Logs: Barroom Non-Brawl
Fri Jan 25 11:12:08 2008
--[ The Crown and Rose ]------------------------------------[ Amber City ]----
The Crown and Rose is occupies a prime location just off the main
marketplace of the city. An old, established pub and inn, its polished
wooden walls and furnishings, and warm-lit brass fixtures, give it an
air of comforting familiarity. The motifs of its namesake ornament the
carved backs of the chairs, and there are always fresh roses wreathing
the mantle above the fireplace. The tavern's patrons are extremely
diverse, spanning the full range of social classes, natives and
transients alike. The prices are moderate given the location, and the
food is good but the beer is better.
Windows are set along the front, southward-facing wall of the pub,
though they are curtained in the evenings. Booths line line the
western and southern walls; the hearth is set into the eastern wall,
and the bar is along the northern one. Tables, not overly close
together, fill the intervening space.
At the back of the spacious room is a staircase, only wide enough for
one to walk up at a time; it leads up to a hallway, off of which is
the inn's common room and a few private rooms. Other than that, the
only other visible exit is the door to the street.
Beatrice, Eva, Rae, and Tristan are here.
----------------------------------------------------------[ Exits: U Out ]----
There are no special places here.
There are no clusters of people here.
Beatrice enters, removing a cloak worn against the winter chill.
Tendrils of chestnut-colored hair frame a face of natural beauty. The majority of it is left loose and wild, spilling down her midback in slight curls. Her skin holds a dusky edge to it, and her lips are stained a soft pink, often twisted into an impish smile. Long and thick lashes surround wide eyes of dark hazel, flecks of deep amber held within the color. Standing just a notch above average, she has an overall youthful appearance, as if she's just hit her second decade. When she speaks, her voice is like velvet, soft and flowing.
Simple seems to be the theme of her clothing, along with practical. A blouse sits off of her shoulders, deep russet and gauzy. Black leather has been crafted into a sturdy bodice, tooled leaves dyed autumnal shades dancing along the edges. She wears a pair of black hide pants, fitting snuggly to her form, but not obscenely so, a belt around her hips holding a small pouch and a pair of throwing knives, sheathed. Black boots reach up to her knees, the heel slight and sensible, a small dagger kept tucked in the top of the left. Over it all is worn a cloak of deep brown, the hood left down, edged in tawny rabbit fur.
Tristan rests his fingers on the table as he notes, "I think that was the first time I've seen my brother in months. What has he been up to?"
Eva leaves the impression of a crow echoing, leafless forest on the night of the full moon. Somewhat taller than an average woman and somewhat shorter than a tall man, her age is completely lost in the labyrinth of the mid-twenties. Her hair is a slithery flow of straight, pitch black hair that reaches her waist when unleashed. Thick bangs are kept in a neat line over her brows, that falls in a strict curve to her jaw. Face is pale, the contrast with the dark blue eyes startling. Lines are Jadean, but somewhat blurred with different heritage.
Dark purple material flows over her body without much gloss, top a simplified kimono, trousers wide and comfortable for movement. The surface of the material on her top is decorated with an elaborate asian dragon done in silver.Dark socks and simple wood and rope sandals on her feet. Across her back, thin dark scabbard hides an elegant blade of her katana.Her hair is tied up in a knot on the base of her skull.
Tristan is a young man in his early twenties. Angular features and lengthening brown hair, fine and a somber black, with eyes of a mossy brown. His voice is comfortable and deep and quiet with the influence of lessons that only triumph by fire can bring. His features are tired from experience and darkened by the shadow of his jaw and the strength of labor.
Tristan wears a handsomely tailored shirt of dark black silk. Sharply collared in Mandarin style to accentuate his neck and tightened at the wrists to expose strong hands, the colors suit the black trousers and similar colored dress shoes of sport leather. Upon his wrist is a mechanical watch of a brilliant gold with diamonds making up the vast majority of the time plate.
It's a stormy day outside. By the fire, Eva is left sockless and in a black sleeveless top as the rest is drying. Lots of food on the table.
Eva is also sitting with another two, she looks at Tristan "I'm afraid, I only now had a pleasure of meeting him."
Tristan looks over at Beatrice, lifting his fingers up in an informal salute for greeting.
