Chapter Text
The energy before a tournament, particularly the night before, is magnificent. Infectious, even.
People rush about, their chatter filling the evening air. They talk about who's here and who isn't, who they think will win, and who might upset the whole tournament. Favorites are mentioned, and bets are made. Death and danger are eminent, but they have yet to arrive so people can pretend they may not even show this year.
Janella inhales. Above the general scent of unwashed masses, she smells large game cooking. Smoke rises in columns from various areas, giving an idea as to the number of people here. She hums and pulls Florys closer.
"I cannot wait for tomorrow." Janella admits. A strange flutter builds in her chest at the admission.
Florys laughs. She leans into Janella.
"Can you not wait because you want to see if anyone asks for your favor? Or is it because you are secretly as blood thirsty as the rest of us?"
Janella wants to argue, she truly does, but when she opens her mouth, no words come forth. Perhaps if it were anyone other than her dearest friend saying such a thing, Janella could deny the accusations. Florys knows her too well, knows these events bring forth some savage part of Janella's heart she hides for the sake of appearances.
Appearances are everything. They truly can make or break Janella.
The thought of her appearance, her façade, breaking and the world seeing what truly lies within her heart bothers her.
It isn't because Janella harbors some secret or illness but rather because she is a reflection of her father, and Janella will not be the one to ruin Leo Tyrell's reputation.
Especially since she's Leo Tyrell's only daughter.
How Janella is perceived is of the utmost importance. This lesson is not merely a lesson but an ideology, a way of life for her. Her brothers serve of importance in they keep the lineage going. They are the life blood, the roots of the rose and stalk and stem, but Janella is the rose. She is the inticing smile, the flower, what draws the eye and the interest towards the family.
The flower itself is what is picked, not the roots. The flower is what is given to others and shown to others and draws more attention so more roses may be grown and propagate. She does not have the luxury of staying within the same parts of the garden. Her role lies beyond the garden and extends further into the world.
Janella must be pretty. She must be sweet. She must be tempting enough to be picked but not so temlting as to attract too much attention. She cannot acknowledge any thorns or briars.
Appearances and impressions are everything, and Janella's is the most important of them all, a crucial role she must fulfill and do so perfectly.
Florys nudges Janella, hard. Janella turns her attention back to her lady-in-waiting with a pout.
"I was joking."
"I know. I... it has been a long day is all." Janella sighs.
While she did not have to do much today, her mouth aches from smiling and talking, playing pretty doll for all of the guests and other Lords who might come by and talk with Leo.
The tournament is in honor of her, after all.
Her 18th name day is this week. It should be an exciting time, but it almost feels as if a noose is being placed around her neck. More and more men look at her differently now, more like breeding stock than an actual human. Janella knows she must marry, but the idea of marrying a man she does not know strikes her as repulsive.
Thankfully, Leo is not a stupid man. He could have had her betrothed years before but holds out for the ideal match and alliance. While he claims he waits for an offer he cannot deny, Janella also suspects her father senses her warriness.
"I know it has been a long day, but surely you cannot be tired now. The night is still young." Florys grins. Janella cannot help her soft smile in return.
"I merely lost myself in thought is all."
"Thank the Seven we are going to a party, then. Several drinks should cure you of that problem." Janella snorts and shakes her head. She bites the inside of her cheek. Florys leans in and whispers. "I cannot believe your father is okay with this. Us going to the Baratheon tent?"
Janella nearly snorts. Leo and Lyonel's relationship is a strange one. He respects Lyonel as a competitor and as another Lord, but on a personal level, he despises the man on a personal level. Lyonel is everything Leo is not, brash and rude, uncaring of what others think. To a man such as Leo, Lyonel's behavior almost offends him.
Janella understands it. Her father is an honorable man, and honorable men tend towards stricter views than most realize. It does benefit her, especially since him being well-liked often extends to her, but as Leo's daughter, it drives Janella mad. She is 18 now, a woman grown, yet she feels...
Coddled.
Trapped.
