(514-09-26) Reckless Planning
Summary: Vesper meets Idris, and spills her guts.
Date: 514-09-26
Related: None
idris vesper 


On the way home from Sarum, the rather roundabout way, Vesper seems to feel the need to take a pause. The Bronze Duck is where the Lady de Newton ends up, seated at a table near the window, alone. The lady is a beauty and inclined to show it, her dark lockes set in glossy curls, her simple gown of forest green decorated with intricate blackstitch at hem and wrists, while her cobalt eyes sweep the view outside the window. Before her on the table, a small repast accompanied with ale, which she sips on idly while her pretty head is in the clouds.

The youngest knight of Bodenham is home after his duty officiating the tourney, drenched in rainwater. His tabard is darkened from the droplets that fell upon him, and he looks mildly annoyed by the way his hair keeps getting on his eyes. Nevertheless, he glances around, a bored face writ plainly across his features before he spots Vesper. An unfamiliar face in Ebble, to say the least, he approaches her with a slight nod, greeting with a faint smile. "My Lady. Here at Ebble Keep on business?"

Failed.
Vesper checked her flirting of 13, she rolled 18.

It's an unexpected intrusion, and Vesper is caught off guard. A deep-set gaze that would normally have looked at Idris coyly from beneath lowered lashes, falls upon him fully and sweeps from toe to head before it can be checked. "Ah. You catch me unawares, Sir, daydreaming as I was. Here," she pauses, chuckling with good grace, "to delay going home, at least for a little while longer. And you, Sir? What brings you to grace my day?" It's a feeble attempt at flirtation, to say the least.

The attempt at flirtation has Idris tilting his head curiously to Vesper, meeting her gaze as she seemingly sizes him up. And does so rather proudly, at that. "Curiosity, mostly," he is eager to humor her with a smile as he pulls back a chair for himself before settling down. "Going home, you say? Then north is surely the path you're heading."

"To Newton," The Lady confirms, watching him settle into the chair at her table with open amusement. "No 'M'lady, might I join you'?" Vesper asks him, a single dark brow lofted in solitary precision, arching like a raven's wing on her pale forehead. No offense colors her dulcet tone, only more of the same good grace, and some entertained surprise.

"Oh, I forgot entirely," Idris laughs, standing up before asking, then, ever the polite knight he isn't, not when he's impulsive. "May I join you at your table, my Lady?" He asks with a bright enough smile, edged a little with mischief.

Vesper's low, husky laughter rings forth in the room, like the pealing of the most melodic church bells. "Please, won't you?" she waves a hand to the seat he just vacated. "As it happens, I now have a free chair. Some terribly presumptive knight just left." The lady lifts her linen napkin to dab at the sharp bow of her lovely lips, and then adds, "For the love of everything, never take my teasing seriously again? May I speak plainly, Sir? Ceremony can go and stuff itself."

"Why, I completely agree," Idris laughs at Vesper's remark, glancing around. "Oh, where is the blackguard? I shall strike him down and bring his head back to you, my Lady," he vows, with a closed fist as he flashes her something of a lopsided grin. "If you would like me to never take you seriously again, my Lady, I shall not. I give my knight's word on that. Well, when it comes to ceremony, anyway. You certainly don't want me taking everything you say for a jape."

Failed.
Vesper checked her flirting of 13, she rolled 18.

"Not least of which would be were I to tell you how striking your… chest… is," Vesper retorts playfully, and then quickly must realize what a terrible flirtation it was for she cringes with an embarrassed laugh his way. "Ugh. Usually I do so much better than this when confronted with a handsome man," she relates conversationally, even apologetically. "Today, I fear, my mind is weighted by heavier matters. Perhaps we should properly introduce ourselves? It might give me a moment to collect my scattered wits."

"My chest?" Idris glances down at himself, and smirks at Vesper. "But I thank you for your compliment, my Lady. And yes, perhaps we ought. Sir Idris de Bodenham, also dubbed 'the Bull' by the Norgales army, at your pleasure," he reaches out, palm first, to take her hand in his, by way of introduction. He meets her gaze at that, smile curving a bit more brightly.

Failed.
Vesper checked her recognize of 3, she rolled 6.

"The name does not ring any immediate bells," Vesper admits, forthright as ever. She places one long-fingered, dextrous hand in his. "Though I feel certain, from the look of you, that you left a wonderful trail of destruction and broken-hearts in your wake. Lady Vesper de Newton, chirurgeon and sometime-singer, black sheep of the Newton family. A please, Sir Idris. Or should I call you the Bull?" she teases, and will allow her hand to linger in his as long as he chooses to keep it there.

"Whichever works for you, my Lady," Idris replies with a mischievous twist to that smile as she places her hand in his, and he lowers his head in order to kiss her knuckles, glancing up to her. "And I may have, Lady Vesper. Especially the trail of destruction. One has to make Salisbury proud, after all. But a black sheep, truly?" He considers that for a moment, before he chuckles, "I think all of us Bodenhams are black sheep." He will let her hand linger in his for a time, more amused than anything at her words, before he lowers her hand to the table with a soft brush of his thumb to the edge of her hand.

