Fits of Temper

Fits of Temper
Summary: Sammel has another one. Victricia and Bryony and a meddling handmaid have words.
Date: 13/08/2013
Related: Several, or none at all.
Players:
Sammel Victricia Bryony 

Brivey Keep - Training Grounds
The large, flat expanse of grass is carefully tended and kept short for both tournament-goers and training warriors alike. The field, doubling as a list, is surrounded by wooden bleachers for viewing the tournament activity. To the right of the field, permanent archery targets have been established at different distance intervals for the purpose of competition as well as training. On any given day, passersby are welcomed with the sight of Brivey's fighters practicing their craft. A single wide dirt path leads to and from the main road.
Tue Aug 13, 1329

There was quite a bit of sound coming from the Training Grounds. The clatter of metal and wood, the grunts and yells of men, the thunder of hooves as knights ran down practice targets with their lances. The giggle of town and castle girls and women came to moon over sweaty warriors who were not indifferent to their presence but rather drove each other twice as hard because of them. The prettier ones preening, throwing back their heads and basking in adoration. There were yells from townboys, too, come to dream about a future that likely none of them had the chance to follow, but still clung to fiercely, doing their own mock battles along the sidelines. And perhaps trying to catch a few towngirl looks themselves.
By nature of being the Heir of Brivey Keep, and not terribly bad looking himself, Sammel attractd a fair bit of attention himself. But then again, he had since he was a child, and took it less as something to notice, than just the natural state of the universe. Of course people looked to him. It would only seem jarring if they -didnt-. The tall knight was taking a break, languishing by the water boy, taking the occasional sip as he slowed his breathing. It was a warm summer day. Even a little exercise made a man sweat like a wet towel bring wrung.

Bryony patrols the outskirts of the training grounds. One can only count one's stock so many times and idle court gossip does not entertain her in the least. Hands clasped together and resting against her skirts, she wanders along, no doubt hoping for some injury to alleviate the boredom. Where it is warranted, the healer curtsies. Where there is amusing play, the woman stops to watch. Her circuit, eventually, brings her closer to the bane of her existance. Even in public it is difficult to keep her eyes from rolling at sight of the man taking his leisure. Once the woman is within range, she offers a curtsy, her jaw setting stubbornly already.

Not one to ever be considered competeting with common cattle, Victrica Auldholme has not gone out of her way to dress above them. By shere rank of existance she doesn't have to and with permission to attend to watch, it's not hard to miss the lady moving through the ranks. It is equally impossible to miss the slowness with which she moves, not on purpose, but as one who takes great care to make each step as gentle as possible; yet to look at her, there is naught a mark to be found.
Behind her trails a sullen looking handmaiden of some thirty odd years with a basket on her arm, whose eyes, much like Bryony's turn hardened when they touch upon Sammel's figure. But not Vi's. No. For the lord she smiles, though she does take her time and pauses, as she weaves her way through to offer a word of encouragement for the youths who seem so pointedly out for attention. Whilst that fan offers a measure of cool from the heat.

Take a group of men and older lads, put them infront of a bunch of girls and then make a competition out of it where just one side gets to look -great-, the natural consequence was that some of those spars going on with swords and spears and clubs turned nasty. There were bruises, there was blood, there were grunts of pain. Bryony was not going to suffer a lack of things to do. Of course the unfairness of the world even then ensured that when a particularly handsome knight got beat down, the victor was mostly scowled at, the poor loser sighed and fussed over.
Scooping up some water, he splashed it backd own over his head, drenching his honeyed locks into dark rivers curling down his features. "Ah, fuck it's hot," he laughed to the water-boy, grinning his wide and brilliant white smile like he was everybody's best friend. The boy grinned back, while water trickled down his neck. His plain grey training tunica was already damp.
"Ah, Mistress Bryony." A tiny dip of his head, no more. But his smile was still present, radient and charming. "Come to take care of our poor boys, have you? Looks like Andrew there oculd use it. Hah. Though you might have to fight them to get him. A few of them girls, I wouldn't want to get between them and him anymore than between a stray and his bone."
Laughing, he was distracted by the appearence of Victricia. Immediately his smile got a wolfish hint to it. "My Lady!" And his bow was flawless.

