Ashalle_icon.gif Carys_icon.gif Garou_icon.gif

Scene Title Sweet Bargaining
Synopsis Garou finds and seizes an opportunity to acquire some sweet loot. Ashalle's along for the ride.
Location Hightown
Date 20 August 9:31 Dragon
Watch For Garou whipping out the Aristocrat
Logger Carys

Late Friday afternoon sees a face familiar to this part of the city once more performing his duty. Decked in full armor - because it's regulation on such ventures - and sundry regalia, Knight-Lieutenant Garou finds himself missing his mask when cresting the final stairs into Hightown. His charge - for once not the babbling Healer, who has been strangely absent of late - is kept always in his periphery, but unlike some who bear the flaming sword, the bulk of his attention is on outside threats; he keeps himself very carefully between the mage he leads to the Chantry and those among the Kirkwallers who look like they might be inclined to start something they shouldn't.

WHY does she always end up with the Orlesian merchants?! After Carys's stint last weekend in Orlais, she's really wanting to punch every. Single. Countryman. from that place in the face. With a dagger. And right now, this guy may actually /deserve/ it. "Look. That ale. /THAT/ bottle of ale, right there. I want t'buy it. An' yes, I'm gonna be cookin' this bird in it." The merchant huffs and seems to still be giving her grief. "You do not cook ze bird in /ale/, you cook it in /wine/. I have very fine…"

"Look. If you don't give me th' blighted bottle I asked for I'm gonna /beat/ you with this bird. Seriously," Carys just stares at this guy, completely unseeing of any Templars or mages or whatever (It's High town, that sort is a bit more common to see than Lowtown), "Do you have silk knickers an' they're ridin' hardcore up yer backside or /what/?!" Guess who /doesn't/ really belong in Hightown even if she is?

Coming along with the Knight-Lieutenant on business of her own, Ashalle hums to herself as she follows in the warrior's wake. She's hardly bumbling along herself, watching the people as much as the sights as she learns her way about town. It's not idle caution, as the mere sight of a mage has stirred up trouble in the past. One would think that with talk of a /Blight/ across the ocean in Ferelden that people would consider the usefulness of mages, but so far it doesn't look like anyone has.
The stories Ashalle could tell them, if they'd only listen…
The sound of a disagreement comes to her ears, and she points her eyes in its direction. Stifling a smile at the source of the disagreement, she taps Garou's shoulder and indicates the bickering woman and the merchant with the obvious Orlesian accent. "I think the bargaining's going a little overboard," she observes. "Should we move a little farther away?"

Garou is already aware of the situation well before the tap to his shoulder. But since it would seem Fortune has decided to smile upon his own agenda for the day, he's far less growly about being touched than he usually is. Indeed, he only holds up a single finger toward Ashalle's direction, asking silently for patience while he takes a step toward the argument rather than away. "Est-ce un probleme de lui vendre la biere a la femme? Vous etes un commercant, pas un cuisiner." It's said so mildly, so casually, that to the general (non-Orlesian) observer, the edge of steel in it is almost impossible to catch. It's the tone perfected by every courtier worth their salt and evidence of that immeasurable 'something' claimed to be found in the oldest noble bloodlines. Anyone who has ever done business with the ruling class in his home country would recognize it.

By this time, Carys has actually reached into her basket and has her hand around the neck of what would otherwise be a gorgeous bird to cook. It's not a dagger, but apparently punching an Orlesian in the face with a plucked, beheaded /chicken/ is acceptable. That is until a third party joins in. Languages really aren't Carys's thing, though they should be. And Orlesian is /definitely/ not Carys's thing. Especially not right now. And no, whatever possible nigh-invisible 'fuck you' tone that Garou is speaking with, Carys does not get. She doesn't spend time among Orlesian nobles (Cenn doesn't count), so the almost imperceptible tone is, well, imperceptible. Which means Carys is left holding onto the neck of a beheaded chicken, and those violet eyes are going from Merchant to Templar (that she…vaguely recognizes?) and back again. And her baffled expression gets even worse when it seems the merchant …backs down a little? This is her 'I should back away' look. But the only reason she doesn't is because she has to stand there and try to recall if she has anything from this stall to begin with. She's here legitimately shopping, not doing 'shopping via five finger discount'.

The merchant though, speaking in his own native language, just tries to explain how he was merely /offering/ the suggestion that ale is not the ideal liquid to cook a bird in, and he's totally respectful and all that other stuff that he wasn't with the woman who has an obvious taste in Ferelden food (If the accent didnt' give it away that she's at least spent considerable amount of time in Dogland).

