Déjà Vu {Delia!}

• Storyline
• Rules
• Staff Roster
• Canon List
• Character Application
• Available Creatures

[Character of the Month]

Character of the Month
Sephen de la Braose

Read the Application
Played by Kai

"Sephen is an intriguing character, who out of prudence,  provides supplies for Miraz, but out of conviction and loyalty, also supplies the Old Narnians.  He has several interesting story lines, which together make him complex and lifelike."
Character of the Month Archive

<a href="http://intonarnia.com/index.php" target="_blank"><img src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y24/Jennifu/Images/Narnia/IntoNarniaAffiliateBadge.png"></a>

Post in March's activity check to let everyone know you're still active!

[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

   It seemed almost surreal, knowing that as Sephen rode towards the pond where he and his brother had played as children, he was to meet their childhood friend Delia whom he had not seen in some eighteen years. For whatever the reason, the adults had thought it inappropriate for girls and boys to play together once they had reached ten or eleven years old. First Sephen had been pulled aside by his father to begin his education, and eventually he had brought Killian home telling them that they were to be focusing on their studies. The place looked almost exactly as he remembered, though with the obvious differences because of the season; the small pond had frozen over with a thin layer of ice, frost even creeping up the posts on the small dock where the boat that normally sat in the water had been turned upside down for the winter.

   Dismounting as they reached the point where the trees suddenly stopped around the shore, Sephen tied Thane's reins to a tree bough, patting his neck before wandering towards the pond. His footsteps made crunching noises in the previously undisturbed snow, meandering leisurely towards the dock. He couldn't help but let his mind wander a bit, wondering what Delia would look like now, where the harpies had gone after leaving the Wood, what Killian was doing... it had been far too long since he had the time to relax enough to think about such things. He couldn't help himself but feel a bit old, what with Killian still in his mid-20s (Delia was only a year older, as he recalled) and he closing in on 30. Had it really been that long?

   He looked up to hear Thane nickering and snorting, no doubt announcing the arrival of another horse somewhere; and, sure enough, he could hear the distinctive gait of a horse crunching through the calf-deep snow. Pausing beside the dock, he kept his eyes out for the horse and its rider, though what he did eventually see was probably the last thing he had expected.

[Delia Sarafine Mowbray]

She couldn't explain it, but Delia was actually nervous about going to see Sephen. Imagine! Her! Nervous! Of course, she was quite sure it was mostly because she hadn't told her parents about it. The wouldn't have allowed it, not without proper escort. Or they would have made her invite him to their estate and she'd never have a moment alone with him! She knew that her parents were as fond of the De La Braose family as she, but this was the first time she'd had any contact with him in many years. She didn't need her mother hovering, and for heaven's sake, she definitely didn't need the woman trying to push her old friend on her as a possible suitor! She knew her mother too well. So maybe, after today, she would suggest inviting him over, and his brother, and her mother could flit about playing entertainer and unsuccessful matchmaker. So, for today, she'd just told her parents she was going riding. It wasn't lying. It was withholding information.

She was bundled up, almost uncomfortably so, which made riding rather difficult. It wasn't an activity she did often or had bothered to master. Then, it was more a recreation sort of thing than a form of travel for her. Needless to say... Sephen would probably be there before she would. On her short journey, she wondered about him as she had been wondering about him for several months now. Where had he been? What did he look like now? Would there be anything about him that would be familiar to her? And hint of the old Sephen? Then again, she doubted she would be recognizable to him. Delia wasn't sure she really recognized herself anymore. Not from back then.

Through the trees, she could make out the clearing ahead where the pond was. It hadn't made sense at the time, why she wasn't allowed to see the boys anymore. Why it was inappropriate. It still didn't hardly make sense. They had been her dearest friends. While she knew why now, she didn't think it was a good enough reason.

The sound of another horse reached her ears and she realized that Sephen really must have beaten her there. Only when she came out of the wood and could see better, the man before her was a the baby-face on broad shoulders she had expected. In fact, it was not anywhere close to the person she had been expecting at all! It was that horrible man fro the market! Her nostrils flared at the sight of him. "What are you doing here?" she snarled, not even bothering to use a polite voice as she lashed at him. There weren't people around to see and certainly no one to stop her. She slid off her horse as gracefully as she could, wobbling just slightly. "Leave!" she ordered, pointing in a direction that was away from the pond. She did not want her first meeting in years with her old friend to be marred by her anger for this man.

