Given the lovely weather that comes with late spring, it's only natural that everyone -- yes, even the Rivens -- are out and about. It seems that somehow, for whatever reason, the Marquessa has taken it upon herself to round up several of the residents of Heron Hall and take them down to the local pub, rather than remain drinking and dining around their own table not far from the boarding house. She's nattering away unapologetically at an equally dark-haired man about something or other, halfway through her story as they stride into the building. "...at that point, really, that it all came undone. You should be very glad you missed it. I would've preferred to.

Fearsome crimson rubicund plate armor and intense orbs of vibrant violet tend to set this big, war-torn sellsword apart from the crowd. Maris Maw is a tad overdressed for the occasion, too; that is, meeting Ezra Riven. Who knows how he even heard about this little gathering... Nonetheless, the pale swordsman moseys on through the Badger and peers about, odd eyes examining those already gathered within the tavern. His thin lips twitch into a faint grin when he bumps into Eshken, looking over the man from head-to-toe, "You must be Lord Ezra. It's a pleasure, my lord. Captain Maris Maw, at your service." His cool voice is dusted by a clear touch of the Isles.

Ezra was UNSUSPECTING. He's an introvert, you know? He likes long walks with friends on the beach, and by beach we mean forest, and by friends we mean alone. But he has been lured out by Mia, walking in with her and half listening but nodding diligently to her words. "Uh huh," is offered at regular intervals to promise her he's listening, which he isn't.

But then -- they've only just arrived and there's someone here who knows his name. "Oh -- you're very striking. Hello," Ezra fumbles his way through a return greeting, for this violet-eyed and plate-armored person. "I-- that -- hello, I'm so sorry, were you looking for me? It's a pleasure to meet you of course, Captain Maw." He hasn't caught on that Mia might be behind this. Yet.

On the heels of Maris comes Eshken Greenblood. The dark skinned Crownlander is outfit in humble-fashion, a simple set of breeches and burgundy colored shirt. His hair is a touch wild and carefree and he lifts a hand to brush it back from his face. Pausing just a bit inside of the Badger, Eshken snorts in amusement as he hears Ezra's response to Maris and yells out across the room, "Ezra! I heard that I could find you here!"

Maris attempts to slap a big, blade-touched hand onto Ezra's shoulder, in a friendly sorta way, white teeth bared in vague amusement right behind his parted lips. "Aye, I've been waiting a long time to meet you. About ten minutes ago, I first heard of you. Someone said the middle-aged but charmin', promising Lord Ezra was lookin' to meet some of Arx's finest. So I had to show up. It's a real pleasure." He peers over at Eshken upon hearing the shout, "Sounds like you have another fan. Incredible." Then he leans in, murmuring soft and low near Ezra's ear as he looks over a shoulder and directly at Mia, "Who's that beauty? That your wife or something, my lord?"

Thesarin makes his way into the Boardinghouse with the other Rivens, walking at an unhurried, almost languid pace, arms out at his sides, looking about with a faint smile rather than his usual scowl. The Marquis has Had An Effort made, and while the shaved sides of his head and the tattoos visible at his wrists and collar might bring to mind the shavs of the Grey forest, the carefully chosen clothes in the style of a Grayson nobleman give the impression of... well, a Grey Forest shav dressed up like a Grayson nobleman, fancy sword resting comfortably on his hip. He looks around the common area, lifting his chin toward Maris, and giving a low chuckle at Eshken.

"I dragged him from the hall," Mia pronounces. "Practically by his ear, like he'd done something awful and was being scolded for it." And, shameless creature that she is, the woman looks rather smugly pleased with herself as she delivers this information to Eshken. "I may or may not have also promised the barkeep a substantial tab being run up tonight, depending either on how many people arrive or how entirely irritated Lord Ezra is with me for convincing him to leave his chambers." There's a glance shot at her brother from the corners of her eyes. Surely he's heard her. She's simply waiting to see what his response may be - doubly so when he's approached by Maris, an unfamiliar face.

Kalb, the chill bodyguard arrives, following Nisaa.

"Eshken!" This one Ezra does know, but it doesn't limit his confusion much. "What do you mean you heard that you could find me here? Heard where?" And then there's Maris, who has also heard of him! Heard of him all sorts! From ten minutes ago! "Oh, no," Ezra can't help it, that sneaks out. And then his brows lift incrementally higher as Maris goes on with his greeting. "Middle-aged??" One more time, "Oh no." He shakes his head. "Captain Maris, I am enjoying exploring the depths of how awkward we can make this and I do hope we find out further, but this beauty is not my wife, she is my sister. Myyyy sister."

