helloeverybunny | — 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐩 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

Plop in here or over at Plurk with one thread you’d really like to do with me and let’s work out how to do it in December!
I’ll be slow but I’ll do my best!

Complete muselist here for your viewing pleasure.

Edited 2020-12-03 15:14 (UTC)

( continued from here )

Now that is more like it; nothing says sellsword more than a desire for coin, after all. So even with his misgivings Robb relaxes a little, though he also avoids looking straight into Yato's too intense blue eyes.

He glances toward the nearest stone bridge, idly shifting his package to the crook of his other arm. It's probably not a good idea to discuss his war effort out in the open, but how is talking about it in taverns any different? It's really only a matter of time before someone with ties to Westeros hears about him. "I might have an offer." He gestures with his head to the bridge, for while it's right there, in public view, there aren't any people on it at the moment. "I'll buy you another drink afterwards, if you accept."

Edited 2020-12-01 13:34 (UTC)

Yato's expression widens into a brighter grin at the mention of an offer and he slips off the ledge. It's strange... other than the blue of his eyes, he appears extraordinarily non-descript; his outfit is plain, if on the well-worn side, the sheath for his sword is unadorned, and he wears no obvious jewelry or insignias. He doesn't look poor, his clothes are neat and mended, but he doesn't seem especially well off either. One's eyes seem oddly pre-disposed to sliding over him, past, like he makes such a minimal impression on them that they almost don't even register that they're seeing him.

"Now that's a solid incentive I like to hear," he quips, taking the lead toward the bridge. It's another interesting departure from typical sellsword behaviour, as most are a little more cagey about presenting an undefended back to a complete stranger, but Yato apparently doesn't think twice about it.

"My name is Yato," he comments over his shoulder to Robb. The singular name, no surname offered, is less unusual here in Essos than it would be in Westeros, but might still seem odd. He lacks any particular accent, as if he's taken a little bit of everywhere and melded it all together.

Robb finds himself surprised that Yato willingly takes the lead, leaving him open for any sort of surprise attack were Robb the dishonorable sort... not that there isn't anything to be gained from any such attempt. His sword is unadorned, he wears no obvious jewelry or insignias; one would fare better trying to steal the package in Robb's arm, for its craftsmanship would fetch a solid price.

He follows after a moment, keeping enough distance so they could converse without raising their voices, but still with ample space between them. "Yato," he repeats softly, and his tone says he's waiting for a House name or something to follow. When a beat passes and he gets nothing, he hums thoughtfully, before introducing himself in turn. "They call me Grey Wind." It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.

When they get to the bridge, he also gets down to business. "I need men for an army."

Edited (word choice) 2021-02-18 15:25 (UTC)

"'Grey Wind', now that's a name that has some flair!" Yato said brightly over his shoulder, and as with the first time he'd spoken to get Robb's attention, this slender stranger appears to have no trouble hearing him, nor does his voice get lost on its way to the eldest Stark even with the general hubbub as they walk.

Once on the bridge and a safely generous distance from any who could possibly overhear them, when Robb states that he's looking to hire an army, Yato's brow creases gently in confusion, though the smile doesn't leave. "What, like one at a time?" he asks, a bit befuddled.

"I mean... that's what the sellsword companies do, armies for hire. But you'd typically go to the company captain and work out an agreement. Since I can't imagine you don't know that... why use this method?"

Grey Wind had, indeed, built a small army one man at a time; his reasons had become clear to Yato soon enough. Though Robb no longer answered to his actual name, it was still what the Brotherhood called him when he wasn't around or within earshot, and alongside that, they whispered of his intent to secretly take back the North and reclaim Winterfell.

They also whispered of his death, and his undeath. Depending on who you talked to, his fate was attributed to the benevolence of some god who somehow decided to champion his cause, or the workings of dark sorcery. Some even spoke of prophecies and how, once, there had been talk of a child of fire and ice — and wasn't he, a man of the North reborn by fire, one such child?