His humor is not echoed in the brunette's hazel eyes. "Sir Sammel," she greets in cool tone. It may be hot outside but it is all ice where the healer is standing. Her gaze flickers to the boy in question. "He can limp along off to the side with their help, I am certain. And yourself? Have you taken injury?" the woman asks, one dark brow arching. As his attention turns, so does her and she offers the lady a deeper curtsy than she had for the future heir of the keep.

"My Lord!" Victricia greeted in turn, the warmth of her voice pitched to carry, as she altered her path that it might take her closer to the pair. Her steps were no quicker, however and the last of the healers words reached her ears and courted a hint of a smile from the woman's lips; even as she dipped her head by way of greeting.
"One need but to look at him to see that he is in perfect health," an answer woven compliment, as good humor danced through her eyes. "Nina has watered wine, if you've a mind, good Sir, or ale if you prefer." As she knew that he was prone to. "And the cook has sent down some of your favorites to tide you until supper. I believe that scones were mentioned."
Poor Nina. She looked no happier now than she had before, but offered courtsey where it was due, before promptly squaring her shoulders and settling in behind Vi. It was safer there and harder to see the white where her knuckles had coiled tight.

"A few bruises teaches a man to do better next time. Or perhaps not drink as much the night before," Sammel murmured with a wry grin. "But nothing more serious than that, I assure you. Your mind can be at ease, I've little need of the services of a healer for the moment."
If he noticed the fact that Victricia was given more courtesy than him, he paid it no mind at all. After all the woman was to be the Duchesse of Brivey Keep one day, and besides, it wasn't a competition. Bryony had given him just -enough-. "You know, I think watered wine. I've got a few more rounds in me, I think, and I wouldn't want to be drunk on the field. Sets a bad example, you know, and I do try my best to be the very paragon of virtue. How're you feeling today?"

"Such words of wisdom. Are you to be a teacher today then, my love, instead of poet? I must warn you, should you decide that poet is what you prefer I am under strictest orders to see to it that none may harken these halls. I would have to have you sent to the dungeon in chains!" But there was good humor in her eyes, a coquette smile on her lips.
"Nina, serve his lordship," and poor Nina, with a smile as tight as her thighs, stepped forward to settle the basket atop the nearest crate to do just that. Her posture tense, her eyes forever averted.
"My Lord is a paragon of many things," another lighthearted quip, before she turned her mind to the question. "I am feeling much better, to be honest. Tomorrow I might even attempt to ride! Though I should say that I am pleased to see that there are such considerate healers on hand. I should be so touched, I think, that she would come to you, first…unless it were simply a case of searching for an excuse to lay hands upon your flesh. But…surely that isn't the case, is it?" Sweet smile; a flutter of long lashes and the direction to Nina to see that she'd a glass poured as well.

"Well, you did entrust me with your enducation, my Lady Victricia. It is a charge I have taken to heart, in all manner of things. Today it's 'philosphy'. Tomorrow, who knows?" The whole time he talked there was not a serious bone in him, all easy laughter and banter. He accepted the watered wine from Nina without even bothering to look at the common woman, taking the cup from her hands and then brought it around to his lips for a sip. It was better than drinking out of a bucket like just another Riedel sworn warrior.
"We should try to recapture that outing that we failed at last time, then. I -do- still believe I am deserving of a second chance to beat you. Though I'm worried about making further wagers. To not bet against this woman, Mistress Bryony. She'll steal everything you have." As for the healer taking excuses to put her hands on his flesh, it was the source of a mildly bemused snort. His eyes went devious the next. "Well, could you really blame her if she did?"

"The Riedels do keep their own healers as the Westmarks do, I am certain. They are, most like, far more familiar with Sir Sammel's predilictions. I would be inclined to withdraw as their familiarity with the patient would supersede my own knowledge," Bryony intones. The healer watches everything and finds her jaw setting once again. "In fact, I would insist." The woman does not bother to fake good humor. Tilting her head towards Victricia, she gives the woman a slow nod. "I would congratulate you on your impending nuptials," the woman murmurs softly before her eyes shift to Nina and then back to the lady.

