This takes Prior five minutes to listen through (the words swim together too much for his cotton-wool vision to read easily) - then several more as he plays it back again. A few more to blink and smile.]
What's to forgive?
[Too short a response for such a novel, so there's another text a minute later.]
I confused you, I know. If it helps, it was only deliberte the first time. You need to know I might make jokes you don't get in future, though. Sarcasm's how little boys like I was learn to talk. But you ca an ask anything you fail to follow. I assure you my intentions won't ever be anything untoward.
Oh for gods sake, life here would be so muc h easier if no one had come up with all these euphemisms. Little boys who want to kiss other little boys have to strap on armor to deflect blows from people who for some reasn want to hurt them for it. Humor often works for that. My words are akin to your rose print chain mail.
They locked me in their dungeon until I confessed to my crimes of laying with men. The mercy they granted might have saved me, for a time. I suppose it made no difference in the end.
[Two hours later, and an hour after Prior's thought to text Loras the name of the bar most local to him, prior's waiting at a table inside. The heat is oppressive, but here they have great fans whirring from the ceiling, and there's only a faint sheen of sweat glistening at the base of Prior's throat. He's wearing a white button-down, suited to the jungle explorer theme, unfastened at the top couple of buttons and paired with a loose blue cravat.
Blue, too, lines his eyes - an electric smudge beneath his lower lashes.
And blue would be the colour of the cocktail he's picked out for himself, decked out with unmbrellas and cute little twirly straws. He leans in rather than lift the glass to take a sip, as he waits for Loras to arrive.]
[ Loras favours this heat. It reminds him of the heat at home, and the humidity living by Storm's Bay. It's evident in his face that being in Wyver has already done much to improve his mood.
In his own light clothes, favouring greens and golds, he wanders into the bar. Blue eyes seek out Prior - hard to miss, really, with his wild drink and peculiar make up around his eyes. When Loras sits across from him, he doesn't really look at him. Social situations, one on one, he's still figuring those out. ]
Never? No bawdy knights nights out? What did you do for fun?
[It's strange not to be looked at, Prior has always made a point of being noticeable. But, while strangers across the room are tossing glances at him, his companion for the evening is looking away. Quietly, he takes a guess as to why.]
I'm not about to climb on the table and sing It's Raining Men, just so you know. You can relax.
Oh - No, I - [ He's just not as outwardly charming as he pretended to be, is all. And being one of the poorer liars in his family, Loras had learned that being detached or aloof made it easier to survive in Westeros. ] A drink would be lovely.
[ He glances at Prior, at the odd drink, tries to relax. ]
My lord Renly Baratheon loved parties. He hosted many grand balls and dances, and Highgarden, we'd have parties - masquerades for the harvest. I never had need for bawdy evenings out.
Oh, we have something in common, your lord and I. I was a party planner, of sorts, at home.
[On the months when the modest trust fund didn't stretch all 31 days. Prior flags a passing host here, and smiles his way into a second drink. Something bright with cherries perched over the rim. Prior pushes it across.]
[ He takes the drink, if only because it offers a brief break in conversation. It's a tender topic, and he's sure that Prior will put the pieces together and read well enough between the lines. ]
He was my king, yes. My duty and allegiance was sworn to him long before. I was his squire until I became his knight. [ Loras sips the drink. He makes a face, having not expected it to be so sweet. The second sip is a little better. ] He'd been a bit like you.
[ That is to say, quick witted and outgoing, teasing but well meaning. They'd had as many disagreements as they'd had their moments of sweetness. Loras purses his lips around his straw. ]
I don't know the whole - titles thing, how that works. A squire is [Sooome kind of cockney Dick-Van-Dyke Mary Poppins rhyming slang? Perhaps best not to mention, considering Loras' previous sensitivity with words.] not a thing I'm familiar with. But a bit like me? I can't say I've been compared to a king before.
{Leaving aside the obvious queen comments, for once.]
I hope he was a good one. [Rather than unpleasant, of course.]
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This takes Prior five minutes to listen through (the words swim together too much for his cotton-wool vision to read easily) - then several more as he plays it back again. A few more to blink and smile.]
What's to forgive?
[Too short a response for such a novel, so there's another text a minute later.]
I confused you, I know. If it helps, it was only deliberte the first time. You need to know I might make jokes you don't get in future, though. Sarcasm's how little boys like I was learn to talk. But you ca an ask anything you fail to follow. I assure you my intentions won't ever be anything untoward.
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Gay ...
Oh for gods sake, life here would be so muc h easier if no one had come up with all these euphemisms. Little boys who want to kiss other little boys have to strap on armor to deflect blows from people who for some reasn want to hurt them for it. Humor often works for that. My words are akin to your rose print chain mail.
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You like other men? And you don't mind saying it so freely?
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[ There's a long pause while Loras debates his words. If he can trust anyone with this particular side of him, it must be Prior. ]
They killed me for it.
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I don't think I follow.
[Correction: hopes he doesn't.]
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In your own world, before the storm, you died?
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[He just has to ask.]
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Loras.
Would you care to get a drink wth me?
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I'd like that, yes.
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Perhaps two.
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We're not quite acquainted enough. I'll see you soon, Prior.
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Blue, too, lines his eyes - an electric smudge beneath his lower lashes.
And blue would be the colour of the cocktail he's picked out for himself, decked out with unmbrellas and cute little twirly straws. He leans in rather than lift the glass to take a sip, as he waits for Loras to arrive.]
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In his own light clothes, favouring greens and golds, he wanders into the bar. Blue eyes seek out Prior - hard to miss, really, with his wild drink and peculiar make up around his eyes. When Loras sits across from him, he doesn't really look at him. Social situations, one on one, he's still figuring those out. ]
Do you know, I've never been to a tavern before
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[It's strange not to be looked at, Prior has always made a point of being noticeable. But, while strangers across the room are tossing glances at him, his companion for the evening is looking away. Quietly, he takes a guess as to why.]
I'm not about to climb on the table and sing It's Raining Men, just so you know. You can relax.
[He lifts his glass]
Want a Fruity Fumble?
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[ He glances at Prior, at the odd drink, tries to relax. ]
My lord Renly Baratheon loved parties. He hosted many grand balls and dances, and Highgarden, we'd have parties - masquerades for the harvest. I never had need for bawdy evenings out.
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[On the months when the modest trust fund didn't stretch all 31 days. Prior flags a passing host here, and smiles his way into a second drink. Something bright with cherries perched over the rim. Prior pushes it across.]
But what does your lord mean? The king?
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He was my king, yes. My duty and allegiance was sworn to him long before. I was his squire until I became his knight. [ Loras sips the drink. He makes a face, having not expected it to be so sweet. The second sip is a little better. ] He'd been a bit like you.
[ That is to say, quick witted and outgoing, teasing but well meaning. They'd had as many disagreements as they'd had their moments of sweetness. Loras purses his lips around his straw. ]
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{Leaving aside the obvious queen comments, for once.]
I hope he was a good one. [Rather than unpleasant, of course.]
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