Janella presses her lips together and clears her throat.
"He believes we are going to visit with Alysanne. I am sure he will ask her about us to make sure we did go where we said we would."
She wants to go to the Baratheon tent for the sole reason of feeling some freedom. Everything Janella hears makes her blood sing. She wants it, craves it. The freedom of not thinking about what she must be but instead indulge in what she is calls to her like a siren's song. It making Leo upset is merely an added bonus.
She wants to run barefoot through flowers again, stand in the rain until she's soaked to the bone because it's what she decided to do, not another person telling her what she must do. Janella wants to make dirty jokes and cause trouble as she did in her youth. She wants a moment of pure, unadulterated freedom, one she need not feel shame for or hide. Stealing moments is not enough anymore; being unapologetic and bold for once in her life is a need, an itch she must scratch.
Marriage will confine her, keep her in a cage. This is her only opportunity before the iron door slams behind her.
Florys nods and leans against Janella. Her long brown hair brushes against Janella's shoulder. Janella smells the flowers she uses in her hair oils.
Florys understands and indulges with her. They spend what time they can taking what they need, whether it be from others or from each other. No one else gets it but Florys, for Florys sees Janella, the true Janella and not the picture she presents.
"It makes sense. I would expect nothing less from your father." Florys hums. She moves her hand down towards Janella's hand. For a second, Janella's breath hitches in her throat.
Florys remembers herself at the last minute and stops at Janella's wrist.
"Needless to say, but we must be careful."
Janella knows the warning isn't necessary; Florys always demonstrates discretion. Besides, they both understand the risks they take with this endeavor. It would ruin both of them and their families if anyone finds out what they do.
The risk is part of the fun.
Even from a young age, Janella took more risks than most children her age, particularly the girls. She never quite understood where she got her free spirit for her mother doesn't seem to have such a side to her either. It must be being the daughter of a knight is her best guess. She never found herself afraid often, getting into trouble on more than one occasion. Thankfully, she has Florus by her side, who would vouch for her and help her with her plans to evade the consequences of her actions.
"I will behave with the utmost discretion." Florys promises, putting a hand on her heart.
"I am hopeful Alysanne may have changed her ways since her marriage."
"Are you implying Lord Baratheon might be a bad influence? And you wish for him to use such influence on your own cousin?" Amusement colors Florys's voice. She clicks her tongue and nudges Janella with her shoulder. "How could you."
Janella laughs. She nudged Florys back by bumping her with her bicep. The two stagger over towards the right, both errupting into giggles as they do.
"Yes. That is exactly what I am implying."
****************
When they step into the tent, Janella's chest suddenly eases, becoming lighter. This is the right choice, no doubt in her mind. The whole tent rings with the clamour of voices and peals of laughter, and everyone seems to have ale in their hands or close at hand. Whole tables chatter loudly, almost as if competing with the others to be the loudest. While no one looks drunk off their ass yet, Janella notes several people already swaying to and fro despite being seated.
Janella's lips twitch. This is exactly what she wants. No one will pay much attention to anything in an environment like this, and if they do, they'll most likely be way too drunk to remember the specifics.
Janella turns to Florys. Florys grins, her expression no doubt echoing Janella's own. Her eyes scan the room, taking in as much of the scene as she can. Already, Florys searches the room like a predator looking for prey, seeking out who she thinks might be the most fun for them. Watching Florys makes Janella's heart beat rapidly in her chest; Florys has yet to let Janella down.
Janella clears her throat. Florys's gaze snaps back to Janella.
"We must both see Alysanne. Then you may go."
Florys dips her head in acknowledgement.
"Of course. We must be seen with her."
They begin weaving their way towards the table at the back of the tent, Janella holding onto Florys to keep her close as they do so. It isn't hard to spot Alysanne. Even from here, Janella sees Alysanne, her Tully red hair making her stand out amongst everyone. She sits at the high table.
Alysanne sits beside the most handsome man Janella's ever seen. Her mouth almost goes dry, the force of her attraction slaming so hard into her gut she cannot breath for a second.