"Upon the grounds of philosophy, one could argue that since you are to be mentor, you, in fact should know," Victrica teased, unmasked delight in her voice. "Though if you do not…," and let it trail off, a warning implied if never voiced. Blond locks floated down to tease her cheeks, brushed aside as she watched Nina's hands make quick withdrawal. The pair, it seemed, were still not on talking terms yet.
"Belief, is not always fact, my knightly lord. I have told you, I do not make wagers that I can lose. Are you very -sure- that it a task you would like to partake? I assure you that a second time, the bar shall be raised infinately higher." But something chill drifted through her eyes, at his last question and she took a sip of watered wine, before she answered. "Blame? No. Would but that all in both kingdoms desired what was mine. They may look until they toss with it. But looking is not sharing and one may need only ask my siblings precisely how good I was with that." Wink.
In the wake of that wink though, her attention returned to the healer. "So, you offer him a falsehood? As a healer, are you not oath bound to tender care when there is need? Had he been wounded when you asked, would you have left him to suffer, while you sent from someone else? This seems unduly cruel," a thoughtful pause, while her bottom lip tucked between her teeth for a moment. It feld, in the wake of the statement that Vi seemed to interpet as an inquiry for permission, because it was answered with a kindly, "You may," and a look of expectation.

"I can assure you that the same terms as last time wouldn't be to my liking, either. If we must set it higher, I'll set it higher. This time I intend to win, too." His eyes danced with playful mischief. Meanwhile a few other men went to the waterboy in search of refreshments, though they kept a polite distance from the nobles and the healer. Water splashed, groans of pleasure followed. Somewhere a sergeant barked to a young lad to get his 'gods be damned shirt back on in the Lady's presence!' when the kid had decided showing some abs was the best way to steal some attention for himself. Sammel took it all in with humor.
Just like he took Bryony and Victricia's answers both. He smiled, said: "I rather like our old wrinkled tower master. Though it -does- take him forever sometimes to get around." He chuckled and took another sip of his wine.

"What falsehood have I offered?" Bryony returns, her forehead creasing in obvious confusion. "I am bound to tend to the royal family as the healers of Brivey Keep are bound to tend to their own masters. Of course, had he asked I would have assisted and had it been more than a mere scratch one would hope that a servant could be sent to retrieve further assistance from one of his own healers." And somewhere in all of that she manages to find a smile. "I do congratulate you on a most /perfect/ match. The King could not have found two better suited to one another than the pair of you." The woman offers the pair a deep curtsy. "If you will pardon me, I should begin my store." She does not leave until she is dismissed, but waits patiently.

Shirtless? Vi was a hot blooded young woman, her head turned. It couldn't be helped. She looked. And if the lad wasn't too young, it's possible that for a moment, just a moment, she admired. But then her focus was back completely upon Sammel. "It amuses me, that he's concerned for the young man's shirt, but not for the color of his own tongue." Mirth glittered in her eyes, eyes that could so easily hold cruelty but none it seemed, not at all for the man who could do no wrong that stood before them. The heir of Brivey.
"Ah, so you are here because Prince Jerric is with us then?" Ever so casually inquired, before the girl's face lit up in positive delight at the compliment. Of course they were perfect! That insult just flew right over her head. Ah, the joys of naive privledged youth. Poor stupid chit.
In fact, Nina coughed when Bryony had said the pair were perfect and then, bless her old soul, looked about innocently and muttered something about dust and heat.
Meanwhile, Vi didn't seem to be inclined to grant the pardon. "You have the look of one so very young, Mistress Bryony. It must speak great things of your skill that you have been granted permission to serve the royal family. Have you studied long?"