Robb kept to himself, for the most part. He especially kept to himself after a battle, when he finally found himself back in his own body. He couldn't explain it. He'd moved like he never did in battles past, in control but not entirely. He brooded over that as he nursed a tankard of ale in the tavern he and his men had chosen to spend the night in; he sat alone in a corner, his thoughts still on the battlefield.

He recalled Old Nan's tales. When he was young, he'd thought they were mere flights of fancy and stories intended to scare children into behaving in a certain fashion. As the days passed, however, he felt he was becoming one of them, too: the king with the head of a wolf, half-alive and half-dead, fighting for the strange gods who inhabited the trees with the weepy eyes. Or at least, that was how one version went.

"Mister Yato!" a bright, girlish voice broke through the noise of the tavern and Robb's reverie. He turned toward the sound and found a girl no older than Sansa, with dirty blonde hair and a beaming smile, unbundling a piece of cloth a few tables over. He couldn't see what the objects were, but his men oohed and aahed while the girl began talking animatedly. She was a merchant's daughter, Robb was now sure; if she played her cards right, she and her family would be several coins richer tonight.

But Robb wasn't really watching her. No, his attention was on Yato, the sellsword he'd recruited in Braavos. Yato, he'd noted from the very beginning, had been extraordinarily nondescript, to the point that Robb had wondered if he was truly any good in battle. And yet—

The scenes of the last battle returned to him. The violence, the carnage. He'd cut through their enemies with a savagery he understood was unlike him and more like the wolf whose name he had taken for himself. Yet he hadn't been the only one. There had been one another swordsman who'd moved with the ease and the ferocity he did.

Yato.

Yato broke into a wide grin as the girl appeared, banging his mug down and promptly sloshing some ale on the table, to which the men around him guffawed at his clumsiness. He seemed not to care, flinging his arms in the young woman's direction with a flourish, bright blue eyes dancing with mirth.

"And here she is, gentlemen: let's hear it for this evening's most charming chandler, our maiden of mercantile, the illustrious Ilda!"

( the day after this )

It was late, that much he knew. Then again, it had been late when they'd finally crashed, relaxing enough to settle into a deep sleep and leaving behind the world and all that threatened to harm them still. By now the events of the prior day had blurred together, in a way that while he remembered everything that happened — with an unsettling accuracy, like the Force wanted every moment seared into his memory so he could use them to power his emotions later, for when he'd need the boost — the first thing he would always recall was the feel of them tangled together in their bond. A bond that had always been there since they were children, that had only grown in the time they'd reconnected, that had exploded like a star gone nova in Ahch-to. Now, it was stronger than ever.

He kissed the top of her head, keeping her snuggled close to him even as his mind began to get to work. He'd wait until she was awake before moving to get them something to eat and drink; his safe house wasn't much, but it was fully stocked and they could hole out here for a whole month if they wanted. Not that they could. His absence would be noticed soon enough. Her absence would be noticed soon enough. And there was, as he'd noted yesterday, much that still needed to be done. Loose ends had to be tied up, their tracks covered, the rest of their enemies brought to justice.

Edited 2020-12-06 13:55 (UTC)

Sleep had been a relief. In a way that Brianna had rarely known, and most only when Jacen was near. He always had a way of making her feel safe no matter whether he did so on purpose or not, and for as long as she could remember. Something she thought she had lost forever once.

She could have lost him, forever. She could have died. Were she anyone else, if she didn't possess that certain uniqueness that she had come to curse more times than be glad for, she undoubtedly would have. But she didn't. She was a Skywalker; they were Skywalkers, and they did not die so easily. They lived and breathed the Force in a way so few could ever know or understand.

Having curled close to him, arms holding tight even as she slumbered, Brianna was reluctant to move even as consciousness began to emerge more out of habit than a strong desire to wake; just because she slept better with him didn't mean her sleeping habits had changed much otherwise, and there tended to be only so long her body (or the paranoia occasionally lurking in the back of her mind) would let her rest. Almost in protest she sought to get closer for a moment more, her hands curling against his back as she tucked her head against him. But returning to sleep was out of the question and gradually the waking world came in to stronger focus. They were safe, she knew that much with enough certainty. Sleep would not have come easily to either of them if that weren't the case. She also knew he wouldn't have let her continue to rest if there was any level of danger.

