The King's Tournament Faire

Tatum didn't know much about this woman nor did he care really. He felt that he'd went a little too high-and-mighty when it came to his introduction, so he decided to keep the mutuality they had when he first approached her.

"And what would you like me to address you as?"

(Hopefully I said that right)

Scirye found Tatum at the archery field talking to some lady. She quietly walked over and stood behind him, waiting to see how long it would take him to notice her. She didn't really want to go back to the table, so the longer it took to get Tatum, the better.

Klaus arrived late, walking uncomfortably in his suit of armor. He was so sure before, but now that he got here, he started to get a little nervous. What chance did he have of beating out the competition and getting the princess' hand anyway? He began going over everything he discusses with his friends back in his hometown in his head as he readjusted his armor for about the 50th time since putting it on.

Her eyes widened. "Prince Maervagard?" She immediately dropped into a low curtsy, embarrassed. "Heavens! My apologies, Your Highness!" Genevieve felt herself turning an uncomfortable shade of red. How could she not have recognized him? She felt worse than a fool -- perhaps the sleepless nights had finally caught up to her.

She snapped out of her thoughts just in time to hear his question. "Genevieve Smith," she responded. "A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."

Tatum laughed. He enjoyed watching her scramble like that.

"No need for courtesies, Genevieve. Refer to me as Tatum! I'd like to be your friend, not your boss."

Tatum laughed again. He then gave her a sincere smile. "I'd love to learn how to work well with a bow one of these days. Perhaps you could give me a few pointers?"

Adelbard returned Myantha's smile with a thin one of his own, brows knit apologetically. Roland still coughed and spluttered after inhaling his spiced mead, so, thankfully, his lips were kept sealed.

"Yes," Adelbard mused at Synthia's chiding. "Falling too deep into your cups before a battle is a sure way to drown there. And yet ... t'is also rude to deny your host's generosity." The Laudessagne refilled Roland's cup and pushed it back into the Michelage's hand. One might have called it sabotage ... if he didn't refill his own right after. He had no intention of winning the joust, no matter what his father desired. I can stay a bachelor a few months longer, he thought. Just a few. It was a selfish thought, but he'd already had two cups of fine drink and felt very much like he deserved such an outlook.

The Beauvraldi's attention settled upon the Lasmian who sat down nearby. He did not see through her guise, and his brows arched high at her boasting. "Well met, Sir Berclav," Adelbard said. "I am Sir Adelbard Laudessagne of Upper Sueldey. You are breaking a fast? It does not seem wise to fast before trials of strength and endurance. I hope the meal is enough to replenish you."

"There is a fine line, Ser. And it seems your friend may have already crossed it." The white haired knight smirked slightly at the man who was coughing and spluttering like a fool. "But, we shall have to wait and see. Perhaps even still he can sit on a horse." He might fall off, and she would enjoy a laugh at his expense if he did. But she was not going to say much else about it, especially since a new knight joined them at the table.

"A fast?" Her eyebrows rose up for a moment as she wondered what sort of knight fasted before a tourney and thought themselves still capable of winning. "Well, be careful not to make yourself sick, breaking your fast." She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her own food. One too many times she'd seen men who fasted for a while and then when they broke the fast they ate so much they ended up puking and miserable for the next several hours.

Myantha's attention turned away from the conversation as she lost interest, her gaze wandering up to the nobles again before moving down towards the fields where the tournament would be held. She picked up a cup of the mead and took a few small sips. Might as well be polite enough to drink a bit, even if she was no fan of the flavor of mead.

It was the arrival of the Ser Berclav that drew her attention back to the table. A small frown formed about her lips when he spoke. Oh, and she'd thought the knights who were already here were difficult to tolerate. Her gaze trailed back up to the table for the nobles. She really wanted to get to the Joust already... but she needed to be patient.

Olivia was certain to look Adelbard in the eye, stacking her plate full of food, "Well met, Ser Adelbard. And do not take my feasting for gluttony's sake. Many of my following, squires and parades, would not be able to seat themselves. Mine task is thus: I must carry their plates in time. But that can come later." Her eyes shifted to the upward side, her plate stacked with meat, pieces of fruit, dressed vegetables, hunks of cheese, and bread. A few goblets of wine and an extra set of silverware were nearby. Taking just a brief moment to think, Olivia looks towards Synthia, but focuses on Adelbard, feared for her disguise, "Should I not be sick, the competition should surely suffer. I must level myself with the other knights, such is the strength and cunning of Ser Berclav." She places a hand upon her chest and gives her best boastful laugh, "Oh ho ho!"

"Ah, I'd be glad to, Pri-- Tatum," Genevieve stumbled. "If your father would permit me to teach you, of course. I'll be in Tharrelund for a while yet." She laughed slightly, gesturing to the range vividly as she spoke.

She suddenly noticed a young woman standing a short way from them. Recognizing her, Genevieve smiled warmly, dropping into a curtsy. Though the prince seemed to be far more lenient with formalities, she wasn't sure how his sister felt. "Princess! What a joy to come across you."

Tatum nearly jumped when he noticed that his sister was standing behind him. He quickly spun around to face her. "A-Ah sister, eh-uh...how long were you standing there?"

Scirye nodded to the lady Tatum was talking to, her face blank. She didn't really care how people addressed her right now. She was fed up with all the nobles and pompous airbags at the tables she listened to. (No offense anyone)

When Tatum finally turned around and noticed her, there was the slightest appearance of a smile on her lips. "Long enough. But relax, it's not me you have to worry about."

Tatum's scared expression turned gloomy.

"It's father, isn't it?"

Scirye nodded grimly. "He wants you."

Tatum turned to look and Genevieve's smile. He cursed under his breath.

"Can't it wait?"

"I wish. I've already stalled long enough." Scirye looked just as annoyed as Tatum felt.

Tatum sighed. He then gave a bow to Genevieve.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Genevieve. Do take my offer seriously." He then turned in the direction of his designated table.

"Let's make haste, sister. I can't wait to see what father wants with me now." Tatum sounded sarcastic as ever before he marched back to the table.

Scirye gave Genevieve an apologetic smile before turning and following Tatum.

Garrold was still conversing with the Emperor when Tatum and Scirye came over. Garrold seemed to not notice them however.

Scirye retook her place at the table, and once again searched the faces of everyone there.