Not being a courtier, Ashalle doesn't know what Garou has in mind. But she can be patient, and so holds her tongue as the Knight-Lieutenant goes to the woman's aid… or so it looks like, as he's speaking to the merchant, not the beer-buying patroness.
She does take a better look at the beer-buyer, though, her curiosity guiding her eyes and thoughts. So she does see Carys's hand tighten around that chicken in her basket…
She touches the woman's shoulder, shaking her head subtly. "I think he's helping you," she says softly. "No need to waste a perfectly good meal."

Garou waves away the merchant's explanations as though swatting idly at a mosquito who hasn't quite made it to an annoyance yet. He's not even a little bit interested in the excuses; bad manners are bad manners. "If your opinions are desired, they will be asked for." His Trade is just as mild and just as dismissive. And, as though having said it means it will be done, Garou turns away from the stall as though the entire incident is already finished. "My apologies." He encompasses both the beleaguered rogue and his current charge in that statement. "Occasionally the nouveau riche must be reminded of their manners." And speaking of manners. "You were the lady attempting to deliver a package to Lieutenant d'Argent the other day, were you not?"

"Yer right," Carys tells the mage still eyeing the merchant. "Shouldn't waste a good bird on trash." First person comments about pot and kettle gets a kick to the shin. She's still not relaxing. While she doesn't recognize the tone that Garou uses to speak with the merchant (as in, she doesn't pick it up), she /is/ trash, street trash to be precise, if anyone of noble class is asked, and that kind of thing breeds an instinct that tells her to be on guard for the foreseeable future. However, as she's spoken to directly, something about the man's manner does get the tension to ebb out of her shoulders. "No problem," she says, still eyeing the merchant. "He's just got somethin' against fine Ferelden cookin'. I'll jus' get my ale somewhere else." She pauses and then she sighs. "Thanks," she tells both mage and Templar, but then she's cocking her head to the side int hat manner she tends to do when contemplating something. "Mmmmaaybe…." She draws that one word out with the intent to inform him that if he's there because she's in trouble? Then no. Totally was NOT her. Can't prove it!

"It's nothing," Ashalle replies simply, giving Carys a faint, conspiratorial smile. She's from the streets as well, and her time in the Circle has only dulled the old instincts a little, not erased them. Being cautious, on the other hand, is a by-product of the Circle and its training.
She knows nothing about any package, of course, and so just watches as the two discuss the matter.

Yes, Carys, Garou caught that. Subtlety is… really not the strong suit of anyone he knows. Oh, Maker. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Knight Lieutenant Phillipe Garou of the Kirkwall Circle. Cenn d'Argent is a… friend." Strange, a little, to realize that's actually the right word and not just the polite explanation. "And this," he gestures to the elven woman, "is Ashalle Roane, one of the Circle mages." Because he does have manners. "Forgive my bluntness, but would you be, b chance, the source of these mystical chocolates that have been feeding Circle gossip?"

Garou is still eyed suspiciously…until he utters those magic words; Cenn is a friend. And just like someone walked over and hit a switch, she's all relaxed and smiles. "Carys," she offers to the pairs. If she thought that it was prudent to keep her name quiet, she's pretty sure someone of Garou's savvy'd be able to get the real deal eventually. "Dickhead here didn't bug you guys right?" She points to the merchant over yonder. She blinks. "Mystical? No… the only thing I put in my chocolate is rum." She pauses. "Or Brandy." Pause. "There's sometimes a few liqueurs if I can get my hands on 'em but rum's really common so that's what I tend t'use in those sorts…but I don't think they're mystical." In other words, Garou, yes, she is the source of the chocolate in the circle lately. "Cenn's been sharin' I take it?"

"A pleasure to meet you," Ashalle says, bowing her head respectfully to Carys as Garou introduces them. "Barring the momentary trouble with that beer-seller, I hope the evening finds you well."
Oh, dear… those chocolates. "To some, that kind of thing is mystical in and of itself," Ashalle remarks, smiling a little. "But it might explain some of the loose tongues, if people have been eating a few too many of them. On top of that, someone in the Circle getting something like that would fuel gossip enough to float an Antivan tradeship."