Beatrice greets, spying the grouping, "Your Highness, Rae, Eva." She bows her head to the salute.
Eva rises to bow "Beatrice-sama. Good day. Do join us?"
Rae smiles up to Beatrice with warmth. "A pleasure to see you!," she absolutely chimes.
Beatrice says, "I'd like that," she nods to a server, "Red, for me," she tells her, and sits.
Tristan inquires, "How have you been, Colonel?"
Beatrice has, Rae may note now that the cloak is off, a lute-case strung over one shoulder.
Eva nips on her breakfast, her side of foods not touched a lot. Yet.
Rae perks, signifigantly, at the sight of the lute. She might even look a bit hopeful as she keeps her gaze on Beatrice.
Tristan says, after a moment, "I did not know you played, Colonel."
Beatrice inclines her head to Tristan. "I do. But I needn't. I often find it a pleasant way to while an hour in the public house, however, but conversation is better."
Eva pokes at her socks, and finding them dry she pulls them back on her feet. Kimono styled top follows. Then, her long hair, now dried gets combed with fingers and tucked into a knot on the base of her skull.
Rae asides, to Tristan, "She plays /wonderfully/." The tone of adoration and appreciation is clear in her voice.
Beatrice laughs, good-natured, and nods her thanks as her wine is delivered. "Rae does me good grace."
Tristan smiles at that. "I imagine she does." He reclines a little more in his chair, so that the back rests against the wall. "There is usually art in the mind of a soldier in one form or another."
Beatrice's eyes sparkle a bit at this comment of Tristan's. "You speak true, good prince. It's a poor soldier who has naught to his mind than battle and drills."
Rae grins. "I may be but a savage Weir, but I know good musicianship when I hear it," she says teasingly, looking between the group at the table.
Eva remains silent, sipping and nipping once done with her clothing, her eyes looking up at Bea with hope.
Beatrice sips her wine and notes, "Rae is partial because I commemorated some of her artful hat alterations in song."
Tristan chuckles. He says, briefly, "You do seem to have quite a fan base with these two, at le- hat alterations?"
Beatrice offers, "I could explain, Your Highness, or I could give you the song."
Beatrice touches her lute-case at the word 'give'
Rae laughs. "That might've given you some extra points," she says with a grin. Her eyes absolutely /gleam/ with hopefulness at the mention of giving the song.
Rae steals a pastry off of Eva's plate, then nibbles on it.
Tristan replies, "Your offer is quite generous, but I would much rather you explain it if you would rather talk than sing." He glances at Rae, then Eva. "Opinions may vary, however."
Eva eyes Rae dangerously. She'd growl, but alas, she's not a Weir. She chuckles.
Beatrice laughs, "I could do but the one song, and then set the poor lute away for the sake of conversation." An eyeing of Rae to see if this setting-away of the lute will be permitted, perhaps, once she brings it out.
Eva remains quiet, expecting either solution.
Rae's grin fails to show intimidation at the look from Eva. A grin is given to Beatrice, and Rae inclines her head. "I won't make you play until you leave," she assures with a chuckle.
Tristan says, then, "I would love to hear you sing, in that case, Colonel." He puts his hands behind his head, regarding the officer curiously as he waits.
Rae asides to Tristan, "And the song tells the story in far less time than it would for me to explain it all."
Beatrice inclines her head, then, and reaches for the lute itself. "Names are omitted, of course," she remarks, taking it out of its case, "To protect the worthy."
Beatrice strums a bit, checking her tunings.
Eva arches a brow "Oh another story, lovely!"
Rae whispers to the table, "The names are available upon request."
Tristan closes his eyes at the simple sound of the tuning. He asides, to Rae, with a bit of a smile, "No howling during good music."
Eva chuckles, leaning forwards as if she'll hear better that way.
Rae sticks her tongue out to Tristan, then reaches over to ruffle his hair.
Beatrice starts to strum a bit, hums the tune through once, then finds her voice and sings in a tone half-playful and half-serious, as is due a light song about an actual and recent battle.
Eva's heels find edge of her chair, hugging her knees and resting her chin on top.
Beatrice sings the tale of a hat, left in a coffee shop, carried off to war by a weir lass, the many tales of the battle it witnessed, and finally of its return to its owner, now embellished with the letter 'E' on its crown.
