desmera redwyne

owner of the arbor winery art collector

[thearbor-desmera]

sylva santagar

Sylva laughed, finding some novelty in Desmera’s matter-of-fact way of speaking. She seemed so sure of every word that fell from those red-painted lips and it was a refreshing change from the um-ing and ah-ing that characterized her art-industry colleagues. The time she’d had waiting had been put to use deciding in advance what she would have - a house-made gnocchi in a roasted capsicum sauce that had instantly caught her eye. When the server came to pour their wine, she took the opportunity to order, wanting to keep things moving when it seemed Desmera had a million things to do in her busy schedule, requesting the gnocchi and then handing over to her company to order. It was the professional thing to do, even if it were at odds with the fact she felt a little as though she’d like to sit here and listen to her talk about art for hours on end. 

She could claim to be many things, but humble was not one of them. The first sip of wine was accompanied by a knowing shrug, and a smile. Sylva thanked the server and then turned back to their conversation, holding the glass aloft on the way to her lips. “This is good - whoever made it really knows what they’re doing.” She smirked, knowing full well who that person was. There was also no attempt made to hide how impressed she was with Desmera’s opinion of the merit of the Hightower - clearly she was not the kind of collector who threw her money thoughtlessly wherever trend and prestige lead her. “As would I. To think paintings of such high skill and beauty derivative seems a crime to me.”  

Sylva’s area of expertise was Dornish art, though she had spent a little time studying the practice of artists from the Iron Islands and the North while still at university - art from the Reach, however, had become an obsessive interest for her ever since taking the job as curator for the Oldtown Museum of Art and getting her hands on the capital of the Reach’s beautiful collection. She’d come across a few works by Norcross in her time here, beautiful, tender pencil drawings of figures one could not help but become fond of. Sylva had a print of one - two women walking in a garden - stuck to her fridge. “I think I’ve read about that somewhere… but I assumed it was lost or buried in a collection without anyone knowing its significance as most of her works are.” Sylva breathed a sigh of excitement, though it was subdued as ever for a woman who wore nonchalance like armour. “I’d love for it to be seen the way Norcross intended it - if I can weave it into the exhibition, I think it would do wonders for putting her more on the map as is deserving of an artist of such high caliber that the history books have so often left out.” She puntuated her pause with a sip from her wineglass. “Of course, that is if you’d be willing to lend it to me- us, I mean.” Sylva corrected, collected as ever despite realising that she was thinking of this all too personally, too fast. 

Desmera ordered the salad, as usual, and as she took a sip of her wine, she could not stop the crinkle of her eyes at the corners as Sylva smirked. She supposed it was rather bold of her to choose the wine that she produced, but Desmera was not the type of woman to try new things just to see if they would suit in a business setting. “The winemaker I employ is quite good,” she agreed with a wry smile. “He knows how to work with my vision and does not seem to find me incredibly micro-managerial. I am thankful for that at least.” She took another sip. “Sometimes I think that art should simply be. There does not always need to be a purpose behind it other than enjoyment. It is why I am so selective of which organizations I will lend some to.” Desmera offered a small smile. “And I will admit sometimes I am simply selfish. There are some pieces that I’ve been hounded about for years now and I am certain some experts would be scandalized that I simply…hang them in my home.”

It was clear that they saw art similarly and Desmera found she was enjoying the conversation; it was rare for her to enjoy a business meeting so much. “There are so many rumors about the Redwyne Collection,” Desmera allowed, her lips quirking up at the corners. “And what I may or may not have.” A shoulder rose in a catlike shrug. “I find that I’m not exactly amenable to enlightening the general public.” She took a sip from her wine glass before sitting it back down on the table – making a mental note to have her assistant inform the sommelier that Arbor Gold of this vintage should be served approximately five degrees colder – hand remaining around the base should she want another sip. There was something incredibly endearing about Sylva, about her passion for art; so many curators that she met seemed interested only in the prestige and not in the art itself. Desmera inclined her head. “I would not have mentioned it if I had no intention of offering it. I’ve no desire to keep all of these pieces in climate-controlled storage facilities where no one can enjoy or learn from them,” she responded, hoping her words were not too blunt for the other woman; Desmera did not often mince words and though she could maintain social niceties, she did not couch her work speak in pretty little words that meant nothing. “My assistant will need to figure out if the dates of the exhibition align with other commitments, but I do not believe either the Norcross charcoals or the Hightower still life are committed to any other shows until next autumn. They are yours if you want them, for the exhibition of course.”