Ezra casts a HELP sort of look toward Thesarin, and attempts to edge away from Mia like he might be making for the door. "This has been fun. So fun. I'm so late, for, you know, things."

"You hear that, Ezra? That sounds like your sister is buying! Time to drink your ass under the bar. I have someone watching Elia, so tonight is all about getting you drinked up and doing something stupid!" Eshken says with a grin and wink Thesarin's way. Then looking to Mia, Eshken says, "It is good to see you making sure that Ezra has such a wonderful time now that he's come to the city." Looking then to Maris, Eshken adds, "Eshken Greenblood," with a lazy salute.

Nisaa just happens to be walking in through the door Ezra seems to be making his way towards. She enters the tavern as she does just about anywhere; with graceful steps and a curious gaze. "Pardoning me. I have been hearing that I should meet an Ezra?"

ET TU, ESHKEN? "whhyyy," Ezra despairs a little as the plan now involves Drinked Up And Doing Something Stupid. As Nisaa arrives, he just shakes his head at her. "You shouldn't. No one should meet an Ezra. I've met him, we don't get along at all."

"Aye, Ezra's right 'ere! Over here!" Maris calls over to Nisaa and points directly at Ezra before giving the nobleman another slap on the shoulder, "Good t'meet you buddy." The mercenary offers an easy dip of his strong, rounded chin upon spotting Eshken's greeting, "Captain Maris Maw, m'pleasure." He leans a thick elbow onto the bartop and slouches back into it a touch, getting relaxed. When he gets the bartender's attention, he winks over at Mia, "I think she's paying for it. Vodka, straight."

Gods help poor Ezra, but Mia actually smiles for once -- and smiles at him. It's an innocent expression. Virtuous. Even saintly. She had absolutely nothing to do with this, nothing at all. No, not even a little bit. Apparently, she recognizes that tone of 'myyyy sister' all too well. "And his favorite sister, at that. Of course, I also happen to be his only sister, Captain Maw, and so it would seem the title is mine by default. Though I must say that if my younger brother is considered to be middle-aged, then I ought to be positively ancient. And my husband, the Marquis," and here, Mia gestures towards Thesarin, "is surely already dead in his grave. How he got up and is walking about, I've really no idea at all." Gods help them all, she's not let that innocent expression drop for even a moment. "Some miracle or great occult mystery, no doubt."

"You ain't late for things, Ezra. You're just on time for the event your sister thought to arrange, all for your sake. So sit your arse down and have a good time." Thesarin claps a firm hand on Ezra's shoulder, and gives just a bit more of a smile. He looks over toward Mia as she talks about his age, and gives a low snort, and a rolling shrug of one shoulder. "Folk have called it a marvel I ain't yet in the mud, and it might just be so."

"Oh. That is a shame." Nisaa looks over her shoulder towards the door. "I should not interrupt the celebrating of such an awful person then, Perhaps I should go." She stops though when another voice calls out to her, pointing Ezra out directly. The Whisper flashes a smile at him and shakes her head lightly. "It truly is awful to not get along with yourself. Hello, Ezra. I am Nisaa Whisper. It is a pleasure to be meeting you." She tosses a wink towards Maris in thanks for him pointing the man out.

"To House Riven," Maris offers once he receives his glass of vodka, lifting it high before lowering the brim to this thin lips. He offers Mia and Thesarin a little smile before tilting the drank back and letting the clear alcohol roll along his tongue. Still burning it's way down his throat, his odd eyes tilt back over towards Nisaa, offering a warm greeting if she decides to draw further into the room, "Maris Maw, if y'haven't heard. Nice t'meet you, Nisaa Whisper."

Ezra is trapped! There's no getting out of this, clapped on the shoulder by Maris, and by Thesarin also. He gives up his attempt to flee, and walks gamely toward the bar, where he plunks down. "I need ale, please, I need so much ale, thank you." That's the drink order, and he grumbles at Mia, "By these metrics you are also my least favorite sister."

He tilta a smile toward Nisaa. "Oh, thank gods, a Whisper. You can make this go well, right? You all have some sort of party magic?" Pause. "I'm not sure I've actually met a whisper before now, truth be told." Thesarin gets kind of a long suffering look. "You knew about this and didn't talk her out of it?"

*tilts

Eshken only grins at Ezra's discomfort and when Maris hails the barkeep, Eshken throws his own order in on top of Maris'. "Whiskey... three... four glasses. Bring the bottle," he says this all very quickly, expecting the man to keep up. Soon enough the bottle and glasses are set out on the bar and Eshken uncorks and pours up the four shot glasses like a professional. One is dished out to Mia, then to Thesarin. "Ale... psh... now is not the time for ale. This is a celebration of you, buddy!" he says to Ezra, even as he is pressing a shot glass of whiskey into his hand. He smiles then, taking up the fourth and raising the glass to Ezra before downing it.

