives the Lord a nod and swiftly sings his bow.

The pennant dips and the Northerner suddenly is all business, lining up his shots.

There's the golden rose of House Tyrell on display on Loryn's richly embroidered tunic that might help, but Loryn isn't bothered either way. He studies the target, judging the distance, the sun and the wind, then finally takes aim.

Camillo doesn't provide the name, since that might insult a lord who expects to be recognized. He has to concentrate closely in order to make a shot, but he has no elaborate rituals. His shooting style is quite straightforward, and he hits the target without striking a high-value portion.

Tybalt plans to ask Camillo all about who their neighbor is later. He may be stubborn about his dealings with the fancy folk, but he does have sense under all that northern pride. His first to shots hit withing the center circle. Between them he flashes the servant a fleeting, encouraging smile.

Loryn is not discontent with his first decent shot, but he does arch a brow at the stranger's prowess. Trying not to show that he's impressed, he fires off his second arrow.

Camillo is, of course, paying attention to how he thinks the others are doing in this contest, though he can spare little from his own efforts. His next shot doesn't do well and misses the target entirely.

Tybalt winces at Camillo's missed shot and his last is not as good as the other two, though still within the coloured rings. He lowers his bow to watch the fancy Lord with the chest flower shoot his last.

Loryn is pulling himself together now, for even though he knows he can't win anymore, he wants to bow out graciously. And it actually works as his arrow hits smack into the inner rings. He exhales with relief, then musters a smile for Tybalt. "You are an excellent shot, my friend, congratulations and good luck for the final rounds." He also has a smile ready for Cam. "Well done, Camillo!" Yes, he even remembers the man's name, having seen him hang about his cousin Marsei so often.

Camillo redeems himself somewhat with his last shot, which hits closer to the center of the target at last, though it is not so true as Ser Loryn's shot. "Fine shot, my lord," he comments, then inclines his head at the compliment from the nobleman. "You're very kind, my lord," he replies. "Thank you.

Tybalt nods to the Lord, "That's a fine shot." He speaks as if to an equal, though the praise does seem entirely sincere. He claps the servant on the shoulder, "You're improving!"

All participants win a bag of nuts, though the largest bags for the the top three, which also come with a bit of coin.

Loryn accepts his bag graciously, though obviously he will donate the coin later. Not the nuts though. He loves himself some nuts. "Well, friends, shall we celebrate with a drink?", he asks the pair of them, "Surely you have a moment until you need to compete again?", he asks Tybalt, even more curious about the stranger now.

Camillo dips his head to Tybalt. "Slowly," he says. And he accepts his ordinary bag of nuts as the spoils of competition. "A drink would…be welcome, I am sure, my lord. If you are so kind." His tone is somewhat cautious, but a festival day is the best time to accept the generosity of nobles.

Tybalt hands his own nuts to Camillo, as they are rather hard on what's left of his teeth, but he certainly keeps the coin, which he tucks away in his cod. "I never say no to a drink." He eyes the lord sideways, still trying to figure him out. He's too…nice. Normal even, not like the Lords of his limited experience. "Practice will fix that, Cam." He is not a tall man, though he can give that impression with his wide shoulders and subtly arrogant bearing. His walk has a sinuous quality as he moves towards the drinks table, subtly threatening in his grace, the way a snake coiled to strike might seem.

Loryn steers them towards the nearest stall, where tankards of fresh ale are being handed out. When everyone has been served with a cold drink, he looks at Tybalt curiously: "You are an excellent shot, my friend… are you from Oldtown or where did you hone your skills? You sound a bit like your home is far further north…?"

Camillo moves with the other two toward that free ale. He looks between Loryn and Tybalt. "Ser Loryn always shoots very well," he puts into the conversation, in part to slip Loryn's name to Tybalt without making it too obvious.

Tybalt ducks his head, though whether it is by way of thank you or the better to sip his ale is unclear. "I'm Northern. From and Island you've likely never heard of, under a House you've likely never heard of." He casts Camillo a quick, grateful look for the hint. "Might you be the one with the Players? I know a girl what played Dragon for them, I think."

"Oh, try me.", Loryn grins cheerfully, "Geography was one of the few things I was good at when I received my tutoring. And yes indeed, I run the Whimsy Theatre in Oldtown. I did have a girl playing a dragon for a while. And Camillo has attended the odd performance, haven't you?", he looks at him, perhaps trying to keep him in the conversation.

"I have, my lord," Camillo replies. "I think they are the finest entertainments in Oldtown, at the Whimsy." He's getting a bit more talkative than he once was. Or perhaps he's just more likely to volunteer an opinion to a nobleman when they've met a few times.

Tybalt bares his teeth, in what may or may not be considered a smile, given it's fierceness and scarring, "Skagos." He says it in the tone he might use to frighten children. He adds in response to Camillo, "I've not been inside, though they have juggling and acrobats and musicians and the like outside of a time."

"Ah" Loryn's smile is the vague smile of someone who is clueless but doesn't really want to admit that. So he just nods in what he hopes is an authoritative manner and sticks to the subject he knows. "Yes, we provide a second stage in the courtyard for traveling performers to perform for free. They can earn some coin and we earn from selling drinks and snacks to the audience, so everyone wins.", he explains with a smile, "You should also see a full performance some time. We have just developed a new troupe of acrobats…"

"Ser Loryn," Camillo says, "Is very popular for his generosity with these entertainments." He lifts his glass. "The health of Lady Miranda and the child, my lord," he toasts.