Beatrice finally winds it up with her rich, bell-like voice giving it a fullness that brings not a little attention from neighboring tables. It's a hearty song, and ends on an 'up' with a final flourish of a strum. It's brought color to the singer's cheeks, and, done, she sets her lute down with a smile.
Eva applauds "Such a lovely tune!"
Beatrice bows her head graciously to Eva, sipping her wine.
Tristan inclines his head towards Beatrice, as he says, voice warm and amused, "I now know what was in the box. Thank you very much - that was lovely."
Beatrice smiles, "You are very welcome, of course. But what box would that be?"
Rae is absolutely grinning by the end of the song, amused and happy.
Tristan replies, "The box a weir lass had with her in this very room a little while back." He widens his smile as he regards Beatrice - perhaps purposefully not looking at Rae.
Beatrice laughs, rich and low. "Ah, indeed. That must have been a sizable box."
Eva seems to have fallen into her silent mode, listening the conversation with a smile as she finishes her eating.
Rae looks completely innocent, of course. Like it wasn't her that brought a rather large hat in a very sturdy box all the way to the front lines with her.
Beatrice seals up the lute case. "I hope, Your Highness, though I can not travel on the upcoming journey, you may let me make a song of it, when you are back. I'm yet working on one for Kitezh."
Eva looks at Tristan "Upcoming journey?"
Tristan says, "A bit of a jaunt into shadow, is all," in response to Eva. Then to Beatrice he says, "If you like, though you should make someone else the focus of the song. I'm not one for having attention called to."
Rae, at the mention of Kitezh, absently reaches up to brush a spot under her left collarbone. Her frown is brief, quickly replaced by the usual smile. "When is that jaunt, by the by?"
Beatrice says, with a laugh, "The song need have no names to it." Then, to the woman beside her, "Rae, if you've not yet heard, you should know: I have resigned my comission."
Beatrice says this with a certain necessary simplicity and only the subtlest hints of the difficulty of the statement. Another sip of wine, after.
Rae's eyes go a touch wider as she looks to Beatrice. "I was not aware," she says softly. "I've been meaning to call on you, but I've been showing Prince Emrys' daughter around. Perhaps I can visit, later? I have a few things I'd like to speak with you about."
Beatrice nods, and tells Rae, softer, "I should like that. And feel free to bring your companion around, too. Either then or another time."
Deirdre comes here from the direction of the Main Concourse and Royal Way - Amber City.
Tristan says, briefly, "Next week." Then to Beatrice he says, "I hope that your future endeavours may be as successful as your past, Colonel." He draws his seat up more properly to the table, and says, "Perhaps that bit of art will continue to cultivate under a different light."
Beatrice and the others sit at a table by the fire. A lute-case is out, by Beatrice, but it is shut and the lute itself not in sight.
Beatrice inclines her head to Tristan. "I thank you. And yes. I shall be engaging in a private endeavor, but one I hope will still aid us against the Foe."
She is tall, and lean. Her hair hangs unbound, past her waist, as sleek and black as spilled ink. Her eyes are the deep blue of a twilight sky. Her clothing is monochrome: ebon shirt, fitted jacket, breeches and polished riding boots. A decorative belt of oval silver plates supports a scabbarded saber.
Beatrice(#652PXc)
The peaches-and-cream complexion, cupid-bow lips, round jade eyes and fine, straight nose might give her oval face a china-doll quality, but it is saved by a sharply angled brow and the mature grace which has replaced the first flush of youth. Impossibly thick, old-gold curls are twisted into an elaborate plait down her back, a gold chain with a small jade teardrop at her brow. Athletic yet feminine, her figure is just short of considerably tall.
She wears brown suede and jade velvet, slashed and cut at the puffs and tailored close at the rest. A jacket with a high collar, a skirt suitable for riding, and laced boots halfway up her calves. A silver-hilted knife is at her hip.
Rae nods to Tristan, a bit thoughtful looking for one reason or another. Another little rub is given to that spot on her upper chest, before her hand is allowed to fall away.
Eva is chewing her food, silently so.
Tristan glances at Rae's shoulder, then gives Rae a curious look, before his attention is caught by Deirdre. Tristan offers a polite smile as he sees his Aunt.