There a soft snort that comes from Mia at the question, a small but decidedly undignified sound that gives a hint of a mask ready to slip. "As if the Marquis has ever talked me out of anything I've set my mind to, ever, in twenty years." The comment about being his least favorite sister? Utterly ignored. No, no, better to accept one of the glasses that Eshken has ordered -- and which she is apparently paying for -- to meet Maris' toast. "To House Riven. And to the Whispers, for improving our little party immeasurably with their presence." To Nisaa as well, it seems, whom she gestures towards the barkeep to order whatever it is she might like.

Dipping her head towards Maris, she repeats her words. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Maris Maw." There is the slightest uplift of tone as she says his last name, as if she is not sure she is saying it correctly. She does indeed walk into the room a bit more, the dancer full of poise as ever.

A light laugh escapes her and Nisaa lifts her hand to cover her mouth. "Some Whispers are, yes," she says to Ezra with a lowering of her head; an apologetic gesture. "I am being sorry that I cannot proclaim to be one of them." A look of surprise crosses her face as she looks to Mia after her toast. "Oh! I am sure I did not- Oh. Thank you." A rose of color blossoms lightly on her cheeks. "A wine? Perhaps?" she asks to the barkeep.

"She's got the right of it," Thesarin says to Ezra in a low rumble, as he moves to take a seat, slightly shifting the jeweled pommel of his sword to settle down comfortably. "And were it ain't so, I'd still not stand in the way of your chance to meet folk in this city. Or with an elder sibling sporting with a younger. Way o' the world." He lifts the whisky to join in with a "Riven" and "Whispers" with the toasting, then downs the drink. He wipes the back of one hand over his lips, and looks up to nod at Nisaa and Maris. "Marquis Thesarin. War Chief to Riven."

Maris lapses into silence, lips quirked as he eyes the festivity beginning to overtake the gathering. He seems happy to nurse that glass of vodka in a sword-deft hand, taking a sip every so often to wet his mouth. "Well met, Marquis Thesarin. You have a fine family here." Absently, he works marred fingers through his silky champagne blonde hair, keeping it out of his pale visage.

"Eshken, the last time we did shots together I woke up in someone else's clothes," Ezra groans. "I still don't know whose they were. It was /not good/ sir, and I've thought all this time that I learned something from that." Yet, here he is, taking the whiskey that was offered.

Mia's comments about the Marquis, he just sort of sighs. "Ah. Yeah. True." Is there any arguing with that? No there isn't.

Nisaa, however, does prompt a laugh out of the Guest of Dubious Honor, just a quiet one. "Maybe you're too hard on yourself? I think it's already better you're here. Just don't let Eshken hand you whiskey." He says, as he sets an empty glass out for Eshken to refill with whiskey. "Thesarin, don't say Mia's right where she can hear it, she already knows she's right, and it just makes it so much worse." The tone is amused, though, and perhaps fond of them both. Grudgingly fond of Mia. Plotting revenge fond of Mia.

"Sounds like a good time to me!" Eshken responds with a wink toward Ezra. "Let's see if we can top it, eh?" he asks. Anytime Ezra finishes off his shot of whiskey, he will find Eshken there helpfully with the bottle to top the Lord back off.

Another dip of her head to Thesarin. "Marquis. It is a pleasure. Well met." Nisaa awaits her wine and when it is served, she holds the glass in her hand like it is a fine piece of art. Lifting it higher, she says, "to House Riven." She does not toast herself, but smiles softly to Ezra. "You are far too kind. Thank you." Verdigris eyes glance sideways towards Eshken and then back to Ezra. "I will not, I assure you." Leaning closer, she speaks quietly, "truth is, I do not think I could drink Whiskey if I wanted to."

Jerome, a bodyguard, Elaine, an older courtier, Morgana, a proper secretary, 2 Valardin Knights arrive, following Isabeau.

The mention of Ezra waking up in someone else's clothes makes Mia arch a single black brow and arch it high enough that it would be easy to believe the poor thing is trying to beat a hasty retreat to the safety of her hairline rather than be the target of her murmured, "Now *that* is a story I plan to hear, and soon." A beat. "Though Triumph Plaza isn't far and I'm sure between the Marquis and Captain Maw here," she gestures with her mostly-full glass towards the sellsword, "they can carry the pair of you back to the Hall if need be. There ought to be an empty stall in the stables we can toss you both into for the night so no one has to brave the stairs."

Ezra has joined the Bar.

Maris has joined the Bar.