So far he had presented nothing but a charming facade, grins and smiles and laughter, his rich voice mellow and easy on the ears. It took Vi's eyes following the rippling muscles of a toned young man's torsoe for something entirely different to enter his eyes. A surge of black annoyance swam in his gaze, his smile lost and in its place a frozen frown taking over. With a grunt he thrust his arm out in Nina's direction for another fill. "Ale." Brusque and commanding.
"Prince Jerric, his sister.." Sammel supplied. "As well as -your- brother and sister. I talked to Augustus yesterday. He was very concerned about the reputation of his House, but was certain he could make up for all transgressions." Something in his voice said that Sammel wasn't nearly as sure.
"Well. If you'll excuse me," he'd have drunk up his ale in another quick swallow. Experienced that he was, he should've known better. "I think it's time I take another round out there."

Bryony's gaze flickers to Nina and, for a heartbeat, there is an understanding. Her features return to serenity as she inclines her head to the future duchess. As Sammel answers, there is no need for Bry to so she focuses on the question directed specifically to her. "I have been with the guild for thirteen years, my lady. Though my training did begin some years before that with the priests and priestesses of Stilltha," she explains. Fingers entwine, her clasped hands resting against her skirts. As Sammel drains his glass, she arches an eyebrow. "I do apologize but I really should check in on the princess."

Nina startled; the basket jostled and then soon enough she is pouring ale, albet to swiftly and a hint of it spills across the cups edge and against the Lord's hand. A hasty murmur of apology is given, head low and a handkerchief is produced with which he might see himself clean.
Vi, meanwhile, was already looking lost at Sammel's sudden lack of banter and her expression drained of pleasure completely when he started talking about her family. "I would speak of such to you, but in private when you have a moment that can be spared." And for one who professed a good deal denial for politics and anything to do with them… "You should know." Simply spoken. Before she nodded at his request to step away.
Lingering on the edges, Vi chided Nina that care ought to be given more greatly to her tasks, before the Lady nodded at Bryony's answer in regards to her training. Though as the young healer bid apology and made to retreat, Nina, with her voice pitched low enough not to carry to Sammel said: "You should ask her, milady. I believe she would have care, if she knew. It might help."
"Shut up, Nina." Tight smile; a dip of her head, "Good day, Mistress."

All Victricia got was a grunt in response, one that could have been taken for an agreement if she was particularly optimistic. Without a backwards glance he was striding out into the hard trampled earthen field where men where swinging wooden blades at each other. One was immediately put into his hands. He twirled it this way and then that, making the wood hum as it cut through the air in increasingly intricate patterns. Warming up muscles that had gone a bit stale while he refreshed himself. For now he took no partner, but already a few were preparing themselves. From the dark glint in his eye, there wouldn't be any mercy to be had, either. None of the laugher, unless it was the cruel beserker laughter that announced he was going to have to be dragged off his opponents.

Again the healer's gaze is drawn to the servant. Her words, oddly enough, are not for Vi but for Nina as she pauses in her retreat. "Do you come to me this evening after supper and I shall have what you need," she utters solemnly, not asking for further detail. Somehow, she knows. "I have discovered in certain areas that certain remedies are required far more often than others. I have begun to accumulate a stock, so to speak. Good day, my lady, mistress." The woman inclines her head to the servant and then curtsies to the lady in question before turning and heading back into the keep.

Oh dear. Nina nodded, her lips pursed tight, her green eyes pinched tight at the corners, but offered no further word. Vi, meanwhile, was looking like a puppy who'd just been kicked, because Sammel's good cheer had gone and for the life of her, she could not understand what it was that had happened. Nor hardly any care at all for what the commoners were babbling over. Naturally it couldn't possibly be her. And so, trying to help lighten Sammel's mood, ventured; "A kiss to the Lord who wins!" But there was only one Lord on the field and to him she was betrothed and so surely it ought to be safe enough!

