A Storm With A Skin

She had been meandering between tables watching games being played, money lost and won, simply taking in the glory of a night out when it had been so long since she had one.  She really didn’t have any money to lose, her purse strings were tight and budget even tighter, but she found it entertaining enough just to watch.  It was during this walk around the tables that she spotted Bryce, and she had to admit she was quite surprised.  Not only was he in attendance but he was in a suit.  As she watched him fuss with it, she could only guess that it wasn’t his, but it didn’t change the fact that it suited him fairly well.  A scuffy 007 or something of the like.  He looked suave, a word she was not used to using in reference in to Bryce.  Gruff, grumpy, disgruntled, sure, but not suave. –Eventually her observations had been made, and she had been spotted, so she made her way over to his table, only a few feet away.  And upon being within closer distance, she thought she might have spotted his problem.  Without thinking, she reached out for the collar of his shirt, picking off what must’ve been part of a dry cleaning tag somehow wedged itself in there “I am both having fun and not having fun, if that makes any sense.” She commented with a shrug after finally retrieving the source of his annoyance.  “It’s nice to be out, but I’m…A bit paranoid.”

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He’d never been all that good with contact unless he knew it was coming but her movement is that quick and unexpected enough that he’s too taken aback to move away from it. Moments later it’s clear what she did, nod of acknowledgement given. “Thanks.” The night was certainly a mixed bag for him, it wasn’t too much of a stretch for him to understand that it was for her too.  “Enough sense.” Slow nod was given to her next words, understanding the paranoia all too well when the last event he’d gone to had ended in death and blood. But in truth he was betting on the fact that there were so many civilians present to keep everyone’s behaviour in line. Whether he was right in that assumption or not would be seen. “I’ve not spotted anything suspicious.” Although he hadn’t the last time other than his usual distrust but he figures that information will hardly put her at ease. Words of comfort weren’t his strong suit but actions and gestures he could do and while he didn’t say it aloud he’d already made the decision to keep her company for a little while. Maybe it wouldn’t be of any reassurance to her but he knew he’d feel that little bit better if she was close should things turn violent again. “Do you want a drink?”

location: hotel royale, BAD TIMES AT THE EL ROYALE mini-event open to: anyone

For the most part, Edmure liked to present himself as a man of all virtue and no vice, but he never could resist the call of the blackjack table…Or the craps table, roulette wheel, or really anything that could be found in a casino and a large amount of money could be lost.  Granted, he never went too far, he knew when to cut his losses and go home, but there was something exhilarating about the absolute chance of it all for a man who rarely took them.  And for charity? Well it just seemed like a win-win situation.  He also knew it was about time he showed his face after the wedding massacre.  He had been trying to lay even lower than usual, still somewhat convinced that if he had been in attendance he would have been on the list of those marked for death.  But he was the had of a syndicate, of course people wanted him dead.  If he refused to venture into public every time there was a conspiracy, he’d never leave the house.  

“C’mon, blow on them for me.” he pleaded of his craps table neighbor.  “It’s a tradition.  And hey, if I win big I may even cut you in.”  

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Generally he liked to stick to the card games, finding them much more predictable than the other games on offer. But there’d been something of a commotion around the craps table that he’d been unable to just walk past, keeping an eye on things out of habit. He’d barely been there a few moments when someone spoke to him. If he’d been the type to be openly expressive then he might have sent the other man an incredulous look but as it was, his features stayed somewhat neutral apart from his permanent frown deepening slightly. Sharp gaze fell to the dice in the other man’s hands, head shaking in response to his request. “You don’t want my luck, trust me.” Life and fate certainly hadn’t dealt him the best of hands and although he was sometimes better at poker than his luck should have dictated ( but that was more logic and reading people than luck ) he was pretty sure that wouldn’t be the case here.

He shrugged slightly, even the offer of sharing the reward not enticing him to play along. “Better off finding someone else that might actually help you win.”

there’d been the briefest moment of hesitation in her sure movements when she’d caught sight of bryce. realistically, anya had known he was there, but in the chaos of it all it seemed she kept forgetting that people she knew, people she cared about, dammit were among those she had to check for damage. every time another person she knew too well came through the doors of their makeshift centre, it made her efforts quicker, surer, more determined. the quicker she moved through the patients, the quicker she could make sure her own were safe – even her own who strictly refused to be considered as such. but personal sentiment was no reason to slack, and anya didn’t, not once, each examination thorough. war had taught her how to handle an injury as quickly as possible, though, and it was these memories she called upon to guide her actions.