Beatrice amends then, while still thinking of it, to Rae, "The resignation becomes effective in four days." That said, she follows Tristan's gaze to Deirdre, and a smile returns to her. She bows her head.
Deirdre acquires a bottle and glass from the bar, then walks across to the fireplace and the people. She returns Tristan's nod with one of her own, then gives Beatrice a similar one, making brief and friendly eye contact with Eva and Rae before sitting down. "Resignation, Beatrice?"
Beatrice says, "Aye, Your Highness. I am afraid I am leaving the army."
Rae nods, slowly, to Beatrice. Her smile has faultered once more, though it's hidden with a slight incline of her head. At the voice, she looks up, and puts on a smile for Deirdre.
Eva asks "Why so?" she looks at Deirdre and nods politely.
Tristan seems curious in the answer to that as well, staying silent.
Beatrice offers, "Your Highness, I presume you've met Rae, here, but let me also present Eva, guest-friend of House Solaris." She informs Eva, "Her Highness, Princess Deirdre."
Beatrice adds then, perhaps catching something, "Rae is one of the Weir. Jester, she tells me, to their prince. And one of the finest scouts I've met -- and I say that as a colonel still fiercely proud of her own scouts."
Deirdre says, "A pleasure to meet you both." She looks at Rae and Eva each with renewed interest. "But as a colonel, justly proud of your scouts - how can you consider a resignation at the time of Amber's greatest need?" And her gaze flicks, just briefly, to Beatrice's flat stomach.
Rae inclines her head in a half-bow towards Deirdre. There's an obvious glimmer of pride in her eyes as she's praised by Beatrice, along with affection for the woman giving it. "A pleasure, your Highness."
Alys enters from Common Room of the Crown and Rose.
Beatrice says, "It was not an easy decision, Your Highness, but I shall be engaging in a private venture designed to be of tremendous tactical aid to the war effort. Further, I leave the Defenders in good hands, for my good Brigadier is returning to active duty. There are many good men ready to rise up to XO, my son amongst them, perhaps, and he can not move up with his mother ahead of him. I hope you'll indulge me in leaving further explanation for a private chat."
Eva nods to Deirdre "Yyour highnes..." she rises "It seems weather is better out there. I will leave you to your conversations. She bows.
Beatrice and the others sit around the table, with drinks. There is a shut lute-case beside Beatrice.
Deirdre lifts a hand in farewell to Eva.
Beatrice nods, "I shall see you later, Eva."
Alys staggers and bounces her way down the stairs. She is obviously drunk, and takes some time to focus on the room. A few people seem to know her, and not in a good way. They avoid her stare.
Eva leaves the table, taking a piece of bread and cheese for the journey, peeking out at the rain. She's then...gone.
Deirdre observes Alys' progress from the fireplace, with a look that shades from mild surprise, to recognition before she turns her head away, pouring red wine into her glass.
Alys is short and well-built, with coarse skin and hard features, ugly in a mannish sort of way. Her blonde hair is cut short, and her right cheek is covered by a port wine stain. She wears the torn and tattered uniform of the Marines, bloodstained and even holed by what might be knives.
Alys makes her way to the bar, and pulls out a handful of change and mud from her pocket. She slaps it down oozily and demands, "Drink!"
Eva walks towards the way out.
Deirdre turns back to Beatrice. "Of course." She raises her glass. "To your mysterious new role. I think your son's progress may be slower than he deserves, unfortunately."
Beatrice lifts her glass in return, "My thanks. And as to that -- it shall be as his commanding officers will it. It is, alas, as it must be, out of my hands."
Alys gets a bottle and looks around the room once more. The barman says "Start a fight and you're cut off."
Deirdre looks away toward the bar for a moment, then back to Beatrice to say, "Ah well. There are few who rise who do not have their family connections as an obstacle in some way."
Rae's gaze wanders between Beatrice and Deirdre slowly, content to listen to the conversation at the moment and sip at tea that's long gone cold. Alys is given a glance, a slight purse of lips, before recognition dawns on her.
Deirdre glances at Tristan for some reason.
Alys grins brightly at Rae. "Hello!"