She murmured something incoherent, probably his name, as she stirred. It was still a moment or two more before she made any effort to move, and when she did so it was only to stretch in the slightest without moving away from him. Finally she lifted her head and sleep-blurry eyes looked up at him, clearing a little more with each blink. "Morning..." Whatever the actual time was she didn't know and it didn't matter, at least not to her in the moment.

( continued from here )

He lifts his arm and her instinctive reaction is to step back, holding her own up a little as she prepares to either defend herself or retaliate. So when he backs down, so does she, though she continues to eye him warily — especially when he asks for her help. "You had your chance," she's quick to answer, the expression on her face still hard and unrelenting. "But you couldn't stop bein' a crow." Perhaps allowing Ygritte and the other spearwives to rescue Mance and Tormund might earn him their trust again. Yet she's not quite sure. He definitely can't keep playing both sides.

She watches him settle on the floor, but she doesn't move to join him. Instead she retreats a little further into the tent while he speaks, picking up her atgeir to clean and sharpen the blade. "Lyin'?" She snorts, lowering herself to sit on the floor across him, though with the way she's holding her weapon there's a good chance she's going to level it at him if he tries to come closer. And it'll barely miss piercing him, given the small space between them. "You kneelers lie all the time. What did they say, that you ain't one of 'em?" Her look, even her tone, is half-mocking, half-challenging, like she wants to say I told you so or you chose wrong, crow.

Edited 2020-12-02 08:01 (UTC)

If her reaction of stepping back hurts him he refuses to show it. Did she really think that the move was to hurt her at all? And yet how can he fault her or any of them for hating him too. He's not sure there is any way to fix this, but he had to at least try right? His hand runs over his hair a little as he sighs at that quick answer. Of course. "So that's it. No more chances, I might as well just leave?" Because honestly, if she's never going to give him a second chance is there any point to being here? To try to talk to any of them at all? And yet it's her that he'd hoped maybe might let him try to prove himself again to her. Her he'd wanted to try with.

He won't try to come closer. He gets it, the not wanting him to touch her, the weapon she's chosen to clean while she listens to him and how it rests between them like a threat, he can see how he's not considered even a safe acquaintance by her. His eyes look away from her at the mocking, because it hits a little too close to home for what he's feeling and wondering about them now. "More or less. My father isn't my father, my siblings aren't my siblings. Nothing I knew about myself is true."

She gives him a look when he mentions leaving — and the shadowcat guarding her tent outside shifts so she's effectively blocking his exit. "I'm not done talkin' to you, crow." Although... that's really not the reason why she's refusing to let him leave, is it? For as upset as she is about everything that's happened, something about how sullen and broody he's become has tugged at her. She's annoyed with herself for it, of course, but it doesn't mean the sentiment, the concern, isn't there.

She puts her weapon away and tilts her head to the side to indicate the space near her. "Sit down." Between her atgeir still within her reach and the large cat waiting outside for her orders, there really is no way for him to leave unless she allows it. "So they're not your blood, that's what you're sayin', huh?" she starts to ask when he's finally seated, her voice soft and her expression surprisingly gentle. "What does it matter? They're your clan. Raised you an' fed you an' all."

He doesn't want to presume to know what she's feeling or thinking, though he had hoped that someway, somehow, she'd cared enough that he could find a way to get back into her good graces. That he could make it up to her for what he's done, to find a way to fix this between them. His eyes flicker over when her cat blocks the entrance, but even with her weapon and cat, he doesn't feel threatened. Oddly enough, he felt safer. "I am here for anything you want to say to me."

At her offer, he settles down next to her and rests his arms on his knees as he takes a breath. "Half-blood, my siblings are apparently my cousins. My father is my uncle, and he lied to me all my life. His wife hated me and made it well known." He sighs as his head dips, his hands running through his hair and mussing up the bun some. "I don't know if it should matter, but I don't know what this means either. I don't know what being a Targaryen means, being half dragon and half wolf." He raises his head to look over at her, grateful for that gentle expression, the care. "I am sorry I hurt you and the Wildlings," he offers with a sigh, not sure if she wants an opening to chew him out a little with a change of subjects.