"I'm certainly not against draggin' you around like a sack of potatoes, Lord Ezra. Enjoy yourself!" Maris' thin lips remain hitched in a faint, lingering grin as he leans against the bar and surveys the tavern, dipping an affirmative nod over at Mia. To Nisaa, he offers: "Y'should drink some vodka. It's good for you." Is it? Well, the pale swordsman seems to be doing well enough.

A stirring at the door heralds the entrance of Isabeau, the blond duchess followed by a small retinue that she waves off with a gentle gesture. Her cobalt blue gaze sweeps the room as she steps towards the bar, a warm, easy smile playing across her features as she steps over to the group t the bar, the former princess deciding that it is the most likely gathering. "I've heard a rumor that there is someone who ought to be met?" she questions, with evident amusement in her warm contralto voice.

"Eshken NO," Ezra opines on that. "Why are you like this?" That does not mean, however, that he's failing to take the drinks. Unasked-for, color is rising in his cheeks, burning red there. "No. No, that is a story nobody needs to hear, ever again." Having been netted into being Social, he's at the bar consuming liquid courage and being led astray by Eshken. "No one needs to end up in the stables, that's not going to...." sigh "....Maybe have someone put some fresh straw in the stables."

Ezra beckons for Nisaa to come over and sit at the bar as well, it's a general sort of beckoning that invites all and sundry. "I'm still convinced you're the Whisper good-luck charm of this event," he smiles crookedly to Nisaa. "Tell me what else it is that whispers get up to? Can you tell I'm desperate to talk about subjects that aren't me? I am. But also genuinely interested!"

Here comes another person who has been lured in Via Mia, and Ezra nods to Isabeau, pointing at Maris. "That one there, that one is Ezra. You should meet him. Isn't he spectacular?"

Nisaa has joined the Bar.

"No? Drinking whiskey's a simple thing, all told. And all the simpler with practice." Perhaps to demonstrate, Thesarin takes another pull of his own liquor, resting a big arm on the table top. "Might be wiser that you ain't, though, in truth." The Prodigal looks toward Mia with another hint of amusement. "...and though you protest, it seems you've set me out of the age of men who drink and act like fools, to the men who mind 'em after." As Isabeau strides in, the Prodigal lifts his chin in greeting, watching in amusement as Ezra tries to squirm out of more introductions.

Isabeau fixes her gaze on Maris, her eyebrow raising very slightly, before a smile plays on her lips and her attention returns to Ezra, "And that would make you Maris Maw then?"

"Yes," Ezra answers Isabeau. This lie is not remotely believable and he's just going for it. "I'm handsome and not from here." Nod. "And very confident. But you're here to meet Ezra!" Pointing at Maris again!

Maris raises a pale blonde brow and peers at Ezra, squinting a bit. After a moment, he murmurs, "Maris Maw? I've heard of your incredible skill and handsome features. The stories were true, it seems." He goes for a swig of vodka, easing his thin lips back and forth afterwards. Isabeau gets a bit of a toothy grin, "Hi, it's me. Ezra."

"After all these years, I've simply a very high regard for your ability to hold your drink." Her aside to Thesarin so muttered, she turns her attention to additional arrivals. "Duchess Telmar," Mia offers by way of greeting, inclining her head to towards Isabeau as she enters. "I would suggest that you ignore my brother, but the would be counterproductive, considering he is the one you've come to meet." A slender hand indicates the correct Ezra, to whom she offers, "The Duchess-Consort of the Telmarch, Isabeau Telmar, formerly Princess Isabeau Valardin." A beat. "I don't believe I've seen you since Duke Laurent's garden gathering. Or was it when there was a bit of discussion about a Bisland marriage? Either way, it's been some time. May I present my brother, Lord Ezra Riven, and Eshken Greenblood, one of the finest smiths at the Twainfort?"

Maris waves at Isabeau when Mia presents 'Lord Ezra Riven'.

Nisaa, whose voice spiced with an accent and is clearly not from around here, offers a smile towards Maris. "I shall take your suggestion to heart and consider it for another night. I am afraid to mix the flavors of wine and vodka." She lifts her glass again as an example, but does not take a sip. At the invitation, she slips onto a seat carefully at the bar. "Many things. We all have our talents. Many, most of us, are diplomats, but as I was speaking earlier, some do have a talent of hosting parties, others are talented entertainers, clothiers even. Myself, I am a singer and dancer."

Thesarin is the next victim of Nisaa's smile. "I am sure that it is for many. I just am not much for hard liquors. I only started drinking wine a couple years ago. I have learned to enjoy it though." Her eyes search for a moment for Mia, to whom she says, "thank you for this, and for inviting everyone to come meet Ezra."