[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

   No, it couldn't be.... this couldn't possibly be Delia. Not the sweet, if stubborn little girl he remembered climbing trees with and swimming with in the summer, or having snowball fights with in the winter. But... who else would think to come here? As far as he knew, the last time anyone came here was during the summer when he and Killian had gone swimming to cool off during the muggy heat. But, then, he very much doubted anyone who happened to be dressed like a lady, happened to appear at the same day and time as himself at a place that happened to be their 'secret spot' as children, wouldn't also coincidentally turn out to be the person he was looking for.

   It did, unfortunately, seem like things had changed considerably, like that temper. Sephen was in no mood to put up with such verbal abuse, and merely glowered at Delia as he folded his arms. He hadn't arranged this meeting to take this.

   "You leave," He snapped back, "I came here to meet with a certain Lady, one far more charming than yourself."

   ...okay, so that was definitely not the best way to make an introduction, but in his defense she had started it. For the love of Aslan, he had only been trying to help when it had seemed like she was going to drop that chair in the marketplace; but, it would seem that even being friends years ago wasn't going to keep him safe from what he guessed was going to turn into a verbal rampage. So much for fond nostalgia...

[Delia Sarafine Mowbray]

No... There was no way that this pompous man could possibly be her beloved childhood friend. It simply wasn't possible. She pursed her lips at his words. No. She wouldn't accept it. How? How on earth was this possible? She felt as if she had been tricked or somehow betrayed, though she didn't know by whom. By him, of course. No, no, this could not be her Sephen. He had just intercepted her letters. Somehow. He looked into her past without knowing who she was. He did... something. She'd figure it out later.

At present, she stooped to gather cold handfuls of fluffy white snow, quickly packing it into a half formed snowball and then hurling it at him, aiming for his smug face. "I am here to meet a noble Lord who is far more courteous and far less pompous than the likes of you!" she retorted. This was their special place. How else would he have known about it if he weren't the very man she was seeking? Perhaps he was really Killian, playing a joke. Surely Sephen would never... "You're not him! I know you're not him! You can't possibly be!" She stooped for more snow.

[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

   Sephen threw up his hands, about ready to turn and go when Delia hastily packed a snowball in her gloved hands and hurled it at him; it hit him in the shoulder, no doubt she had been aiming for his head instead. That was about the last straw, and he crouched down into the snow himself to form a rather large snowball and lobbing it back at her; okay, so this was incredibly undignified and childish, but finding out that this snarky, volatile woman was in fact the 'Lia' he remembered on top of the previous day's incident was more than his stressed mind could handle. The deep snow was somewhat difficult to run through as he tried to dodge the next several snowballs, picking up snow as he went and packing it, returning fire.

   He wasn't entirely sure for how long this went on, only that by the time they paused in their respective places shivering and wet from the snow, Sephen was much too tired from running around (in deep snow and wearing his heavy winter clothes, on top of that) to really keep it up... though if she kept throwing, he knew he had at least another snowball in his throwing arm somewhere. It wasn't helping either that the snow that had melted on his clothes had made them wet and heavier still, and worse than that, his boots and gloves were soaked to the skin, which had begun to ache with the cold. Well this was just fantastic.

   Looking over at Delia, he snorted in irritation, wrapping his cloak about himself in an attempt to keep whatever warmth in that he could, though to very little avail; she, of course, didn't appear to be much better (Sephen had at least kept in practice, having had snowball fights with Killian more or less every time he instigated them... which this winter had been practically on a weekly basis) thanks to his aim. But... angry and annoyed though he was.... he was still hardwired to be an uptight-polite nobleman. The odds were good he was going to get an earful, but at least he'd be able to have his dignity later knowing he tried to be the peacemaker.

   "It's getting cold." He said gruffly, "We should get indoors where it's warm. My estate is much closer than yours."

   Hostile though she might be, Sephen knew she would at least catch on to the invitation; either way, he wanted to get out of the cold as quickly as possible to warm up and dry off.

[Delia Sarafine Mowbray]

This was awful. She was twenty-six years old and having a snowball fight with a man she suspected she used to be very fond of. And she was bad at it! Her aim was terrible after how many years of not engaging in such activities? Every time she aimed one, it landed six or more inches from it's destination. She tried to compensate by aiming higher, but then she just missed. As this went on, her poor horse went to hide with his. She supposed she was happy it didn't run off altogether.