She shakes her head at him. "You kneelers an' your many names," she mutters, and while there's a roll of her eyes, he can feel that it's not at him. He's already heard enough of her opinions about those who live south of the Wall during his time with the Wildlings and their trip through Gorne's Way. "Cashmere ain't my sister by blood, but she's my sister. Why does your name have to change how you feel about those you care about?"

She leans forward a little and pokes him on the chest. "You crows say your pretty li'l vows an' call each other brothers, then you turned your back on them an' said you were one of us, then you pledged yourself to that kneeler king." She folds her arms and looks at him challengingly. "Aye, I don't know what that means either. Who are you, Jon Snow? Wolf, dragon, crow, nothin', everythin'? Only you can decide."

The corner of his lip twitches just a little, because yes, he does know that the eye roll and frustration is less at him and more at how he was raised and how people south of the wall hold things dear that probably shouldn't matter. And in some ways, he can understand her way of thinking, because should it matter? No. But will it? He's not sure. Only his siblings can answer that when they find out, if they don't know already. Maybe that's why Robb has chosen to skirt seeing him and he has his answer already. "I would like to believe it won't, but I'm not sure if it will or not. I don't know how they'll feel about me knowing that difference in our blood." Which is the crux of why it bothers him so much.

His eyes dip down to watch how she pokes him in the chest like that, brow arching ever so slightly. "I pledged myself to the king because if I hadn't he would have taken castle black anyway. At least if I'm on his side he'll listen to me a little and I can hopefully keep any more Wildlings from dying." Besides, what was he supposed to do? Try to fight the man who'd stopped the wildling attack on the castle? They didn't have enough men to survive Mance's attack, they wouldn't have enough to fight off Stannis too. "I don't know how to be anything but a wolf. I wasn't even good at being a crow, and I don't think I really want to be one anymore." He raised one leg so he can rest his arm on his knee as he watches her.

"Have you asked?" The look she gives him is mocking, pointed, because of course you won't know if you don't ask... but there's sympathy behind her eyes, even as she tries to keeps it hidden beneath her tough exterior. "If it's their opinion that concerns you, then you should be back there talkin' to them an' not here talkin' to me." She huffs. "Sibling, cousin... too many names, but still family. You kneelers just like makin' things complicated."

She watches him back, eyebrows furrowed as she takes in what he's saying. "The southron king is helpin', then?" She doesn't want to hope, but that's what he seems to be telling her, that there's a chance for her people to survive. "For a price, of course," she adds, knowing all too well that nothing ever comes for free. "So you need to be the king of crows, it looks like." A king to treat with a king.

Then her expression softens. "What do you want to be, though?"

At the mocking his head dip down a little, because he's pretty sure that she knows the answer to that without even needing him to speak. He thinks he sees that sympathy, but he's not entirely sure it's there either. She's good at holding things back, and he'd been quick to dip his head. "No, I haven't asked them." He's nervous to talk to them, to find out if they care about it. "And I'm here talkin' to you because..." His hand teases through his hair a little before he looks back up at her. "Because I value talking to you, I value your opinion and your thoughts." Because he values her, despite everything, she means a lot to him.

"I'm working on him helping. He's angling for the throne in the South, but if he's going to take it and keep it, he needs to save the North first. The wildlings may not kneel to him, but the White Walkers are a problem that everyone faces no matter what side of the wall you're on." Everyone needs to band together to stop this threat or no one will survive and the dead will rule the petty throne everyone is fighting over. "Loyalty is normally the cost of a king's help," there may be judgement in that answer Not for her and the Wildlings but for Stannis and the price he might charge anyone for his help. Jon would help because it's the right thing to do, no matter if the people were under his rule or not. "And for the time being, at least until I can secure safety for everyone in the North." He meets her eyes with some determination, "Everyone." Wildlings included. And he won't charge a price for his help at least.

"I want to be my own man, I want to live and love and not be stuck to vows I didn't know were just a frilly, frozen cage." He dips to rest his chin on his knees. "I want to be free to be with you, were you to have me." Because he knows he broke things between them, but he wants to fix them some how.