Eshken grins and shrugs his shoulders, continuing to fill Ezra's glass for a few moments. He seems content to hover nearby, going with the flow of Ezra's party. "Ahhh, Duchess Isabeau. It's a pleasure to meet you," Eshken says, moments before a messenger arrives and slips a piece of paper into his hand. Eshken glances at it before frowning and saying, "Damn, Elia is sick, it would seem and is sending for me. Ezra... do not have children. Your drunken times will become far fewer." Lifting a hand, Eshken waves his goodbyes before slipping out of the door.

A gentle dip of her head to Mia is produced and one of her demure, friendly smiles smiles is directed to each in turn, "A pleasure to meet you all." Isabeau offers as she looks between the new faces. "It has been a while, my Lady."

Aw, Mia ruined it. Ezra lifts both hands at her briefly in a 'cmoooon' kind of gesture, because from his perspective, it was actually really going along great to foist the spotlight onto Maris. There's no getting out of it though, not that any single person was remotely convinced to begin with. He stands to offer a bow to Isabeau, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Duchess, and of course an honor to meet your acquaintance."

At Nisaa's mention of her talents, Ezra smiles, a little bit broader than usual. Almost a grin! Maybe it's the whiskey. "You know I'm going to ask if you're willing to sing now, don't you? It's alright to say no. But the singing of whispers is famous!"

His friend escapes and Ezra does not look like he envies the parental responsibility that Eshken has. He sips a drink. "Speaking of children, Mia, I gave loads of sugar to Rohan and Kelleth earlier."

"The company of the Whispers is an honor, madame," Mia replies, "and I assure you, the thanks is mine. Have you been introduced to the Duchess?" Her dark eyes are on Nisaa just then.

"Well, Eshken ain't about to be an influence on the boy," Thesarin rumbles in the low tone again. He snorts at the comment about drinking time, and the big shav lowers his head toward Isabeau while his wife makes most of the introductions. A slow shake of his head as the little deception between Ezra and Maris is played out, and he gives a low, grunting noise toward the sellsword. "I might ask, captain: what's it you're captain of?"

Petroc, the most unassuming man you have ever met, 5 Sanna House Guards arrive, following Cirroch.

"Oh, Lord Ezra of the Riven, I am honored to be asked. Perhaps another time? It is getting late for me, and I am afraid my voice is not at its best," Nisaa politely declines, or postpones, any singing. "Perhaps there will be occasion to hear me sing or see me dance soon. I will be sure to send you an invite if so."

She appears to be enjoying herself, even if she remains a bit reserved. Smiling at Mia, Nisaa says, "I will be sure to let the others know that House Riven respects us so." A soft shake of her head makes the curls at the side of her face bounce lightly. "I have not." She has, however, heard others address Isabeau. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Duchess. I am Nisaa Whisper."

"Captain of Duchess Margot Tyde's flagship, and I serve as her personal bodyguard, my lord." Maris intones softly in an easy response to Thesarin, entwining pale-scarred fingers within his pale hair, hands on head, as he continues to survey the bar. "Movin' into more respectable work, compared to my days as a sellsword, I'm afraid."

"Another time," Ezra agrees with Nisaa, letting one corner of his mouth crook upwards. "Though too much more of Eshken's whiskey and it will be me singing. No one wants that. It's time to be thrown in the stables if that happens, please just knock me over the head and know it's what I would have wanted." He lofts a brow upwards as Maris answers Thesarin's question, seeming to find this answer interesting, though he doesn't intervene.

Isabeau's blue gaze turns to Nissa, a sweet smile still on the woman's features as she regards the woman, "That outfit is quite remarkable, Nisaa," she offers in her warm voice, tone laced with sincerity. Her gaze drifts to Mia as well, "And is that honeysilk, my Lady?"

"Well. Reckon there's just so long a body can keep at selling swords, 'fore you find yourself selling to someone who's made it respectable." Thesarin gives a slow nod toward Maris, and a low grrunt of vague amusement. "Nature of success."

"Don't worry, brother," Mia chimes in. "If you've been feeding my sons sweets, I'll send the pair of them to rouse you in the morning which -- after all of Eshken's whiskey -- ought to be a very good deal like being cracked in the head with a hammer." She takes another sip of her own glass, eyes crinkling as she regards the man. A small swallow and she looks down at the green gown she's wrapped up in for the evening. "It is indeed." There's a shift of the fabric of her long skirts, meant to show the way the golden threads strewn throughout pick up the light. "A bit heavy for the season, but I'm terribly fond of the color. And the high collar. I've been considering using it as the inspiration for new wardrobe, but I have very little patience for choosing details or being fitted. Just an eye for what I like."

