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(Archive) A shocking suggestion

Tags: Isobel,  Louse

Short Summary: Louse cadges a free meal and manages to shock Isobel Taurdain, all in one sitting.
Date (real-life): 2013-01-29
Scene Location: Esgaroth: Fiery Flagon
Date (in-game): January 3058
Time of Day: Evening
Weather: Cloudy
No minstrels today in the Fiery Flagon - or if there are then they are laying low and are there strictly in a private capacity. Winter retains its’ harsh grip on Lake-town and seems to be tightening its’ fist further ere it eventually gives way to spring. The early evening in the tavern is punctuated by a slowly thickening crowd and serving girls rushing here and there. Isobel Taurdain holds a table near the fire, her back to the painted glass of the window. A bowl of stew (thick with leeks, turnips and the occasional piece of fish) and a mug of something hot is placed in front of her.


[Brev(#30997)] One of those filtering in from the cold outdoors, wrapped in a cloak of indeterminate grey-brown (though look closely and one has the impression that under a year's worth of dirt there might be traces of a faded blue) is Louse. The girl pauses inside the doorway to sniff appreciatively at the air, feel inside her shirt for coppers and then start looking around for familiar faces to cadge a meal off (after all, why spend one's own coin when you can spend other people's?). At the sight of Isobel, however, the Greenshirt's nonchalance drops away and she starts pushing her way urgently through the taverngoers with nary a care for the serving girls - one poor lass narrowly escapes pouring a bowl of stew over the head of a rich merchant!

Louse skids to a halt in front of the Taurdain scholar, panting slightly, and demands of her somewhat suspiciously, "Missus Is'bel? Missus Is'bel, it ain't true, is it?"


Isobel blinks, spoon halting half-way to her mouth, and stares at the Greenshirt. “Is what not true?” she asks, brows knitting together. She glances over Louse’s shoulder, tracking the path of near-destruction, and her lips twist into a wry smile. “You came running in like the dragon was snapping at your heels, I see. What is so urgent? Here, sit down. Do you want something to eat?”


[Brev(#30997)] Since when has Louse ever refused an offer of something to eat? But today she only nods wordlessly before she's off again: "Heard 'em sayin' in the market as that foreign feller is gonner marry yer fer yer money! Yer ain't gonner let 'im, are yer?" The sharp features are twisted in consternation as she gazes worriedly at Isobel, completely oblivious to the mutterings of those she's displaced.


“They’re saying that?” Isobel’s eyes narrow dangerously for a moment and she glances away, scowling at the fire. “Well,” she concedes at last, a cool edge to her voice, “we are going to be wed and it has nothing to do with money.” The spoon clatters as she drops it back into the bowl and musters up a faint smile for Louse. “I certainly /hope/ you don’t believe such idle chatter, my friend. Or do you think that is the only reason anyone would have me, is that it?”


[Brev(#30997)] Louse scowls. "What else'd yer marry 'im for?" she wants to know. "/'E/ certainly ain't got any money." The clatter of spoon into bowl distracts her briefly; she glances toward it and murmurs distractedly, "Y'know, that stew smells right good," before focusing her attention on the matter at hand. "But Missus Is'bel, yer mustn't! What about Master Riordan? 'E telt me as 'e was yer boyfriend once." Green eyes gaze across at the seated woman, looking oddly shocked at this duplicity.


Isobel coughs, not quite masking her quiet laughter. “Ah... well, Louse, sometimes people marry because they feel like they belong together. And money, hmm...” she shrugs, simply stating, “The heart wants what it wants.” A half-smile as the scholar adds, “Maybe in time you will come to understand what I mean. As for Master Riordan, well! I’m sure you just got confused about matters, for it would be passing odd if he told /you/ such a thing but not me!”


[Brev(#30997)] Louse looks properly sceptical at Isobel's answer. "I've 'eard as men only wants one thing," she states dubiously, clearly not understanding why any woman would tolerate this. "An' I ain't doin' no sappy thing like marryin'! I'm gonner be a sodjer."

The 'sodjer' straightens proudly, showing off her no longer /quite/ so skinny figure in the process, then flops down on a stool. "Were yer offerin' some of that stew?" she enquires pointedly. "An' I asked Mister Riordan straight out if 'e were yer boyfriend, an' 'e never said 'e weren't. Yer /know/ as 'e was sweet on yer." She shakes her head pityingly, then wriggles out of her cloak and drops it on the floor. It's warm in here!



A hint of colour flows into the Taurdain lady’s cheeks. “I know no such thing,” she replies evenly, her voice lowering to a hissed whisper, “and you shouldn’t go around making claims like that, Louse. You put Master Riordan in a very strange position if people start believing you.” After a moment she regains her normal conversational tones. “Go on, go order yourself some stew, my treat. But keep your fingers out of my bowl!”


[Brev(#30997)] Louse makes a dismissive noise in the back of her throat. "If 'e weren't 'e should've said so!" she maintains stoutly. But talk like that isn't getting her fed. At the next suggestion she rearranges her features into a gamine grin and hastily murmurs, "Thank yer, Missus Is'bel," before flagging down a server and ordering, "Stew. The best bowl as yer can find."

Of course, that means she has to wait - /and/ keep her fingers to herself. She fidgets on her stool, scratching at the base of her neck. Say something, say something ... "Is 'e that colour all over?" she wants to know now, and one suspects she's not talking about Master Riordan.
Isobel who had just picked up her spoon again drops it from suddenly nerveless fingers. She stares at Louse, her mouth hanging open. Suddenly speech returns and she slams her palm down on the table, aiming a warning finger at the girl. “I’ll not suffer that kind of insult, Louse, not even from you – you watch your tongue! I am a /lady/,” the scholar declares and the warmth from the fire next to them stands little chance against the frost in Isobel’s voice.


[Brev(#30997)] Louse stares at Isobel blankly. "Huh?" Louse, of course, is not a lady, and no doubt her upbringing colours her expectations of female behaviour. "What'd I say? Never said as yer weren't a lady-" Oh, here comes that stew. Eagerly, Louse begins to dig in and any further speech she might have had is lost between gulping and the occasional slurp.


Not enough to stop Isobel, apparently – “... not some trollop in the Fishtale who would sit on any man’s lap for a penny--“ The scholar is muttering angrily to herself, glaring hard at the drops of stew spattered on the table. Her knowledge of the going rates of prostitutes could probably use an update, of course.


[Brev(#30997)] "Course not, Missus," Louse murmurs soothingly once half the bowl is done. "Aren't many as do that. I've 'eard Flora charges-" She breaks off and hastily spoons up some more stew before any more outbursts can be forthcoming. She is, however, giving Isobel some rather odd looks.

When the stew is done, the girl stands. "Real good that was," she pronounces, satisfied. "Reckon I'd best be gettin' on - if yer changes yer mind, Missus Is'bel, jist yer come ter me an' I can send 'im packin'. Right?" She bends to pick up her cloak, trodden on by several passers-by and now even more mud-coloured, and prepares to leave.


There’s no reasoning with Louse, is there? Isobel gives the girl an exasperated look and quickly snaps her mouth shut – several moments pass before she sighs and wearily promises, “I’ll keep it in mind, Louse. You have a good day now.”


[Brev(#30997)] With a flourish of her dirty cloak, which has the effect of clearing a path for her, Louse scampers away.


Date added: 2014-11-28 10:21:22    Hits: 51
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