Beatrice follows Deirdre's glance to the bar, allowing with a half-laugh, "True enough, Your Highness." But the laughter dies, perhaps, contemplating the badly damaged uniform the woman is wearing.
Rae chuckles, a slightly amused sound. "Hello, again," she greets towards Alys. Not sounding overly familiar with the woman, at least.
Alys says, "I know you, don't I? Weren't you in stokey with me?"
Beatrice wonders of Rae, in a voice that Will Not carry as far as the bar, "Who is that person? Is she actually a marine?"
Rae offers, "The Ball at Feldane. I brought you some champagne after you had been cut off."
Rae murmurs, softly towards Beatrice. "I don't remember her name. She was claiming to be Gerard's daughter."
Beatrice lifts her brows at that and glances at Deirdre.
Alys goes 'ooooh,' as she wanders forwards. "Yes. Sol and somewone called Fishy had told me I was."
Beatrice remarks, "He has a daughter named Saja, but I've met Saja... that is not she."
Deirdre says, quietly, "She's one of Gerard's more ... unorthodox marines."
Rae manages not to frown too severely at the mention of Sol.
Alys puts her bottle down and tries to sit. Rather than using Eva's chair, she tries to sit on Rae.
Beatrice greets (warningly?), "Corporal."
Rae blinks, surprisedly, as she has an Alys on her lap. She doesn't shove her off, however, but she doesn't nuzzle or look overly cuddly, either.
Tristan regards Alys with what could only be described as a slight amount of awe at the presentation and layout of the woman's uniform.
Alys looks around, maybe looking for a corporal.
Beatrice ventures, "Sargeant, perhaps?" Cleary to Alys.
Alys asks, "Do you want one?"
Beatrice says, "Whilst I am an army woman myself, at least for the time being, I am from a seafaring family, and I must ask, is your quarter master aware of how you display the marine's colors?" She nods to the woman's uniform.
Deirdre clears her throat slightly, then tells Beatrice, "I believe I said unorthodox." She asks Alys, "Is it true that you managed to land a knee on Gerard where it would do him the most good?"
Alys looks down. Looks up again. "Yeah, I kneed the Admiral in the fork," she says happily. "I remember that bit, at least."
Beatrice lifts her brows at that.
Beatrice perhaps had not realized quite to what extent Deirdre /meant/ unorthodox, but she drops the matter, and sips her wine.
Rae still seems to be caught up in the fact that she has an unfamiliar woman on her lap.
Alys cannot leave a subject alone, and now she has picked up on Gerard. "He sort of bent over and burbled a bit, but he got up, and he didn't lamp me, so I think I'm in there. He said he'd punch me pretty one day."
Tristan bursts out laughing at something.
Deirdre says, a little regretfully, "I wish I could have been there to see it. He's got reason to be proud of his fighting skills."
Alys says, "He's got reason to be proud of the colour of his balls, now."
Rae opens her mouth. Closes it. She is, decidedly, without comment.
Alys then adds to Beatrice, "Was that what you meant by Marine Colours? I'm pretty sure we're red, not purple and yellow."
Beatrice offers, as generously as possible, to Alys, "Would you care for a chair?" Just a little pointed, she offers one in particular, that is not the one on which Rae is sitting, nor Rae herself.
Alys shakes her head, quickly. "I'm fine."
Beatrice lifts her brows again and has another quick sip of wine.
Tristan clears his throat. He runs a hand through his hair before inquiring, "If I may ask, Colonel. I was unaware you had a son - in what capacity does he serve Amber?"
Beatrice tells Tristan, with a suitable touch of pride, "He is a Lieutenant-colonel of the Defenders of Kolvir. Henry Solaris."
Rae looks just a little helpless, to go with the confused. She could, very well, be pondering how a handsome man like Gerard had such an unattractive daughter.
Alys wriggles on her comfortable seat, and asks the cushion, "Would you like a drink?"
Rae's head turns away from Alys, slightly, as if to get some fresh air. "No. Would you like some perfume? Soap?"
Alys says, "It gives me wind."
Tristan says, trying to not pay too much attention to the . . . to the others, his voice strained to stay polite, "You must be very proud, Colonel."
