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Lady Delyth Bamford (judgingyou) wrote in watchers_rp,

“Is there any way to shut him up?” Delyth conspired with the lord beside her whose name she did not recall because, frankly, he did not matter enough.

“If there were, would you have asked?”

It had been a rhetorical question, but what actually caused her to pause was that it turned out her co-conspirator was a woman. At least, they were wearing a dress... Giving the possibly-lord/possibly-lady a second glance, one eyebrow arched sharply in uncertainty, she decided someone had bet on the wrong horse in a decidedly questionable wager with Lord Silverling. She turned back to Sir Daemyn just in time to see him accosting the tragically under-dressed Lord Hexte for a drink, drop an “I told you so” with regards to his attire, then seize the crook of his elbow before he managed to escape. “No, he won’t.” As though he were actually a server who didn’t know when to stop giving the nobility alcohol.

Small. Small? Leveling a stare at that smile -- that if he wasn’t careful would border on imbecilic -- Delyth looked up at Sir Daemyn over the top of her spectacles. “I am seated and you’re overgrown; a little perspective helps, dear.” She paused, considering her reputation, folding away the urge to issue a satisfied smile. “Yes, well, that perspective would be correct,” she stated, almost dismissing it with a wave of one hand. “Should you reach my age I do not doubt your own reputation will beat mine in terms of magnitude.” What he had a reputation for remained to be seen.

“I take it back,” Delyth added suddenly. “You smell like a decanter of dubious origin.” Someone laughed -- she pretended not to hear them.