multiversallogs | there were stern stands

Who: Jaime Lannister, Seoraj, Sonja Garin, and YOU
What: Various encounters with Jaime in Baedal.
Where: The Arena, Griss Twist generally, the Twelve Point divinity temples, other places your heart desires.
When: Whenever you want.
Notes: An open log and one closed thread! Tag in however otherwise, hopefully the above is a guide. But if you would like to do a thing and want me to kick off a thread, I am happy to open one, just let me know.
Warnings: Maybe language, possible medieval dickbag behaviour and the like. Probable violence in the case of the Arena.

Jaime alternates between taking it with him wherever he goes to keeping it safe inside a drawer. The hair comb, that is, the one he received a few days ago, one he would recognise anywhere. It slots into the category of things of value he could trade for money, and he's been thinking like this ever since he had the gold chipped off his Kingsguard armor. But unlike his Kingsguard armor, which he had quite merrily assaulted and defaced (via a smith, granted), the comb and its finery is kept instead, quite useless, and quite pretty.

His neighbours (he has them, now) in Griss Twist have more or less gotten used to that weirdo who insists on wearing a sword and a knife almost everywhere he goes.

That doesn't quite mean that Jaime has become used to them. The political nuances of Baedal are not quite as intuitive as the CiD he has slowly become accustomed to, able to send a message without first squinting at the pamphlet for reminder and instruction. There is less detail when it comes to the population of Baedal he has come to wryly describe as the dragons that vote, less instruction, certainly. And at the end of the day, less of a concern than everything else he must think about; his brother, their well-being, and the next round at the Arena.

Despite the pressures of modern society and a little bit of nagging from certain cohort members, Jaime is often in archaic dress, in breeches, leather doublets, suede jerkins, cotton shirts; everything modern seems frail and simple to Jaime's tastes and thus, cheap, even when it is not. He hasn't undergone the re-education.

The times he does not spend either hiding in his room (for all that he will not nor cannot admit to doing any such thing) or watching and participating in the events of the Arena, they are spent in simple exploration. Travels to Salacus Fields where he's seeing a man about a horse, riverside wanders, explorations to where the land stops and the ocean begins. Quiet nights spend with boots kicked up in taverns turning rowdy with petty bar brawls, retreats to woodlands where the city noise is dim (and he is used to city noise, but a different kind), market streets to acquire things he needs at cheaper rates where his last haggling move can no longer be that a Lannister pays his debts. Sometimes, he visits the temples, and usually manages to keep his peace, torn between cynicism and belief.

He avoids the visible xenians, when he can. Sometimes it isn't possible.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For a baseline human with a pointy metal stick as his weapon, Jaime appears to be faring quite well; in that, he suffers no visible injury save for bandaging that ties around the knuckles of his right hand where something sharp caught it. He turns at the sound of a familiar voice, casting an automatic half-smile to Jack in response. "Such surprise, whenever that observation is made of me," he remarks, moving closer.

He is probably not the oddest sight in the Arena, dressed as he is in his steel plate, a flatter tone of metallic colour than the gaudy gold he'd flashed on the network that one time. It looks heavy and slow in contrast to many, but it helps that he knows how to move in it. It's also something of a character, one he isn't discontent to assume.

"Come to place a bet?"

Jack appreciates the value of showmanship, and so the armor earns a slight wry smile from him when he glances it over. Oh, you.

"Among other things," intentionally vague. (Though of course if he was truly intent on hiding what he's up to, he could have said nothing at all.) Then, with a faux-skeptical air, "Why, should I be betting on you?"

Oh, me.

"That depends on if you like money, your highness," is about as wry as the once over Jaime gets, moving to stand in a more comfortable conversational proximity. Though not completely out of place among more old fashioned means of battle, he is shinier. "I did have a favour to beg of you, in fact."

Jack bobs his head to the side and back again, as if he quite can't decide if he does like money or not. (He'll never make much of a gambler, really; money just doesn't mean enough to him.)

"Anything," settling his elbows on the rail. "Well, nearly anything. What is it?"

Money is an odd sort of thing on Jaime's half as well. Earning such a material is a new experience rather than counting on some endless supply, but the same can too be said for reputation. It is for one more than the other when he says--

"I would introduce you to my brother," he says, the crooked facetiousness of his smile remaining mostly as a default, but he isn't, now, saying lines. "He's currently under the employ of a politician of some kind--" Jaime didn't actually collect all of the details, there. "--and perhaps you too would enjoy a conversation. He's attempting to learn the higher ways of Baedal's governance."

Jaime sounds-- a little amused, as he speaks, for all that the topic is legitimate, his request serious.

"I don't know that there's much 'higher' about Baedal's ways of governance," wry, though not without a certain fondness. Monarchy still has his heart; representative government can have his lazy and occasionally begrudging respect. "But I'd be interested to hear how he's finding it. You didn't tell me you were lucky enough to bring family with you."

'Lucky' being a term that can go either way, from the sound of it. (Masking genuine envy with slight sarcasm is one of Jack's many gifts.)

"Did I not? Well, fortune saw to it that my little brother arrived in Baedal some days after I did." Jaime, too, sounds a little sarcastic, but judging by his tone, it's probable his sarcasm speaks more of how no one should consider it a fortune to be here; he is glad for the company of kinship. Even if he never talked about it. He had some reasons not to talk about it.

Losing Cersei is an older ache, however, and he can ignore it for now. "His name is Tyrion. I can pass you the communications number once I'm done here."

Jack, being one of those for whom Baedal is, in fact, a welcome escape (practically a vacation), just gives noncommittal nod. He knows he's in the minority.

"Do." A nod, decisive. "I'm curious to see what a sibling of yours is like in any case." There may be a hint of scandal behind that smile, just because. You can't honestly expect him to be introduced to your family and not dig around for dirt, can you?

there were stern stands

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