Vesper notes the niceties with a pleased twist of her rosy pink lips. The soft, sensitive spot his thumb brushed is given the same treatment by her own moments later, lingering over the enjoyment of such light flirtation. "Oh?" He's clearly piqued the lady's interests, and she leans forward, adjusting the evergreen of her dress to pull it just a little bit too taut, better to accentuate her form. "Black sheep, too, are you? And I assure you, I speak in all honesty. I often do." The wry smile that claims her lush mouth then replaces the softer grin of earlier. "My brother, Sir Joachim, has made it clear recently what a blight I am to our good Roman Christian name. I am more than half-surprised to not be confined to a convent or married off to some doddering old fool even as we speak. Oh, to be a man… Do you know how lucky you are, sir?"

"I will only marry at a time of my choosing," Idris replies, though he watches the way Vesper adjusts her dress tightly to accentuate her form. His eyes lift to hers, then, his other hand's thumb to flick across the edge of his chin while he studies her a bit more intently. If anything, he is the one sizing her up, now, and his lips curve into something of a smirk. "So if you're doomed to a convent or to a doddering old fool, why not have fun while you are able, my Lady? Both of those outcomes seem awfully terrible, after all," he points out, smirk twisting into something of a faint grin. "Am I lucky, my Lady? If my brother, the Earl or Lord Oswallt tell me to jump, I do."

"Yet, you can say with certainty that you will only marry at a time of your choosing, and that implies you are free to remain unwed for all your days if you should so choose," Vesper points out keenly, tossing her glossy head in an elegant, sweeping motion. "I envy you that, sir. But what if any of those notable men were to demand you marry? What would you do, Sir Idris? For that is a choice I am damned with, and having fun now is exactly what has landed me in such hot water. No," she muses, lashes sweeping down in thought, "what I need is a diversion… a plan…"

"It is true, and I could spend my days boozing and visiting houses of ill repute. Though I think at some point that would become a political inconvenience for my brother." Idris offers a one-shouldered shrug at that, beckoning to a servant. "Ale," he says simply, waiting until it's served while he listens to Vesper. As it is placed upon the table, he reaches for it as he looks to Vesper. "What kind of plan? Or diversion?" He pauses, "If I was told to marry, I would either make myself ineligible for that person or just go along with it. It depends."

"Now, if I knew what sort of plan would work, would I be sitting here spilling my deep dark secrets to a nigh-total stranger in hopes of inspiration?" Vesper points out with a charming, dimpled grin. She reaches for her own ale, spurred on by the appearance of his. "How would you make yourself ineligible?" she grills him, leaning even closer, her curiosity spurring her on. "If you were a woman, I mean. Something that would not land you in a convent."

Sipping from his ale, Idris considers Vesper's words before replying, simply, "Well, to be honest, if I was a woman and was still young but thought of such things, I would become a knight and quest far, far away from Logres," he points out, "in your case, it's hard to know, short of alienating all your prospective suitors. Infamy is not something you want, so I can't exactly tell you what I'd have in mind for a beautiful woman such as yourself," he laughs, watching as she leans even closer to him.

Critical Fail!
Vesper checked her reckless of 16, she rolled 20.

Vesper watches Idris for a moment, indecision warring in the deep cobalt depths of her vast eyes. Finally, she withdraws, settling her lithesome frame back upon the chair, taking her ale with her. "I am afraid you had better not," Vesper says, on a wistful sigh. "Unless it is that you wish to help me create a deception of a perfectly perfect courtship…"

Failed.
Idris checked his reckless of 16, he rolled 17.

"And how would I go about that?" Idris reclines against his seat while he studies Vesper from across the table, sipping from his ale. He seems to take the rejection of the notion quite well all told. Still quite amused at the Newton, even so. "Stop by Bodenham sometime, Lady. I can't promise much, in times such as now where Dorset threatens our borders, but once that's settled I am sure we can drink again." He stands up before reaching for some coins in a money pouch, tossing them on the table. "Or just send for me if you happen to get any wicked ideas. I'm always willing to entertain those."

"Oh, I've plenty," Vesper assures Idris with a fluid, suggestive grin. "The likelihood of me being able to visit you is slim to none, but if you were to come calling, reassuring my brother of your good intentions, it might be that I could be set free more often. You could be my… cover," the lady steeples her fingers, thoughtfully. "Though, of course, there would have to be something in it for you… give it some thought?" she suggests, lightly, though her voice retains a hint of wickedness on its own. "I shall be locked away at Newton unless you rescue me." The beautiful curve of her chin is dipped to him, tantalizing. "God go with you, Sir Idris."

"Perhaps I will assist you, if there's something in it for me," Idris replies, lifting his eyebrow, ever so amused at that. "Your cover," he laughs, shaking his head as he offers her a nod in goodbye, that suggestive grin mirrored ever so slightly by a mischievous smile. "And with you, Lady Vesper." Certainly, the youngest Bodenham knight has come out of this impromptu meeting in good humors, for he chuckles on his way out. Perhaps he understands the Newton and her mischief.

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