Kitchens of the Keep

[sethgreyjoy]

Mortimer sat in the kitchens, finishing off the remains of a roasted turkey that he connived a simple cooksaid into getting him. He licked his fingers, and looked at the newcomer who had seemed to just appear in the doorway.

"Ah, Fryse, how good of you to join me." Mortimer stood and wiped his greasy hands unto his brown trousers.

"I delivered yer message to the Greyjoy squire."

"Lovely." Mortimer said, plucking a string of turkey from his shirt. "Did he pay you."

"No he dinneh." Fryse said, tapping his coin purse. "An' the ride was costly."

"Cheap bastard." Mortimer laughed. "Already he isn't paying messengers. More and more of a nobel every day. Oh well, I have had a good couple of days playing in the inns around here, creating some sort of name for myself. It's a wonder that--"

"The money, Mister Pyke." Fryse was definitely to the point.

"Of course..." Mortimer said, reaching into his satchel and counting out the coins he withdrew. "This should be good."

"Thank yeh." Fryse said, placing the coins into his purse. As he turned to go, Mortimer stopped him.

"What other services do you esteem yourself with, Fryse?" The young bard asked, lightly tossing his coinbag.

"What services do you need performed?" Fryse asked, eyeing the bag of money greedily.

"Just a small matter to attend to, I need you to play messenger a bit longer for me."

Fryse caught his look and nodded. "Twice the pay."

"Done." Mortimer said, smiling. "And here is what I intend..."

[melon]

Erik walks into the Kitchen yells at the Head cook about supplies he will need by the dawn the next day then turns and leaves.