[thearbor-desmera]

loras tyrell

Loras rolled his eyes. “A dead fly stuck to my windscreen currently rates higher than Cersei Lannister. Let alone you. Truly the only good things she’s given the world are Myrcella and Tommen, and one really good party she threw as a benefit for some Westerlands biodiversity fundraiser that she probably doesn’t even care about.” Loras gave a flippant toss of his hand. He was hoping Renly might be up for spending Christmas at Highgarden this year, because he was hardly in the mood to put up with his sister-in-law for an hour let alone a whole day. “I don’t know how you manage to leave him behind at all. That dog looks at me and I have to do what he wants, I’m not strong enough.” 

There would be some members of his family - namely the ones who spend a healthy amount of time trying to get Loras to do as he was told - who might disagree with Loras’ statement, and Desmera’s assent, but it turned out when it came to his favourite cousin, he was more than happy to help. Besides, he wasn’t sure the shirking of duties and whining would go down well with Desmera, and Willas had already been here to stake his claim to the title of favourite so he had to do something about that. “I’m a fan of a star, I have to say, but I think that’s just because its what mother always had when we were kids. And there’s no way to find out about the ribbons unless you put them up - if they look shit we’ll take them down.” It must run in the genes, to be such a perfectionist. Loras understood her wanting it to be perfect, and he would not settle for anything less either. “Where are your baubles? I’ll carry them out while you think up your master-plan.”

Desmera laughed, shaking her head as her cousin spoke of Cersei Lannister. “Do you think she’ll win?” she inquired curiously as she considered the elections that were to take place after the holidays. “I’m not certain I like anyone running if I’m being honest.” The brunette lifted her glass back to her lips and it was only after she swallowed that she responded to Loras’ comment about her dog. “That’s precisely why I have to leave him. If I were to bring him everywhere with me, I’d be such a slave to my dog that nothing would get done.” Her nose crinkled in amusement and Desmera rolled her eyes dramatically, thankful that her visitor today was one who understood her just as much – if not better – than most.

She supposed it didn’t really matter to most people what was at the top of their Christmas tree – Desmera liked the tradition of a star, but she’d also seen some finial toppers that looked quite nice, even if she would never got as old-fashioned as having an angel atop it. “Perhaps you’re right,” she drawled, her gaze tightening as she considered the proportion of the tree. Desmera offered Loras another smile and gestured to the storeroom door on the other end of the bar. “They’re in there. I think that we’ll go with something somewhat traditional. Large baubles at the bottom and smaller ones as you move up the tree. Three ribbons cascading down, if the ones I have are wide enough. I certainly wouldn’t want a tree that’s disproportionate.” Desmera poured herself a bit more wine. “What are your plans for the holidays?” Though their grandmother was alive, Desmera’s father had passed some time ago and her mother seemed content to travel the world with her newest – and quite young – boyfriend. And as for her brothers, well… “The twins are going to be in Yi Ti or something like that.”

[thearbor-desmera]

mya stone

The woman Mya was met with at the door was quite beautiful, she almost thought that she had to have been in the wrong place. It wasn’t that they didn’t ever see anyone pretty around the diner, it was just so clear this woman did not frequent such a mom and pop type of establishment like this. While beautiful and elegant, it was clear she was exasperated and frazzled. Mya didn’t hesitate to pour the woman a mug of coffee and set it in front of her.

“We definitely do! Let me see what’s left.” Mya walked over to pastry case and sifted through what was left. All that remained was a blueberry scone. She quickly plated it and brought it to Desmera. “I only have this left, they’re amazing, but I know not everyone is a fan of blueberries. It’s the end of the day here, so it’d be on the house if you’d like it.” Mya tried to choose her tone wisely, the woman already seemed a little on edge, likely from a stressful day, but she didn’t want to cause offense by offering up something for free as if she needed charity.