It isn't as if Janella hasn't seen Lyonel Baratheon before now; she goes to tournaments often enough. Seeing him on the field is an entirely different matter than seeing him up close. For starters, without his armor on, Janella gets a much better look at him. Despite only being ten years her senior, he already has small grey streaks in his hair.
The grey does nothing to diminish the energy radiating from him. If anything, it only emphasizes the his features. Lyonel's eyes almost glitter with delight as he takes in the crowd. On his head sits an antler crown. Given the antlers on his helm, it doesn't surprise Janella to see him wearing them on a crown.
Does he let Alysanne wear it during sex? Janella's tongue flicks out to wet her lips. It only works if Lyonel lets Alysanne ride him.
Janella turns her attention back to the crowd, inhaling quickly. She needs to focus. The time for play will come, but it must be later in the night.
When Janella and Florys clear the crowd, Alysanne spots them almost immediately. Her countance visibly brightens, her happiness shining through like a light.
"Janella!" Alysanne visibly brightens up at the sight of her cousin. She stands up and heads around the table. Janella meets her halfway. Much to her surprise, Alysanne pulls her into a hug, one which Janella tightly reciprocate.
Seven be good. She didn't realize how much she missed Alysanne until now.
Janella pulls back first. Alysanne doesn't let her go far, grabbing her forearms and holding onto her.
"Alysanne." Janella greets warmly. Her lips twitch. "Or would you prefer I call you Lady Baratheon now?"
Alysanne gives her a look most might find dangerous. Janella merely laughs.
"You have known me far too long for such formalities."
Janella shrugs. "One must not count on anything. For all I know, you might let your new title get to your head."
Much to Janella's surprise, Alysanne lets out a bark of laughter. It isn't deresive, but it isn't exactly amused either. Before Janella can begin probing, Alysanne turns her attention to Florys. She gives the other woman an almost perfunctory nod.
"Florys. Good to see you."
"You as well, Lady Baratheon." Florys smiles, but Janella sees the slight edge in her eyes.
Alysanne thinks Florys a bad influence and never holds back on letting Janella know. For her part, Florys plays respectable, but Janella knows better, having been on the receiving end of Florys's rants. She isn't sure what happened between the two, only knowing no love is lost.
Janella almost wishes to tell Alysanne she is the one responsible for trouble, not Florys. Then again, it would not do to bring up old wounds and aggravate already touchy subjects. So Janella keeps her mouth shut until either of them go too far. As long as they play civil, Janella need not get involved.
She can see Alysanne is already in her cups. Janella turns towards Florys.
"Would you mind giving me some time with my cousin?" She asks, politely, more for show than anything else. Florys nods, already eager to begin her hunt for tonight's play partner.
"Of course not." Florys curtsies once before leaving, heading into the crowd. Alysanne waits for her to go before speaking, turning her attention back to Janella.
"No need for you to call me Lady Baratheon." Alysannesmiles warmly. "Do you truly think the Baratheons adheed to formalities?"
"They must adhere to some."
Alysanne nods. "They do, but trust me when I say, those sorts of notions go out the window the minute a party starts."
"Alysanne!" A voice calls. Both Janella and Alysanne turns towards it. "Are you going to introduce us or no? We don't have all fucking night."
Without even being introduced, Janella knows exactly who is speaking. It isn't as if it would be hard to figure out, no other Lord would speak so casually yet with a slight air of glee.
"Apologies, my Lord Husband." Alysanne murmurs, but her voice holds no regret. If anything, Janella swears she hears a slight giggle.
"Don't apologize. Just get over here." Lyonel waves them over. Well, not so much waves as beckons with a single finger. Alysanne takes hold of Janella's arm and brings her to Lyonel.
"Lyonel, this is my cousin, Janella. Janella, this is my Lord Husand, Lyonel."
Janella smiles. Before she can even begin her greeting, Lyonel speaks.
