Martel had had many years now to get accustomed to tactics as devised and employed by his intended bride, but it really doesn't do him much good when it comes to the employing. Most of the time, at least.
As Ehlana leaves, Platime cocks an eyebrow at Sparhawk. "What's on your mind?"
"I saw Naween last night when I rode into town. She's working the streets."
"That's ridiculous! Half the time she forgets to take the money!" Platime almost splutters it.
Frowning, Martel interjects, "What does she think she's doing?"
"She's had a falling out with Shanda. I sent her to an inn, but Platime, can you make some sort of arrangement for her?"
"I'll see what I can do," Platime agrees, and Maryani looks speculative.
Still, if Martel wouldn't let her keep a tavern, it's vastly less likely he'd let her have a brothel. Which is unfortunate, in her opinion, because she thinks she'd be remarkably good at it. Certainly better than Shanda--poor girl, whoever they're referring to, the streets aren't any place for a prostitute who's not hard to the core.
"Who's this Naween?" Ehlana is still in the room, and Maryani definitely knows that tone of voice. She looks up, watchful.
"She's a whore," Platime explains, helpfully, "A special friend of Sparhawk's."
"Platime." Sparhawk clearly knows Ehlana will not particularly appreciate that sort of description, and Maryani winces sympathetically. If he did ever dally with that girl, he'll have hell to pay
( ... )
Sparhawk gives Maryani an eloquent look to the effect of 'are you ma--oh, yes, actually, you are' and Martel coughed into his fist to avoid laughing outright. (Their reluctant ceasefire is still -- even now -- a delicate thing, but it's improved over the years...enough that Martel doesn't seem concerned by the possibility of Sparhawk running him through for laughing at him, in a genuine way rather than studied indifference.)
"She's had a sheltered upbringing," he says, instead.
"Didn't you bring her up?" Platime asks him, shrewdly.
"He did," Martel contributes, ever helpfully. "Didn't you, old boy?"
"He's only got himself to blame, then."
Sparhawk rolls his eyes. "I'm glad you find this so amusing."
"You men like to pass the buck when it comes to women being angry with you," Maryani remarks, "You all laugh at one another when it happens, and then you're annoyed when the same thing happens to you."
"It's commiseration, Maryani," Platime tells her, "And why I don't envy these poor souls who've got permanent attachments."
Maryani flashes him a bright grin. "Don't worry, Platime, if you ever get left out, I'm sure Ehlana and I can come up with a proper scolding for you."
Platime roars with laughter. "Perish the thought, you horrible wench."
"If I didn't know you better, Platime," Martel says, idly threatening and not at all convincing. (Well. Not to any of the people presently in the room. Others might be another story.)
"Platime, darling, you have no idea how horrible I can be," Maryani tells him, airily, "But I save the best of that for Martel. He enjoys it."
"He'd have to," Sparhawk mutters, and just gives Maryani an amused look when she smacks his shoulder. They're still not entirely used to her oddly boyish sensibilities about certain things (no matter how she looks), but it's only been five or six years, in her opinion. There's plenty of time.
"On that note--I ought to be getting back to the house, Nourelle keeps teaching Nikolau all these little tricks for sneaking out." She rises, pushing her dress sleeve...back over her shoulder. It's entirely possible she will never master the notion of entirely modest dress.
Off Sparhawk's look, Martel says, "Danae doesn't need Nourelle to teach her how to sneak anywhere." Nobody's ever confirmed his suspicions for him (and to be fair he hasn't discussed them with anyone), but Martel knows the effects of darestim just as well as Sephrenia does. One day he might say something--then again, maybe he won't. "If we're done here for the time being?"
"Go on with your horrible woman, General," Platime says, still laughing. "We'll come get you when Ehlana decides to march on Chyrellos."
"That's not funny, Platime," Sparhawk mutters. He may be the only one who thinks so.
"I laughed," Maryani disagrees, grinning at Platime and Sparhawk as she steps out of the room.
Once she does, she's looking at Martel with a calculating expression he might know well, because all it takes to rouse a ridiculous scheme out of this woman (or to start an argument between her and Martel) is a pin dropping. "You know, if there are a lot of women like that Naween being turned out, I could do something about it. It doesn't seem right for these girls--nineteen, twenty year olds--to get stuck on the streets, does it?"
'Girls'. People still call Maryani that, sometimes, by the way; it's getting awkward for Nourelle, and probably also awkward for Martel.
"You can't have a brothel, Maryani." Martel does not particularly want to have an argument about this, and moreover he doesn't want to get into a row before they're even an entire hallway away from Platime and Sparhawk, so he chooses to say this in a tone firmly matter of fact. Without raising or lowering his voice.
After a moment, though, he seems to consider something. Hm.
