675-11-17 - Never go to Purple Ribbon!
| Never go to Purple Ribbon! | |||||||
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| Summary: The young Nawaab Arif Sefu can't go back to his room after a few wild nights in the Purple Ribbon. Plus, his women makes fun of him. | |||||||
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"I-I..." the staggering man tries to raise his hand up and wave with it dangerously at the guards of the gatehouse, "I-I... *ick* M... TELL-TELLING YOU..." His tongue really doesn't want to listen for the man. "I AM RICH AND POWERFULL AND I AM NOBLE..."
The two guards look at each other and shake their heads, "Go away, beggar! We heard many stories like that!"
Some people stop and watch the scene, some just move around it. Not everyone like seeing really drunk strong man getting into a conflict with city guards.
The man himself is tall, muscular, but his clothes are tattered a bit. His body is all dusty, maybe a bit muddy. And he definitely is really drunk.
"THIS FUCKING... I don't know what it was, but I was robbed and they gave me something. FUCKING ISLAND... Let me in!" He tries to mumble and leans against the barrels, trying to keep himself on feet.
It is a rare thing for Edris to venture to the gatehouse, as she has not been allowed to leave the palace due to her condition, and certain... circumstances that had led to it. But right now she is taking one of her daily walks. The voice of the man, along with the accent will catch her attention however, her head is raised and grey-green eyes will drift to the supposed beggar, widening at first, as her face goes pale. Then narrowing a tad, as a faint smirk will curl her lips. Leaning over to one of the guards she will murmur: "A noble? That?" A bit of a sparkle has entered her gaze as she straightens, her hands resting on the impressive curve of her belly. "You should know better, good man, than to confuse these guards with lies, and your fowl language."
There is a bench, next to the entrance. And there is someone sitting on that bench. If one were to look closely, they would see a woman's hands swiftly knitting a little garment fit for a newborn. And all that would be happening in the close vicinity of a three month pregnant womb. The owner of said womb smiles sweetly at the garment in the making. "See, a garment in the making..." and it is at this point that, the first two hands still busy knitting, a third hand, Samuela's, not someone else's, caresses the womb. "...for a baby in the making!" Of course, Samuela did not turn into a three-armed freak overnight. It's just that the first two hands belong to someone else: a "Guest's Handmaiden" temporarily lent by the Isles to a visiting noble; it is not proper for a lady to do that much manual work. "You are doing a wonderful job with that little suit, Camilla!", compliments Samuela, to which Camilla replies, "Just doing my duty, My Lady.", managing to close her eyes and bow a little without interrupting her work. And then, the disturbance happens. Samuela looks startled, and, for the time being, cannot do anything but look in surprise at what is happening.
The man sways a bit, staring at his own feet for now, before he raises his look up to the woman. That's when at least a little bit he gets back his clear conciousness, "YOU!" All he manages to shout, before leaning to the barrel again. For the moment, it may look like he is ready to get rid of his breakfast, if he had some. But it's a flase alarm.
The drunk Nawaab Arif Sefu tries to speak, "You... Tell him, redhead, that I am the heir to the lands of SEFU!" His voice may sound a bit angry.
There is a visible flinch when Arif shouts at Edris like that, the anger lurking behind that tone all too familiar - or possibly lurking, as he is obviously still in the state drunken tipsiness. The shout however is enough to convince her that she should better abandon her little game, diverting as it had been. And, additionally, the conversation within the gatehouse betwixt Samulea and the handmaiden, has been noted as well, when Edris bites her lip and lowers her gaze. "Indeed.", she remarks, when she looks up again and meets Samuela's gaze and seeing the astonishment in the young wife of the Nawaab she straightens and offers her an apologetic smile.
"This is the Nawaab Arif Sefu, of the Golden Lion," the redhead admits with a sigh, to the guards. "If... you will excuse me for a moment...?" A swift curtsey is offered before she walks away, her own handmaiden huyyring to keep up with her.
Samuela says, "Is he? Really?", her usual sweetness somehow temperated with deep doubt, so much Camilla casts a sideways glance at her, while still knitting away like there is no tomorrow. "He looks so..." she moves to stand up, the handmaiden just able to say "Milady!", but not to stop her. She shuffles slowly towards the gate, gaping, unable to believe what she is seeing. She glances between Edris and her husband. She has a pained, sad look, as if she suddenly realized something painful. Maybe that nobility is sometimes bestowed onto those who do not deserve it, and vice versa. "I... I would not be so sure.", she says, hesitant. "Who tells us that this is not just a beggar who is extremely good at imitating him? I saw a bard doing impressions, last year. It was /amazing/ what he could do with a little makeup and an appropriate intonation of the voice." She casts a compassionate glance towards Edris, as if she was somehow trying to rebalance karma with her eyes alone. And then turns to do it with her tongue as well: "...if he really is my husband, let him prove it: You know my favourite food item? If you really are my loving husband, you can demonstrate so by bringing me some!" . Springberries. In November! Some /might/ be found in the hot climate of Two Lions... but over here in the Isles?!