They seemed to stop at the same time. She was cold, wet, and sore. Not only was it hard to move about in the thick layer of snow, but she hadn't really done anything like this since she was a child. The 'Sephen' seemed to be fairing better than her. Why were men allowed to be like this? It wasn't fair. On top of it all, she wasn't quite dressed for it. She was dressed for style and warmth, not snowball fights. And confound it all! Her hair had fallen loose, tumbling all over the place in thick, dark waves. She shivered even as she sent an icy glare at the man across the way.

It made sense. To go to his estate. It was much closer than her own. Her mother would not approve. Delia thought that knowing this made her all that more willing to go, even if he was... who he was. She supposed there was no denying it. Sephen. She didn't want to dislike him or be angry with him. She wanted to laugh and... She wasn't sure what else. She gave a delicate sniff and then a firm nod. Without saying a word, she went to her mahogany colored horse and mounted him as best as she could with her clothes heavy with snow, her boots slipping, and her not being very good at it to begin with, but she managed.

"I don't remember the way," she said quietly, implying that he needed to lead. Even if she did remember, she'd never find her way in the snow.

[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

   At this point, Sephen really wasn't sure what he was expecting beyond another onslaught of verbal abuse, and he was really starting to reach the end of what was otherwise a long fuse (though it wasn't without its shortcuts... something Killian knew all too well). There was no need for any of this hostility; how or why anyone would take offense to even a well-intentioned mistake like trying to help carry a heavy object, was just beyond him. One thing was disappointingly certain, that this was nothing like the Lia he had known when they were children. The short temper hadn't changed, but having it directed at him, let alone at this magnitude, was practically unheard of. Cold and stiff, Sephen somehow managed to mount Thane's saddle again, spurring him into a canter towards home. It would take longer, sure, but it would be worth it to spare himself the cold wind rushing past if they were to run.

   The estate looked oddly peaceful from the outside, though Sephen knew better than to think the place would ever be idle for long. Sure enough as they approached, a face disappeared from the frosty window to come outside and open the gate, one of the stable hands coming to take Thane's reins as he dismounted. Though Sephen was probably painfully ungraceful in this scenario, the staff at least seemed to take the unexpected guest in stride, one man taking Delia's horses reins while one of the indoor staff ushered them inside where it was (somewhat warmer). Even still, Sephen just wanted to get out of his wet clothes and into something dry to huddle in front of the fireplace with. Obviously, his staff was not as extensive as some, but it was more than enough for Sephen; everyone was aware of the social hierarchy, but there was something considerably more personal about being able to call his servants by their names. Something that made it easier to let his guard down around them, especially since they occupied most of the same abode.

   He nodded his head towards one of the maids, a middle-aged woman called Margery, leaning in as she stood next to him in wait of an order.

   "Take the lady someplace she can change. She may use my clothes, borrow something of the staff's, just so long as it keeps her as non-aggressive as possible."

   Margery nodded in understanding, ushering Delia off in that motherly tone of hers while Sephen wasted no time retreating to his own room, shivering peeling his damp clothes from his skin and breathing a sigh of relief when they were replaced with dry, warm garments that had no doubt been sitting near the fire. Draping a blanket about his shoulders, the warmth was all was really needed to put him in a better mood (even if it wasn't necessarily a good one). Trotting back downstairs, he sat himself in front of the fire as an armful of logs were added, starting to regain feeling in his cold feet and hands.

[Delia Sarafine Mowbray]

The sight of the estate almost made her want to cry, it had been so long. Could there be any denying it now? A twinge of guilt for treating him so beastly thrummed through her, but she wouldn't take it back. At the time, he had been a stranger. In fact, he still was. It didn't matter that she knew his name. It had been at least fifteen years since they last saw each other. A name and a face didn't really make either of them less a stranger to the other. She shivered again, quite sure that her clothing had frozen to her person.

Inside, it was like a blanket of fire folding itself about her, yet she was still shivering. An older woman led her from the foyer to what looked like a guest room, one that hadn't been used in quite some time. There, she peeled stiff, wet, half frozen articles from her skin and wished that she could step into a heated tub of water. She settled, instead, for the warm, dry clothes that were brought in for her. A rather simple blue dress. It felt foreign to her. She had not worn something so plain or out of style since... Well, since the last time she was allowed to come here. A jeweled comb had kept her hair in place before. When the locks fell free earlier, the comb had weakly hung on. She was surprised it had not fallen out altogether. In a tarnished looking glass, she pulled her hair from her face and secured it in place. This house kept reminding her of old things. For instance, she used to hate having her hair up. Actually, she still rather detested it, but even if her tongue betrayed her, her appearance must and would be upheld.