Once warmed up, Sammel jerked his head in young Andrew's direction. The pretty man grinned, threw his head back to show off his long luscious hair, and then pranced over like a prize stallion. Full of youthful cocky arrogance, even if he had taken a beating from an older veteran earlier. That only got Sammel's mood to worsen, no playful banter left in him. Just a rolling sea of growing rage. The best Lord gets a kiss? What the hell did she mean by that?
Blades slammed against each other when Sammel went on the aggressive, but every time he saw an opening the bloody bastard managed to evade, or put a sword up himself. It was a frantic back and forth, a clash of liquid smooth grace and brutal aggression. They canceled each other out. Finally the training sergeant called out a: "Time, water." In the heat, with the way they were going, they'd dehydrate if they didn't run over some liquid. Sammel brooded, waited for his, waited for a second ground.

It wasn't at all like how she'd seen him the first time she'd seen him with any type of weapon in hand the agression was impossible to miss. It reminded her…just a little of the black mood he'd been in when he blackened her, to be honest which set a tremor of fear through the girl. Enough so that when the sergeant called for time, it was Vi who looked to the waterboy and asked if she could take out Sammels.
It wasn't run, of course. Vi's not in a state to run, but if she'd quickened her steps and pushed her tolerance then it was to see him pleased, even if she did threaten to slosh water onto the hem of her gown. No words though, not yet. A quiet marvel in her eyes for his skill, the sort of awe that lent itself to her expression but a watchful wariness as well.

Caught in his own world of brooding temper, he was unaware of Victricia having taken the role of watergirl. Seeing her example, one of the bolder towngirls had also stolen a bucket and gone running onto the field to tend to Andrew. Sweat made his hair slick, made his shirt tamp. It glisened on his forhead until Sammel wiped it away with the sleve of his tunic. Without looking he roughly reached over and grasped the ladel from the bucket, then scooped up a mouthful. Every movement hinting at the brutality he was capable of. Then.. the scent. It didn't fit out there on the dusty field. It made him look around, see her for the first time with his angry green eyes.
He breathed in. Deep. Forced himself to count slowly backwards. "I'll win that kiss," he promised her, finished drinking, then put the ladel - gentler this time - back down into the bucket.

Gentler not being confused with gentle.

So much as less SMASH IT BACK DOWN.

"Sir Sammel," Vi murmured quietly, though her little nose had pinched when he'd splashed water against the hem of her gown. "You are the only lord on the field," neatly reminded, because she hadn't said knight, on purpose. Her smile was a hopeful thing as well, if timid. Because the violence in his eyes had the power to make her blood rush in ways that had absolutely nothing to do with pleasure.
It had occured to her though, that if she didn't find some way to mend whatever it was that she'd done in the first place, he might well forbid her from coming out to watch him again and thus, when he didn't attempt to drown her feet with the return of that ladel, the smile she gave was gentle and hopeful and entirely for him.

The blonde knight gave Victricia a slight little nod in acknowledgement. "You should return, my Lady. Accidents happen out on the field, and I would not have you suffer one." EAch word was spoken with a clamness that was only surface deep. Beneath raged his wrath.
As soon as Andrew was ready, they went at it again. This time Sammel's aggression turned reckless. Despite all his training his movements were sloppy, exhaggerated. He put too much strength into his blows, and Andrew punished him for it. It was probably the first time Sammel had lost to the younger man, ever. In Brivey Keep he was known as one of the greater swordsmen. It was hard to tell that, just now. He wasn't bad, he just was nothing close to excellent. In the end, some minutes and a couple of bruises later, he threw away his wooden sword and stomped off the field without a backwards look at anyone. Andrew was gushed over by radient townsgirls as soon as the Lord was safely out of sight.

With a tiny nod, Vi shuffled about to retreat least she find herself the reciepent of just such an accident; the water bucket returned to the boy who was in charge of it as she went to clean her hands on a cloth and let Nina fuss about the hem of her gown where it'd been wet and caught mud.
She fussed all the while Vi stared too, watching the men with a look of muted confusion on her face, as the whispering from the men reached her ears. The Lord being reckless, Andrew's first time. When he threw that sword too, she all but jumped and then frowned in full, when he started stomping off.
"My child, I know what you're thinking and I would advise you to wait and let the man c—-," a warning given too late and more, ignored, for Vi had hooked hands into her skirt and took off after. Her legs were longer than most, but there was little chance at the moment that she'd catch him unless he decided to stop and wait for her.

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