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sixthiterationlogs2016-09-10 09:02 am
thekittenqueen) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-09-10 09:02 am
The Doom of Valyria
WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: Bungalow #53
WHEN: 09/10
OPEN TO: Robb Stark, Jon Snow, and others
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, injury, blood
STATUS: Open
During the Quake (Closed to Jon and Robb)
The quiet had lasted too long, lulling Margaery into a sense of false security. The day had passed easily, the majority of her chores completed and section of her land tilled and prepared for planting in the morning. With her work completed and her animals fed, she had returned inside her bungalow to make supper. It was one of her better days, at least, nothing was badly burned and it actually smelled appetizing.
Everything had been set on the table when the shaking began, soft at first, but enough to send Margaery into a panic. She could see green behind her eyes again, the sudden roar of Wildfire sharp in her ears, and the screams of the dying around her. She stumbled from her chair, darting towards the front door when the ground shifted violently from under her.
The walls vibrated angrily and the sound of crashes came from outside, her animals crying out loudly. Her vision became distorted and her feet twisted under her. The floor split and raised itself, the foundation becoming dislodged. Margaery stumbled, tripping over a large gash that opened beneath her.
Her body vaulted forward and collided against the edge of her side table. Stars appeared behind her eyes, her head ringing and aching as a stream of warmth poured down her cheek. She knew without seeing that she had injured herself, but was unable to move or think. She stared up at the ceiling in a daze, watching as her light fixture swung about, pulled in all directions by the quake.
Finally, it became dislodged and hurled towards the ground, inches away from Margaery's head. She flinched as glass flew around her. Her dinner table collapsed, throwing her meal on the ground. Plaster fell over her, larger chunks landing beside her and on her legs. She could move, she knew as much, she should move, but terror and pain kept her rooted against the ground.
The ceiling fractured above her, the beams collapsing on themselves. It would give, but only if a measure of weight was put on it. Finally, the shaking subsided. Her heart thudded in her chest as she listened to her house's protests. Water sounded from upstairs, likely rushing from broken pipes. The ceiling creaked and groaned, its weight giving out slowly. There was a loud scratching from above, her bed slowly sliding across the floor. The floor had angled towards the fracture, tipping her bed towards its weakest point, just above Margaery's head.
It's going to give. The bed will break it and it will all fall on me. Gods, I'm going to die here. She thought to herself, trying to prompt her body into moving. Still, it would not listen to her instincts. She felt paralyzed, vulnerable to death once again and once more unable to flee.
Later in the Evening (OTA)
She stared at her home in wordless horror. It had all happened so quickly but everything seemed to be ruined. It could be repaired, but for now, she was homeless and all of her plans had been upended.
The grounds in the animal pen had been cracked, gashes were scattered across the grass, overturning the dark soil and ruining the places her animals grazed. None seemed to be injured, thank the gods, but they were as spooked as Margaery was.
Her deck had collapsed, the support beams were dislodged, thankfully not entirely downed and broken across her porch. She had no idea where to begin repairing things or what to even do. There supplies were limited already. The damage of the quake would stretch everyone thin. How could she ask for more help when there were others just as bad, if not worse off than her?
She sank to her knees and covered her face with her hands. She couldn't cry, but this left her very close to it.
WHERE: Bungalow #53
WHEN: 09/10
OPEN TO: Robb Stark, Jon Snow, and others
WARNINGS: Mentions of death, injury, blood
STATUS: Open
The quiet had lasted too long, lulling Margaery into a sense of false security. The day had passed easily, the majority of her chores completed and section of her land tilled and prepared for planting in the morning. With her work completed and her animals fed, she had returned inside her bungalow to make supper. It was one of her better days, at least, nothing was badly burned and it actually smelled appetizing.
Everything had been set on the table when the shaking began, soft at first, but enough to send Margaery into a panic. She could see green behind her eyes again, the sudden roar of Wildfire sharp in her ears, and the screams of the dying around her. She stumbled from her chair, darting towards the front door when the ground shifted violently from under her.
The walls vibrated angrily and the sound of crashes came from outside, her animals crying out loudly. Her vision became distorted and her feet twisted under her. The floor split and raised itself, the foundation becoming dislodged. Margaery stumbled, tripping over a large gash that opened beneath her.
Her body vaulted forward and collided against the edge of her side table. Stars appeared behind her eyes, her head ringing and aching as a stream of warmth poured down her cheek. She knew without seeing that she had injured herself, but was unable to move or think. She stared up at the ceiling in a daze, watching as her light fixture swung about, pulled in all directions by the quake.
Finally, it became dislodged and hurled towards the ground, inches away from Margaery's head. She flinched as glass flew around her. Her dinner table collapsed, throwing her meal on the ground. Plaster fell over her, larger chunks landing beside her and on her legs. She could move, she knew as much, she should move, but terror and pain kept her rooted against the ground.
The ceiling fractured above her, the beams collapsing on themselves. It would give, but only if a measure of weight was put on it. Finally, the shaking subsided. Her heart thudded in her chest as she listened to her house's protests. Water sounded from upstairs, likely rushing from broken pipes. The ceiling creaked and groaned, its weight giving out slowly. There was a loud scratching from above, her bed slowly sliding across the floor. The floor had angled towards the fracture, tipping her bed towards its weakest point, just above Margaery's head.
It's going to give. The bed will break it and it will all fall on me. Gods, I'm going to die here. She thought to herself, trying to prompt her body into moving. Still, it would not listen to her instincts. She felt paralyzed, vulnerable to death once again and once more unable to flee.
She stared at her home in wordless horror. It had all happened so quickly but everything seemed to be ruined. It could be repaired, but for now, she was homeless and all of her plans had been upended.
The grounds in the animal pen had been cracked, gashes were scattered across the grass, overturning the dark soil and ruining the places her animals grazed. None seemed to be injured, thank the gods, but they were as spooked as Margaery was.
Her deck had collapsed, the support beams were dislodged, thankfully not entirely downed and broken across her porch. She had no idea where to begin repairing things or what to even do. There supplies were limited already. The damage of the quake would stretch everyone thin. How could she ask for more help when there were others just as bad, if not worse off than her?
She sank to her knees and covered her face with her hands. She couldn't cry, but this left her very close to it.