Are You Ready Now? (Victor/Gray/Open, 1/8, late afternoon)

[Victor Castell]

Victor walked slowly across the deck to where his cousin was still tied to the mast. He watched Grayson with a critical eye, hoping his cousin had learned something over the last two days. If not, well, he would learn it without his tongue. Victor could not, would not, back down from the threat he had so clearly issued.

“Cousin,” Victor greeted him. Grayson had been lucky the skies were clear and no rain or snow had fallen on their decks. He leaned close enough to keep his words between the two, even as the crew found excuses to get closer. “Let’s be real. This is no place for a man of House Castell. Your place should be one of honor, such as Donovan or Lexington. I don’t care that you drink or go whoring or gambling, just that you stand with respect in the presence of your family. I’d like to believe that we won’t have the need to remove that tongue or endure such treatment again. I just need to know that you don’t plan to run around speaking ill of the family.”

[Grayson Castell]

Grayson eyed his cousin cheerily. Two days hadn't been so bad, the mantle he had been given had helped. As had the clandestine drink he had been given. "I have never spoken ill about any member of this family to anyone not in this family. Not to anyone but you really. It just seems I have talked ill about you to you."

He sighed and let his breath mist in front of him. "Simply put I don't whore and drink for the sake of whoring and drinking. I do it for two reasons. One to piss off Tandor. And two drunk men, horny men, and men on winning streaks talk. They talk I listen, I am in control of myself, and only appear as out of control as I want to. And what I learn makes its way to whomever can make the most use of it. Usually that person is me, who then spreads rumors based on the drunken confessions these men make. If you wish me to bring it all to you first, then fine I will. Also the noble not so demure daughters of the various lords tend to be loose tongued when properly seduced and bedded. But ultimately I do it all for the house."

He then took another deep, if somewhat ragged breath and studied his cousin closely.

[Victor Castell]

“Your first reason is for yourself, Grayson. Piss off your father all your want, but ensure that doesn’t extend to me. I’m not here to play games with you Grayson. I’m here to ensure this House stays on top. If these means of yours is how you wish to help,” Victor shook his head, “Do so out of the sight of myself and the other high Lords.”

He paused and pulled a knife from where it had been sheathed on belt. “What I wish, Grayson, no, what I demand, is that when you walk into my sight, or that of your Aunt or cousins, or hell in public even your father, that your face and your body and your words and your manner are that of a man who his proud of his House and respects those in it. When you trample through the bar and look the fool, well,” he paused, almost smiling, “We all have our moments.”

He held up the knife. “So which will it be?”

[Grayson Castell]

Grayson tried to sound serious. Gods know he really tried. The look on his face clearly showed the battle within himself. "The rope if you please. I've grown attached to my tongue and would hate to see it gone. And the tavern wenches and lordlings daughters would be even more cross with you." He didn't smile though, he couldn't. He had lost the battle. Which was inevitable really. When one stood against Victor Castell, one lost.

"I will..." he paused for a moment. "Refrain from singing the ballad of Lord Ashpool's Face in noble company. And also will refrain from spontaneously composing more. If there is nothing else m'Lord I wish to have a lie down and about a gallon of water."

Grayson looked tired and worn. The wind had battered his skin raw, his throat was dry and raspy. He did not look like the man he had when he was tied to that mast. And hopefully he could stop himself from completely being that man again. At least for the sake of his tongue.

[Victor Castell]

That was all Victor needed. The knife moved quickly to cut Grayson’s bonds and Victor motioned for one of the men who had crept close while mopping the deck to help him back into Victor study. “Help him the to the sofa. Then see that the galley brings him a gallon of water.” Victor followed behind as the sailor helped the weak Grayson inside.

Victor poured two glasses of Brandy and then sat down in a chair across from where Grayson was laying. “If you think forcing respect from you is something I enjoy, Grayson you’re wrong.” He set one of the glasses on the small table between them, and then took a sip from his own glass. “I’d much rather know that you stand by side, supporting me as the Lord, because you have pride in the house and the way we present ourselves to the world.”

[Grayson Castell]

Grayson was thankful for the help to the sofa and for the gallon of water that was eventually brought for him. He chugged and chugged the water, spilling more than a little. "My support is always behind our house, even if my actions publicly seem to be counterintuitive." He actually sat the brandy down without touching it. He wasn't sure that the burning of the the alcohol would be a good idea for his raspy and dry throat.

"If our enemies think that they have some one close to the top who is out of favor, it makes it possible for them to approach me and see if they can buy my favor somehow. And no one could really be more tempting than a cousin to the lord." Grayson leaned his head back and closed his eyes letting out a raspy unhealthy sounding cough.

[Victor Castell]

Victor watched Grayson drink, knowing the cold air had probably weakened him. He raised an eyebrow at his cousin’s words. “A slight stretch, cousin, considering the last time we spoke there was no enemy lord around to hear it. But if that is your explanation, perhaps you were still acting in character?” He took another sip of his brandy as Grayson laid back on the couch. The man would need rest and sleep and perhaps some healing tea, but he would recover. He was a strong man.

“If you are too open, you make me look weak. Your disobedience should be when I am not around to see it, such that our enemies believe you could easily be gaining information from the house, while spilling it due to discontent. And when you and I speak privately, I hope in the future you can refrain from terms like ‘stick up your ass’.”

[Grayson Castell]

Grayson was embarrassed by the trembling in his limbs. The cold had taken him, but he knew he would not sicken from it. He wasn't the type of man to sicken from a mere chill, even one borne of two days rigged to a mast like a sail. He wouldn't admit that Victor had a point, but there was a slight wince. The question was rhetorical, of course.

Again, another point to Victor. His wince this time was actual and he tipped his hand towards his cousin. "That I will avoid. Perhaps some more colorful turns of phrases as well." After all, he didn't really fancy being tied to the mast on the way back.

[Victor Castell]

Victor lifted his glass and smirked before taking a sip. “Then we are better on the same page. You’ll keep that in mind as we arrive in Orqua. House Mallory is new at these games, and we should press our advantage her, rather than let our mouths run wild.”

Victory. Then again, who could truly expect to win again the man who held the power and title? It did not matter if Grayson was right or wrong; his place was to serve, Victor’s to lead. The sooner he understood that, the better. How Tandor had failed in his case... well Tandor was never the father figure that Adron was. His father should have seen that and pulled Grayson to study with Victor. If they’d grown up closer, the way he and Donovan had, Grayson might have turned out better.

He still had time to learn.

“Responsibility is not easy, cousin. But our time is near and more will be on our shoulders. Your support, uncolored, would make both our lives easier.”