[Day 12] A Sobering Moment [Laena & Balon]
Jan 13, 2019 21:43:38 GMT 1
Ashara Starkwood, Balon Blackbriar, and 1 more like this
Post by Laena Pyre on Jan 13, 2019 21:43:38 GMT 1
[Note: this post has been approved by Father]
Laena opened her eyes.
She felt ... happy. Warm. Content.
Something's wrong. She learned as a child to never trust those feelings. They meant she was missing something.
She couldn't see much in the dark, but she was lying down in a comfortable bed, under covers. One of her arms was numb. She could feel it lying across her body, but couldn't feel the arm itself. She tried to move it, and was rather surprised when a completely *different* arm started lifting the covers.
By the Seven, I've grown a third arm!
A moment later, her half-asleep brain puts it together, just as she hears the sound of a pig fucking an aurochs coming from right behind her head, and her memories come back.
Oh, you stupid fucking cunt! Literally!
She struggles to control her breathing as the memories of what she did rush through her. Wild. Wanton. She consoles herself that, even in her drunken state, her dragon still didn't consider him 'hers' - if she did, she'd have scratched up his back, nipped his neck, bitten his shoulder, basically everything short of branding 'PROPERTY OF LAENA' on his forehead. But each time, she'd drawn back.
Still, she was most definitely *thoroughly* fucked, in more ways than one. And men brag about that kind of thing. There'll be enough gossip about her already, she doesn't need him telling him all his revolutionary friends about that thing she does with her tongue.
Nor throwing it into Ashara's face the next time they fight.
But Laena had a plan.
Laena *always* had a plan.
It probably wouldn't hold up for long, but this was the end of the tourney, it didn't need to.
Plus, it was funny.
Carefully, she extracts herself from beneath Balon's arm, then from under the covers. Carefully fumbling around in the dark, she manages to locate and put on her clothes, then tidy her hair enough by touch to make her presentable enough.
She wonders if she'll have time. Going back to Balon, she smells his breath as he snores. She wrinkles her nose as the strong 'skunk died in a brewery' smell of stale ale wafts at her, indicating she should have time, if she doesn't dawdle. On a whim, she turns back to him, and softly kisses his cheek before leaving.
It was late, but she knew where to find her contact, and fortunately, it was not too far. Within a few minutes, she was knocking on a door. When the merchant lady answered, Laena gave the recognition signs, and pushed her way in. "My Lady?" the merchant asks, surprised at the late interruption.
Not wasting any time in pleasantries, Laena describes what she needs. "Can you do it?"
"Yes, My Lady. Err .. will you be staying here? Should I make tea?"
"Yes, I'll be staying. I'm certainly not loitering on the street. But no tea, just go. Time's wasting." She hands across a pouch of coins, and the merchant leaves.
After about a quarter-hour of restlessly pacing, the merchant returned, a young woman in tow. A little too much make-up and perfume, but not too bad. As requested, she wore a dress of the same colour as Laena, albeit a much cheaper cut and material. Most impressive, though, was that she'd clearly de-coloured her originally-blonde hair in what was clearly a cheap approximation of Targaryen platinum. Even at a distance, you'd tell the difference, but it was as close as you could get unless you chanced upon a royal bastard having hit *seriously* hard times, and she just wasn't that lucky.
Laena gives the whore a long, non-plussed look, true Targaryen staring at a counterfeit one. "As much as I am pleased at how well you met my demand, I can't help but be rather put out as well." She tells the merchant, before focusing back on the whore. "I need you to come with me, and sleep with a man. And I mean literally just sleep. When he wakes up, you'll pretend that you had sex with him earlier. While you were both drunk, from the remembrance party of a man named Lord Karl, where you were brought in because far more men came to this tourney than women, so they needed to balance out the numbers. He was *very* drunk, got your name wrong constantly, but was charming enough, so you had sex, but when you both wake up, you have to go, you're late for ... something. Then leave, before your story falls apart under scrutiny."
The whore stares back. "He was that bad, eh?"
"What? No, he was fine. He just ... never you mind. You understand what you have to do?"
Shrug. "Sure. Simple enough."
Another coin purse exchanges hands. "For your silence." Laena adds. "Oh, and whatever your name actually is, tonight, it's 'Laura'."
'Laura' shrugs again. "Sure, whatever. You've got the gold, you make the rules."
Heading back to the inn, separate enough that people wouldn't think them 'together', Laena quietly opens the door to confirm Balon's still sleeping. When Laura catches up, she cocks her head into the room. "Casually discard your clothes on the way to the bed." she whispers. "And carefully wrap his arm around your waist if you can, with him behind you." She holds up a hand to stop her as she realises something. "Oh, and his name is Ser Balon."
Without answering, Laura enters the room. Once she sees her discarding her clothes as directed, Laena quietly closes the door, and leaves. Pity I won't see his reaction when he wakes up. Still, she chuckles lightly on the way to the Starkwood camps at the images she conjures in her brain, trying to fight against the crushing feeling of impending doom once the rumours inevitably start spreading.