“Thank you,” she responded, pleased with the coffee that was set in front of her with an ease and quickness she had not expected. She lifted it to her lips and took a long sip, thankful that it was still hot. She did not always indulge in coffee at this time of day, but there were exceptions for nearly every rule. Another sip followed, this one much slower than the first, and when the server returned, she felt more like herself than she had before.

Desmera had been raised to understand kindness as well as she understood business. She was aloof at times, yes, but she could generally recognize when another person was being genuine; it seemed, to her anyway, that the server was one of those types. Besides, Desmera would likely just leave a good tip anyway. “Thank you,” she said, offering Mya a smile that was sincere, if somewhat tremulous. “I love blueberries, actually. My parents had blueberry bushes in our garden when I was a child and I’d always get in trouble for eating so many that my mother could never use them for baking.” Her eyes glazed over for a moment and then she shook her head, noticing just how empty this place was. “I hope I’m not keeping you open.”

[thearbor-desmera]

sylva santagar

Sylva’s lips pulled up in the hint of a smile at the kind of power that exuded in an action like sitting down and ordering a bottle of one’s own vintage. Things like that rarely impressed the Dornishwoman, but it seemed today she was making an exception. “I agree. There’s a telling lack of room to hide bullshit in a verbal conversation.” So many of the collectors she met with regularly knew so little about their collections - with their teams of buyers and advisers and auction-house implants - other than that they were expensive and prestigious. Sylva was not so humble as to be unable to admit that her time and knowledge was wasted on meetings like these with people like that, and she wondered if this Reachborn magnate would fit in with the rest of her tax bracket. Sylva had been made optimistic by a pretty face more than once only be disappointed, after all.

“The still life, actually.” Sylva answered, brushing her curtain of sleek, dark hair over her shoulder as she crossed her arms and leaned them on the table. “I’m developing an exhibition to open in the new year, it’s going to highlight artists from the Reach from the period after the War of the Five Kings until now, and their changing reactions to a sense of place here.” It was an ambitious project, and one that Sylva had become more and more interested in the more research she did. Sylva suspected this was a test. Their emails had been watertight, afterall. But she played along, fairly certain she would pass. “The still life is so much more telling of Hightower’s identity, just the way she captures life, and light, and vitality and a sense of bounty that’s so synonymous with this place. It’s perfect for what we’re trying to do. It’s a better painting too, if a less popular one.” Sylva shrugged, unapologetic about her opinions about art, or anything, really, in the grander scheme of things. 

“Precisely.” Her tone was sure, as if she was simply stating a fact instead of sharing her opinion in a work meeting and conversation. “And as you’ve seen from my schedule today, there’s a lack of room for bullshit in it.” Her lips turned up as if she was sharing a private joke and Desmera briefly opened the menu to ensure that the salad she preferred – salmon, with Gorgonzola and lemon-dill dressing – was still being served.

A brow arched as she learned the other woman wanted the still life and as Sylva described the exhibition she was curating, Desmera’s interest was evident in her expression, eyes engaged and lips slowly turning up at the corners. “That’s quite impressive,” she responded, pausing briefly to thank the server who poured them each a glass of the wine that she’d ordered. “I agree with you about the Hightower. She’s very adept at using light in a way that encapsulates that time period while also showcasing how people viewed such mundane objects. I’ve encountered many who find her still life paintings to be rather derivative, but I would disagree.”

It was rare for Desmera to agree with others about art so easily and her head tilted to the side as her eyes widened. “I may have something else that might interest you, though it might not fit the parameters of this exhibition. Alysanne Norcross is rather underappreciated, especially her charcoals, but she has a series of six small portraits – all of the same woman, taken from the first six decades of life. They’re meant to be shown as a set, in order, but they’ve never been shown publicly in Westeros before.” Norcross, an 18th-century artist from near Highgarden, was known more for her pencil drawings than anything else and Desmera’s family had purchased the charcoal set from a distant relative of the subject years ago.