The door to the tavern swings open as two guards with Sanna sigils upon their tunics enter with their detail assignment following them. A tall muscular chestnut dark man wearing a silk overcoat of white, black, and red panels which have been tailored snuggly to his torso then draping down to split panels, which swish as silk does as he strides in with a large gait. A large smile on his face as his voice nearly booms in echo inside. "Which one is the oldest sibling and the younger? This is a perfect direction of what I would do to my own siblings. Lady Sapphira might be along shortly if she got my message of your announcement." With a nod to the whole room and right hand to his heart, "Marquis Cirroch Sanna, of Giant's Reach."

Ezra hmms at Mia's returned words, sipping, yes, the whiskey. "I'm going to sleep in a tree," he replies. Big talk from someone who might need to get poured into a stable, and thus is unlikely to make it up stairs, much less a tree. Then again, maybe he's better with trees than houses? It's Ezra. Might be. Back to Maris, and he raises a brow again. "What do you do when you're not guarding the Duchess, or meeting unsociable people at events surreptitiously arranged by devious persons who, really, ought to feel very bad about it?"

Kinda buzzed now, he takes Cirroch's boistrous entry in stride and points at Mia, to identify the oldest sibling. "Old." But also a smile, "Hello and a pleasure to meet you, Marquis Cirroch. Please share a drink with us?"

"I am appreciative of your understanding," Nisaa comments with a bow of her head towards Ezra. "I am sure your singing would be quite entertaining though. I will leave any throwing of stables to those who know you better."

At Isabeau's compliment, Nisaa looks down at her dress at first, as if to say 'this old thing?', but she smiles to the Duchess. "Thank you. I fell in love with the colors long ago." She looks to Mia's gown as well. "It is quite lovely. I am in need of some newer gowns myself. Perhaps I should look into some honeysilk."

"How now," Thesarin rumbles toward Cirroch as the Marquis steps into the Badger, and lifts a mostly-empty cup of liquor toward the man. He grunts and lifts it toward Ezra. "Since he ain't like to, here's Ezra Riven, newly found to Arx. And aye, he's the younger."

"Hrm," Maris hums beneath his breath upon hearing Ezra's inquiry, "Work, train, drink. Eat, sleep. That's about it. Oh, and sometimes a member of the opposite sex finds me bearable and I get t'fill, temporarily, the lonely hole in my heart." The pale swordsman sniffles, going for a drink of vodka. Ruminating over it, he finally offers a crooked grin over to the Lord, "Or something like that."

Cirroch nods to Ezra, "A drink sounds delightful. Have the Graysons bothered to bring in good whiskey yet? Or am I still stuck with my cousins poor choices of drink?" He has a large smile on his face as he answers the offer of joining them. "Welcome to the city Lord Ezra."

"There are some wonderful tailors and seamstresses in the city, Whisper Nisaa, that I would be happy to give you the names of, if you're so inclined. You might find some of the ones in the Lycene districts most appealing; while not quite Eurusi, their tastes align most closely with what you must be accustomed to having seen on the other side of the sea." So it seems that Mia has not only noticed the accent, but identified it.

As to her brother's comments on being 'old', Mia does what she does best when faced with something she might disapprove of -- she ignores it. Utterly. "Well met, Marquis Sanna. It would be wonderful to have Lady Sapphira join us. I don't believe I've seen much of the Whitehawks since before her wedding. Even longer since I've seen your wife. In addition to my brother, we also have my husband, the Marquis-Consort with us, Duchess Isabeau Telmar, Nisaa Whisper of the Whisper House, and Captain Maris Maw among us." The way which she says the word 'Maw' has something of a strange lilt to it, but otherwise Mia gestures to each in kind.

Isabeau dips her head in a nod that moves her golden curls as she smiles agreement with Nisaa, "I've been wanting something in honeysilk, but I've really got to focus on getting more jewelry to match what I've already got. I've settled on trying to get a set by the time of the boar hunt." She looks over at Mia and and the other woman with a note of conspiracy in her tone, "So if you know any good jewelers, please let me know. I'm on the hunt."

She smiles seraphically and then addresses a question to Maris with a slight raise of her eyebrow, "Still haven't found that philosophical lever, I suppose? Your elbow doesn't look too sore." She looks towards Cirroch and offers him a polite smile and a nod as well, "Marquis, so we meet again and not an odd painting in sight."

"Oh, Whisper Nisaa. It would be entertaining. But in just the most awful way," Ezra confirms to her, with a quiet laugh. "I'm probably not drunk enough to attempt it yet. Maybe soon." Discussions of honeysilk and such are totally beyond him, but he does nod along with Thesarin's introduction. "Guilty," he confirms. Maris gets a low 'hah'.