"Janella. Janella, Janella, Janella. Where have I heard your name before?" Lyonel muses, repeating her name thoughtfully. He pauses then places one slender finger to his chin. As he does so, Lyonel almost blatantly lets his gaze rove over Janella. His eyes brighten when it clicks with him. "Oh! Are you Longthorn's daughter?"
Janella nods.
"I am his daughter, yes."
Lyonel let's out a delighted laugh. He reaches for his goblet. Finding it empty, he motions for someone to fill it.
"How's that old fucker been? I still owe him for when he bested me several years back." Lyonel's eyes glitter. He crooks one finger towards Janella and makes a 'come hither' motion. "Come. Sit with me and my wife."
"Do you truly wish for me to sit with you, or are you merely hoping to make my father angry?"
The words slip from Janella's mouth without her thinking. For a second, she wonders if she overstepped, but then Lyonel shrugs. He smiles and lets out a chuckle. The sound makes Janella's toes curl ever so slightly.
"Both can be true." Mischief lights his eyes. He gestures once more for her to sit. "Now, come over before this idea loses its appeal."
Janella pretends to think about it before slowly, ever so slowly, dipping her head. She can't help looking at Lyonel from underneath her eyelashes as she does so.
"It would be rude of me to turn down such an invitation." Janella murmurs. Beside her, Alysanne huffs. She gently tugs on Janella's arm.
Lyonel's court begins moving, and a chair is brought forth for Janella. Alysanne leans forward as they walk around to the other side.
"You play too much." Alysanne hisses. No true venom is in her voice, only warning. Janella presses her lips together.
"I thought Lord Baratheon encouraged that sort of thing." Janella leans in as she whispers back. "Or am I misunderstanding your letters?"
Alysanne's face turns an interesting shade of dark pink. Janella bites the inside of her cheek in an attempt to keep her laughter at bay. For being a married woman, Alysanne still strikes Janella as almost prudish on occasion. She tries to disguise it as shyness, but Janella knows better. The way in which Alysanne stiffens when sex is even vaguely referenced tells Janella all she needs.
Hopefully Lyonel has loosened her up. Perhaps in more ways than one.
As they reach their seats, Janella feels Lyonel's eyes on both of them, almost as if he's tracking them. Alysanne lets go of Janella's arm and begins sitting down in her spot, but Lyonel grabs her before she can. Lyonel pulls Alysanne into his lap, wrapping an arm around her so she cannot easily escape. Alysanne gasps with surprise before giggling. Lyonel motions to Alysanne's previous spot.
"Lyonel! This is highly inappropriate!" Despite her laughter, Alysanne does sound slightly mortified. Lyonel hums.
"I don't give a fuck. It's my tent. If anyone doesn't like it, they can leave." Lyonel turns and motions for Janella to take Alysanne's previous spot. "Sit. I want to hear both of you."
Well. Who is Janella to deny him? The chair is drawn out for her, and she settles delicately into it. Lyonel grumbles.
"I said I wanted to hear both of them." He grabs the top of Janella's chair and pulls it closer to his, crowding the three of them together. Alysanne's calves nearly rest in Janella's lap while Lyonel's thigh comes close to brushing Janella's.
Interesting. Janella's lips twitch. Lyonel clearly has no issue with the seating arrangement, even going so far as to spread his legs a little wider. Alysanne, on the other hand, looks around the room every few seconds. She wraps one hand around Lyonel's shoulders, not in a gesture of familiarity but as a means of balance. When her foot accidentally brushes Janella, she shifts away quickly. Lyonel's expression shifts some at Alysanne's expression.
Slowly, carefully, Janella stretches out. She slides one leg out and over slightly so it bumps against Lyonel's. Approval radiates from him. Janella straightens her spine and reaches over head. When she brings her arms down, she gently brushes her fingers down Alysanne's arm like one would touch a spooked horse. Initially, Alysanne stiffens, but she melts underneath the gentle contact.
It takes a minute before Alysanne adjusts. She still moves ever so carefully, but eventually, she settles with her head resting in the crook of Lyonel's neck and legs brushing against both Lyonel and Janella's.