Satisfied that she was presentable, she asked the same woman who had brought her to the room to take her to Sephen. The house didn't seem very lived in. In fact, it seemed to be mostly the staff. He's not married! she realized with surprise. He was far older than she was, she knew. But then, men could marry at almost any age. She made a face. She was led to a fire lit room, bursting with warmth. Sephen sat in front of it, his back to her, the golden flames silhouetting his figure.

She took an unsure step forward and then paused. She half considered apologizing, but that really wasn't a trait Delia was known for. She opted to try for civility, if he wasn't too upset with her. And if he was... Well, she'd just have to dive into her verbal artillery and fire back. Starting towards him again, her fingertips pressed together in front of her, she began with, "I see you still throw a nasty snowball."

This was awkward...

[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

   Sephen almost didn't notice the set of footsteps behind him, half out of his occupation with warming his cold extremities and half out of being used to having the staff flitting around the house doing their duties; the voice, of course, made it obvious that it was his rather hostile house guest. Though, it seemed she was at least trying to meet him halfway and try to be civil to each other; of course, how long that lasted depended almost entirely on whether or not she found something else to take offense to. And, considering Delia had apparently taken his attempts at helping her with the chair to be some kind of insult, he was more or less bracing for the explosion.

   "Yes, well, having Killian for a sibling will do that." He shrugged, trying to avoid sounding overly proud or humble over something like his ability to throw snowballs. Not that it was a lie... Killian instigated a snowball fight practically every week, for lack of something else to do (or someone else to torment).

   He glanced back over his shoulder at Delia, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the spot beside him in front of the fire. As warm as the inside of the estate was, it still wasn't enough to be comfortable to cold skin. And, seeing as Sephen had apparently had more practice in the (snort) fine art of snowball warfare as Killian would call it, Delia had gotten the worst of it by far. There was a long, awkward and pregnant pause as they sat there in front of the fire, the tension so thick it was almost palpable; eventually, Sephen decided that he couldn't take it anymore and looked indignantly over at Delia.

   "Since when did this hostility come about?" He asked, sounding almost demanding and expecting it to cause some kind of outrage, "The Delia I remember didn't find offense whenever I opened my mouth, much less when I thought I was being helpful."

[Delia Sarafine Mowbray]

Delia nodded in response, the corners of her mouth pulling up in a smile. Killian. Yes, he was a prankster if there ever was one and always for horse playing. She could remember being scolded upon several occasions for coming home with her dress in tatters and grass stains after playing games with Killian. She went towards the place he indicated with his head and took her seat, folding the borrowed dress around her legs and relishing the feel of being so close the the fire. If she closed her eyes, she could just imagine being curled up on the hearth, listening to wild stories about old Narnia.

"I guess so. I haven't thrown one since... Since the last winter I saw you." She'd been a crack shot back then. She could remember hardly ever missing, but then, snowball fights were a serious business. When you were eight.

The room felt oddly stuffy. She swallowed hard and arranged her hands in her lap. Over and over and over again until he finally said something else. She wanted to sigh with relief, even if she didn't know how exactly to reply to his question. "The Delia you remember disappeared long ago when I wasn't looking," she told him finally, and it was true. Had he not said anything, she wouldn't have stopped to compare herself to the little girl she used to be. She might have tried to say something that would most likely instigate an argument, but she supposed it a fair enough question. "As it turns out, a lot of men don't like hostile women. Too much for their trouble." In that respect, it was an amazing weapon.

[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

   There was an almost unnerving sense of nostalgia, this scenario. Obviously there were some rather unexpected setbacks, but otherwise it was unusually similar to when they had been children. Sephen distinctly remembered winters when the three of them, Delia, Killian and himself, would come back inside after hours of romping around in the snow waging snowball warfare. It was always the same; they would come back, wet, cold and rosy-cheeked to change their play clothes, and sit in front of the fire listening with wide eyes and wild imaginations running rampant as Rynelf De La Braose would spin all kinds of fantastic yarns. It was usually here, on the hearth, that they could be found hours later sprawled across each other like puppies, exhausted from a long day and resting for the next one that would play out much the same way. Every once and a while, he and Killian had done close to the same as young men and even now in adulthood, but instead Sephen telling his younger brother his own versions of their father's stories as they warmed their hands in front of the fire and their bellies with hot mugs of cider. It was those kinds of days that made him almost wistful for the days when all their worries centered around using every moment possible to play.