"Work, train, eat, sleep!
That's the schedule Maris keeps!
Nothing else he wants to do
Except maybe sometimes----"

Ezra ahems and then turns like, magenta. Such a blush. A terrible song half came out, now he looks mortified. "I'm so sorry. I've had enough whiskey. Thank you for the welcome, Marquis Cirroch."

"Ripley Thornburn, provided you have the patience for his artistic temperament," Mia chimes in. But then her eyes slide to Ezra. And the look. Ohhh, the *look*. Maybe she's decided his red face is enough and has decided to take pity on him, as she neither speaks nor laughs. No, no. This is fine. Everything Is Fine.

Raimon eases in and circles around the periphery until he can approach Cirroch for a whispered conversation of import.

"I would be most appreciative, Marquessa Mia of the Riven." Nisaa smiles, her eyes mirroring the joy in the expression. "I admit, I am quite fond of a certain style, but I have come to appreciate the Arvani designs as well." The dress she wears currently is an example of the latter. "Though it has been quite some time since I had a new outfit made for my dancing. I should work on that as well. I like for them to have a theme, so I am supposing that I shall think of that first." If she is surprised or bothered at all that Mia seems to have recognized her origin, at least by continent, she does not show it.

"I am afraid the jewelers I once knew have not been in the city for some time." A soft laugh bubbles up from her. "Though, I suppose I am more a fan of the feel of fabric than I am of metal. I do not have very much jewelry at all. A few treasured gifts, nothing extravagant." Her lips curl softly, almost conspiratorilally as she eyes Ezra once more. "Perhaps another time for that as well then, Lord Ezra." His rhyme though has her eyes opened wide with intrigue. "Sometimes he what, Lord Ezra?" Her gaze slides to Maris as if to seek the answer from him if Ezra will not give it.

Sometimes he what! Ezra's reply to Nisaa is simply, "Nooooooooooo ahahah no no no no." He pours a teeny bit more as if that's gonna help but really, didn't that cause this? Lightweight drinker here!

"Beautiful," Maris murmurs after Ezra's carefully crafted song, showcasing his approval. At Nisaa's further questioning, however, he offers a slow shake of his head. "It's better if y'don't know, love." He polishes off his glass of vodka and releases a hot breath, vibrant violets shifting over to meet Isabeau's blues, "No lever. I'd be drinkin' top shelf if that were the case. And this bar would be a tad less crowded." For whatever reason, he laughs and hitches up his broad, bulky shoulders in a loose shrug.

Cirroch dips his head to Isabeau before he looks to one of the guards that preceded him into the tavern, they hand over a large goat horn drinking vessel with a liquid in it. Looking at the drink for a moment, then smiling, "Thank you Esben." Turning back to Isabeau, "My guards appear to be able to find the good whiskey where ever we end up. It is good to see you again." He takes a /Sanna sip/ from the horn, nearly emptying the horn of the flagon that it can hold. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then looking to Thesarin, "Marquis-Consort, it is good to meet you." And along the path that Mia set out, "Nisaa Whisper, and Captain Maris, well met to you as well." He then turns to Raimon and answers with a quiet aside to the prince before looking back to the crowd, "How many behind am I then?"

Ezra hand-wobbles at Cirroch. "A couple." He tilts a crooked smile toward the Marquis. "I'm sure you can catch up. What ought I to know about the city, now that I am here? All of you, I'm curious." And also trying to make everyone forget the half-song.

"I had the ah... unique pleasure of meeting Ripley Thornburn," Isabea offers to Mia in response, her smooth refined contralto voice touched with some trace of amusement, "He called me duchess of hearts, gave me a hair ornament, and promised to help me with my charity." She gives her head a soft shake, "And his dog is very sweet." The blue eyes of the duchess flick down to Maris's glass and she offers aside, "Should you get the opportunity, Captain, you ought to try some Telmarch ice vodka." She says to the man before she turns her attention to Raimon and offers a smile, "Your Highness. We can't keep running into each other like this."

Sparkling blue eyes shift along to Ezra as she offers, in that soothing voice, "Now, my Lord. I have a very important question for you." She waits for a moment, letting that statement hang a bit dramatically in the air. Then she puts to Ezra, "How many of our names can you actually remember?"

Ezra is UP to the CHALLENGE, Isabeau. "Duchess Isabeau, of course," he points out her first. "Thesarin. Mia." He'd better get those right, or else somebody please come get Ezra. "Whisper Nisaa, Marquis Sanna, Prince Raimon over there I have met previously though he seems on a mission." A final gesture at Maris, "And Ezra."

Maris waves at Isabeau, "Hi, I'm Ezra."