Lyonel gives Alysanne's thigh an approving squeeze through the fabric of her dress. He then leans towards Janella.
"What did you say to her to have her blush like that?"
Before Janella can reassure Alysanne as well, a servant comes by with another pitcher of wine. They fill both Lyonel and Alysanne's cups and then pour a new one for Janella. Lyonel leans forward and grabs his, holding it loosely in his free hand.
When Janella grabs her, she misses the look on Lyonel's face, both intrigue and curiosity shining through for a moment. Janella sits back with her goblet.
"Oh, nothing of much import." Janella hums. She swirls her wine around for a second. "I merely referenced something she has mentioned in her letters."
Lyonel turns his attention back towards Alysanne.
"Do you write about me in your letters?" He teases, bringing one finger under her chin. Alysanne huffs.
"You are my husband. Of course you are mentioned."
Some of the earlier tension creeps back into Alysanne's body. Janella feels the slight tensing of Alysanne's calf and notes the way in which Alysanne's shoulders creep towards her ears, so she places her goblet back on the table. With her hands now free, Janella reaches out and takes hold of Alysanne's hand. The touch seems to ground her for a moment.
"She speaks very highly of you." Janella looks at Lyonel, even as she gently sweeps her thumb over Alysanne's hand. "She did write on more than one occasion she is lucky to have you as her husband."
Her flattery works; Lyonel beams and nearly preens with pride while Alysanne relaxes. She gives Janella a grateful look.
"Of course she did." Lyonel tries sounding unaffected, but a tinge of arrogance creeps into his voice. He turns his head to the side and nuzzles Alysanne, making her laugh and push at him, dropping Janella's hand in the process.
"Away, you insatiable beast." Alysanne grins. Lyonel's eyes glitter, a comeback already on the tip of his tongue.
Janella shifts, pulling her leg more towards herself and taking her goblet. She doesn't hear what Lyonel says to Alysanne, but it makes her turn an interesting shade of red while her eyes go wide.
Thankfully, the food comes out soon. Janella engages in small talk with both of them but mostly with Alysanne. Lyonel's attention never stays in one place for too long, his gaze constantly going around the room and flitting from person to person. Occasionally, he'll chime in with a response, but his attention almost seems to be elsewhere.
Yet when Janella attempts to pull her leg back for fear of too many eyes, Lyonel's gaze always comes back to her. She never moves her leg far before Lyonel's leg takes up the now open space, moving them back into the position they were in earlier.
He's doing it on purpose, Janella decides, when she slides one calf a little bit further out. Lyonel is quick to shift Alysanne on his lap and move his foot forward until his shin almost touches the back of her calf.
When the music starts, Lyonel grins wildly. He whispers in Alysanne's ear. She shakes her head, barely stifling her laughter.
"Your loss, then."
Gazes turn their way when Alysanne loudly squeals as Lyonel picks her up. He stands up as if she weighs very little, then turns and deposits her in his now vacant seat.
"You know where I'll be."
With those final words, Lyonel heads towards the steadily building crowd with a whoop of delight. Janella watches him, trying to keep her eyes away from the way his shirt clings to his form.
Alysanna coughs delicates. Janella turns to see Alysanne adjusts her skirts. She blushes still, but it's a much softer shade of pink now. She clears her throat. Janella smirks.
"I trust this stays between us, yes?" Alysanne looks up at Janella.
"As long as you vouch for me if my father asks questions."
Alysanne nods. "Consider it done."
Janella smiles. She stretches her legs out further underneath the table with a happy noise, the wine in her system easing her worries.
"I do not understand why you are averse to his behavior." Janella tips her head towards Alysanne. " 'Tis not as if the two of you aren't married."
Alysanne presses her lips together into a thin line, brow furrowing.
"You sound like him." Much to Janella's surprise, a slight amount of venom creeps into Alysanne's voice. Janella holds up her hands.
"I didn't mean any offense. I am merely... surprised? Yes, surprised."