That 'instant relax button' is noted - with no small amount of amusement, though not much of that makes it to his face - and Garou ends up with a smooth, polite smile as his primary expression. "Perhaps not sharing, but rumors are funny things." He pauses then, listening to Ashalle and considering that for a moment. "Chocolates will always bring gossip," he agrees. "But I had not realized it was to the severity of loosened tongues." Or that could just be a Ferelden phrase with which he is unfamiliar in this context. Ah, well. "…did you say brandy? You can make chocolates with brandy?"

"Doin' this stuff's about the only useful thing I picked up in my year in Orlais," Carys says, clasping her hands before her, one shoulder shrugging. She frowns and readjusts her chicken. "NO offense," she tells the Templar. But y'know, you can take someone out of Ferelden, but can't take the Ferelden out of someone..and Fereldens tend to wrinkle their noses at everything Orlesians still. "Yeah, s'not hard. Y'just kind'a make a hollow candy, fill with liquor of your choice, put a top on, cool. EAt. It's a bit more instant gratification than rumballs which take like, days t'make because they're truffles that are soakin' in rum, y'see." She then looks to Ashalle about the loose tongues thing. "Wow, you mages got some seriously sorry liquor tolerance if that's happenin'. I don't use top shelf in that stuff unless the person's special." Which means cenn got the GOOD STUFF.

"I wasn't talking about the mages…" Ashalle replies with a grin. "But it honestly doesn't matter. Once gossip starts, it doesn't go away. Eventually everyone hears about things in a closed-up place, whether there are liquor-laced chocolates involved or not."
She looks back to her escort… though who is escorting who is open to debate, as they don't seem to be going anywhere anymore. "We're not far from the Chantry now. If you wish privacy, I could find my way there on my own…" she suggests lightly.

There's this moment where - just for a small fragment of time - Garou looks like he might have just died and found the Maker. Brandy. Chocolates. "How many could you make with a bottle of Lion's Blood and two sovereigns?" Because if there is one thing Garou consistently spoils himself on, it's excellent brandy. He drinks nothing but Lion's Blood if he's going to go for brandy at all and combining that with dark chocolate would… entirely suit the purpose he has in mind. "Factoring the cost of your labor as well, of course." But his attention is jerked away when Ashalle does the polite thing and offers to allow them a moment. "Non, merci. I appreciate the courtesy, but my duty comes first." And so he is prepared to say his farewells. "I can sustain my vices on my own time."

Carys is about to also try to encourage Ashalle's lack of departure… it's just chocolate. But then he states his offer and all thoughts of the mage and encouragement one way or the other flit out of her head and that poor Templar's got wide, violet eyes fixated on him like he is just too good to be true. Did the Booze Fairy show up. "Toss in another bottle'a that an' I'll make anythin' you want, sweetheart," she says int his totally dreamy look as if she fell in love. … with his taste in liquor.

Ashalle can't hide a hint of disappointment at her departure being nixed. But Carys's sudden counteroffer draws a smile, and she stifles giggles. "That might not involve a long wait, Knight-Lieutenant," she teases lightly. "Your chocolatier awaits only the right payment."

"Done." Garou does not often agree so swiftly to terms, but in this particular instance… "Come to the Gallows tomorrow and ask for me." Oh, this is going to be so good. "I regret that I cannot act sooner, but alas." Duty before all else, save his heart. "It was a pleasure to meet you properly, Carys, but I fear I must offer our excuses and beg forgiveness. I cannot in good conscience keep Ashalle any longer from her prayers. A good evening to you, though."

Wait, wasn't this girl threatening to beat someone stupid with a /chicken/ no more than fifteen minutes ago? Yes, she was, but now she's literally dancing in one spot, skipping from one foot to the other and clapping her hands gaily while sporting the biggest, brightest grin she could muster. "Excellent! You won't be disappointed, I'll totally make it worth that bottle's while!" There's even ab it of an 'Eee!' (don't worry, she keeps her voice below ear drum piercing levels) and that dancing in one spot gains a spin as well. And then? Like a record scratching in the distance, she stops. "Oh, of course. Don't mean t'keep you. Thanks f'r the help."

Ashalle /does/ giggle this time, watching Carys, though she's careful to step back to keep her robes out from under dancing feet. "I would gladly wait, but the good Knight-Lieutenant does take his duty seriously, and I shouldn't take up more of his time. It was a pleasure to meet you, Carys. I hope your evening is a good one." She turns to leave… and turns it into a twirl of her own, robes swirling dramatically as she spins and slows to a stop, moving to follow Garou.

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