"Why not?" Maryani objects, frowning. "I'm better-suited to it than anyone else around here, and I actually care about girls like that."
She watches him thinking, eyebrows raised, and reaches out to catch her hand in his shirt, regardless of any pages or other servants that might pass by. It's a good way of getting his attention! "What? I can feel it when you start to plan things, you know."
"You do, I realize--" He snags her hand out of his shirt and pulls her over to his side, starting to walk again. "We might be able to organize something. Our situation here is--" He grimaces. "You know what it is. We don't need additional scandals."
Ehlana doesn't need the additional scandals, either, and although he doesn't comment on it, it is a factor and no doubt Maryani doesn't need it pointed out to her.
"Can you be discreet, my lady?" Don't taunt her, Martel, she'll stab you again and no one will stop her. "Perhaps someone else to manage the day to day affairs."
"You and I both know I'm no lady," she reminds him, perhaps unfairly, "It's half our problem."
With the marrying and all. Still, she considers what he says, as they head down the hallway--she even keeps her hands to herself, although she is perhaps too close to him for an unmarried woman...it's not like their lack of wedding vows is being made public knowledge. In fact, Maryani will, given the right situation, lie about it. Freely.
"I could," she agrees, "I'd have to find someone I really liked to manage the girls, but as long as I trusted them, it'd be all right."
Martel's perfectly willing to lie about their marital situation (or lack thereof) if it suits him -- as it often does. Those who need to know the truth one way or the other do, and those who don't, don't. For the time being: "Talk to Platime," he advises.
"I will. He seems to like me," she grins, bumping Martel lightly with her hip, "But then, I am terribly likable, aren't I? It seemed to work with you, and you are so difficult to please."
Yeah, she's been in a mood lately, and that mood is 'provoking Martel repeatedly'.
"Then it won't be difficult for me to talk him into helping me, will it? You are just so helpful, Martel."
She pauses, thoughtful. "Of course, this means I'll be spending lots of time wrangling interesting people...by which I mean interesting men. I wonder if I could manage to make some of the girls into courtesans? The proper kind. I've spent enough time here in the castle to have learned enough manners--and really good courtesans have better manners than real royalty, half the time."
See, she's actually probably going to be really good at this. And knows it, judging by the impish little smile she gives him, kissing his cheek. "I wouldn't have been half bad at it, myself, you know."
Martel had had many years now to get accustomed to tactics as devised and employed by his intended bride, but it really doesn't do him much good when it comes to the employing. Most of the time, at least.
As Ehlana leaves, Platime cocks an eyebrow at Sparhawk. "What's on your mind?"
"I saw Naween last night when I rode into town. She's working the streets."
"That's ridiculous! Half the time she forgets to take the money!" Platime almost splutters it.
Frowning, Martel interjects, "What does she think she's doing?"
"She's had a falling out with Shanda. I sent her to an inn, but Platime, can you make some sort of arrangement for her?"
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"I'll see what I can do," Platime agrees, and Maryani looks speculative.
Still, if Martel wouldn't let her keep a tavern, it's vastly less likely he'd let her have a brothel. Which is unfortunate, in her opinion, because she thinks she'd be remarkably good at it. Certainly better than Shanda--poor girl, whoever they're referring to, the streets aren't any place for a prostitute who's not hard to the core.
"Who's this Naween?" Ehlana is still in the room, and Maryani definitely knows that tone of voice. She looks up, watchful.
"She's a whore," Platime explains, helpfully, "A special friend of Sparhawk's."
"Platime." Sparhawk clearly knows Ehlana will not particularly appreciate that sort of description, and Maryani winces sympathetically. If he did ever dally with that girl, he'll have hell to pay ( ... )
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Sparhawk gives Maryani an eloquent look to the effect of 'are you ma--oh, yes, actually, you are' and Martel coughed into his fist to avoid laughing outright. (Their reluctant ceasefire is still -- even now -- a delicate thing, but it's improved over the years...enough that Martel doesn't seem concerned by the possibility of Sparhawk running him through for laughing at him, in a genuine way rather than studied indifference.)
"She's had a sheltered upbringing," he says, instead.
"Didn't you bring her up?" Platime asks him, shrewdly.
"He did," Martel contributes, ever helpfully. "Didn't you, old boy?"
"He's only got himself to blame, then."
Sparhawk rolls his eyes. "I'm glad you find this so amusing."
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"You men like to pass the buck when it comes to women being angry with you," Maryani remarks, "You all laugh at one another when it happens, and then you're annoyed when the same thing happens to you."
"It's commiseration, Maryani," Platime tells her, "And why I don't envy these poor souls who've got permanent attachments."
Maryani flashes him a bright grin. "Don't worry, Platime, if you ever get left out, I'm sure Ehlana and I can come up with a proper scolding for you."