Alysanne huffs. She looks towards her hands with a sigh.
"Obviously, people are aware we are married, but I... I do not like giving others a glimpse as to what happens in his chambers." Alysanne sighs. She digs her fingers into her dress, prompting Janella to reach out with one hand and grab Alysanne's wrists.
"And there is nothing wrong with that." Janella murmurs. "It is not exactly comfortable for most."
Alysanne's shoulders drop. As she exhales, her entire chest seems to expand outward and take up more room.
"Thank you. That means a lot to me."
Janella smiles. She grabs her cup again and takes a long drink from it. As much as she adores her cousin, this is not a conversation she expected to have, and it seems much wiser to be drunk when having it.
"I worry I disappoint him by not wanting others to know." Alysanne's voice takes on a morose quality. Janella instantly shifts in her chair.
"What do you mean by that? I see nothing but love."
Alysanne stays silent for a moment before lifting her head. She nods toward the dance floor where Lyonel spins around with multiple partners.
"I do not begrudge him having paramours. What I don't care for is it... it often feels as if he is flaunting them in front of me." Alysanne's lips twitch. A slightly bitter edge creeps into her words. "It almost seems as if he is saying if you will not give me what I want, they will."
Janella makes a noise of understanding before turning her head to watch the dancing. She watches Lyonel, watches the way in which he moves with his partners, watches his lithe form move about the crowd. Her heart begins beating in the same rhythm as the drums. Her eyes stay on Lyonel. Sweat drips down his brow, and Janella's mouth almost waters.
Lyonel moves among the crowd as if he was born for this. Occasionally, his eyes flit to the table. His gaze goes first to Alysanne then to Janella. When he looks at Janella, his expression shifts. She swears it almost becomes hungry.
Then, Lyonel slips back into the crowd. Janella cannot keep her eyes off of him. Her heart flutters in her chest as she notices his dancing almost becomes more showy, riding the edge of fun and provocative. He gets close to his partner, perhaps a touch more than necessary, fingers occasionally lingering when they don't need to.
When he picks a new partner, Janella's whole body feels as if it is on fire. Lyonel still guides, still takes charge, but his energy shifts for more suitable to his new dance partner. This one is far more aggressive but no less capitivating. The way they move together, flitting around each other, conjures up so many visions and ideas in her mind.
Janella picks up her cup, hoping her hands stay steady.
No such luck for Florys moves forward, eyes bright. She locks eyes with Janella from across the room, and a sly smile creeps across her face. Lyonel looks at Florys face, then follows her line of sight. The devious look on his face makes Janella's knees buckle.
"Fuck." Janella whispers.
Off the pair go. It is as if they mean to kill Janella. She's sure Florys means to do so with the way she moves around Lyonel. Lyonel moves aggressively, on the offensive, a predator striking. Gods be good, Janella wants him to follow her in such a way. She squirms in her seat as her brain conjures images of Lyonel hunting her down and having his way with her.
Florys plays the part of prey but not meek prey. No, she does not cower before Lyonel or let him corner her. Instead, she weaves about him, evading him with an almost teasing air. As the dance continues, they move closer and closer to one another. Janella presses her thighs together. She sees it vividly, the way in which Lyonel would handle Florys, how her dear Florys would not give an inch. When Lyonel faces away from her, Janella wonders what his back muscles would look like as he thrust into Florys, how the muscles in his shoulders would squeeze together if he held her up as he fucked her.
When Florys stares deliberately over Lyonel's shoulder at her, Janella gulps. Lyonel turns his head, and he gives Janella a seductive smile, full of promise and unadulterated hunger and lust. He even winks at her.
A startling realization hits Janella. It strikes her like a bolt of lightning, and it makes her entire body sing. Between the way Florys and Lyonel look at her with open desire, Janella comes to one conclusion. She is wrong; Florys is not the prey in this dance.
It's her.
Janella is the prey tonight. She is Lyonel and Florys's mark.