"But I don't have the answers you're lookin' for." He wants to know where he belongs, if he belongs to his family at all given all that he's discovered about his heritage... and yet he's speaking to someone who's so far removed from any of it. It's not that she isn't touched that he values her, but there's nothing she can offer him past a fleeting comfort. A few hours of peace, maybe. Then in the morning he'll be back to worrying about his place among the wolves and the crows.

His determination to try to save them all has been one of the things that's endeared him to her. Even if the odds, truly, look quite impossible. He's made her believe — at least right up until the fight that had gone down between her camp and his — that there's something he can do. That they can do together. She won't say it out loud, but there's a truth to what he's telling her, that this southron king needs to save the North if he's to take the South. If they could make everyone else see that...

But he still has more to say, and the expression on her face turns curious as she listens. Then it becomes somber. "For as long as you live for others, you will never be free," she tells him. Her tone is soft, and not unkind. "Duty will always call you back." She meets his eyes. "An' that is why you an' I can never be together, crow. You cannot turn away from your vows any more than I can turn away from my freedom."

Silence hangs in the air for a moment, before she adds, very quietly, "But just 'cause I cannot be with you doesn't mean I cannot love you." She pushes herself up to her feet. "Go. Speak to your family, Jon. You're lucky yours is alive at all."

She underestimates the importance of even just talking to her despite not having a solution. To be able to even just talk out his thoughts with her and because she's not part of the family he's talking about, it means she doesn't get upset if he says something wrong. She'll tell him he's being an idiot, or he's being a little blind because he missed something she sees while talking to him. Which has its own kind of comfort. "But you do have the ability to tell me I'm an idiot because I'm overthinking things without getting upset at how it sounds when it comes out of my mouth. And sometimes it's just nice to talk about it, even if there isn't an answer." Because sometimes he just needs to be able to talk. And she's let him do exactly that.

There was no stopping that battle between his people and hers. Shortly after falling in with her he'd hoped there'd be some kind of solution that both sides could come to without blood loss. But there just wasn't. Some he might have been able to talk to given the time, on both sides, but there had't been time. His heart is in the right place, torn between both the crows and the wildlings, because he doesn't want anyone to suffer or die. But people need to be open to working together, for both their survivals.

He doesn't like how she says it's why they can't be together, because out of everything that's what hurts the most. Though his head tilts toward her a little. "I would never ask you to turn away from your freedom," he'd never ask her to turn away or sacrifice anything for him if he's being honest. It's not in his nature to be greedy, only to try and slide in where he might fit without disrupting too many things. In some ways, a product of his upbringing as he's been nudged to the background.

"But what if I found a way to slip out of my duties?" The question comes unbidden, something he hasn't thought a lot about but in the face of, the realization that, they can't be together because of him, it's an honest question. Because while he's not supposed to, his heart has found a home in her. And which she rises, his hand catches hers gently as his chest tightens as she offers that last bit. That she loves him. It has him tug her gently to him, soft enough if she fights him he'll relent but with enough that it's a request for her to not walk away, to not leave him or this conversation yet. "I know I have a lot to make up for, but you are my family in a different way, Jane. If you'll have me." A family of choice. A family in that he loves her. A family in that he'll do everything he can to keep her safe.

She ends up settling on his lap, straddling him. Because where else, with him still seated on the floor? She's thawed, though, and her hands easily thread into his hair, fingers gently, affectionately, playing with his hair. He knows this is a side of her she doesn't show much to anyone, outside of those she considers her sisters and the man she'd once loved, but here it is again now, just like that first time they'd shared a tent and he'd broken his vows and made love with her.

"You need to be the king of the crows," she reminds him kindly. They have more pressing matters at hand than their own feelings, the survival of both their people most of all. He needs to bring them together: the southron king and his army, the Free Folk clans, the families sworn to the wolves, the black brothers of the Wall. "But when this is over, an' you feel your place is with us still..." She kisses him softly on the mouth. "I'll be 'ere, waitin'."

