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Tweak says, "where's the handle?!"

Lady Delyth Bamford (judgingyou) wrote in watchers_rp,
@ 2017-05-26 22:47:00

Entry tags:

#day 007/07 may, daemyn, delyth

Who: Daemyn & Delyth (+ random NPCs)
Where: Elkwood Castle, Main Hall
When: Evening

“You make an excellent point.” The remark came from a man who would have been Lord Boswraithe had he not decided to marry into a family of Ardghal. Now he was just Kester Asselin, husband to a third daughter in a matriarchy. Which went to show what one could accomplish when love and marriage were considered compatible.

Lady Delyth’s face feigned surprise. “Of course I do. Were you expecting something else?” Turning aside, she fixed Lady Adreci with a gaze that assured her they were not done with their conversation and continued where she had left off. “He was not crazy, he was foreign.” This in reference to the bizarre young lord that was floating somewhere around court and probably listening to her, but since she was correct and arguably defending him, she did not see what the problem could be. “Honestly, Rosamund, you read too much of that romantic drivel.” Lady Adreci, at a loss as to what to say to that, flushed a dark pink then politely excused herself. Delyth watched after her with a raised eyebrow, apparently confused over her sudden departure, but actually contemplating whether she ought to have started the year keeping a tally of how many times she managed to do that with minimal effort.

She was beginning to wonder where Jarey was -- worse, where his mother was -- and whether she should look for him, when Kester piped up again. “Don’t look now…”

On principle, she didn’t. At least, not until Kester suddenly grew uncomfortable and moved away, taking her entertainment with him. Using her cane to swivel in her chair, Delyth turned her gaze to the shambling figure of Sir Daemyn Taraias. Looking him over, she came to… well, multiple conclusions, actually, but mostly that he may not be awake. Watching him for a moment, she tried to decide what she wanted to say to him first. There were always a fair number of things one could say to a man like Sir Daemyn. It was truly a matter of what to say first -- and she might have deliberated longer had she not suspected his mouth was open. Was he awake? “Sir Daemyn.” Her cane swung out and poked him firmly in the leg. “The last time I saw a mouth like that there was a hook through its lip. You are not an angler fish, it will catch you no women.”

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ferretheir
2017-06-05 04:43 pm UTC (link)

Daemyn shrugged at the idea of his parents dying and leaving him poor. He was a Taraias, did she not know that they were a very rich family? They had a thriving ferret population that contributed quite well to that as Amadeo seemed to enjoy reminding him. "Yes, yes, yes alright." Daemyn flapped his hand a little as he sat in the nearest chair, his head spinning slightly on the way down. Had he grown taller or the chairs closer to the ground? Or was he truly just that far gone? Daemyn did hope he'd remember this night because he was almost positive at this point that it was the most drunk he had ever been. That might be a defining moment in a man's life for all he knew. It would doubtlessly mark the worst hangover he ever had.

He truly didn't know how Janna managed it.

He did tip his head, curious, when Delyth remarked about Amadeo's hearing. "Only if you count how well his ears ring after he's been hit about the head when he doesn't get his sword up," Daemyn snorted, words unkind and untrue. For all that he was better than his brother with the lance, he knew Amadeo was better with the sword. It was why he disdained it so much. Another shrug came at the information of where Janna likely was. She was a woman grown who could take care of herself, it surely wasn't his job. "Only Janna's should burn better." Wine-soaked skin would see to that.

Grinning when he got a water, Daemyn lifted the glass towards Delyth, sloshing a bit on his arm in the process. "To your health, Lady Delyth, though as I see it you seem to be in perfect health with little need of encouragement."

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judgingyou
2017-06-08 12:26 am UTC (link)

Creator have mercy, but Lord Daphisio Taraias had raised a questionable family. Although even as she regarded the heir of Taraias (Creator help Daphisio on that matter) over the top of her spectacles, Delyth had to admit that was not entirely fair. The girls had turned out reasonably well, even if Janna now tried to hydrate herself with strong ale. There was something… off about Sir Amadeo, though, and it seemed Sir Daemyn was just pleased as punch with the idea of displaying at least one of his vices in what many would consider respectable company. “I am very nearly tempted to send word to your father that you’ve been sent to bed without supper,” she commented, eyebrow arching pointedly on the word ‘father’. “Of course, then it would have to be explained why, at some point, you might have been rapped on the knuckles with Lady Bamford’s cane.”

“And yet his blade stands erect more oft than yours,” Delyth threw back without missing a beat, her face an impassive mask giving no hint for or against her knowledge of the double entendre. It would take an idiot, however, to believe the lady had not been aware of her words. That her remark had made the lady beside her blush was actually quite absurd. She had heard far, far worse at the performances put on for peasants in the town -- where children could hear. Delyth did not necessarily wish to ridicule Daemyn -- he did that perfectly adequately on his own -- but it was bad form to snipe at someone when they were not around to defend themselves. (A rule of thumb that she applied to everyone but herself.) “Janna has had more practice than you, dear.” With a faintly sad smile, Delyth recalled the girl as she bad been when she first came to court. As quickly as it came, the expression hardened into a wry humour. “Like most good students, she also continues to practice even after she has the art perfected.” It did her no good, but that went without saying.

Delyth had been about to remark on the fabric of his clothing; how she hoped none of it was suede if he was only going to throw water everywhere… Instead, her eyebrows raised in something resembling curiosity at his toast. She was actually a little taken aback. More so when she caught people in her periphery also raising their glasses. “Sentiments like those are why an old woman can’t die in peace,” was the eventual, amused response. Shortly followed by her own glass raising, “And may you wake without a hangover.”

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