Beatrice inclines her head to Tristan, half an eye still on Rae and her 'guest', but only half. "I am, of course, and pleased that if I must put down the Brown, my son will at least continue the tradition a while longer."
Rae shifts a bit beneath Alys, as if trying to get comfortable herself. "You don't eat it," she points out, somewhat gently.
Alys struggles with that. "No, but perfume's alcohol-based... Duh!"
Tristan inclines his head. "Well, in your new life, and all the ones after that, Colonel - please keep in touch. Your company is pleasant, and your counsel welcome." He glances at Rae and Alys, as he says, "You two lovebirds behave." Moving to stand. To Deirdre he lowers his head and says, "Do take care, Aunt."
Deirdre nods to Tristan, "You too, Tristan."
Beatrice smiles graciously at Tristan, "I shall, Your Highness."
Beatrice satnds, when Tristan does, to offer a polite half-bow.
Rae turns a look up to Tristan that might be helpless, or threatening to give him a good wailing on for the comment. "Tristan," she says with warmth, however. "If you need to find me, Emrys is good at doing so. While I'm in the city, I've taken up residence on one of his chairs."
Tristan returns the bow to Beatrice, nods to the table at large, and then grins at Rae. "I'll look for the cinnamon, then." And he is off, a whistle being struck on his lips once more.
Tristan walks towards the way out.
Deirdre looks from Rae to Alys then back again. She sighs. "You have a great deal of energy," she remarks to Alys. "I'm surprised it has not been directed outward at a time like this."
Beatrice, while she is standing, says, "Rae," a bit forcefully. "Perhaps you could look at something with me," she nocks her head across the room, "Over there."
Alys bites the cork out of her bottle and starts drinking. She only stops when she has to take a breath, and the grain spirit is halfway drained. "Sorry, couldn't hear you. I had to drink," she tells Deirdre.
Rae looks up to Beatrice, and then follows the woman's gaze. "Oh, of course." She gives Alys a little nudge. "If you'd excuse me."
Alys puts her arm around Rae's neck, and tries to wriggle closer. "I don't mind being carried."
Beatrice rests a hand on Rae's shoulder to draw the woman up a bit. "I don't believe that is in the offing, alas," She informs Alys.
Deirdre looks from Beatrice to Alys, then says, abruptly, "Stay a moment, both of you. I propose a wager."
Beatrice keeps her hand on Rae's shoulder, though will of course humor Deirdre.
Alys looks at Deirdre, curious.
Rae looks to Deirdre, one brow lifted. Waiting, apparently.
Deirdre says, after a moment, "The stakes - I shall pay the tab on the hostelry of your choice for a week. The wager - a feat of arms or strength, given that we have three warriors at the table, but not disabling or mortal. Amber needs all three too much."
Beatrice's mouth is drawn in a flat line. She looks Unhappy.
Deirdre's gesture includes Rae, Alys and Beatrice and excludes herself.
Alys says, "Done!" in a quick snap.
Rae's brows only arch a bit higher. "Arms," she suggests, though looking slightly confused, still.
Beatrice murmurs, simply, "I do not engage in duels for wagers, Your Highness, not even mere feats of strength."
Alys asks hopefully, "I still get the drink if she won't fight, right?"
Deirdre gives Beatrice a nod, then Alys and Rae. "I respect the Colonel's dignity. The two of you then. I did not suggest a duel. I hoped the two of you might come up with something more creative. A demonstration of some kind."
Alys looks to Rae, to check it's on.
Rae looks to Deirdre with still-arched brows. "Something more creative than a duel or arm wrestling," she murmurs. She sounds a bit unsure. A glance is given to Alys.
Beatrice smiles, "Perhaps a race."
Beatrice glances at Rae.
Alys takes the glance as a 'yes', and reaches for her bottle as she stands up. She opens hostilities by swinging it straight back for Rae's forehead...
Deirdre's hand flashes out.
Rae says, easily, "I would not object to a ra..." She stops, however, as a bottle heads for her forehead.
Alys fails to hit home, although she whirls around in a circle as her inertia carries her. She ends up sitting down with a bump.
Beatrice attempst to get in the way of Alys, having a hand on Rae's shoulder and the advantage of proximit, she jerks Rae -- if she can -- WITH her chair back and out of the way.