When Edris finally acknowledges the fact, that the man is noble, Arif tries to straighten up. The way he looks at the guards is as if he is saying, "I told you!"
The guards look to eahc other, then to Edris. For a moment, they might look stressed out. One of them actually bows to Arif and whispers, "We are so sorry, my lord..."
But then Samuela comes. They know her, definitely! The charming little lady, who had to marry that horrible man! Both knights bow deeply to the lady, before turning to Arif, "She would know, who her husband is!"
Arif frowns, before almost growling, "YOU ARE MY WIFE!"
The man touches his head. It hurts, likely, "YOU ARE MY WIFE. How dare you to make fun of your husband!" The way he looks at Sammy is pretty dangerous, "GO PACK YOUR THINGS. We are leaving this fucking island. If I can't come in, you will get out and we will never come back here!" His tongue still barely listens for the man. He mutters, he hardly can make sense.
Samuela looks down. "Yes, it is him. There is no doubt. No impostor would have acted that way faced with this request." she says to the guards. "I am sorry, my Husband, but you understand that we needed to make sure it was really you. What if it was really an impostor that took your place? We needed to make sure. I'm certain you will understand.", she apologises, her voice far, far less daring now. "It was not meant as disrespect. Just... standard security measure. You have heard what happened to Count Zarchon, twenty years ago? We don't want a con artist to take your place!" Samuela and Camilla exchange a knowing glance, especially since Camilla is out of sight from the guards, Arif, and... pretty much anyone else except, possibly, Edris. How dare a man dare treat a woman like that? What barbarian place allows them to be in charge?
When finally he is acknowledged, Arif does not care much about Samuela's explanation. He comes closer all staggering and smelly. The man will wrap his one arm around Sammy's shoulder's,if she won't move away, "We should go to our chambers now..." He says, burring his face into Sammy's hair and inhaling their scent, "Ah, damn... You smell good and refreshing..." He says, hanging on the girl's fragile shoulders.
Samuela makes a face which means "...You don't.", but luckly she does so when her husband is busy with her hair, so he cannot see her. "Well, you look tired from... your... adventure.", she forces through a smile. "How about you take a very relaxing salt bath first? We were waiting for you, and-" she casts her eyes sideways at the word 'bath', Camilla had already darted off. "..I and Camilla have arranged to have one prepared /especially for you/, for when you came back!" With a controlled grimace of discomfort hidden as a nervous smile, her head pulled away, she twirls her finger on her husband's back, nervously. "Believe me. Everything will be better after that." And then she breathes in and leans closer, trying hard not to breathe in. "Everything." she whispers.
"Good, dearest. Good..." The man mumbles, first time calling her dearest, and, likely, meaning that honestly. And that is all what he can do. Sammy will be free to lead him to the bath. The man will be just like a heavy doll.
With the help of a guard (since, honestly, who in their right mind expects a pregnant noblewoman to lug her drunken husband around, all alone? At least in the Isles?), Samuela eventually manages to dischange Arif onto a sitting bench in the antechamber to the bath proper. "My goodness!", she exclaims, placing her hand on her sternum and breathing deeply. "Everything alright, My Lady?", asks Camilla, deeply concerned. "All this physical effort... *pant pant* I think... *pant pant*" She gulps. "Say nothing more, My Lady!", exclaims Camilla, and extends one hand towards Samuela. "We must go have you checked by a healer. Now." "Camilla... *pant pant* I don't think it's that serious..." "I insist, My Lady. I am sure that both you..." she glances to Arif. "and His Lordship do not want to run the /slightest/ risk to endanger a potential heir. The healer is not far from the bath. It will take just ten small hourglasses." she says. "If, like My Lady suspects it is nothing, we will be done when His Lordship will be about halfway his bath!" "Well...", says Samuela, still unused to a lady having to ask a husband for such permissions. She casts a glance sideways to Arif, not even hoping that he'll say yes, just that he'll be so slow to answer that she can hurry out of the room and claim the lack of answer as consensus.