[thearbor-desmera]

willas tyrell

Though his schedule could become quite full on a week to week basis, Willas always made time for his close friends and family. He loved everyone in his family and while they had political ties thanks to his grandmother and aspiring family members such as his sister and Loras, there was nothing short of pride for them. Willas respected all of them and loved them when they were there for him as well. With it being the holidays, he had busied himself with plans for the next year which was relative, feeling tethered and being as active as he could. Usually people could be quite generous during this time of the year and Willas hoped they shared that kindness.

Willas walked through the doors of the winery to see Desmera, thinking that they had arranged a lunch a few days ago that he had to raincheck on and felt terribly about for the following days. He approached the desk with a wide smile when Desmera didn’t look up but her words greeted him as if he were another client or customer. “Only a few times. Have any recommendations?” Willas asked with a teasing lilt in his tone. “I came in person to apologise for the other day. I forgot my apologetic bottle of wine but if there is anything I can do to make up for it I promise you will see it done.”

The winery was, she supposed, a refuge in a world that often had her rising early, going to bed late, and running around meeting with people who wanted her paintings more often than she was able to work at her true passion – The Arbor. Managing the art collection took up more time than she’d originally expected, but as the sole beneficiary of the Redwyne Trust, it had fallen to her anyway. While The Arbor had originally been planned as a side project, the niche winery had expanded, and Desmera’s passion for it was evident.

Eyes lifted up at the familiar voice and a smile grew upon her face, wide and genuine. “Well the Arbor Gold is always quite good. There’s a sparkling version that’s being released next week, but for you I’d be willing to open a bottle now.” Desmera was pleased with the vineyard’s growth and she expected to sell out of the holiday vintage within a fortnight. “You can very much make it up to me,” she teased him, her voice wry and lilting. Desmera gestured toward the large fir tree near the large windows of the tasting room. “I need some help stringing the lights and I’m too much of a perfectionist to do them myself without being able to look at it from afar as I go. I’m worried it won’t be proportioned properly.” The brunette shook her head and took another long sip of her wine glass as she looked over at her cousin.

[thearbor-desmera]

loras tyrell

“It was spontaneous, and I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t have to go into the theatre today and I cancelled the appearance I was supposed to make at one of Cersei Lannister’s charity galas that she doesn’t care about, and came here instead.” A much better use of his time - the holidays were for family, were they not? Loras pouted at the lack of Rothko cuddles that today would hold (he had secretly been hoping for them) but consoled himself with the fact he’d have Desmera’s company undivided. “I miss that dog so much I think my boyfriend is probably getting sick of me showing him pictures of Rothko on my phone and whining that I love him.”

Loras very rarely drank, but he always made an exception for what Desmera put hours into crafting even though it was rare for him to finish a glass. He swirled it around in the glass the way she had shown him years ago, and took a sip, happy to taste that she had poured him something sweet and buttery like he liked. “Gods, Willas is a saint. Need a hand with the rest of it? I can’t say I have a good eye but I am very good at doing what I’m told for and standing on my tip-toes. It’s kind of my job.” He laughed, taking another tentative sip of wine. 

Her own smile was wide and Desmera’s lips turned up at the corners. “I rate higher than Cersei Lannister?” she inquired, her voice casual in a way that only family could truly bring out. “Color me quite surprised indeed.” Her ponytail swished as she put the bottle of wine back into the chiller and lifted her own glass – a drier vintage coming from a similar grape – in a mock toast before taking another sip. “Rothko misses you as well, I’m sure. There have been a great many whines coming lately when I leave.” A shrug of her should accompanied her words and she looked over at the tree once more, a critical expression in her eye.

“He is that,” she agreed of Willlas. He’d always been one of her favorite cousins in a sea of Reach families and she was grateful for his help, especially as she knew he was incredibly busy with his activism this time of year. “You are quite good at following directions, I can be a witness to that at least.” Desmera took another long sip of her wine. “I can’t decide if ribbons down the side is a bit much,” she mused. “And my favorite topper broke last year; do you have any preferences?” The problem with Desmera was that while she had a perfect vision in her mind, she had several visions from which to choose.