Laena opened her eyes.
She felt ... happy. Warm. Content.
Something's wrong. She learned as a child to never trust those feelings. They meant she was missing something.
She couldn't see much in the dark, but she was lying down in a comfortable bed, under covers. One of her arms was numb. She could feel it lying across her body, but couldn't feel the arm itself. She tried to move it, and was rather surprised when a completely *different* arm started lifting the covers.
By the Seven, I've grown a third arm!
A moment later, her half-asleep brain puts it together, just as she hears the sound of a pig fucking an aurochs coming from right behind her head, and her memories come back.
Oh, you stupid fucking cunt! Literally!
She struggles to control her breathing as the memories of what she did rush through her. Wild. Wanton. She consoles herself that, even in her drunken state, her dragon still didn't consider him 'hers' - if she did, she'd have scratched up his back, nipped his neck, bitten his shoulder, basically everything short of branding 'PROPERTY OF LAENA' on his forehead. But each time, she'd drawn back.
Still, she was most definitely *thoroughly* fucked, in more ways than one. And men brag about that kind of thing. There'll be enough gossip about her already, she doesn't need him telling him all his revolutionary friends about that thing she does with her tongue.
Nor throwing it into Ashara's face the next time they fight.
But Laena had a plan.
Laena *always* had a plan.
It probably wouldn't hold up for long, but this was the end of the tourney, it didn't need to.
Plus, it was funny.
Carefully, she extracts herself from beneath Balon's arm, then from under the covers. Carefully fumbling around in the dark, she manages to locate and put on her clothes, then tidy her hair enough by touch to make her presentable enough.
She wonders if she'll have time. Going back to Balon, she smells his breath as he snores. She wrinkles her nose as the strong 'skunk died in a brewery' smell of stale ale wafts at her, indicating she should have time, if she doesn't dawdle. On a whim, she turns back to him, and softly kisses his cheek before leaving.
It was late, but she knew where to find her contact, and fortunately, it was not too far. Within a few minutes, she was knocking on a door. When the merchant lady answered, Laena gave the recognition signs, and pushed her way in. "My Lady?" the merchant asks, surprised at the late interruption.
Not wasting any time in pleasantries, Laena describes what she needs. "Can you do it?"
"Yes, My Lady. Err .. will you be staying here? Should I make tea?"
"Yes, I'll be staying. I'm certainly not loitering on the street. But no tea, just go. Time's wasting." She hands across a pouch of coins, and the merchant leaves.
After about a quarter-hour of restlessly pacing, the merchant returned, a young woman in tow. A little too much make-up and perfume, but not too bad. As requested, she wore a dress of the same colour as Laena, albeit a much cheaper cut and material. Most impressive, though, was that she'd clearly de-coloured her originally-blonde hair in what was clearly a cheap approximation of Targaryen platinum. Even at a distance, you'd tell the difference, but it was as close as you could get unless you chanced upon a royal bastard having hit *seriously* hard times, and she just wasn't that lucky.
Laena gives the whore a long, non-plussed look, true Targaryen staring at a counterfeit one. "As much as I am pleased at how well you met my demand, I can't help but be rather put out as well." She tells the merchant, before focusing back on the whore. "I need you to come with me, and sleep with a man. And I mean literally just sleep. When he wakes up, you'll pretend that you had sex with him earlier. While you were both drunk, from the remembrance party of a man named Lord Karl, where you were brought in because far more men came to this tourney than women, so they needed to balance out the numbers. He was *very* drunk, got your name wrong constantly, but was charming enough, so you had sex, but when you both wake up, you have to go, you're late for ... something. Then leave, before your story falls apart under scrutiny."
The whore stares back. "He was that bad, eh?"
"What? No, he was fine. He just ... never you mind. You understand what you have to do?"
Shrug. "Sure. Simple enough."
Another coin purse exchanges hands. "For your silence." Laena adds. "Oh, and whatever your name actually is, tonight, it's 'Laura'."
'Laura' shrugs again. "Sure, whatever. You've got the gold, you make the rules."
Heading back to the inn, separate enough that people wouldn't think them 'together', Laena quietly opens the door to confirm Balon's still sleeping. When Laura catches up, she cocks her head into the room. "Casually discard your clothes on the way to the bed." she whispers. "And carefully wrap his arm around your waist if you can, with him behind you." She holds up a hand to stop her as she realises something. "Oh, and his name is Ser Balon."
Without answering, Laura enters the room. Once she sees her discarding her clothes as directed, Laena quietly closes the door, and leaves. Pity I won't see his reaction when he wakes up. Still, she chuckles lightly on the way to the Starkwood camps at the images she conjures in her brain, trying to fight against the crushing feeling of impending doom once the rumours inevitably start spreading.