Tybalt's lips flick up in amusement as ser Loryn's expression proves him right. He knows full well what sort of reaction his island of origin gets from people in the know. "I've never been to a play. Most of the… entertainments I've seen in places like that were much bloodier." Looks confused by Camillo's toast, but takes the hint and raises his tankard, "To their health." Is is trying to be on his best behavir after all.

"Aw, thank you!" Loryn looks quite touched by the toast and happily joins in. "To Lady Miranda and young Lady Marigold!" He drains his tankard, then offers a smile to both of him. "I should go and take a look around the festivities, greet people I know and so on…", he then begins to make his excuses

"Have a pleasant day, my lord," Camillo bids the noble, and glances toward Tybalt. "What shall we go toward next? Some food?" he proposes, toward the bottom of his tankard now.

Tybalt takes a good drink, "Good name, Marigold. Those are good in tea for stomache aches. Auspicious." He is trying his best at polite, for all his awkwardness about it. "Matches your sigil there, sort of. Also."

Tybalt nods, "Would like to eat before the Cheese roll. Did you want to try the Smith's Ladder?"

"Indeed, indeed.", Loryn replies vaguely, realizing that the stranger seems unaware of who he actually is. Well, Camillo can remedy that. He bows and wanders off.

Camillo smiles his genuine amusement at this offer to visit the Smith's Ladder. "I am too old for such a game," he claims. "Will you?" He drains his tankard and puts it on the stall's counter, moving toward food when Tybalt is ready. "You did well. Ser Loryn is mostly kind-hearted, but known also for a streak of vanity. He dotes on his wife and daughter. The wife used to be a septa."

Tybalt drains his own and follows along, "I would do the poll, but I'm dressed too nice…. Oh! Did I get you in trouble? Is he important? I thought he ran a play house… Wait, I thought your Septas didn't dight?" Dight being his old fashioned word for sex.

Camillo shakes his head. "No trouble," he says. "And he is not so important, though I would not like to insult him for nothing." The corners of his eyes are still a bit crinkled. "They don't," he says. "She left the sept."

Tybalt ducks his head, "I wasn't trying to insult him. It's so hard keeping all these weird Southron houses straight." He cocks his head, eyeing the cold meats on display and ending up with a pasty, "So they don't mind people just quitting?"

"You didn't," Camillo assures softly. "He has a temper and it is easy to tell when he is put out. That sort is less dangerous than the kind who do not show what they are thinking." He tilts his head at the next question. "I think they do mind," he says. "It made gossip of course. But to leave to be married to a nobleman/before/ having a babyis not one of the worst reasons to leave."

Tybalt nods, his tone emphatic, "That is certainly true." He thinks that over, "Makes sense." He munches his meat pasty for a bit. "We don't have religious orders and things like that, though we do have people who are… closer to the gods. Marigold's a good name for a girl who won't be a shield maiden."

"I think it sounds like a country name," Camillo says very softly, having a bite of food himself. "I might have grown up to know girls named Marigold." Which somehow to his mind seems to mean it is not as suitable a name for a nobleman's child.

Tybalt grins wide enough to show missing teeth, "Wasn't going to tell the fancy folk that, was I? More fun if he doesn't know." He takes a deep breath, "did you want to try the cheese roll? It occurs to me the cheese would not go amiss on our trip."

Camillo smiles at Tybalt. "Yes," he says. "I think we should. Though we should give away a little, if we win."

Tybalt says, "Sal and the Lad should get some for sure, and Esme and her people."

"Yes," Camillo agrees, looking pleased that Tybalt is with him on that score. "Come on," he says. "We'll see which of us is the quicker."

Tybalt flashes him a quick grin and heads for the top of the hill where people are lining up. A Hightower Guard has hold of the enormous thick rind cheese. Tybalt scowls his way towards a spot in the middle.

Camillo finds someone he trusts to turn over their bows to so that they can take part in the contest. He follows along behind Tybalt, less conspicuous, but solemn. For this is a serious competition for cheese!

The cheese is set careening wildly downhill, large enough to pose a real menace. Tybalt is amoung those in the front of the race, but when he lunges for it, he falls and tumbles a way, to be stepped on by a particularly aggressive lad of fourteen.

Camillo isn't the fastest on the field, but there are a number of spills amid the chase. He sees Tybalt go down, but doesn't stop. A warrior of Tybalt's class is not about to be imperiled by the foot of a lad. He waits for the two men in front of him to collide before he springs over them, ducks under another's elbow, and subtly pushes a third before he gets the chance to wrap himself round that cheese.

A cheer goes up from the crowd and there is much toasting of the winner and consoling of the losers. Once Tybalt reaches the foot of the hill he is all grinning delight and shoulder claps for the Hightower Servant.

Camillo is somewhat embarrassed to be the victor of this event, and tries to brush aside any compliments as deftly as possible. But he does flash a smile at Tybalt. Provisions for the trip!

Tybalt stands nearby while the fuss is made, making his scary barbarian face in hopes of rescuing Camillo from the center of attention the quicker. Once attention thins in favor of dance music, Tybalt asks, "Shall we take our winnings or did you want to stay for more?" Tybalt sets about rolling the cheese back to where they left their bows.

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