[thearbor-desmera]

sylva santagar

Sylva was happy to wait - it meant she could spend longer sitting here with her cup of coffee, scrolling through emails on her phone rather than back at the gallery where every person seemed to have 100 questions for her. This was far preferable, especially when the woman she was meeting had such integral part to play in the exhibition she was working on if all went to plan. Desmera Redwyne was nothing short of legendary in the art world of Westeros, but between glimpses of her quite practically glittering at industry events, and a penchant for the wine that her vineyards produced, Sylva had never actually met her.

“It’s no problem.” Sylva smiled, as she stood up to shake the other woman’s hand, trying very hard not to be distracted by the picture Desmera presented. The email exchanges they’d had had struck Sylva as almost painfully formal, and she wondered if she would be the same in real life - as someone perpetually relaxed, there was an element of nervousness in her though whether that was the formality or the way she looked, Sylva couldn’t be sure. “I get it, making anything happen this time of year takes twice the time.” And twice the motivation. Sylva smiled, catlike and relaxed, as she sat back down. “But I’m glad we could meet - there are exciting things to be discussed.”

The café was one that Desmera liked most if only for its discretion. She appreciated that she could come and go while being treated just like anyone else, that it was reliable in a way many places were not. She pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear as she settled her napkin – linen, folded neatly – in her lap. While she had seen Sylva Santagar before, they had not conversed in great detail outside of email conversations that Desmera enjoyed if only for the intelligence the other woman displayed.

Desmera smiled once more, this one meeting her eyes as she sat in her chair, at Sylva’s understanding of her time. “Still, it’s most unlike me to be late, so I appreciate your patience,” she responded, pausing to order a bottle of Arbor Gold and sparkling water for the table. “Indeed” she responded arching a brow as she looked over at the other woman’s catlike smile. “I always find discussing art to be incredibly insightful. And there is something to be said about doing so in person. So many of my meetings are with people who sound as if they know a piece quite well in writing; I’m always rather disappointed to find out the opposite.” She tilted her head to the side, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. “I was a bit confused by our last exchange, though. Were you interested in the Hightower still life or the self-portrait?” [ It was a test, though not exactly a good one; most people wanted the self-portrait but it was the still life that had more insight into the 19th century time period. ]

[thearbor-desmera]

loras tyrell

Loras had so many family members - endless Tyrells, Hightowers, Fossoways and Redwynes that he could barely keep track of, let alone the ranks of Baratheons who were weaseling their way into his life now that he understood Renly was a part of his life for the long-run now. It was all a little much, especially when Loras found it hard to be anything more than an acquaintance to most of them, finding that blood or family often was no substitute for genuine feeling. Desmera was, of course, among those he cherished - family by blood and by choice. 

It was not often that his too-tight schedule allowed him the luxury of a drive up to see her, but when it did, Loras jumped at the chance. It was a nice trip, and the silence of his mind as he drove was welcome, as was the excitement he had for surprising Desmera. When he asked for her at the reception, he was surprised to be directed to the tasting room, expecting to find her occupied with something far less menial. “Unfortunately it is not, but despite the bitter taste and the bad service, I am back again - even Reachmade shit is better than the finest Dornish vintages, no?” He teased, ever the irritating younger cousin, as he went about pulling his scarf off and shaking snow out of his hair. “What’s this then Mera? Undercover Boss or something.” He snickered, giving up the folly but not the teasing entirely.

While Desmera had not intended on seeing Loras today, there was a smile that played on her lips, genuine and soft, at the sight of him. She did not spend nearly so much time with Loras as she may have when they were younger, but she appreciated his company – and insights on her Tinder dates via text – all the same. She leaned across the bar to press a kiss to his cheek. “How was the drive? If I’d known you were coming, I’d have brought Rothko in with me.” Rothko, her English bulldog named after her favorite modern artist, loved Loras more than she loved Desmera – much to the latter’s consternation.

She shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips at Loras’ teasing. “I do this sometimes,” she pointed out, reaching down for a bottle to pour Loras a glass as well. “I figure it’s a good day to get the tree decorated anyway.” Desmera indicated a rather large fir tree set up in front of the window. “Willas came by to help with the lights, but I got busier than I expected and wanted to set up the baubles myself. You know well how particular I can be.” There were a few boxes in the storeroom, the shapes, colors, and finishes carefully curated so that the tree would look as if it came out of a magazine. She finished pouring him a glass and pushed it across the bar.

