(1866-08-26) Mummery and Scandal
Mummery and Scandal
Summary: A brief encounter in the Cathedral has Esyld and Lorelei heading to the nearest tavern in short order.
Date: Aout 26th
Related: Patience and Best Out of Three?
Broderick  Artos  Lorelei  Esyld  Jonathan  Corvin  

Lonnaire Cathedral
In scene
Aout 26th, 1866

While it might not be as hot here as in the South, the warms of the summer's sun is none-the-less powerful when it wants to be, meaning there's a good crowd for the noon service in the cathedral as people take advantage of the cool stone construction. And of course because they want to pay their respects to the One. That too. With the priests finishing up and the crowds dispersing, one visitor breaks off from those reluctantly filing back out into the heat, turning instead to view the side chapels and chanceries.

Artos is among those trying to file out of the cathedral at the conclusion of the ceremony. The baron fidgets with his gloves as he decides to take his prayers to another portion of the cathedral and makes his way towards one of the side chapels. On his way he nearly runs into the visitor and exclaims, "Bah."

Broderick had been glancing at the iconography of the chapel, trying to place the particular peace of scripture it was denoting, but as Artos announces his arival in the vacinity so succinctly he turns to see. A brief nod is given in silent greeting to the unfamiliar man before he offers in what is unmistakenly a southern accent, "I'm sorry were you wanting to pray here? I can move along to the next."

Doing her best not to be seen, a pale girl with long, dark hair is making her way as fast as she can toward the exit. It's clear she's uncomfortable and, looking toward the open doorway, trying to meet up with someone. Lorelei is almost at the door, boots thudding against the stone floor of the cathedral and hair billowing behind her, when she nearly slams into Artos and Broderick. Whoops. She'd clearly been looking at whomever had come with her who, by the lack of presence within the building, clearly had nothing worth confessing to the One. "Apologies," she mutters, trying to sidestep the pair of noblemen.

In less of a hurry than most, it would seem, one young woman remains in her seat at one of the rear pews near the towering doorway, idly chewing on a thumbnail and waiting for the worst of the throng to disperse. Why do people insist on charging at a narrow opening like cattle? Tsk. With raven hair falling loose about her shoulders, the Black Fox Captain is dressed in a sparse version of her usual uniform today, given the sweltering heat; a light and airy tunic of creamy linen beneath a sturdy corset of reinforced black leather, and matching leggings. A weighty harness is slung, for the time being, over her knee rather than across her back and a two handed sort, within it, leans against the back of the pew in front of her.

Esyld glances up as, with the cathedral quieting somewhat, she picks out a familiar voice nearby. Ah, there she is. God's breath, how many confessions did she have? Rising smoothly to a stand, the mercenary sighs, tilting her head at her friend when she's waylaid by a pair of figures in her path. Stooping, she takes her time in gathering up her blade, slinging it over her shoulders.

Seated off to Esyld's side is a rather large young man, muscular and prematurely grey, dressed in well-made but rather plain clothes that are at least somewhat befitting of his visit to the cathedral. When his half-sister stands, Jonathan t'Maren does as well, though he's likewise obligated to stop behind her. Eyes follow Lorelei as she makes her way back toward the rear pew and the exit beyond.

Artos frowns and begins to speak before others seem to crowd the area, "I was intending on it, but it seems that others have had a similar idea." He sees his cousins not too far away. "Though I assume that you are here for the recent wedding?" His tone is neutral, giving no real sense of displeasure or happiness. Lorelei gets a raised brow, "I see. No harm done, just try to be careful."

Broderick has not yet spotted the champion of the melee yet, nor Esyld, but it's fair to say the Lorelei gets a quick look. "No harm done indeed, I hope you enjoyed the service." It's pleasantries really, he has no idea who she is, nor Artos really, but it's to him that he turns next. "For the wedding yes, and the celebrations that followed. I find myself now though with a day or so free, so thought I might take a stroll, explore the city somewhat, while I could."

Right. Lorelei nods in thanks to Artos for not biting her head off, hand reaching up to tuck some loose hair behind her ear. The clatter of personal effects draws her attention then and, looking past the group she's just run into, she spots Esyld. Precisely the person she was looking for, by her expression. There's no smile on her face, but she does look slightly relieved to have found her. Excusing herself from the pair she'd just run into, hands raising in apology with loose-fitting shirt sleeves sinking to elbow height as she does so, she steps around them and, coincidentally, right into Esyld's larger sibling.