“everyone has to. can’t have anyone bleeding out in the street.” anya’s words were clipped, only meeting his eyes for long enough to arch an eyebrow before she turned her back to rummage for a new pair of gloves. they’d met so long ago, before everything; anya knew distinctly what bryce’s moods were like, and she hoped her tone made it clear that she had no time for it. he could hate it as much as he wanted, but she was still going to make sure he was okay. that, she figured, should be familiar to him, too. “tell me what happened,” she instructed, shining a light in his eyes. “in detail. i need to know if there’s anything in particular i need to be looking for.”

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There was always a discomfort around those who knew a little too much about him and Anya Waynwood was one of those people. Thanks to their time in the army together she had not only been privy to information about his family but also witnessed his reaction to the grief first hand. Now he was having to deal with her once more despite his efforts over the years to avoid her - some more successful than others. It took everything in him not to revert back to the soldier that he’d been trained to be. To not snap to attention for his superior officer. But for all they were in a whole new type of war now and for all he wanted their interaction to be over with as soon as possible, there was still a sense of respect felt towards her. So his tone is level and matter of fact, relaying the realities of his lack of injuries. “No danger of that from me.” The sooner she dealt with him the sooner he could leave and she could get back to other patients who needed her more than he ever would.

Brow raised at her in return, letting her know that although he was choosing to comply he could just as easily have chosen to cause an issue for her. But being purposely difficult had never really been his style. Too selfish and drew far too much attention to himself. “You mean other than the lights going out and us getting attacked?” The obvious pointed out he began listing his injuries, however few there were of them, before clarifying that there was nothing else wrong with him. If he knew Anya though, he doubted it would be enough to make her let him go early but it was still worth a try. “I got a couple of scratches and a couple of bruises. No head wounds. No lesions. No pulled muscles or sprains either.”

Despite how tired she was, Rosaline couldn’t help but chuckle at him.  She knew he wasn’t trying to be funny, but in her overworked mind she found herself imagining him squaring up against the charge nurse.  Rosaline wasn’t someone who liked violence, but that would be a fight she’d pay to see.  Pay-per-view and everything.  “I’m a nurse, Bryce, being overworked is sort of in the job description.” she joked, a tired smile tickling at her lips. “And on nights like tonight, well, I don’t mind.  Especially when any of those people could have been me.  Or you.  Or even more of those stupid kids.”  She would assume he’d understand ‘those stupid kids’ was her referring to the initiates he frequently brought in.  She didn’t want to know their names, not because she didn’t care, but because she knew if she did, she’d care too much.  And by the pure frequency in which they came in, or she was whisked off to care for them, she figured they’d lose some of them before the end of the year.  Especially now.

“Until you’re not.” she muttered under her breath as she began to clear her vending-machine-meal from the table.  His reassurance did the opposite of it’s intended purpose, as sometimes the confidence he seemingly held for himself and his abilities and the attitude of ‘always am’ made it feel as if he was testing the Gods, and at one point they’d knock him down a peg.  Granted, she (mercifully) had never seen him in action, so maybe he was that good.  But she couldn’t help but worry, because Bryce was a name she had learned, and it wasn’t one she wanted to have to chart one day.  And really, it wasn’t even a lack of confidence she had in his abilities to keep himself safe, it was more of a fear of everyone else’s abilities.  All her life she had spent stitching her family up, and at the beginning of her entanglement with the Stags, she assumed that’s what she was getting into, more of that.  But nights like tonight reminded her that this was a much more dangerous game. — She wasn’t sure if he had heard her, but regardless she couldn’t stop the breathed “Sorry,” that fell from her mouth, as she turned away from the garbage can she had just tossed her food in and back towards him.  “It’s just…Long night.”  And after the night he had, she’d assume he’d understand, although he didn’t look the least bit rattled.

