The Blue Manray

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A small, out of the way tavern, situated in one of the many alleys. The main room is empty but for a serving girl who stands behind the bar, staring at nothing in particular.

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Lord Beric Dayne exits his room and orders a bottle of wine. He sits himself at a table in the corner and begins drinking.

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A slender Braavosi clad in black, with red-gold hair and pale green eyes, entered the tavern. The bravo had a slender blade sheathed in black leather hanging from his swordbelt, and as he took his drink he turned and saw a Westerosi man in the corner. His eyes narrowed, and focused on him.

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Beric, fully aware of the man who just enters, makes as if he hasn't noticed him. His mood is somewhat dark as he ponders what on earth he will be doing in Braavos. He reflects how the last time he was here it was as a boy, working as a bouncer.

It was with Ary.

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The slender bravo pushes through the crowd, making a beeline for the Westerosi's table. "You look like a Westerosi knight," the bravo said, and there was a speculative look in his eye. Beric got the feeling that the bravo was trying to measure his worth in gold. "Are you?"

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Beric scowled at the insolent man. "Maybe I am, so what?" He had caught the look in the man's eye, but Beric knew the worth of feigning ignorance. "Not like it should really matter."

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"Aye, it shouldn't, I suppose. From the Westerosi knights I've seen, they might as well spar with their cocks, for all the good their longswords do them." He snorted.

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Beric attempted a chuckle. "I have never found a use for the longsword myself." He thought for a moment, then indicated to the seat opposite him. "Sit. I suppose you have a name?"

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The bravo took a seat, clunking his tankard on the table for a refill already. "It'll shame me if anyone sees me with a knight, but I suppose I'll sit with you. I'm Morho, son of Fario. And you?"

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For a moment he thought. Then he attempted a smile and spoke. "Janos. My name is Janos." He eyed the man curiously. "Say, are you one of the few bravos who can actually fight with one of your stick-swords?"

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Morho raised an eyebrow. "My stick-sword? It isn't longer than your cock-sword, but I can promise it works better."

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"Oh, I didn't intend a slight, it's just been a long time since I have seen these slender blades and you have to admit, they do bear some resemblance to a stick." Beric finished his wine and and nodded to the serving girl for another. When it came he didn't bother pouring it into his glass, but drank from the bottle. "When last I was here it was as a boy, yet I never thought of wielding one of your swords. However, it would intrigue me how I would fair agains a man with such a sword."

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"Relax, I was joking. You Westerosi act so stiff, like you have daggers up your asses. You've never fought a waterdancer? Well then, today is your lucky day. Or you're unlucky day, perhaps." Morho emptied his tankard and rose. "Outside, on the street?"

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Beric set his bottle of wine aside and stood. "It shall be a pleasure."

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Morho led him outside, shouting for the men and women and aggressive bravos to part way, and then the two men took up their positions.