[thearbor-desmera]

@ofsevenkingdoms​ A Swanky Café in Oldtown

Desmera Redwyne was running late and her lips pressed together into a frown as she walked into the restaurant in Oldtown, well aware that she was more than a couple of moments past her reservation. If this were a social meeting, perhaps she might not have been so irritable, but as she was meeting to discuss loans of pieces in the Redwyne’s vast art collection, Desmera would not give herself such a pass. As she moved toward the table where her companion was seated, she allowed a smile to rise on her face.

A gold Valyrian watch encircled her wrist and matching gold drops were threaded through her ears, accentuating her hair falling in waves over her shoulder and the simple, yet professional, black dress she wore. “Thank you so much for waiting,” she said as she held her hand out to shake the other woman’s. “My last meeting ran late and the holiday parade through the square meant my driver had to take the other way.” She sat down, neatly crossing her legs at the corner.

[thearbor-desmera]

The Arbor Winery, just outside of Oldtown

The tasting room was somewhat empty today and though Desmera had a staff that normally ran day-to-day operations of The Arbor while she focused on moving forward, some days she wanted nothing more than to talk to guests about wine and have a glass or two while looking through the wall of windows that overlooked the vineyard. Wine was her passion, even if she could not indulge herself in it as often as she might like. But she had long ago realized that it was here where she felt most like herself. The tasting room had been built with no expenses spared and looked like a chalet, with slanting walls and high ceilings, providing good acoustics and a warm vibe that had brought many a guest back.

Desmera’s dress, while still designer, was decidedly more lowkey than the couture she wore to events or the businesswear she wore to meetings and her hair was held up by a loose ponytail instead of each strand of hair being artfully pulled into place. A glass of Arbor Gold was next to her and she lifted it to her lips to take a short sip. When she set the glass back onto the bar, she heard the door open and a smile grew on her face. “Welcome to The Arbor,” she greeted warmly. “Is this your first time here?”

[thearbor-desmera]

mya stone

[ mya stone ]

The day was chaotic, Mya was certain she would snap and quit, and yet she always managed to keep a smile on her face and a polite tone. After all, her tips pretty much depended on all of that despite her feelings. She knew she really needed to step it up too. Edric would be off to college so soon, Barra needed a good pair of running shoes, and the twins were definitely going to need braces within the year. Her head was spinning with all of the big costs that would be coming so soon, but still she pressed on. They may have only been her half-siblings, but they held her whole heart and she was willing to do whatever it took to take care of them.

It was near closing time, Sunday brunch had been chaos and the diner was a disaster, Mya and a couple other waitresses began sweeping and wiping up tables, while there was still a few more minutes left until official closing, she prayed that no one else would walk in. Sure enough, as she was bent over sweeping under a table, the bell chimed signaling someone had entered. She let out a soft sigh, wiping the tired look off her face, and turned to smile at them. “Good afternoon! Have a seat wherever you’d like!” She said, going to put up the broom before walking up to them. “What can I get you to drink?”

Desmera hated meetings, despised them even. She hated pandering to the men who thought they could manipulate her, hated making nice with the women who glared at her, and in general, wished she could dispense with formalities much of the time. [ It mattered little that she was good at them. One did not always have the luxury of being good at what one liked. ] She’d spent the morning meeting with several different art galleries and museums that wished to borrow a painting in the vast Redwyne collection; it was one of Desmera’s favorites and currently hung above her bed, though she wasn’t going to tell them that. The afternoon had been much of the same and her smile had become more brittle. After spending hours smiling and shaking hands and negotiating, she was ready for a bit of a break.

There was a diner near her last meeting and though it wasn’t the type of place Desmera usually frequented, she craved the solace its anonymity would likely provided. “Hello,” she said, her voice perhaps a little stiff from all the talking she’d done that day. “Coffee, please. Black.” Desmera chose a small table near the corner and leaned back in her chair, exhaling heavily. “I don’t suppose you have any pastries?” she inquired.