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Her laughter brought a frown along with it, one that he had to force instead of the way that it usually fell upon his brow. Appearances had to be kept up but also the notion of nurses being overworked simply because they could be wasn’t one he could claim to approve of. “Sort of doesn’t mean it is. And doesn’t mean they should.” She has a point, one that he nods in agreement with. Anyone of them could be next, something that he knew all too well. He’s quick to tell her that the initiates were spared this time, granted in his own round about way. “Could have. But for once those stupid kids stayed away.” A few steps further were taking into the room, pausing in front of one of the seats when he wasn’t entirely sure on the protocol of him being in there. Not that he really cared if he was supposed to be in there or not but he did find that he minded if his actions got her into trouble. Besides, his mother had impressed upon him countless times about the importance of manners and as much as he liked to push all memories from his mind, too much was already ingrained in him. “Can I sit?”

Brow raised at her muttering, the corner of his lips tugging in a show of amusement that he was grateful her gaze was elsewhere for. He was somewhat taken aback by it, both at the fact she had even muttered and it was him she seemed concerned over. But he supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Not when she did seem like the sort of person that cared more about others than they deserved. It’s nothing he says though and instead simply gives a nod. “I get it.” He did to some extent at least. Stressful times tended to bring out the honesty in people and while he couldn’t exactly say the thought of her being concerned for him thrilled him, he wasn’t about to tell her not to be. They were all entitled to their emotions even if he did think hers were misplaced. Another time he might have told her as much - told her that he was a lost cause and it was a waste of energy that would be better off elsewhere. But he doesn’t and he’s not really sure why. Perhaps just because he could be overestimating the level of concern or perhaps because he doesn’t want to make her stop just yet. Instead a small revelation but one he’s not about to process yet, instead he digs around in his pocket for the gum he’d bought earlier.  Taking a piece for himself it’s quickly tossed into his mouth before he holds the packet out for her in equal parts distraction tactic and the generosity that had been instilled in him that he always tried to hide. “Gum?”  

There had been hurt, once upon a time, in the lost of a friend and his family. Desmera had grived the Caron and once it had been obvious that Bryce was gone in a way that was entirely different than the rest of his family, she had grieved that too. Lost seemed to be the fabric that made their lives, not only hers and Bryce, but so many others in King’s Landing. With the war between the families, it seemed everyone knew someone who disapeared because of it, either because of their involvment or worse, an innocent in the wrong place at the wrong time. Those were the worst and it was in Bryce’s past. 

It wasn’t the first time she saw him in the past ten years, at first trying to approach him and then letting go. Most often then not, she turned around and pretended he wasn’t there, completing ignoring someone who once meant something to him. Bryce wasn’t the same as he once was, that much was obvious and thruth be told, she wasn’t either. Ten years in a family war did many things to her and while on the outside, not much seemed to have changed, her inside were almost rotten. Desmera was ready to ignore him when their eyes met. When she lost Mina, she thought of him at one point, wondering if that would be a thing that made him reach out, as he knew that kind of lost. But the thought, the desire of him reaching out at been fleeting. There was no time to wait around for ghosts.

Tentative steps were taken, almost unassured, which was something strange for her. Maybe Desmera was scared the ghost would vanish if she got too close. In silence, she sat next to him, almost as if he had to be tamed before she spoke. “Bryce,” she said softly after a minute of silence. The obvious could be said, things like it’s been a while, but they were long past that. “Glad to see you made it out in one piece.” She was racking her brain, trying to remember who other than her aunt and the newlyweds were killed, to remember if he once again lost anyone. “Negroni,” she told the bartender. “Can I offer you a drink?” For old times sake, she finished in her head, wondering if the unsaid would be obvious to him or not.

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Her comment about making it out was met with a shrug. Part of him knew it was something of a safe topic when after so many years he’d hardly given her anything else to go off. Still, he never had been the loquacious type no matter the situation and that wasn’t about to change now. “Always do.” On anyone else the words might have sounded cocky but from him they were matter of fact. Almost bored sounding with a hint of disappointment creeping in. The man he was now was a far cry from the man he knew his mother had envisioned for him but he knew where his skills lay. He was brutal and efficient, rarely giving anyone an opening or opportunity to leave a mark on him. “You too.” There was probably more to say, he knew that she’d lost her aunt during it and yet he couldn’t bring himself to give those thoughts voice. 

