entrancelogs | Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want

Entry tags:

Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want

Who: Ellen/Porthos & You
Where: Everywhere
When: Duration of the event (May 16th - 19th)
Rating: Pg13 (will change if necessary)
Summary: Everyone's craving something. Some cravings are easier to satisfy than others.
The Story:

Ellen: Ellen can be found all over the mansion and the Greenhouse, painting symbols and sigils. Some are recognizable (like so) others are a lot more obscure, and might not even be right! Ellen doesn't care, she's doing it all from memory, and is working them into everything she can think of. The last day will be chalk because she's out of paint and isn't thinking well enough to get more from the closets.

She will draw them on people upon request.

Porthos: Porthos is looking for the ~Ladies~. Any lady want someone to spend some time with? Platonic or not? Porthos is your guy! He likes all sorts of attention. He will still have that slight moral compass that the ones too young will be safe from anything but platonic attention, but he will enjoy their company all the same.

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He laughs, twisting to the side and avoiding her thrust. His sword clacks against hers again.

"Perhaps, should you defeat me, that shall be my forfeit." He's been known to sing now and again, though usually they were tavern songs. He needs to learn something more appropriate for a lady.

"Forfeits and boons. You dangle them like carrots before the horse and I fear I'll never get a chomp of any of them."

But she was smiling as she turned full-round to try and tap her 'blade' against the elbow of his sword-arm.

His blade caught hers, protecting his arm at an awkward angle. The two swords clacked together.

"You've gotten one hit on me, my lady." He points it out, merrily laughing. "A boon isn't that far away. What shall you have, hmm?"

"Why, lessons! Even if I win, I confess I could learn a lot from you."

A theatrical bow. The fight grew not half so interesting as the banter itself. She grinned and moved to jab him in his heart -- brave and artless. A careless risk. She was a girl liable to get herself into trouble one day.

He laughs, stepping to the side and clacking his sword against hers, hard, in a pointed attempt to get her to drop the sword.

"Lessons, my Lady, are yours for the asking, no need to waste a boon on something so simple."

"Ser!"

Her arm shook. Vibrated with the blow. And indeed the weapon dropped, with Lyanna tumbling lightly after it -- stretched out upon the ground and laughing and waving her arms in her face for surrender. "But it isn't simple. Not at all. My father refuses to let me carry a sword. If it were simple, he'd not protest."

Porthos laughs and collapses on the ground near to her, but not improperly so. He gives her plenty of space to talk about her father and about how things are not simple.

“My Lady, if you have a wish to learn, I have a mind to teach.” He shrugs a single shoulder. Her father and brother aren’t here which is the important part. “It will not be easy, but it is possible.” He wonders if he can entice her into learning. It would be a wonderful distraction from the boredom of this place.

"Are you a good teacher, Ser Porthos?"

She lifted herself up onto one elbow and watched him -- eyes shrewd and curious. Her question would let her further decide whether lessons were truly for her.

The question makes him pause for a moment. There aren’t many people he’s actually taught to swordfight. But it can’t be that hard. He’d learned after all. He puts an arm behind his head, looking up at the sky. Clouds scud across the sky.

“I don’t know, my Lady.” He finally admits. “But even I learned eventually.”

"Learning is not the same as teaching." She clucked her tongue and took on a tone of mild reproof. Playful scolding. "For I learned to ride horses better than any man in my father's castle, but how could I teach to others what is like breathing to me? I have no patience for it."

And so! "Are you a patient man? A tolerant man? Because I will make no secret of the fact that I am a student who will try both patience and tolerance."

He laughs to the sky, delighted by her company and her questions. She reminds him of a few ladies he's met now and again. She also reminds him of...

No, Porthos refuses to compare her to Milady.

"I hold my temper far more than my companions, though that might not be comforting." And not strictly true when it comes to Aramis. "And for a beautiful lady, I can hold my temper even further."

See how he did that?

"Hold your temper, maybe. But not your wit. Nor your rogue's tongue."

But she could not have minded too much, because she was laughing again and because a pretty Westerosi girl should be no stranger to compliments. One could not be crowned Prince Rhaegar's Queen of Love and Beauty and not have some dignity when accepting praise.

She plucked a dandelion out from between the blades of grass and worried its thin yellow petals with a fingernail. "I think I am inclined to accept you as my teacher, ser."

“Would you have me hold my tongue, my lady?” Porthos asks her, curious. Her laughter makes him smile. Every lady – and they are all ladies – deserve to be happy.

“Then I am inclined to teach you, my Lady.” He tucks a blade of grass between his teeth. “When would you like to begin?”

"Not today. Today is too beautiful to turn fun into work. Wouldn't you agree?"

Porthos laughs again, reveling in her company.

“I completely agree, my Lady. Today is for fun. Soon, we will begin.”

"And I shall have to find a proper sword. A real one -- made with steel. Oh, Ser, you should see my father's. Valyrian steel and nearly as tall as me! It is named Ice and it is a treasure. It will be my brother's sword, in time."

He hums a little crossing his legs at the ankles. The grass vibrates between his lips, but he doesn’t move for a minute. “Steel comes later, my Lady. First, learn to handle the wood without hurting yourself. The steel comes after that.”

He turns as she talks of the sword. “You sound very proud of your home.”

"I know no other way to be. Starks have manned Winterfell for ages: our blood is the same as the blood of the First Men. Not even the Targaryen kings can claim such kinship to the land. And oh, if you could see the summer snows on the heath. Or maybe the way the hot spring pools bubble in the dead of winter years. You love your France, Ser Porthos. And I love my North. I think we can both of us understand each other's sentiments in this regard."

“I mean it in honor of you, my Lady. Not as a criticism.” He hadn’t, anyway. She seems rather defensive of her pride. He understands pride in home. That pride had driven him to Italy, to England, to defying the Church and following a boy into battle.

"...My beloved North is -- I fear -- a little misaligned in my own world. We lead very different lives from anyone in the south, and so I forever fear we are laughed at behind their doors."

He sighs and reaches over, catching her hand. Gently he pulls it up to brush a kiss against the knuckles. A bold move, perhaps, but she seems like she almost needs comfort that he is not equipped to give her.

“I will not laugh at your home. To me it sounds fascinating and exotic.”

She smiled -- cheeks flushing not with bashfulness but with a quiet pink delight. Lyanna enjoyed the attention.

"As yours does to me. Tell me, is Paris a cold or a warm city?"

“Paris is a mild city. Some snow in the winter, but not too much. The country sees it far more than we do.” Porthos stretches on the ground. “We are far more interested in our material pursuits than the weather.”

"Is that so? I suppose that is a luxury afforded in a mild city." She spoke no reproach. Indeed, she sounded almost envious. Though fiercely proud of her family, there was only so much investment one could sink into the phrase winter is coming before one started to feel a little...fixated.

“It’s the King’s city as well. Politics everywhere.” He wrinkles his nose as if he finds it distasteful. He does. Find him a threat and he will face it with just a pair of cooper’s buckets. But politics is something he has no head for.

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wolfwild - 2014-07-09 02:37 (UTC) - Expand

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