Sweet Lies [ OPEN ]

[Donovan Grimm]

"G- Giants...!? Truly, sire!? Beyond the wall!?"

Flour Street was ablaze on this day, with a high heat index and bright sun to pour down upon the busy road. King's Landing was always busy, it seemed, and that was perfectly find with Donovan, as it was simply the way he had always remembered it to be. Before him, standing before the gaping window of the ancient and run down Baker's House, the young man stood, mouth as wide as the window in which he stood.

"Oh, yes lad. But it's not the Giants you need worry about, no, you can outmaneuver them should you be swift enough. No, you should truly be concerned about the Giantess. She's large, burly, and has a beard as thick and full as her male counterparts" Donovan spoke idly, as though distracted, thumbing through the dry and hard loaves of crust bread that sat on the edge of the windowsill, while the hungry pigeons eyed it from the ground below, cooing away. The bread was supposedly baked fresh on this morning, though it felt as though it were older than even a week "And if she catches you, she'll spend you for every ounce of seed you have, before eating you whole. Now, that Sweet Dough?"

"Ah, r- right, sir, right away, sir; two copper, if it pleases you, sir" the young boy, scrawny as twig, shoved the smallish basket of small round cake like balls onto the sill, plucking out a good five or six, too quick for Donovan to count, and handing them to the black clad Brother on the other side. As they exchanged coin for food, Donovan tucking the small balls of yeast into his satchel, the boy continued "So... the Giantesses... rape men!?"

"Mhm. And they aren't the only things on the other side of that wall. Dark things lurk there, in the North. Once, I saw a serpent large enough to be a dragon, or so I should assume. It was devouring a Wildling Brute, his axe still attempting to hack fruitlessly into the scales... It'll be a long ways there, but would you like to come see for yourself?" As Donovan spoke his lies, the young boy stared at him eyes as wide as saucers. He was thin, frail, with a cleaner look to him than peasant baker boy ought to have. A craven seeking an escape from a cruel city life he deemed too terrible, Donovan assumed.

"A- Ah- No- I mean, I know I had asked, I was only curious. A- A- And... My father would be terribly upset, sir. No I must stay and help him here, in the bakery, yes" The boy spoke quickly, his head nodding more times than Van might count. In truth, Van had no intention of ever bringing the child; he'd have second thoughts halfway to Westeros, and beg Donovan to turn around and return him home. Fool him once, shame on him, and that was all Donovan required before learning to tell a man with a heart of gold from one with a heart of yellow. Also, Donovan simply wanted his bread, he decided, popping one of the moist sweet treats into his mouth fully.

"Suit yourself. Too bad really. We could use a man who knows it way around Sweet Dough."

[Vairee]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=bgcolor,FFFFFF][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 440px, bTable][atrb=style, text-align: justify; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 20px;] -----"No no, not that way. A man with gilded words is that way, and I know he'll get you in his clutches for at least an hour. We don't want you to get in trouble with your master, now do we?" Vairee chuckled. He grasped a waif by the back of her shirt and switched places with her, the dexterity of his action defying the narrow confines of the alley. The child blinked at him, then nodded and sulked off in the indicated direction. -----After watching the little brunette slink safely around the corner, Vairee turned to face to shifting light at the juncture of alleyway and Flour Street. Tapping his bottom lip twice with a single sharp-nailed finger, he smiled vaguely and entered the abrasive sunlight. -----Vairee, seemingly oblivious to the passing curious eyes his attire attracted, jauntily approached a certain scout of the Night's Watch as the man recounted monsters and shameless fiction to a baker's boy. -----With the pleasant interest of an old friend, he clasped his hands behind his back and tilted forward, angling his head in an inquisitive display. "Donovan Grimm! Eight years in the Night's Watch -- and such great tales to tell for it." He gave the attending child a sidelong, knowing glance, and the boy, shifting uncomfortably at the painted face, stepped back towards his work.