   At the response, Sephen couldn't help but direct a puzzled and somewhat concerned expression towards Delia, unable to help but wonder what could possibly bring about this apparent despising of men; it wasn't as if she were a common woman without protection (being a Lady, he was more surprised that she didn't have guards somewhere at hand) and had reason to fear someone with ill intent.

   "So you take your aggressions out like this on every man?" He asked, sounding slightly disbelieving, "Dare I ask what brought about this kind of belligerence?"

   To be honest, half of him was genuinely curious and fraternally concerned; given, he hadn't deserved the attitude he'd gotten, but they had been friends, and it was hard to stay angry with someone he shared such fond memories with. The other half of him was slightly terrified of the answer (or verbal onslaught) he might get. From what he knew of how women were brought up, nothing came to mind that would have given rise to this temper. Lord and Lady Mowbray were good-natured, if slightly uptight by his recollection, but for all he knew something entirely different went on when he and his family's prying eyes were away.

[Delia Sarafine Mowbray]

Delia's eyes narrowed as she forced her will power to hold her tongue. "No, Sephen. Not every man." Just men who treated her differently because she was a woman and men who wanted to marry her. Honestly, would it really have killed him to ask her if she needed help before offering his assistance? She didn't think so. It seemed that he was going to keep digging at the subject anyway. It would strain her not to lash at him with her words.

She sighed. They were fair questions. And she only decided this because he was one of her best friends. Just as she had no idea what he'd been up to in the last years, he had no idea about her life to now. Were he anyone else, she would not be so understanding. She pushed at a strand of hair. How had it gotten loose? "Well, first my best friends fell out of my life. And then my mother and father wanted me to get married. Want me to. It's apparently not proper for a woman of my age to be without a husband." An ironic smile twitched her lips. "Belligerence seems to keep the hounds at bay. More subtly than what you were exposed to, but enough to make them flustered and embarrassed." She knew she must sound like the whining little noble girl, rebelling against her parents or some such nonsense, but could anyone really blame her for not wanting to marry? Especially to someone she hardly knew? Not that she'd stopped to know any of them, quite possibly because each and every one of them didn't think her important enough to do anything but sit and look pretty like a little doll.

[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

   Okay, so at least they were getting somewhere, though it was pretty obvious that it was taking some willpower on Delia's part not to snap at him. How long was it going to be before she let the incident with the chair go? But, he dutifully kept his mouth shut as she explained, and understandable though her reasons were, Sephen had to wonder if being pestered to get married was anywhere near as horrifying as she seemed to make it out to be. His own experience with his parents had been less than subtle, but they had at least respected his wishes when he called them on pushing too far. Nor did it help either with this apparent interest in his marital status (or lack thereof) from the king and what he could only guess was using his poor niece as an incentive to get Sephen more firmly under his thumb. He was hardly such a fool that he didn't know that Miraz did not make such offers without some kind of devious reasoning behind it.

   "Maybe it does," He admitted, his tone a little more calmly now that they seemed to be on civil terms; though, Sephen had been anything but charmed by her initial behavior himself. "But how long do you intend to keep it up? Surely not forever."

   At this point, he supposed the only thing keeping her from swatting him upside the head for asking such questions was their history; in all fairness, it hadn't been Sephen's choice to be the heir to a merchant Lord's trade. It was very hard to correspond with someone when your location was always changing and usually with no specific timing either. He couldn't help but be curious what had happened since his and Killian's father had pulled him aside and told him solemnly that it wouldn't do for a boy his age to continue gallivanting around with his younger brother and their girl playmate.

   The added pressure of his decision to aid the Narnian resistance wasn't exactly helping either, especially as Miraz seemed to grow more and more suspicious of his allegiances every time they encountered one another.

   For a moment it was silent again before Sephen sighed, deciding he was dry enough to surrender the blanket about his shoulders and drape it over Delia's. The gesture was a little more friendly than he might have liked, but while they were deciding not to snap at each other, it was no skin off his back to try and return the favor of being decent.