"Oof," comes first, the surprise of having hit someone else catching her off guard. When she looks up from where her eyes had been fixed on her boots to see what she's hit, though, she blanches and turns right to Esyld. "You."

Noting just who Lorelei almost crashed into, Esyld cuts a mildly amused glance up at her looming brother, settling her harness into place with her hands at the hollow of each shoulder and grimacing slightly as she pulls her long tresses out from where they've snagged beneath. Stepping free of the pew and into the aisle, freeing the way for Jonathan to do the same, the Captain has etiquette and wits enough to incline her head respectfully toward the Baron and err.. the other one. Then she contentedly folds her arms, casting her gaze ceilingward to admire the fine architecture overhead. Yep. That's some fine architecture.

Aaaaand.. "Oof." Lowering her unnaturally vivid eyes, the mercenary arches a brow in some approximation of innocent enquiry as the taller woman addresses her. "Me? I'm not blocking your path."

What was a routine occurrence of needing to crowd out of a cathedral has become rather less ordinary for Jonathan. One second, he's gathering up his things; the next, there's a rather harried Lorelei running right into him. Well then. "Were you not expecting me, Mistress Asheflour?" That's said with as much of a grin as he can muster, though in reality he's likely almost as bewildered as she is. Evidently, he'd come in after she went up to confess, and wasn't even aware she was nearby.

Once things settle a bit, though, his attention turns to the two noblemen that Lorelei had just stepped around - and, in a strange turn of events, he recognizes the Southerner, but not his countryman. Best to rectify that. "Good day, Sir Broderick," he says, addressing the former. "And…" Artos looks familiar to him, to be sure, but he cannot quite place the name.

"It is a fine city, hopefully it proves to be enjoyable. Though I am beginning to see that that I am the stranger here," Artos remarks, but he looks to Broderick, "Baron Artos t'Acuto. I assume that you already know my cousin by his greeting." He looks to Esyld and Lorelei, "I assume you know them as well, coz?"

Broderick's eyes follow Lorelei as she spins from one group to the other, offering casually to the man Artos beside him, "I had not heard that you practiced mummery after your services up here. I know a few Priests,and Priestesses, who's sermons would be enlivened no end by it. Perhaps I should take the idea home with me?" Folding his arms lightly over his chest as he watches the scene unfold he returns Esyld's nod with a slight tilt of his head before turning to Jonathan. "Good day Sir Jonathan, I was just taking the time to explore your city before I leave." He thinks that's right, that someone had said he was a local. Nodding back to Artos he returns the introduction, even though it's half done already, "Sir Broderick Tracano and yes, your cousin came to my aid in the melee after a pair of knights deemed me worthy of ganging up on." He smile sat that, well enough aware that it was more to get the Southerners out than any mark of his standing in their eyes.

Sidestepping away from Jon to allow him to get closer to Artos and Broderick, Lorelei veritably throws herself into Esyld's arms. Catch! "Yes, you," she hisses, definitely catching one of the Captains feet under her own. That's totally an accident too, of course. Those sleeves are falling down her arms again thanks to gravity, and once she's steadied herself she pushes them back up, rolling them in the process to keep them that way. Dark eyes snap over to Jon before they roll and the archer sighs. Better than to interrupt the men, she leans in and whispers anything else she needs to say to Esyld. She won't introduce herself unless asked, because who wants to know who the common girls are?

Well of course Esyld hadn't planned for this happy coincidence. But the mischief in the smirk she offers her quartermaster is testament to her quiet amusement over it, all the same. "Cheer up." she advises Lorelei, unperturbed, as her sibling shifts his attention to the others lingering nearby. "Now your soul's all sparkly clean again and we can go for an ale." Raising a hand, she claps it to her friend's shoulder in an affectionate manner, despite whatever has passed, unspoken, in the midst of that little kerfuffle. Those unsettling eyes sweep toward the trio of men as she becomes aware of a gaze upon them. There's a quirk of a brow as Jonathan proves more familiar, though as the Tracano gives his explanation her expression clears. That's right.. the melee. He actually seems to have made some friends out of cracking skulls. That's nice.

Grinning a little at Lorelei as she rights herself and lowering her hand from the woman's shoulder where it had lingered, the dark-clad mercenary tilts her head a little and lowers her eyes, the better to listen to whatever's being whispered rapidly by her ear.

Lorelei whispers: “You know I don't like surprises. Especially in public.”

Esyld whispers, "He arrived after you'd gone in, what was I supposed to do, charge into the confessional to warn you?”

Lorelei whispers: “Naturally. You could have made a real game of it, getting in without being seen.”

Esyld chuckles, low in her throat, glancing sidelong toward the woman with her and shaking her head with a faint smile.

Cousin? Wait. Jonathan gives Artos a bit of a longer look, and of course when he introduces himself to the Tracano, that makes matters quite a lot clearer. It's been long enough that he didn't recognize the man in the crowd. "Right. Cousin Artos." His head dips in a respectful nod. "It's been far too long. How have you been?" There's a little, subdued smile in Broderick's direction, and another nod. "I thought it best to keep the game fair. Don't you agree?" Even if /real/ combat is hardly ever so, isn't that the point of a tourney. And then, indicating the two women, he (only slightly grudgingly) makes his introductions. "My half-sister, Captain Esyld Draven of the Black Fox Company. Mistress Lorelei Asheflour, also of the Black Fox Company." Here in Lonnaire, the mention thereof is enough to draw more than a few glances.

Artos says to Broderick, "Hm?" and looks back to where Esyld and Lorelei are. His neutral expression drops and he glares at them, "We certainly do not practice mummery in our places of worship." A bit of steel in the tone finally shows itself. He then looks to Jonathan and shrugs, "It has gone well enough." Esyld and Lorelei are looked to as they are introduced, but granted no nod of greeting. Artos resumes speaking, "I am glad you did well in the tournament. Do you two intend on competing in Pacitta?"

"Captain," Broderick notes, with a tilt of his head to Esyld, then, "Mistress," to Lorelei. Jonathan gets a full on nod though as he replies with a smile, "I'd dearly love to thank you for your aid by call it unessecary, but I suspect I had tried my luck about as long as it was going to hold against the pair of them. The lady though, do you know if she fared well afterwards? I caught her quite hard about the head before she withdrew I fear, and I don't believe I've seen her since." He could be wrong on that, he didn't get a great look at her face after all. As for Pacitta he shrugs, "I do not know, I have other duties that may require attending to, but should I be free then likely, yes."

Hearing her name, Esyld looks up toward the men again, offering a formal greeting to the Southerner, friendly enough. Though, of course, she's rather fond of one Tristan Tracano, isn't she… "Sir." Ahh, Black Foxes. The 'punch you in the face' contrast to the Wraiths' 'stab you in the back' approach. They're afforded a good measure of respect here in Lonnaire, true enough. But the woman's glacial eyes don't so much as flicker in response to the curious glances cast in the direction of she and Lorelei. Not when her gaze is remaining steadily upon that cast their way by the Baron. What, women aren't allowed to bump into people? At least nobody has run into her blade ten times. Though the day is yet young. And ale holds a greater appeal than being glared at by an uppity old prude… Turning to Lorelei only when Artos averts his attention, she offers, with a smile that doesn't quite reach her ice-blue eyes. "Shall we go and practice our skills in the nearest tavern, then? I've almost perfected my cartwheels now, you know." You know.. in between training, spars and the general maintaining of safety for the ruling family.

D'oh, Jooonnnnn. Lorelei can't stand people looking at her. So when they're introduced as Foxes, regardless of the truth of the matter, it still ruffles her. And then, even better, is Artos glaring. Fantastic. "I'll mime," Lorelei offers, shoulders tense and looking rather uncomfortable. If the way is clear (and she's doing her best to make it so), she'll take a step toward the door as if to leave.

There's a little hesitation in Jonathan's voice as Artos addresses him, though only for a moment. "I do," he replies, flatly. "Against a broader field, the challenge ought to be greater - but Pacitta tends to give great rewards as well, no?" Eyes flicker over to Broderick, and he replies, "Sir Nadine? I do not know for certain, but I would rather imagine she is well. One of the strongest warriors in the Edge. And the l'Saigners would have spared no expense to bring in the best healers. On the matter of mummery, though, he remains rather mum, instead turning his attention back to Esyld and Lorelei… and at the mention of ale, he gives an approving - though not /too/ enthusiastic - nod.

"Interesting, well. I hope you both do well enough at it," Artos remarks. "I will likely attend but not compete. I never have had an interest in competing in tourneys, and I doubt that will change." He straightens his gloves a little, "But yes, it will certainly be interesting, though I've never heard of a boring circuit tournament."

"Somehow, I'm not sure that would be much of a stretch for you, Mistress Asheflour." replies the Captain, though with amusement lacing her tone. When the taller brunette makes a move toward the door, Esyld follows suit.. albeit with markedly less haste. Her strides are rangy and confident just.. at the moment, sauntering. Well-used to odd looks being cast her way, after a near lifetime with those unholy eyes to grace her austere features, she's stubbornly aloof now when it occurs. Which has been a fair bit, of late, what with all the guests arriving for the celebrations. Including those who missed the nuptials altogether, alas. Had her hackles not risen, though, she might have had the clarity of thought to pass on news of the Princess and Huntress' belated arrival to the Tracano Knight. Ah well. Hopefully he already knows. Catching her brother's eye, the look she gives him is subtle, but he knows her well enough to read the nuance. There'll be an ale in the tap for him, when he chooses to follow. But she's going right now. Her booted steps take her to the towering doors of the cathedral and out, in a dazzling glimpse of midday sunlight, to the street beyond.

Dockside Tavern, Lonnaire
In scene
Aout 26th, 1866

At this hour of the day, the tavern down by the docks is generally quiet. Today is no different! Wherever the 'respectable' guests in Lonnaire are going for refreshment, it's not this dive. Which suits Captain Draven perfectly, the mood she's in now. Still muttering to herself as she steps through the open doorway - deliberately left so to entice a little fresh sea air in, the mercenary glances back over a shoulder to ensure her companion is still keeping pace. Of course she is, she has legs up to her armpits. "I don't see why my brother warranted such smarm, that's all.. we didn't do anything bloody wrong! Stuffy old prick."

Frowning, she dodges gracefully round a few tables, shoving a chair back into place with the heel of one hand and approaches the bar; an upnod enough for the tender to set about pouring two ales. Well, the Foxes like this place. Why not keep 'em coming, eh?

"He did forget his cousin," Lorelei astutely points out. Seems she's feeling chatty today. While she doesn't especially hate the sun, she's not enamored of it either, and the shade of the tavern is welcome for her fair skin and squinting eyes. There's a sigh of relief uttered as she follows the path Esyld's cutting through the tavern with hands like machetes to the chairs' trees. Impressed, but not shocked, by how her Captain channels her reaction, she just grins and takes a spot beside her at the bar, leaning forward on her elbows.

"And he hates mummers," the archer adds, almost unable to hold back a laugh. Because those are relevant somehow.

He's a bit behind, of course, but Esyld's aforementioned brother seems eager to make up for lost time. There's a few surprised murmurs when a noble knight shows up in this little, mercenary-heavy dive, but anyone who may have wanted to start something with Jonathan is quickly hushed by a glare. Dark eyes sweep over the tavern for a few moments, and soon enough he locates the two Black Foxes seated at the bar. In another moment, he's there.

"Baron Artos is not a man known for his sense of humor," he interjects, settling down next to Esyld on the side opposite Lorelei. A wave to the tender, and there's a mug of ale in front of him as well. "Just as well that we're away from there."

"So it seems." replies Esyld, with a grudging smile aside toward the archer as she comes to stand next to her. "..what sort of person hates mummers?" Shaking her head, the raven-maned mercenary tosses a couple of coins onto the aged and slightly tacky wooden bartop, offering a nod of thanks as a frothy ale is plonked before her, sloshing a little in its tankard. No, definitely not the classiest of establishments, this. But it's nice and quiet, the ale is cheap and the girls are pret-.. wait, no. Heaving a weighty sigh, likewise leaning a folded arm on the counter's edge, Draven gazes down at her drink having lifted it in one hand and waits for Lore to do the same, before she'll clunk the vessels together and take a good long gulp.

And then there were three! Blinking, then lowering the ale, she looks up and aside to her sibling, thumbing some froth from her upper lip. "Well neither are you, but I don't see you being an ass to people for no apparen-.." Wait, no. "He was perfectly civil to you." she settles for, arching an enquiring brow at Jon.

Who says the girls aren't pretty? Admittedly, saying so would likely earn you a punch in the nose, so it's likely better that it isn't mentioned. Accepting her own tankard with a single, solemn nod, the archer raises it and taps it against the side of the one profferred before her Captain. Cheers. We've escaped the boring, stuffy nobles.

And then a boring, stuffy noble walks in. Jon receives some of Lorelei's attention, though the lion's share ends up with the ale, and that sip, and then wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Classy ladies, these.

"He's not an ass?" she ventures, hiding her smile behind her mug as she looks toward Esyld with glee.

Jon might be of the opinion that at least one of the girls present is pretty… and possibly two, but his attitude toward one of them is, by necessity, entirely platonic. He takes a deep sip from his mug before offering a reply. "True. But then, he /is/ my cousin." A momentary pause. "Though I suppose that makes him yours too, does it not? He is a relative through Father's mother." At least he's not related to Lorelei… as far as anyone knows, that is.

Rolling his shoulders in a shrug, Jonathan settles back a little further on his stool, taking another sip from his mug. When Lorelei pays him an almost-compliment, he gives a little smile in response. High praise, coming from that one.

Arching a skeptical brow in Lorelei's direction, Draven then snorts softly in reluctant amusement. "If you say so. How's that soul, still sparkly fresh..?" A pointed tease. "And yes, I suppose it does.." This she offers to Jon, having to look to her other side. Well, that's going to get annoying. Pushing up from her lean, she takes a half-step back so that their little trio becomes a semi-circle. All the better to see them both! "..but he's still very far down my list of 'people to keep alive', should it come to it. Anyway, enough of that."

Shaking back her dark hair, one arm wrapped about her midsection and the elbow of the other propped upon it, keeping her ale aloft, Esyld glances between the unlikely pair. "Come on, then. Out with it. Mooning about like a pair of lovestruck teenagers. Makes me sick." That's just not true, though, judging by the grin she permits. "What's been happening under my very nose that I've the right to be all huffy and judgemental about, hm?"

"Nothing really, unless you're prepared to be a terrible hypocrite, I'd imagine." Says the voice of Corvin Fremont, who practically seems to sidle up out of nowhere, gesturing for a drink from the 'Tender and dropping a few coin on the bar. "So who are we not keeping alive and whatnot?" He looks altogether too mock-innocent for the entrance. "Good evening, Lord t'Maren. Mistress Asheflour."

It sounds like there's a snort into the mug with a mouthful of ale, but what's really just happened was more like a choke. Lorelei'd been halfway through a rather generous chug when first Esyld prods the obvious elephant in the room, and when she hears the voice of Everyone's Favorite Wraith behind her? She needs to spit out her mouthful (thankfully, into the tankard - well, for the onlookers, anyway). Blinking her dark eyes in first Jon's direction, and then Corvin's, the archer actually looks somewhat stunned. Indeed. "Well." It's all she can muster for a greeting, considering she's still wiping ale off her face.

When she's finished with that, though, she plops the tankard down onto the bar and, with both hands, removes the leather cord she'd recently acquired from around her neck. There's a quiet 'clink' as the bear claw hits the bar in front of Esyld, where Lorelei has deposited it.

Sick. Right. Jonathan knows well what Esyld looks like when she's sickened by something, and that ain't it. He says nothing for a few long moments, drinking deep from his mug and peering over the brim at his half-sister. And when it looks like he's about to say something…

…there's a Corvin. Well, that draws Jonathan's attention in a hurry. "Master Fremont," he addresses the Wraith, and his smile, though genial, seems not especially sincere. "Come, do join us." Because whatever could possibly be the issue with a Wraith sitting down to drink with a couple of Black Foxes? "Taking some well-deserved leave from your duties to the Duke, I trust?"

Eyes fall back on Lorelei and meet hers directly, not budging as the bear claw is deposited on the bar. And then, truthfully, he says, "Nothing of substance." After all, whatever might have happened at the Masque… never happened.

For her part, Esyld doesn't bother to glance round as a new voice enters the discussion. Her gaze perhaps lingers a little on Lorelei, though, lips twitching to a faint smirk.. then she relents, leaning over to give her a firm thump between those narrow shoulderblades with the flat of her palm. Can't have her quartermaster bested by ale, after all. simply wouldn't do. "Mmm, quite true." she agrees, evenly enough, with Corvin's assessment. "Fortunately, that's not a trait I'm known to have. Ohh.."

Quirking a brow, she looks to the bar at that soft 'clink', noting the claw necklace and chuckling, low in her throat. "So it was a good hunt, after all.. well, I'm glad to hear there was some ah.. good sport to be had." Who are you trying to kid, brother dearest? She flits Jon a smug - yes smug, she gets the irony - glance. "As for keeping alive.. well, that depends how long you've been eavesdropping." This is offered toward Corvin, when she can reluctantly draw her azure gaze from her sibling. Is it even possible to make him squirm..? Maybe Lore knows.

"Just long enough to hear what's already been commented upon as I approached." Corvin notes, grabbing the tankard that's placed before him and taking a sip, before glancing back to Jon, "Contrary to what some may believe, while we do spend a great deal of time on duty, we recognize the need for relaxation, Milord. A weapon that never has time to be maintained soon breaks, after all."

That never happened, maybe, not by Jon's standards. But bear hunts are very real things, and by the looks exchanged between the Foxes, a rather large one was caught. "No sport when it's rigged," Lorelei opines, her glare moving from Jon now to settle on Corvin for a meaningful moment or three before reaching out to collect the pendant. That may make him squirm.

Deft hands run through dark hair, braiding loosely as they go and leaving it untied at the end. "Short recovery, then, sir?" This question is, even without initially looking toward him, directed at Corvin while she strings the cord up over her head and back around her neck. When she does look up, she's grinning. Maybe this quartermaster needs to be socialized more often? It's starting to look like she actually has feelings.

A good hunt. Yes, that is a good way to describe it. "And is every one of my hunts now your business, Captain Draven?" The formality creeps into his voice, half out of frustration - even though he's still smiling - and half because there's an unfamiliar, at least to him, person within earshot. And to Lorelei, he replies, "Well, that does depend on the nature of the rigging, does it not? While I am not personally fond of such means, one could argue that arranging circumstances in one's favor is a sport in itself." Sip.

To Corvin, he replies, "Yes. And I suppose a good man has somewhat more refined needs than a good sword." At Lorelei's words, he quirks an eyebrow upward. "Recovery?" Eyes flicker from the quartermaster, to the Captain, to the Wraith. "Did I overlook something?"

Ouch. Esyld flicks a glance toward her quartermaster in the wake of her innocent-sounding jab at the Wraith. But he's quite capable of offering scathing retorts, if necessary, so she'll let it be. Finally he and Jon might find some common ground after all. "The chase is half the fun. But eventually you just want to take your shot and then get some sleep, eh?" This to the aforementioned archer, similarly all innocence. Jon's sort-of agreement earns him an agreeable nod from his sister.. though as for the rest.. "You need someone to flush your quarry from the undergrowth, it would seem." Other than this, she remains quiet for now, taking a sip of her ale and flitting a glance between the two men, whose differences have been such a cause of concern for her, until recently.

"Short? Not particularly. I'll be sore for a few more days, I'd imagine." Corvin takes a gulp of the ale and tilts a brow at Jon, glancing between the two women and barking a short laugh before adding, "I'm rather amazed you haven't heard already. You'll no doubt be crushingly disappointed to know you missed the chance to bear witness to the spectacle of your sister thoroughly handing me my ass in a hand-to-hand spar." He doesn't look overly happy about this, but he manages to avoid lacing the tone with any real bitterness. Mostly.

Sniff. The archer rubs her nose, looking slightly apologetic toward Esyld. She didn't mean it to hurt her, or that much, truly. "You know I don't sleep much," Lorelei replies easily, motioning to the bartender to swap out her old ale for a new one. Coins jingle in one of the pouches hanging off her belt as she looks for the change to replace her backwash smoothie. One would think a mercenary would be aware of all possible weapons available and precisely how to use them. As she fears she's still very much in unknown territory, Lorelei's adopted such a view and will, it seems, use any means necessary to navigate her way around this…situation. Whatever it is. Her eyes move now to Jon for a reaction as she swaps coins for a new ale, nodding in thanks to the barman.

Hunting metaphors. It's enough to get Jonathan to smile almost genuinely, if only for a moment - quite an accomplishment with Corvin right there. "Perhaps I do, dear sister," he replies, flatly. His ale's almost gone, and so he pushes a few more coins at the bartender. Easy as that. Corvin's own words, though, get Jonathan to actually /laugh/ - not an especially friendly one, granted, but still. "Did she? Well, there is no shame in losing to my sister… even if one /is/ a member of an elite fighting force, with the best training the Hawk of Lonnaire can provide." Still chuckling, he glances back to Lorelei, meeting her eyes for a moment over the brim of his new mug. "You saw this, I trust? Was it as tremendous a victory as I imagine it?"

"Mmm, and you missed me handing Jon his in a spar with blunt blades, seeing as we're all so willing to share today." A flicker of Esyld's temper is rising again, the tensions within the tavern feeding it, like blowing on a smouldering ember. Draining the last of her ale in a few gulps, she steps forward and sets the emptied tankard down with a firm thud, shaking her head when the barkeep glances her way in question. No more. If she happens to be roused to ire once she's already in her cups, fine. But starting out in a foul mood is a bad idea, where Esyld is concerned. There's a fractional softening of her expression for Lorelei, who's beginning to look ill at ease, too, in her own special way. "Amazed he didn't hear.." she echoes in a mutter, those blue eyes narrowing. What was she going to do, send out a bloody newsletter to the farthest corners of Couviere?

Folding her arms across her midsection, the Captain draws back to her previous spot, not joining in but rather considering her annoyance privately. She should be damn pleased with herself at even going toe to toe with either of these two, not fighting rising irritation if they happen not to like losing. Oh well. At least Jon seems cheered by it all.. and it affords him further reason to converse with Lore. Good. Following a momentary glance toward the Wraith, Draven then averts her gaze entirely, apparently finding something fascinating to study on the shelves beyond the bar.

Shrugging, Lorelei looks down at her feet, then into her mug at her ale, and then back to Jon. "Surprising," she answers truthfully, again, not meaning any offense to her Captain. Jon's loss wasn't really as big a deal to her then as it might be now, but it had the same response from her then.

Suddenly, then, she tilts the mug back, drains the remainder of her beer, and puts the tankard down with an extra coin as a tip. The look she gives Esyld is clearly in 'their' language, unreadable to most others, and she nods to Corvin before leaving the tavern entirely.

"Did I?" Corvin replies, glancing between the other three, then frowning slightly when Esyld appears to withdraw a bit, and then Lorelei is straight up and apparently heading out. "Hm. It would appear I may not be the best of company at the moment, which may be saying something as many would not consider me particularly good company even at my best." There is, perhaps a brief flicker of a glance towards Jon at that, though the words seem more meant for Esyld, "My apologies if I have given offense. Perhaps I'd best leave you to your drinks." Which…may be the first genuine-sounding apology Esyld has heard from Corvin. Ever. Though he does add with the barest of smiles, "Once I finish mine, at any rate."

"It's fine. You're bruised places other than your ribs. I would be, too." Meeting Lorelei's gaze with a fractional nod of understanding, Esyld lets her take her leave with no further pressing - she doesn't always take teasing well, not in public anyway. With a sigh, raking a hand back through her dark hair, the Captain returns Corvin's gaze, visibly thawing at least a little. "I was in a foul mood anyway.. your grousing wouldn't normally bother me in the slightest." Summoning a half-smile for the bemused looking Wraith, and her brother, whom she includes with a glance, she shakes her head, raising a palm in a staying gesture. "..no. I'll go. You two.. well, if it's not too outlandish a suggestion, you might spend a little time bonding over your shared bruises. And reflecting on how much it will hurt if I am ever forced to bang your heads together." Softening her tone, she addresses Jon directly with a parting shot. "..you're not the only one allowed to enjoy the spoils of a successful hunt, after all."

Speaking of.. "Perhaps another time. No offense intended, Master Fremont." Jon's eyes are set, frowning, upon the doorway through which the quartermaster just departed. With a distracted nod to the remaining pair, he's off and in pursuit; long legged strides covering the distance with ease.

And then there were two..

"Well.. sorry." Esyld adds, in the aftermath, eyeing the Wraith with an air of disquiet that's quite unlike her. Recently, anyway. "Young love, eh?"

"None taken." Corvin replies, neither too nonchalant nor too flatly. He tilts brow at Esyld, and sips from his ale, "Are we so terribly much older that we get to describe it as such? Or were you referring to our own entanglement?" Yes, that's noted with a bit of an impish grin.

"Hush." is the succinct response from the Captain, though the smirk that twitches at the corner of her lips is a more genuine insight into her response, on that score. "Jon's older than me, I'll have you know. Or do you imply that I am losing my youthful appeal? So soon?!" Affecting an expression of aghast dismay, pressing a hand in a splay across her chest in affront, Esyld then simply swats at Corvin's shoulder with a flick of her knuckles, deliberately avoiding anywhere there's likely to be bruising. Which.. doesn't leave much room for error, admittedly.

"I wouldn't have presumed to use such a phrase in regard to us anyway, Corvin.. let alone after bringing you to your knees." Pause for effect. "..twice." And there's a mischievous glimpse of white teeth in kind.

"Careful Captain. Don't think I'm above sliding right over there and kissing you right in front of all your comrades in here." Corvin notes, smirking just a bit, and yes, sidling a bit close, "But as to descriptors, I would not judge the tenor of things significantly changed by a drubbing. The loss is my burden to bear, and the victory was fairly won." He shrugs a shoulder, "Though whether the phrase does qualify…I would not profess to know your mind on the matter."

Esyld quirks a brow when the taller Wraith edges closer, though unsurprisingly her contrary nature keeps her from stepping away to maintain the distance. "Trying to concern me with kissing, Master Fremont..?" she enquires, archly, though the effect is somewhat thwarted by the curve yet playing about her lips. "..for shame." There's an amused hint of challenge in both the words and her unnatural gaze, in which the ire has once again settled to a quiet smoulder. Changeable today, isn't she?

Hmm. Well, there's the question. Sobering, tilting her jaw up just a touch, she regards Corvin with an air of genuine consideration. These are the moments she's no good at.. anything that might bring her to a vulnerable position she either sidesteps of makes light of, usually. This time? ..she's not exactly either forthcoming or disinclined to discuss it. "..do you know your own mind on the matter..?" The easy way out - turn the question back on him.

"Not entirely." Isn't it annoying how blunt he can be at times? Probably learned it from his father, who can wield truth in one hand and deception in another to keep people fully and completely off-balance, and tends to make it look easy. "I would allow that I do find in myself the temerity to…hope. That whether such conditions are yet met or not, that they may yet someday be." He looks, rather sober, actually. Not depressed…but serious. "It is an…odd position, and I know perhaps a less sure answer than many would hope for. But…this is somewhat uncharted territory in my case."

"And mine." Esyld does offer a soft chuckle at that. And, after a momentary hesitation, she steps forward, closing the distance between them. She's certainly inside the accepted boundary of 'personal space'.. but still, she doesn't actually touch Corvin. Just regards his features in proximity enough that doing so requires the occasional down-up flit of ebon lashes. If his intent is to keep her off-balance.. he does that without any necessity for effort. And so she doesn't seem thrown by the answer, perhaps having expected similar. "..you do like to overthink things, don't you..?" With a rueful smirk, she looks once more, deliberately holding the Wraith's gaze long enough that he might think.. wait, would she dare kiss him, here and now? Maybe she's not entirely certain herself. But if that's not temptation storming through her vivid eyes.. it's at the very least a consideration of the idea. He knows that look well enough, by now.

"What can I say? I was taught to consider the angles." Corvin notes with a faint grin, and rather unhesitatingly slips an arm around Esyld's waist when she draws near. Temptation? Consideration? Well, if he's thinking it over, he thinks it over quickly, because he does indeed dip his head down and kiss her in full view of the tavern. And probably not surprisingly, it's no timid peck, either. Well, won't there just be a bumper crop of gossip after this week? Unexpected sparring results, the Tourney, Bastards snogging in the taverns, and the Masque to boot! Eventful days in Lonnaire.

Did she anticipate that? It's possible.. regardless of whether she did or not, Esyld's slender back arches, yielding beneath the pressure of the Wraith's arm, her hands coming to rest lightly at his shoulders rather than risk pressing upon a tender spot. Rather beyond the time for chaste pecks now, aren't they? Good God, what a sight this is for the few regulars staring, open-mouthed. That bloody Fremont Wraith and the damn Fox Captain? The raven haired woman returns the forceful kiss with equal intensity, for once just ignoring entirely the onlookers and their opinions. If people will gossip.. at least give them something to gossip about.

And that's one embrace that's definitely going to send a ripple of scandal through certain districts of Lonnaire.

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