the poisoners guild Who: Jaehaerys Targaryen, Elia Martell, Lazralene. Some other npcs. When: Day 20, late at night Where: A brothel run by a lady from the Summer Isles. Rating: PG-13 for Martell-Targaryen tempers, vicious arguing and suggestions of orgiastic bliss Status: OPEN
The room was warm and furnished with objects so plush and embellished that they surpassed garish and came full circle back to pretty. He had chosen the largest of the low and overly-stuffed couches to be his and Jaehaerys relaxed among the mountain of cushions as he waited for the ladies of the house to bring Elia up. A Tyroshi sailor moonlighting as a prostitute to a Dornish princess wasn't something remarkable enough for anyone to give much thought to. Although he rather hoped his uncles didn't hear about this particular charade anytime soon.
The day had been another long one as the docks began to look usable again. Still, there was the problem of Flea Bottom where the fever seemed to be lingering and nothing could get done as those who tried to help kept ending up stabbed or disappeared altogether. He didn't think Stark would resort to walls and wildfire but he'd begun to wonder what alternatives might be left.
He closed his eyes as he sipped Arbor gold from a goblet. He was waiting in a renowned pleasure house for his aunt... the gods did have a strange sense of humor. ... Though it wasn't one Gwyn Stark was like to share. The thought of the girl brought the tension back to his shoulders. There was something in her other than poison, and if there wasn't then he was as mad as Aerion Brightfire. That scent of burnt amber and copper... His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Enter, my lady," he said with his most charming grin.