[Delia Sarafine Mowbray]

Forever. That had sort of been her plan. She was sure she had the willpower to fend off the lesser infuriating men. She hadn't exactly found any of them the least bit appealing, though there was one man who was incredibly persistent even though he was the least likely of candidates. She wasn't sure when it would happen, but she thought that one day, she might just give in and strangle him. Probably in front of a large gathering of people. Disgrace the family and ward off men forever. That's the ticket.

But, no. Delia supposed it couldn't go on forever. She doubted very much that her parents would let it. "I don't think for forever... I suppose I'll settle for one of two things- either someone who treats me as his equal... Or love. The former is more likely to happen than the latter, I'll wager." She sighed a little, staring into the dancing flames and wanting nothing more than to curl up in a little ball in front of them, but her years of perfect posture wouldn't allow her to. Even if she didn't care what Sephen thought of her, she couldn't bring herself to do anything but sit up straight, shoulders back, chin up.

She let herself get carried away in the dance of the flames, so entranced that she almost forgot where she was and who she was with until Sephen draped the blanket over her shoulders, breaking the spell the unteachable dance had woven. She smiled a little and nodded to him as she drew the folds closer about herself. "Thank you," she said. "Won't you be cold?" She supposed they could share. They used to all the time. She half expected Killian to burst in, lay down, and try to steal the blanket for himself.

[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

   That did kind of make sense... though by the sound of it, Delia neither anticipated nor expected either of those things to happen any time soon, or even at all for that matter. Obviously, Sephen wouldn't know about the romantic sides of a number of his noble colleagues (if that was even the word for them), but he was doubtful that so many of them seemed to be nearly as awful and unbearable as Delia seemed to make them out to be. For a brief while it was quiet, Delia watching the fire and Sephen's gaze wandering around the all-too familiar estate. Even now, it felt strange knowing that this place he called home was now his own, rather than his father's; it didn't help much either that Killian had opted to live in the converted guest/staff house and had left the large estate to his brother. It wasn't until he gave up the blanket that Delia looked up again, seeming grateful for the gesture.

   At the remark that he might be cold, Sephen shrugged nonchalantly.

   "It's fine." He replied, glancing at his guest, "You got the worst of it anyway."

   Nor was he about to even suggest sharing; for all he knew, Delia would probably take it as a come-on and have at resuming being angry and icily sarcastic to him. Behind him, he heard a set of slow, padding footsteps that could only be Margery, and as Sephen turned to look up at the matronly woman he was greeted by a warm, familiar smile and a tray laden with two mugs of what smelled like hot cider. Margery knew him all too well. Sephen had never really been fond of the taste of alcohol (he thought it ruined the sweet taste of the apples), and rather than letting the cider ferment, he preferred the freshly-pressed apple juice hot and spiced with nutmeg. It was, of course, for that reason that his prized apple orchard was one of the few resources on the fiefdom that he refused to consider using in his trade, though as of late he had been shipping the fruit to the Narnian resistance.

   There was, of course, another part of it.

   It seemed that this encounter was packed in nostalgia, and the smell of the cider and the weight of the hot mug in his hands reminded him once again of winter days, stories by the fire and the occasional star-gazing outings Sephen and Killian's father used to take them on. Looking back over his shoulder from where Margery had come, he couldn't help but be embarrassed to find the woman in question watching them in front of the fire and gesturing with her eyes towards Delia suggestively. He didn't doubt that this was going to get around with the staff.... had it really been so long since Sephen had brought home a lady-friend?

   Looking back over at Delia, he nodded at the other mug.

   "It's not alcoholic." He pointed out idly, lest there be some kind of wariness about the offer, "Same as when we were kids."


((meh. kinda rambly, but I think it turned out well. where do we wanna go from here? -comp still not fixed, so send me an email; it's in my absence message!-))

[Delia Sarafine Mowbray]

She couldn't help herself as the corners of her mouth twitched up in a smirk. "Yes, well... Some of us have had more practice than others in recent years," she replied, glancing at him from under long lashes. Nostalgia was setting in. So many fond memories from a short time so long ago. She'd never had more fun or been more content then she had been with the De La Braose family. She stared back into the flames for a long moment until she sensed movement at the back of the room. Shifting slightly, she caught sight of the woman who had led her to a guest bedroom to change. She had not taken the time to actually pay attention to the woman at first because, at the time, she'd been quite flustered and especially cold.

The woman was much older than she remembered, but it was definitely Margery. The one woman whom without the household would fall off it's hinges. She wondered if all the staff she remembered were still employed here. She wondered if Margery knew who she was when she walked through the door. Turning back to the fire, she bowed her head and rubbed her temples, wondering if this had been a good idea by any rights.

