The night was fair, and profits were high in his various ventures. His neice had not died at a Stark's hands and Sindra's serpent had spoken little. It was a good time, but Sandro knew it was a quiet doomed to be but fleeting. He was a pirate by nature, and found peace was sweeter when you knew it soon would end. The flavor of coming violence- the tang of blood and steel- seemed to flavor the breezes drifting up from the Iron Gate and he smiled merrily as he handed his mount off to a stableboy.
He was on his way out of the stables when he caught sight of a particulary dangerous looking Tyrell-- Stranger take it if he could tell which. Sandro had a pirate's instinct for trouble (well, trouble and gold) and the look on the young man's face was enough to set off near every alarm. Perhaps peace was even more fleeting than he had thought.
Wasn't the heir to Highgarden married to a Stark? And hadn't a Stark just tried to shoot his neice? ... Oh, dear. He did hope his nephews hadn't done something inconvenient.
"My Lord of Tyrell," Sandro said as he stepped into the man's path just at the stable entrance. "Whatever errand it is, I do not think it is a good night for riding. I am thinking you should take some of your men if you are leaving."
Considering the mood of the city lately he didn't doubt a spark might soon turn to fire. And the spark by the Iron Gate was large and determined enough to do just that.