(1866-10-26) Not Quite Alike
Not Quite Alike
Summary: Aidric and Samantha meet at the Golden Dragon Inn.
Date: 1866-10-26
Related: None
Aidric  Samantha  

Golden Dragon Inn

The Golden Dragon Inn is a sprawling and airy establishment with shutters instead of a wall facing the street to let cool air in during Sunsreach's scorching summers. Inside the common room it is shady and cool, with a scattering of circular tables about the center of the room, a heavy wooden bar to one side, and the scintillating smells of the kitchen wafting through a door to the right. The back of the establishments are given over to private tables, most often used by the 'quality', those with fat purses or noble names. Past these tables are the doors to private dining rooms where one can entertain in privacy.

The true focus of the common room however is the stage where bards, singers, storytellers and even actors can be found preforming most nights to the amusement of the patrons.

Past the stage is the wooden steps to the upper level sleeping chambers, which vary from closet sized rooms with a straw pallet and a chamber pot to more lavish bedrooms befitting guests of quality.

Octobre 26th 1866

The Golden Dragon Inn was oft considered court away from court. Where the nobles met and talked in less formal surroundings, but still managed to scheme and plot all the same. Aidric was there for that, after all that part of court never ended, but also to hear the singers that were playing this eve, of whom a few seem to be acquaintances of his. He raises a cup to them as they begin their next set of songs, and settles in to listen, sitting at one of the tables to the side of the stage instead of one of the dark corners as was his custom. As he listens, his eyes scan the room, looking for familiar faces amidst the patrons.

In one of those dark corners sits a dark-haired woman, perhaps one of those familiar faces. Though the ringlets of hair fall about her face while she sits with a drink and light fare on the table in front of her partially obscure her identity, the dark dress and small leather journal currently being scribbing in with musings, thoughts, verses, and reminders may be confirmation. The comings and goings of the room seem not to matter to her, nor does the music, the din of the place, or the bustling of the staff. She's there to people watch, to muse, and to take time away from the life of courtly politicking.

Aidric following a pair of loyalist courtiers with his eyes he spots that familiar face in the dark corner and his eyes rest ther rather than with the courtiers. His eyes drift to the journal and he quirks his head slightly before he rights it, collects his drink and stands. A short trip through the tables leads him to that booth and he smiles. "Lady Samantha isn't it?" he inquires. "I wanted to say hello since it seems we both have our ties to the Greycens," he glances to the book. "Though I hope in doing so I haven't chased away whatever muse has taken hold."

The partially visible contents of the journal's open pages reveal a number of blocks of short, precise text. It doesn't appear to be any one long, cohesive thought, but rather, a collection of distinct thoughts. At the greeting she looks up from her book, and takes a moment to identify the speaker before replying. A wary smile plays on her lips at first. "Yes, I am her. And you are…Lord Aidric, if memory serves?" She then looks to her journal and smiles a full smile. "And no, no you haven't chased away any muses. More notes and personal thoughts today than anything else."

The smile is returned and Aidric says, "I am he," before turning back to the book and nodding, "And I am often of the same habit, taking notes, writing. "Do you write poetry or verse? I believe it heard said your house were warrior poets of a sort." Then a look to the seat across from her and a question, "May I sit?"

"Yes, you may," she says with a nod, and a gesture towards a seat across from her. "The reputation of House Rosendal clearly precedes me. Warrior poets indeed, or perhaps poet warrior in my case. I try to make time for both poetry and verse, as the mood strikes."

Aidric takes the offered seat, setting down his cup in front of him. "Hmm," he says. "Now here's the dangerous question, are you good at it?" he says with a continued smile. "I ask because I am converting one of my written works to song in honour of the Queen and I could use a skilled hand in doing so. I have no talent for verse."

"What is good? What does that mean? It's a subjective thing, I've found. Like beauty, it lies solely in the heart and mind of the reader, or the listening. What I might find lovely you might find assaulting to the ears; what I may be able to make roll from the tongue may not sound half as sweet from the mouth of another." She pauses, looks up, and continues to speak. "Though I would add that the reputation of House Rosendal was not earned in vain."

There is an amused glint in Aidric's eyes at Samantha's response. Eyes that roll skyward in short order before they are turned back across the table. "What is it with women who tear apart my words like they are magistrates?" he asks with a shake of his head before he sips from his wine. "Hmm, let me try this again. My version of 'good' would be that more people find your words pleasing than assaults against their ears. Do your verses fit that description?" he asks.

"A life of politics has the unintended result of causing some to look for all meanings in anything said. However, I would say that my verses are likely to fit that description." Samantha looks relatively nonplussed, as if that sort of dissection words and statements is something that she's good at, but doesn't necessarily enjoy.