Deirdre's reaching hand fails to connect with Alys, perhaps due to Alys' unpredictable movement. Instead, she rights a falling bottle, almost succeeding in the impression that that was her intent.
Beatrice doesn't keep her hand on Rae's shoulder, mind, but is now ready for a fight, if one is coming.
Deirdre says, in a loud and carrying voice, "STOP, OR THERE WILL BE NO TAB OF ANY KIND!"
Even as Raes pulled backwards her hand goes for an empty mug, as if prepared to wield it as a weapon
Even as Rae's pulled backwards her hand goes for an empty mug, as if prepared to wield it as a weapon. The Weir growls, lowly, and swings the mug towards Alys' forehead.
Alys does hit Beatrice on the way down, but only with a shoulder, and only by accident. Once on the floor she considers her own bottle for a moment and then smiles at its not being broken, and then Deirdre's words hit her. She looks up in horror, just as Rae's mug descends towards her. The only weapon she has to hand is the bottle, so she takes the hit and then a rather groggy drink.
Beatrice exhales, sharp, "Rae, hold! Retreat!"
Deirdre leans forward and says, "If the two of you have quite finished flailing around like inebriated adolescents?" Her tone is chill, but her eyes have a strange fire to them. To those who know her, she has the look of one nursing a diabolical plan.
Rae's mug doesn't seem to be a very effective weapon, no real damage done to Alys with it. She's visably gritting her teeth together, but holds. To those that know her, she looks like she'd like to rip a throat out.
Alys asks, "Have you?" of the other two.
The barman relaxes a little, but keeps his eyes on Alys.
Beatrice does not answer Alys, save with a nod of her chin towards Deirdre.
Alys does have a mug-shaped bruise on her forehead, but her head is very hard. She turns her gormless look on Deirdre instead.
Deirdre leans forward, and says, "A feat of arms or strength, I said. And that Amber needed you both too much to /expend/ you for the price of a few bottles of wine or venison roasts" She holds up a pale hand, cold blue eyes resting on Alys "Do not trouble to enumerate the barrels you could consume."
Deirdre says, "This is my proposal: Alys the Marine and Rae the Scout may have one week to prove their valour against the Road. Either may strike a blow or blows against that evil, whether by wit, or strength or bloody viciousness. It may not contravene the orders of their superiors, and may be aided by as many as will help. Do you accept the terms?"
Alys says, "No," and narrows her eyes.
Alys takes in a deep breath and starts talking loud and fast. As she runs out of air her voice becomes shrill, but stays at the same high pitch. "I have been doing nothing but fighting that thing since it came, and now I'm stuck in your sodding dead-end city with a bunch of up my arse nobility and a set of loyalty I wouldn't use to pad my pants in my courses, and you're telling me to get on out there! As if I'm not out there most days, you useless arsewipe!" Then she runs out of air, finally.
Beatrice might have been about to say something to Deirdre, but Alys's outburst stills it.
Rae looks to Deirdre, her gaze holding some harshness to it. "I have already risked life and limb against that damnable Road," she adds to Alys' complaint. "And struck blows. Damnit, I fought it in Begma and Kitezh and have this damnable mark of the end of days burnt into my flesh to show for it. And I go to fight it again. I will not be back in time to make your deadline, Deirdre of Amber." That last is said with a certain amount of unhidden distaste.
Deirdre smiles, and the light is back in her eyes. She smiles, and smiles, and then laughs.
Alys looks like she could swing again, and this time mean murder.
Beatrice narrows her eyes, but wisely says little.
Deirdre stands, and calls to the bartender. "Alys drinks on my coin for this week, as does Rae, provided neither of them strikes a blow against any who fight for Amber. In uniform or out." She does not pause to give a farewell to any but Beatrice, to whom she inclines her head.
Beatrice inclines her head to Deirdre. Perhaps there are laugh crinkles in the squint of her eyes, should any be paying enough attention to note.
Rae might only be staying still because of the order to hold from Beatrice. There is something definitely animalistic in her gaze towards Deirdre. No thanks are murmured, but it's a certainty that the Princess will have quite a tab to pay at the end of the week.
Beatrice adds, "And with that, I must bid you both good day as well. Rae," she adds, "Stop by sometime -- soon -- for that private chat."
Finis