His hands settle on her hips as he tilts his head up to her, enjoying the feel of her fingers in his hair and the softness that she showed him. He cherishes this side of her, because he knows it's rare for her to show, that it's only for those she loves. One hand catches her cheek and he deepens the kiss a little more as he lets those words sink in. "Will you stay close while I have to lead through this?"

It's not a question of joining the fight, because he's pretty sure he knows she will. He's aware that for the better of her people she'll take the stand she has to with him and the Southern King and anyone else they can draw to aid them. No, the question is if she'll stay close to him. "I am yours, Jane, even if I have to lead the crows, I am yours." Because he wants that clear. He wants to be right here with her. Teeth nip at her lower lip gently. "I don't want to leave your tent tonight." To leave her tonight.

She snorts softly, though she doesn't pull away from him or stop what they're doing either, kissing him and staying close even as they continue to talk and plan. "Your men ain't gonna like that," she tells him, a hint of amusement somewhere in her tone. "The vows you swore, what did it say? You ain't gonna hold lands, wear crowns..." Yet the Wall is practically his, and he is the king of the crows.

She kisses up to his ear, nibbling at the lobe before whispering suggestively, "Take a wife..."

Groaning softly, his hand teases into her hair, encouraging her for the way she's nibbling at his ear as she whispers. "My men will have to deal with it." He doesn't dip to clean her mouth but instead lets his own teeth tease along her jaw and throat with a hungry sound. "I've already taken a wife, haven't I?"

His hand kneads her hip as he shifts under her, almost like he's rocking up into her body. Teasing, demanding, and toying with her. Though is it fully toying if he has every intention of following through with the motion once he can get her out of her leather and furs? "There's not a better wife for me north or south of the wall."

"Depends." The amusement in her voice has thickened, mixed with her quickening breaths and soft moans from their mutual teasing. "By our customs, you have."

Did he really think that night she'd let him cart her off to his tent meant nothing? And does he now understand why she'd been angry with him for siding with the southron king? She knew, of course, that it had been the tactical choice; her people hadn't stood a chance against Stannis' cavalry. No, she'd been angry because he'd chosen to go back into being a crow in that moment, and effectively abandoned her.

She stills for a moment, resting with their foreheads together, before brushing her nose against his. "Who are you, Jon Snow?" she echoes his earlier question, giving him a chance to really think about what he wants to do next. Oh, she doesn't mind a good fuck and will gladly keep him around tonight for that, but he means more to her than that. He is more to her than that, and for all that he's lamented about not knowing who he was or for being conflicted about his family, it's one thing he hasn't seem to have really caught on.

The problem is she isn't seeing why he did it. He didn't do it because that's where his loyalties lay, but because it meant he could still Stannis' hand in slaughtering the Wildlings. By being a trusted companion and the voice of knowing about the Wildlings, he's been able to work to do what he could to keep them alive, to try and get Stannis to see they could be allies if treated properly. He didn't turn against her or abandon her, but try to adapt the situation to keep the woman he loved safe the best way he knew how. "By my heart, I have." The words are gentle against her skin before she pulls back to rest her forehead against his.

The question is a heavy one, because it is what he'd come here growling about. The turmoil with the Crows, with Stannis, and with his family. He wasn't lying when he said she was the calm among this storm inside him. That one place he wanted to be when everything else was upside-down. Which is also why her being mad at him had crushed him so much.

Shifting a little, he brushes his nose against hers a little more. "A man who wants to be with his wife, who wants to see both our people survive this war with the dead. And who wants a life with you, no matter the cost." At his very core, that's all he wants. Both his family and people and her family and people safe, not having to be a war ideally, but at least not having to worry about the Dead. That the North beyond the wall could be free of fear and hunt and live as it should. "I thought I was a crow when I joined them, but I'm not. I've been unhappy since I came to be part of them. And I'm not a man of the South either." If there's one thing that had felt at home, besides just being with her, it had been his time traveling with her and her sisters. There was a peace to that life that had resonated with him, that had made Ghost happy side by side with her Shadowcat. "I'm your wolf, Jane."

[ robb/cass 7K king jon verse red wedding thread con't ]

Incoming!