"I see," Aidric says as he settles back in his seat. "It is a danger of that life to be sure, though, in this case, I am being as plain spoken as a ploughman. I have need of someone with skill at verse to look over a song being written for the Queen and her husband to be, which is why I asked. Anyhow, if you feel up to it, then I'd like to see what you've written, if not, then we can forget this business and speak of other matters," he lifts his cup to his lips again. "It is up to you."

"I don't pretend to be a bard, a troubadour, or anything of that nature. For them, song and verse is a living. If they fail, they go hungry. Thankfully, I'm in a position that allows me to indulge without risk of that. While I may not rival those great performers, it would be good to impress the Queen with such things. No doubt it could benefit the reputation of House Rosendal." She furrows her brows a bit, purses her lips, and seems to think it over quite seriously.

"I write as well, but never for my supper. I say that while living off one's talent may drive a bard to play or sing well, it is we who are the true artists. Not having to always please those we write for gives us license to truly explore the art for what it is, instead of just the source of our next meal," Aidric confides as he toys with his cup. "Anyhow, you are right about the rewards, if you are the one to help me."

"Politics is nothing is not a game doing favors in order to earn rewards. Excepting, of course, when one has to work in the dark, behind the backs of others, and off the record." That, of course, is the fun part. The dangerous part. She doesn't let on, but the smile she wears tells all.

Aidric eyebrows raise briefly at Samantha's remarks. "You seem to have a keen grasp of political life," he says, then adding without words and a keen enjoyment. A smile telling the a similar tale flashes across his lips before another sip of wine is had. "So, now I a curious, what brings you to court?"

"Well, with one brother at home, and the other off with the Queen's betrothed, I thought it prudent to ensure House Rosendal had some presence at court. No sense in letting others make the decisions for us. I'm also here in an official capacity as part of the Greycen treaty delegation." A flash of a smile hints that, like others, she may be here to gain as much for her house as possible, potentially at the expense of others.

Aidric nods slowly taking it all in. "Sensible," he says of the first part being the voice for her house here at court. "I here for somewhat similar reasons," he says with a little twist to his smile that suggests that his words may not be entirely true. Then he adds, "Part of that business as well? As am I. Our delegations, us Rivanans I mean, we ought to talk and sort out what we want and how best to get it out of the northern corpses in Couviere, and the upjumped merchants in Pacitta."

"You're suggesting we go back to war? Or that we make our case and try to negotiate the things we want? Or maybe I'm misinterpreting what you mean when you mention northern corpses." Samantha leans back in her seat, casually resting a hand up on the table, and tapping her fingers along the surface.

"War? No…" Aidric begins and then he smiles as the misunderstanding becomes clear. "One above, no, the last thing I want is another war. Corpses is just what some of the men I grew up with used to call the Couvieri, because as a people they're stiff and cold. You understand? As a counter to us 'passionate' Rivanans," he explains. There is a faint chuckle, "The last thing I want is war, but what I am saying is that it would be good if for once we Rivanans pulled together, at least as far is this treaty is concerned, and get all we can out of the rest of the parties, the Couvieri included."

"It might be easier to take what we want from corpses," Samantha comments, wryly. "Inflexible people make for difficult negotiations, especially if they think they have the moral ground, few shared interests, or nothing shared to get passionate over. Though I cannot blame them for things the Thorns did, and really, it should be former Thorns yielding and ceding things to the loyalists."

"Like I said, I want no more wars," Aidric says diplomatically of Samantha's remark about taking things from corpses. He smiles though and takes another sip of wine, though it's not certain if it is the wine or the remarks about the Thorns that sour his expression. "The true thorns have been plucked, the rest changed their alliegence," says the former Thorn. "And they've given quite enough," he says before he takes a long pull from his cup and sets it down empty. "Anyhow perhaps coordination of our delegations is not so fine an idea after all," he says before he begins to get ready to depart. "Still, if you've a mind to it, send some of your verse by the Carling manse and if it is more pleasing than an assault against my eyes, we can work on that song."

Samantha nods curtly, having some sense of Aidric's loyalties during the last war. "It's been my personal experience that it's impossible to change the nature of things. "I may well do that," she says, regarding the verse. "I believe it may be more pleasing for some than my company."

Aidric stares at Samantha a moment before he says evenly, "Yes, your right, the nature of things never changes," he agrees before he stands reaching. Though he doesn't go just yet he looks back. "Self-pity if that's what that last remark was, suits you ill, if you offend someone, own it. It shows you have spine," a considering pause then before he adds, "Send the verses," and begins to move from the table.

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