Janella cannot think, cannot hear, for the sound and feel of her blood rushing throughout her entire body. Her thighs begin feeling slick. Her core drips, so much so she worries it may be evident through her skirts.
Carefully, with trembling hands, she lifts her goblet. She raises it a little more than necessary then places three fingers over her heart.
The goblet for acknowledgement, and three fingers for three people.
Florys grins and then laughs. She leans in and whispers to Lyonel.
"Do you see what I mean?"
Janella nearly jumps at Alysanne's voice. She turns quickly, an excuse on the tip of her tongue. Thankfully, Alysanne stares at Lyonel as well. Her expression, unfortunately, is not unreadable. If Janella could not see the pain and sorrow paired with bitterness on Alysanne's face, she might could brush it off with meaningless platitudes.
She wouldn't feel guilty the dance was for her benefit.
Janella eases back into her chair. She stays silent for a moment, searching for the right words. She must say something, but her words fail her. Eventually, Janella clears her throat.
"I do not think he's taunting you." Janella offers, taking a sip of her wine. Alysanne's head whips around so she can glare at Janella. "I think he's inviting you."
It's a lie, but it is probably a lie only this one time. Janella is sure Lyonel must have done this as an attempt to invite Alysanne in the past. She does not need to know this time, she was not the invited party. Alysanne stares at Janella. She blinks once, then twice.
"How... how do you figure that?"
"Well. He's making sure you can see him, right? So we know he wants your attention. He also keeps looking your way. If it were about flaunting this, he would only check once, perhaps twice, to see if he had your attention. Then he might go for someone. The fact he keeps looking at you yet has not pulled someone away from the dance. I am not sure how to explain it other than... I think he's inviting you."
As she speaks, Janella realizes she's beginning to slur her words. She shrugs lamely at the end, unsure of what else she can say. Hopefully what she says makes sense as opposed to being drunken gibberish.
Hopefully, Alysanne cannot sense it's a bald-faced lie.
For a long, tense moment, Alysanne merely stares at Janella. She does not speak or move, no fidgeting or twitching, no looking away from her. Janella reaches up and rubs her neck. She feels as if she should apologize, but she cannot find the right words. It isn't as if she knows which part offended. Perhaps the mere suggestion provokes and iritates Alysanne.
Eventually, blessedly, Alysanne looks away. Her face isn't pinched, and Janella sees no signs of sorrow on Alysanne's face. Instead, she seems almost contemplative.
"You may be right." Alysanne concedes. She stares out, no doubt at Lyonel.
Janella bites her tongue. Of course she's right. How Alysanne hasn't picked up on it yet is beyond her. It isn't as if Lyonel ignores Alysanne, at least, not as far as Janella sees. If they spend time together, surely Alysanne must see Lyonel for what he is.
"Janella!" Janella's attention turns back towards the crowd. She sees Florys, face red and slightly out of breath, making her way from the center where the impromptu dance floor is towards them.
Lyonel isn't with her. A strange pang hits Janella. Perhaps... perhaps she isn't the target tonight like she thought. She presses her lips together.
Florys stumbles her way over to the table, face red from both drinking and dancing. She offers Alysanne a small courtesy. When she straightens up, she sways a little.
"Pardon me, Lady Baratheon, but might I borrow Janella for a moment?"
Alysanne stares at Florys for a long moment before nodding.
"Of course." Despite her words, Alysanne's tone is clipped.
Janella stands up slowly. For a second, she truly believes she must be fine and perhaps she hasn't indeed had all that much to drink. Janella places one hand on the table and then turns.
The world spins.
Janella giggles despite herself. It doesn't move so much she feels ill, merely enough she feels unsteady, almost as if she's aboard a ship. She giggles again then focuses, putting all of her concentration into placing one foot in front of the other. She staggers over to Florys much more quickly than she expects. As soon as she reaches Florys, she drapes her arm around Florys's shoulder.
"Florys. I think... I think I might be fucked up."