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Platime roars with laughter. "Perish the thought, you horrible wench."
"If I didn't know you better, Platime," Martel says, idly threatening and not at all convincing. (Well. Not to any of the people presently in the room. Others might be another story.)
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"Platime, darling, you have no idea how horrible I can be," Maryani tells him, airily, "But I save the best of that for Martel. He enjoys it."
"He'd have to," Sparhawk mutters, and just gives Maryani an amused look when she smacks his shoulder. They're still not entirely used to her oddly boyish sensibilities about certain things (no matter how she looks), but it's only been five or six years, in her opinion. There's plenty of time.
"On that note--I ought to be getting back to the house, Nourelle keeps teaching Nikolau all these little tricks for sneaking out." She rises, pushing her dress sleeve...back over her shoulder. It's entirely possible she will never master the notion of entirely modest dress.
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Off Sparhawk's look, Martel says, "Danae doesn't need Nourelle to teach her how to sneak anywhere." Nobody's ever confirmed his suspicions for him (and to be fair he hasn't discussed them with anyone), but Martel knows the effects of darestim just as well as Sephrenia does. One day he might say something--then again, maybe he won't. "If we're done here for the time being?"
"Go on with your horrible woman, General," Platime says, still laughing. "We'll come get you when Ehlana decides to march on Chyrellos."
"That's not funny, Platime," Sparhawk mutters. He may be the only one who thinks so.
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"I laughed," Maryani disagrees, grinning at Platime and Sparhawk as she steps out of the room.
Once she does, she's looking at Martel with a calculating expression he might know well, because all it takes to rouse a ridiculous scheme out of this woman (or to start an argument between her and Martel) is a pin dropping. "You know, if there are a lot of women like that Naween being turned out, I could do something about it. It doesn't seem right for these girls--nineteen, twenty year olds--to get stuck on the streets, does it?"
'Girls'. People still call Maryani that, sometimes, by the way; it's getting awkward for Nourelle, and probably also awkward for Martel.
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"You can't have a brothel, Maryani." Martel does not particularly want to have an argument about this, and moreover he doesn't want to get into a row before they're even an entire hallway away from Platime and Sparhawk, so he chooses to say this in a tone firmly matter of fact. Without raising or lowering his voice.
After a moment, though, he seems to consider something. Hm.
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"Why not?" Maryani objects, frowning. "I'm better-suited to it than anyone else around here, and I actually care about girls like that."
She watches him thinking, eyebrows raised, and reaches out to catch her hand in his shirt, regardless of any pages or other servants that might pass by. It's a good way of getting his attention! "What? I can feel it when you start to plan things, you know."
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"You do, I realize--" He snags her hand out of his shirt and pulls her over to his side, starting to walk again. "We might be able to organize something. Our situation here is--" He grimaces. "You know what it is. We don't need additional scandals."
Ehlana doesn't need the additional scandals, either, and although he doesn't comment on it, it is a factor and no doubt Maryani doesn't need it pointed out to her.
"Can you be discreet, my lady?" Don't taunt her, Martel, she'll stab you again and no one will stop her. "Perhaps someone else to manage the day to day affairs."
'Affairs'. Heh.
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"You and I both know I'm no lady," she reminds him, perhaps unfairly, "It's half our problem."
With the marrying and all. Still, she considers what he says, as they head down the hallway--she even keeps her hands to herself, although she is perhaps too close to him for an unmarried woman...it's not like their lack of wedding vows is being made public knowledge. In fact, Maryani will, given the right situation, lie about it. Freely.
"I could," she agrees, "I'd have to find someone I really liked to manage the girls, but as long as I trusted them, it'd be all right."
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Martel's perfectly willing to lie about their marital situation (or lack thereof) if it suits him -- as it often does. Those who need to know the truth one way or the other do, and those who don't, don't. For the time being: "Talk to Platime," he advises.
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"I will. He seems to like me," she grins, bumping Martel lightly with her hip, "But then, I am terribly likable, aren't I? It seemed to work with you, and you are so difficult to please."
Yeah, she's been in a mood lately, and that mood is 'provoking Martel repeatedly'.
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"Platime likes beautiful women, Maryani, I wouldn't take it personally."
...oic.
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"Then it won't be difficult for me to talk him into helping me, will it? You are just so helpful, Martel."
She pauses, thoughtful. "Of course, this means I'll be spending lots of time wrangling interesting people...by which I mean interesting men. I wonder if I could manage to make some of the girls into courtesans? The proper kind. I've spent enough time here in the castle to have learned enough manners--and really good courtesans have better manners than real royalty, half the time."
See, she's actually probably going to be really good at this. And knows it, judging by the impish little smile she gives him, kissing his cheek. "I wouldn't have been half bad at it, myself, you know."
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