The offer of a drink made him pause knowing that it would delay him getting out of there as soon as possible. Tying him to an interaction he was already certain he didn’t really want to have. But maybe it was about time they talked, despite how much he wanted to avoid it for as long as possible and it was too late to leave now. Hand rubbed over his face for a moment as he deliberated, eventually deciding that it would be too rude to say no with his own glass so near to empty. “Alright.” Small nod was given before he gave his order, words meant for both her and the bartender. “A rum, thanks.” He figured that a smaller drink would be drunk quicker, giving him that option of a sharper exit. 

From time to time there was always one the near constant stream of initiates he brought in to get looked over that decided to get smart with it. This one seemed to think that they were clever enough to joke with the nurse that was busy patching him up. Before could say something, Rosaline did and then his sharp, steely gaze bored into the initiate in question. His expression remained as unreadable as ever apart from the hardness that lingered on his features. Eventually he speaks, warning rolling off his tongue with rumbling thunder clinging to his tongue. “Think carefully before you answer that.” To hit his point home and ensure that they knew that he wasn’t the only threat there, he continued. “She can just as easily make it worse and I won’t stop her.” For once the initiate seemed to have some sense and quick apology and soon enough they were done. As he stood he gave the strawberry blonde a nod of acknowledgement before stern gaze turned back to the younger man. “Say thank you to Nurse Peake.”

With a huff he turned back to his barstool only to find it suddenly occupied in the few moments he’d stepped away. He wasted no time in leaning against the bar and addressing the new occupier, refusing to give up his little corner of solace that easily. “That was my seat.” 

location: the red keep open to: everyone

Despite being Robert’s son and an associate of the Stags to boot, Edric would not be inclined to call himself ‘Stag aligned’ (he was Renly and Stannis aligned, which naturally sometimes meant he served Stag interests, but Edric always liked to make the distinction), and had always been someone who would talk to others regardless of their own involvement with other families.  Stark, Baratheon, Lannister, Tully, Martell, etc. he really didn’t care, as long as they were fun to be with and could hold a conversation.  To an extent, he had never really paid much attention to territorial lines, and could be seen frequenting any number of family owned establishments.  But after his father’s attempted murder, despite his dislike for the man, Edric found himself a bit on edge, even in a neutral territory such as the Red Keep.  So when he felt a pair of eyes on him from across the bar, it took him a minute to realize it was someone he recognized, not someone wanting to kill him (well, he hoped, anyways, he didn’t think he had wronged them).  It was only as he offered a wave, did he suddenly realize his mind had gone blank on their name, despite obviously knowing it (could he blame it on the two drinks he had? he wasn’t sure).  They seemed to be heading his way and all he could whisper was “shit, shit, shit, shit.”

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As much as he liked to pretend that he rarely did anything for others he knew that he was hardly the most convincing with it. Usually all someone had to do was tell him that something needed done and he’d take care of it. No questions asked and definitely no thanks needed when he hated fussed. It was some remnants of the son that his mother had raised - look after others wherever you can - and it meant that if someone ever asked him, he struggled to say no. That was why as much as he hated the Red Keep, he’d been unable to turn Edric down. With nothing really planned for the night he couldn’t in good conscience simply ignore the text and so instead he had reluctantly made his way to the bar. The awkward exchange was spotted as soon as he entered, glare sent in the direction of whoever had tried to make a beeline towards Edric and they soon thought better of it. He wove his own way through the crowd, he shaking as he finally made it to the bar. “Can you not keep yourself out of trouble?” Elbows propped on the bar as he made to get the bartender’s attention. “If I get you another will you forget my name too?”

🎤 - Can they sing?

While he would never admit to it he inherited his mother’s ability to carry a tune. He’d never sing in public but his voice is pretty pleasant even if it wouldn’t be enough for him to make a career out of it (not that he’d want to). He only ever really sings when he’s cooking and it’s something unconscious with his focus on the dish he’s creating.

🏃 - Are they athletic?