The two stare at each other before bursting into giggles. They hold onto each other as they laugh. Each time one of them gains their composure, the other begins losing theirs, creating a cycle that has Janella hiccuping from how hard she's laughing. The first hiccup makes Florys howl with laughter, to the point she nearly starts crying.
"We should..." Florys pauses and hiccups, sending Janella into another spiral of laughter, "we should go outside. Perhaps the night air will sober us up."
They stumble their way out of the tent, both supporting the other with their arm. Even then, they still wobble and sway, causing both of them to giggle again. No one notices, too caught up in their own drunken revelry.
The night air feels blessedly cool against Janella's skin. She didn't even realize she had been hot until now. She takes a moment, planting her feet and tilting her head up towards the stars.
Janella inhales deeply. Her whole body buzzes, not merely from the alcohol but also from the the fact she feels… free. For once in a long time, she feels unrestricted. The thought courses through her, nearly sending her into a state of drunken delirium. She presses more into her feet and steadies herself with the pressure.
When she opens her eyes, Janella notices the moon. It hangs large and bright. Her lips twitch. A full moon does seem more than appropriate for tonight. As she lowers her gaze, she spots Florys also staring at the sky as well.
"So." A hiccup escapes Janella, making Florys snicker again. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"
Florys turns to Janella. Her crooked grin makes Janella's heart flutter.
"You know what I want to speak with you about." Florys presses against Janella. "You... you were taking too long so me and. Me and our friend figured out what we're gonna do."
After a moment, Janella brightens. A smile creeps its way onto her face.
"And what is the cu- cun- cunniv-. Fuck. What's the master plan?"
"I'll. I'll show you." Florys takes hold of Janella's wrist. Giggling, Janella follows, letting Florys lead her wherever she wished.
"We gotta go around the back end." Florys's wording makes both of them break into another fit of laughter. "We just gotta sneak on past once we hear the distraction."
"Distraction? Sneak on past into where?"
Janella's face screws up in confusion. Florys shushes her by placing a finger on Janella's mouth. Janella resists the almost overwhelming urge to lick Florys's finger.
"Don't tell anyone the plan." She admonishes. "Just follow my lead."
They stagger between the tents, weaving around all sorts of pavilions. On the other side, the path is illuminated with torches, but they stay on the unlit side. Janella only pays vague attention to where they're going; they clearly haven't left the Baratheon section with all the golds and black and the occasional antlers on the sides of the tents. She trusts Florys to not lead them astray.
Eventually, they turn around and towards the main road. Far less people wander this section. It takes Janella several seconds to realize they must be close to Lyonel Baratheon's personal tent. When she does, she tugs on Florys's sleeve.
"Florys!" Janella hisses. Florys merely holds up one finger. "Florys, what are-"
"Shut. Up. You are going to get us caught." Florys grinds out from between her teeth. She doesn't let go of Janella's wrist, instead pulling her closer towards the tent. They walk along the edge, trying to keep quiet.
"Florys. What are we doing?" Janella can't help but ask again. Panic rises within her. This is different. Different means more variables, and more variables mean a high chance of getting caught. If they get caught...
Lyonel's voice carries clearly on the wind. He seems to be singing, although Janella can't tell what it is. Florys pulls them closer, so close her feet might even be visible.
"When I say run, we run." Florys murmurs.
They wait. Janella's breath stays in her ribcage. She dares not breath. As they wait, they hear Lyonel come closer and closer.
"Oi!" Lyonel eventually yells. "Both of you fucking... hairy palmed cunts. Come here."
Janella and Florys wait. They wait until they hear footsteps receed away from the tent and towards Lyonel.
"Now!"
They break around the edge of the tent into a mad dash. As they spin around, Janella notices two guards going towards Lyonel. They must have been standing outside of his tent from the boot imprints on the ground. Janella turns her attention back to the task at hand. She and Florys both stumble quickly into Lyonel's tent.
"Now what?"
Florys grins, a sly grin like a fox might give another before they enter the chicken coop.
"You lead the way. You're the director. Lyonel and I are merely the actors for tonight."