Thesarin has been sitting quietly with his own whiskey, with the steady sorts of liquor drinking you rarely get from a man under forty; which is to say, he has a

"Then I would suggest Caprice Artiglio, at the Silken Symphony. I've worn one or two of her gowns, beautifully gauzy things that were given to me as gifts by one of the Graysons some years ago, and she was recently named guildmaster of the Crafter's Guild. One of Master Thornburn's sisters, Aurora, is also apparently a legend with a needle and thread, but I've never worn anything of hers yet," she murmurs to the ladies, having apparently slipped out of the rest of the conversation. Quite possibly for the best, given what surely is about to get underway if they're testing Ezra's recollection of names already.

Raimon is drawn away from his station nearby Cirroch by Isabeau's notice and address. As such, he steps forward to take his place amongst the general gather. He seems more relaxed after the exchange with Cirroch, and gives a tiny respectful hand - gesture of a salute as Ezra mentions his name during the 'Calling of the Lineup' exercise. Raimon thence leans back, more at ease, and starts to listen more intently to the ebb and flow of the conversation

Nisaa does not seem too terribly pleased to not have her question answered. However, she has the grace to only pout a mere moment before her smile returns. "Is it?" she asks to Maris. "I suppose I will have to take you at your word." She dips her head to Cirroch and greets him. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Marquis Sanna." When Ezra lists the names he has learned, she smiles and softly applauds. "Well done." A nod of her head is given to Raimon. "Prince Raimon of-" her voice trails off. "I do not believe I have met. I am Nisaa Whisper." She is, however, also keeping track of the names of jewelers and designers being discussed by Mia and Isabeau.

Thesarin has been sitting quietly with his own whiskey, with the steady sorts of liquor drinking you rarely get from a man under forty; which is to say, he has a high tolerance, an awareness of what that tolerance is, and no need to press against it or prove anything about it. Another look of amusement at Ezra's triumphant recollection of the company's names, and his and Maris' games of identity. He lifts the cup toward Cirroch with a low noise at his throat. "Well met, Marquis Sanna. It ain't my halls, but it's my family's gathering, so I'll have it on myself to say to be welcome."

2 Valardin Knights arrives, following Sirius.

Ezra has camped out at the bar with some liquid courage while conversation ebbs and flows all around, with various people around the bar or near it, bantering this way and that, issuing hospitality, and exchanging tips on crafters of talent! The flighty Riven lord of the hour has not yet fled the premises, though he seems content not to be in the spotlight as long as he can make that happen.

Suddenly, Nisaa lifts her hand to cover her mouth with her fingertips, her eyes widening in surprise. She takes a breath and lowers that hand to rest upon her chest just under her neck. She smiles, and gives a nod, before giving a slight lean in at the bar.

Some bookish princeling wanders his way on a meandering swerve into the boarding house, his expression so pale - so belonging of one named Sirius - it borders on the sallow. He is in dialogue with his accompanying escort -- a pair of armored knights who look wider, bigger, and meaner altogether. "No quarter," he's telling one of them, "Means no mercy, you cretin." Obvious it is that by the stretch of impatience in the Valardin's voice that this conversation has gone far and long into the realm of obtuse. Waving each knight off, Sirius takes to the counter and views Ezra tented against it with a deep furrow of brows. "Do they sell milk here, good sir?"

There is a slight furrow of Mia's brow at the expression which passes across Nisaa's face but, seeing the other woman smile, she chooses to say nothing of it. No, she only shakes her head at something that one or another of those gathered have said, before looking back to her husband. "Can I trust you to cart him back to Heron Hall if need be, given that I had the task of dragging him out of it?," she asks, apparently laying some of the blame for the evening's plan of 'force Ezra to be social' at Thesarin's feet. Such a betrayal of them both!

"Milk?" Ezra doesn't seem to know if that question was for him or not, but he's fielding it anyway. "I don't know, I've honestly never asked. My friend handed me whiskey and it's been downhill from there. But if you're looking for some and they don't -- I'm sure it could be fetched from somewhere. Please forgive me, I don't believe we've had the pleasure of an introduction. I'm Lord Ezra Riven."

Then there's Mia over there, tasking Thesarin with some babysitting. "I'm fine! I can get home. I'm fine. I am an adult person who is fine." Yup.

A gentle raise of her eyebrows, a twist of her romantic features and a smile that lights up her eyes very slightly transforms the blond's features as she catches sight of Sirius. Her head lowers in a gentle dip towards the man, and Isabeau utters a soft, "Lovely to see you, cousin," in her rich contralto voice.

Perhaps other families might hug after a time not seeing each other, but well... Oathlanders. Her warm voice addresses the man once more, "How are you? It feels like it's been ages."