She glanced up again when he said something about a mug and then realized the reason for Margery's entrance. The smell of the cider filled her nose as she leaned over to reach for the mug. "Well, of course it isn't- It ruins the taste." She knew few people who let the juice ferment and those people drank too much for their own good. She herself drank the occasional wine at dinners, but water and fresh pressed juices were preferable. And of course, tea.

She held the mug in both hands, taking the scent deep into her lungs before finally taking a sip. It was hot and divine, warming her to her very core. She wanted to just sit there for the rest of the evening with the cider and make Sephen tell her his wild stories. She glanced at him again and then unfolded part of the blanket from herself, starting to feel guilty even if she was the 'guest.' "Get over here before you catch your death." It was sort of order-ish, but it was meant with the best of intentions. It was almost near scandalous- if her mother found out. But how could anything with Sephen De La Braose be scandalous, even with their rocky reunion?

[Lord Sephen De La Braose]

   This was pleasant, at least. Though Sephen doubted Margery knew who their guest was, he wasn't going to be bothered to tell her until later if she didn't already figure it out by then; it almost seemed like a shame that Killian wasn't here to complete this little get-together so reminiscent of their childhood days... especially considering that he and Delia had been the ones that continued to play together even after Sephen had to stay at home to begin his education. But, then, it might be for the better that he wasn't; Killian loved his women, and he was somewhat skeptical that their history would stop him from flirting with Delia and potentially getting his head bitten off in a similar manner to how he had. Mentally, he made a note to warn Killian of a tall, dark-haired woman whom not to pull his charm out on. Raising an eyebrow, though careful not to come off smug, Sephen cocked his head slightly at Delia.

   "If I didn't know any better, I would say that was something of a compliment." He retorted, "It's a shame, though, you've not been able to keep in practice yourself. I seem to recall you trumping Killian in a battle for the title of Snowball General, or something to that effect."

   That had been interesting, to say the least. Killian, of course, had been far from happy to lose the 'snowball fight of the ages', and from what he had heard Delia had never let him forget it. Of course, that all went to waste as soon as it became swimming weather. It seemed like there was an endless number of activities he could reference that each had its own collection of memories to go with it. But, he realized somewhat sadly, most if not all of those that he and Killian were most proficient in (swordplay, archery, horseback riding, even the rare instance of jousting), Delia was likely to have very little if any kind of practice in.

   Later, Sephen would grimace how he probably failed to cover up his surprise when Delia offered (using that word very lightly) to share the blanket lest he become ill; being their age now, it would be considered nothing short of scandalous what was once second nature as children. But... it wasn't as if the staff would be gossiping about this but to themselves, and he very highly doubted that Delia wanted her parents to catch wind of something to that nature (however un-suggestive as it was to them as friends). Albeit a little bashfully, he scooted over towards Delia and draped the offered half of the blanket about his shoulders, admittedly welcoming the returned warmth despite being practically knee-to-knee.

   "I suppose I should warn Killian before you two have your rendezvous." He thought aloud with a mild, amused grin, "He's as good-natured as ever, though he's a rather shameless flirt in the presence of any lady near his own age... though I would be curious to see his reaction to being turned down, for once."

[Delia Sarafine Mowbray]

If it were possible, Delia sat up a little straighter, taking pride in her childhood title, won fair and square. "The Great General of Snowballs, three years in a row. I think I even made him call me Queen Snowflake every year I won." The somber look cracked with a grin. What silly titles. She missed them and their games. "Mother put a stop to all that." All she had to keep her company in the long years of education and training was her harp. It was a poor replacement for friends, but it was a friend to her in it's own way.

Under the same blanket again after fifteen years. Well. The space beneath it seemed to have shrunk since they were children. Delia swallowed when she thought of what her mother would say.

"Well, don't tell him, then. I think I should also like to see the look on his face." Practical jokes were always a good way to pass the time. "Actually, when I tell my parents that you're both back, I'm sure they'll want to host a grand party in your honor. They still think very highly of you both." Of course, her mother would also set about trying to get her to marry one of them. As if she'd want to marry one of her good friends! She cared for them, obviously, but not in such a way that would give way to something so serious.

She fingered the soft blanket before taking a deep drink of the warm cider. "I suppose I shouldn't stay for too much longer." She'd told her mother only that she was going riding, nothing else. She would have been back by now if that had been true.