set during day one of the hangman's tourney: night. a lady is within a tent she feels out of place at, but she was told it would be fun. in the way of the drinks table, she bumps into lady farman, @iechor.
falyn didn't know what she was doing here. the dancing, the drinking, the revelry, it was not her style. she much preferred to enjoy courtly dancing and chatting with lords and ladies about the realm's security and inner workings of how they are treating their vassals. whatever was happening here was not that and part of falyn felt like she was too old for this. (she was only seven and twenty, had done more debaucherous things before and her sin slept soundly within the red keep waiting for her mother to come back.) her drink fumbled in her hand — water because she did not wish to drink wine at a party like this — managing to catch it in time before she makes a fool of herself. though she figures that would not be too difficult, "fuck," she curses under her breath, red hot embarrassment warms her cheeks. the feeling of a presence next to her does not help, "i apologize for my language, i—" falyn's body turns, the flush from her cheeks travels down her body to places no one could see. "lady tala, what are you doing here?" really? that is all she could say?