[ The snowball doesn't come immediately after the cry; Jane actually counts to five before popping out of her snow fort to make the shot. Well... it's more of a snow wall, really. She didn't have the time to make an actual badass fort because she was too busy building her snowman guardian. Priorities.

For as much as she gets cold easily, winter is among her favorite seasons. There's just something so fun about building snowmen and snowman families and cool snow forts. And, of course, the snowball fights. Force, the snowball fights. She and her siblings love snowball fights.

There's still a pang on her chest when she thinks about Anakin, but the snowman has been erected in his honor. She's moving on, slowly. ]

Edited 2020-12-03 10:12 (UTC)

[Even with the warning, Walter doesn't just run, taking the hit instead with a smile.

Quite possibly because he's about to make a run for that same snow fort, but no matter.

The point is, Jane's got her guardian and they're well-set for a day of fun here in Mossgate.]

Coming through!

[And with that warning, he scoops up a pile of snow of his own and starts running, racing Jane back to her own fort.]

[ Selene has been to these pyramids so many times by now that she knows the trail and the information being rattled on by their guide by heart, though for her classmates' benefit she pays close attention anyway, whispering additional trivia every now and then just in case it's left out in the narrative. Not that Cersei seems to be particularly interested in their little trip, almost looking like she already wants to go back to their dorms. And that, in fact, is what prompts her to tug at the other girl's hand when they get to a corner, gesturing with her eyes toward what looks to be just another dead end, in the direction opposite where the rest of their class is heading.

Mischief shining in her eyes, she leads her friend through a narrow crack that's almost invisible because of how the restored stone walls have been designed, and into a dimly lit chamber. Somewhere in the rear end of it is an ancient notebook, kept safe in a glass case. ]

Interesting enough for you now?

Edited 2020-12-04 14:47 (UTC)

"Eris!"

Is he normally this loud? Well, they call him The Thunderer for a reason. Thor just seems to have been born with the inability to keep quiet, evidenced by his booming laughter and heavy footsteps and roaring cries of where's my hammer and PERPETUALLY CAPSLOCKED WRITING. (The latter is the result of some sort of prank, clearly, but not even Freya, as annoyed as she's gotten by his shout-typing, has bothered to waste magic on reversing it.)

They call him Big T because he's... well, big.

His chariot comes to a stop in front of Eris, and she can see him lounging lazily, drinking mead from a horn. He's wrapped in thick furs that make him look bigger and heavier than he already is, leaving absolutely no space for a second passenger. His goats, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr, bare and grind their teeth, because those are their names (duh) and because they're no less happier transporting their master around than getting killed and cooked for supper.

"Fair lady! Will you join me on this fine winter day?"

"You brought goats!" Eris bounced on her heels, clapping her hands daintily as she stared at Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr in delight. Yes, she had absorbed everything else about the situation as well. The large shouty cute man and his horn of mead, the chariot, the invitation, Eris had taken it all in – but he'd brought goats! Men, even immortal ones, especially immortal ones never thought about the impact of charming livestock.

Eris was already pleased with Thor. She enjoyed his shouted approach to conversation, finding it extremely refreshing given how generally their sort of folk could be so bloody pompous and stuck up. It wasn't her nature to put on airs and bother to contain herself. Diverting her attention away from the goats Eris lifted her hand and smeared it over the empty air as one might a foggy window, creating a little hole in time and space to reach into in order to pull out a bottle of champagne, a drinking horn of another sort. Fixing him with a big grin she took a step towards the chariot, paying no mind to how there was apparently no room for her. "I sure will cutie pie!"

Planting one foot on the chariot she stepped up, "do you want me to drape on you or pretend to be on the front of it like on a ship?"

• amanda ( x )
• ash ( x )
• astrea ( x )
• rachel ( x )

Edited 2020-12-24 03:06 (UTC)

— 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐩 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

— 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝.

— 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙞.

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TIMESKIP to the post-battle thingy

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— 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙮𝙣𝙯.

pretends I'm not super late to this

— 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙯𝙮.

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— 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙞.

— 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙘𝙚.

<3 <3 <3

— 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖.

— 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙡.

kicks open the door

— 𝙤𝙛𝙛-𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢.