sixthiterationlogs | Event; Don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash

Entry tags:

Event; Don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash

WHO: Boyd Crowder and Peggy Carter
WHERE: middle of one of the paths
WHEN: October 28th
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: Animal death, TDB
STATUS: Open

He takes solace in a few things and a few people while in this place. One of which was far more reliable than anything he's found yet--and that would be morning walks with Peggy Carter. Before the rattle of the kitchen, full with people, gets too loud. It's a quiet, sleepy morning and he can pretend it's a little warmer and Peggy is Ava Crowder instead.

That's not fair to Peggy and he knows it, and that's exactly why he never voices the thought--instead, he offers his arm and they make small talk. Boyd with his words and Peggy with her polished, refined British accent--something Boyd's sure he could get used to hearing all day. It's a pleasant sound, and never leaves his ears ringing. Or maybe that's because he enjoys the other's company so much, it's difficult to tell.

One thing is certain--it's fucking cold. He's used to the fact that this isn't Harlan, even if the morning fog and mist makes him think it is for a few moments. He's homesick, truth be told, and he'll never let anyone know it. Even if he has a feeling Peggy's picked up on that. She's extremely clever.

"Can't say I'm going to enjoy the snow, though I am pleased you indulged my offer on a walk this morning, no matter the temperature," he says by way of proper small talk and is about to say something else when he crooks his head to the side and his brow knits. There, on a path, an animal. A sheep, more accurately--lying on the ground. It would be less alarming if it weren't for the way it's been absolutely eviscerated, and Boyd is fairly certain even at this distance he can see intestines.

He'd cover Peggy's eyes if he wasn't sure she'd seen worse. Instead, he glances over at her, raises his brows, and lifts his fingers to his lips to whistle as loud as he can, the piercing sound echoing as it bounces off of nearby buildings.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jo's been up and out for hours, like normal, so she hears the sound and for a moment looks around the main room of the Inn she's in, before standing up and jogging toward the doors and then the even further outside. Looking around for whatever, whoever, the hell just made that sound. Why.

But all of those questions answer themselves in alarm quickness, and a whole shit ton of blood.

"What the hell." It's a question to the people there, but as much, she's still just looking at it. Before looking all around them. For any sign of anything. Because nothing like this happens on the spot, in a blink, and nothing like this happened at all in this place.

"My sentiments exactly," comes the southern accented voice of Boyd Crowder, both brows raised, looking less amused than he usually does. "Our morning walk has been greatly interrupted, and I figured it might be best to let people know right away."

It's simplified, of course. Most of what Boyd says versus what he thinks is simplified, despite his alarmingly high vocabulary. He eyes the girl carefully.

"You've seen this sort of thing before?" Since as far as Boyd knows, she's been there since around the beginning.

Peggy drifts back from her investigation of the animal in question, still unable to determine what on earth has happened. She glances from Boyd to Jo and then to the animal, her curiosity attaching itself to Boyd's question. "Not here, certainly," she says, though perhaps it's more of a hopeful leading statement than fact.

Instinct takes over and the moment he whistles sharply, she reaches out to try and smack his hand away from his mouth, a look in her eyes that says she's already assessing the situation. "If someone here did this, do you really want to call attention to the fact that we've stumbled on it?" she questions, disentwining from his hold on her to approach the animal from a clinical perspective, investigating it with an eye on the blood and the mess.

Crouching down beside it, she looks at the way it's been torn apart, suggesting that this wasn't precisely a wild animal attack - or if it was, then it was quite gory. "I think this might be one of the domesticated ones," she says.

Peggy reaches to smack his hand away and Boyd's eyes widen to a near comical degree before immediately narrowing. It's a flash of something--not of Boyd's temper, though that in and of itself is a dangerous thing--but surprise that someone had the audacity to do such a thing. Someone that wasn't his fiancee, of course--but when it came down to it, Peggy, while similar to Ava, isn't.

The moment is gone, quickly vanishing as Boyd squares his shoulders a little more, tattooed hands folding into each other. Peggy doesn't even flinch at the gore--Boyd feels a strange sort of pride he never knew he had towards the woman.

"It was meant for someone to find," he reasons, "Whoever did this certainly turned it into an artform."

All the more reason for them not to suddenly drag attention to the situation at hand before they've been able to investigate it. Crouching down in front of the animal, she searches the area for traces of blood, searching above them for anyone who might be lingering. "It doesn't look like it was dragged and placed here," she says, taking her time to thoroughly catalogue her thoughts.

"What sort of animal might have done this?" she wonders, inching to her knees as she gets towards the face. "I think this might be one of Margaery's," she realizes.

"Animals aren't exactly my strong suit," Boyd says softly. There's a distinct lack of vocabulary flowing from his lips--mostly because he's concentrating on what the hell is going on.

He doesn't regret immediately letting people know, though. Better than then people accuse him of doing it. Even if no one in the village currently knows who he really is, there's always that lingering paranoia most of Crowder clan have. For good reason.

"Margaery isn't capable of somethin' like this, I'm fairly certain we can rule out self sabotage."

"Neither mine," is Peggy's cautious reply, seeing as she doesn't think that she could speak extensively to animals being massacred in any situation. She's not sure what anyone here is truly capable of, but her agreement is that Boyd is right and that it's not Margaery.

"She's going to be quite upset," she says, glancing up to lock eyes with Boyd. "We should move it off the path."

Quite upset is certainly an underestimate, and Boyd's chest rises and falls dramatically as he makes a small series of decisions. One, that this is probably the observers everyone talks about. Two, that even though that's what he's learning towards he can't be certain, and three, it's imperative now more than ever no one has a single reason to be suspicious of him.

The last thing he needs is for this to turn into some sort of witch hunt, especially if he's out of favour.

"Movin' it should be easy enough," he remarks and is already stepping to do so--he has no doubt that Peggy is capable of handling a bit of gore, but the southern gentleman in him absolutely refuses to let her. It's a matter of being polite.

"And moving it will be much simpler with two sets of hands," is her impatient retort when it seems like he's moving into a position to remove her from the equation. She stubbornly sets herself at the back end of the carcass, giving Boyd a challenging look that dares him to find out what her reaction will be if he implies she's incapable.

She's had more than enough years to grow weary of that reaction and she's not looking to start it up here.

"Though," she goes on, "there is something to be said for the use of the meat, if we don't think it's tainted."

She heard the whistle from her porch. With Sansa's return, Margaery had been sleeping far better through the night, grateful to have her friend with her and another's presence to help chase away her nightmares. The only troubles was that she had started to sleep past sunrise, sometimes not getting to the barn until mid-morning. The snowfall hadn't helped matters, only making her more sluggish and exhausted.

Wrapping her arms around herself, lightly cursing the meager jacket she had, Margaery was about to force her way through the snow to the barn when Boyd whistled loudly. They had never used it as a means of warning before, but there was a sense of something in the air, enough to not discount the call.

She hurried towards the source, following the others as they gathered on one of the paths. Before she could even see what caused the alarm, she spied a bloody cloth collar nearby, lying in the snow. She had tied them around her animals, marking them as her own in case they were to get lost or herded among others.

Unable to stop herself, she shoved past the others, coming upon a sight so horrific, her stomach turned violently in her stomach. Margaery turned away, trying to keep herself from vomiting. Her limbs shook against the tree that she grasped, hoping to remain steady on her feet. The cloth collar was clutched in her hands, the blood staining her skin.

"It's mine," she whispered when she felt strong enough. "That was my ram!" Fire appeared in her eyes, "What did this?" Who did this?

Given the turn in weather, Ygritte took to spending the last day or so since the rain started inside the house she claimed for herself. Being cold in this weather wasn't so bad, in fact, it would be the closest to any kind of summer the wildling would ever experience. No, being cold and wet was what she didn't particularly like. Sure, she had clothes -- or what excuses for clothes they'd given her when she arrived -- but they weren't exactly conducive to remaining outdoors for too long.

When the whistle sounded, it definitely caught Ygritte's attention since she just so happened to be nearby and on her way back towards the surrounding forest where she felt most comfortable. She stopped, giving the direction the sound came from a look, brows creasing in visible curiosity. She'd heard whistles before. Not like the one she'd heard now, which was loud and pretty sharp to be any kind of warning. But it was one that was meant to get attention.

And it intrigued others, too, from what the wildling noticed, watching as people passed her to see what was going on. So she fell in line, too.

After a few minutes of walking, her eyes settled on the carcass of what was definitely an animal. She squinted, watching people gather around, looking alarmed and shocked.

Ygritte? She was surprised, too, but more at the reaction of the people. It was only when Margaery spoke that Ygritte almost laughed.

Actually, she may have snorted in amusement.

Edited 2016-10-30 02:23 (UTC)

Growing up in the Reach, Margaery had been raised far from the dangers of Wildlings. They were figures in stories that her Septa would tell her, enemies and monsters that the Northerners kept the Reach safe from. When she and Loras had been little, they had huddled together under a blanket as storms would rage outside. That was when their Septa would tell them the frightening tales of the barbarians beyond the wall, people who were no better than animals and who lived in the dark woods.

She had never laid an eye on a Wildling, not until coming here and managing to stumble upon Ygritte in the woods. While nothing truly remarkable had been said between them, it had been enough to raise Margaery's paranoia and determination to avoid the woods alone. She had forgotten Ygritte with Sansa's arrival, letting herself slip into the illusions of safety and peace.

It wasn't until she heard the Wildling's amused snort that her mind was torn back to the stories of her youth. These creatures beyond the Wall had no morality and no breeding. They were worse than dogs and would rip a man apart to fill their bellies. How could she have allowed herself to believe anyone in this village was safe while a Wildling lurked in the woods.

Margaery gripped tightly to the cloth collar, rage boiling over her. The shock of seeing one of her animals butchered and being confronted with one of the monsters of her childhood were too much for her. "You did this!" She stormed at Ygritte, pushing herself away from the tree. "I know exactly who you are and what your kind does! Why should we be shocked by this? This is what comes with having an animal and barbarian living so close by! Little wonder the Wildling hasn't bothered to kill the rest of us!" Her mouth was getting the best of her, leading her towards Cersei's level of contempt and hatred. Shock and adrenaline pushed her to the limit, shutting down any voices of reason she might have. There was only her anger commanding her.

Of course the sound that came from Ygritte drew attention and her gaze bounced around to a few people turning her way before darting to the woman making the accusation. It wasn't enough to wipe the grin off her mouth completely, but it was sufficient to have her eyes narrow in a certain level of haughty amusement.

Ygritte stepped around one man and cock her head slightly. Looking at her a little more closely now jogged that first and only meeting not so long after Ygritte had arrived and while the woman didn't vocalize knowing who, or what she was. Come to think of it now, the fiery red headed woman didn't think too much of Margaery beyond how she might imagine the Southron ladies being in her world.

Now it made sense.

"Wildlin'. That's what ya lot call us, right?" Ygritte asked rhetorically because she already knew the answer. "So ya think because there's a dead animal on the path that it was me that did it?"

Margaery's furious expression did little to force her to settle this nicely. She was being accused of something she didn't do. However, she wouldn't have had a problem admitting if she did. That was just who she was. The Free Folk didn't apologize for doing what they had to do to survive. Not to their own, and definitely not to anyone venturing from the Wall, or further south.

"Who else would do this?" She retorted hotly. "I check the pens every night. My sheep do not graze without me nearby. My animals are still in the barn, save now for one. The only way this could have happened was if someone took him out!" She didn't want to look at the poor creature again, but flicked her eyes towards his carcass.

"I know the stories as well as anyone else! Your kind raid villages and slaughter children! You steal animals and crops for yourselves. You slaughter because you can and when it suits you! It's no coincidence that the moment you come from the woods, an animal is taken from the barn and killed."

Calling her an "animal" and "barbarian" was more than harsh, something she knew deep down. Fear and paranoia had taken the better part of her senses. She had tried to live by a code of kindness, but this place and this situation pushed her towards an extreme.

She stepped closer, knowing that it was unwise to provoke the woman, but unable to stop herself. "This is because of you!" She pointed at Ygritte, her hand shaking with anger and frustration.

Edited 2016-10-30 06:39 (UTC)

She'd heard the accusations before, from many people and all from those south of the Wall. Now, there was some truth to what the woman was saying. Free folk raided and took what they wanted. Some slaughtered anyone they crossed paths with and without threat, not just children. Some raped. Others we cannibals. But what the woman lacked was the absolute knowledge of the people they called 'wildlings', as most Southron people did.

Ygritte's expression turned indignant.

"I've heard 'em. Those stories are what your fat old village ladies tell ya right before ya fall asleep. But they forgot to tell ya why us lot turned out the way we did. An' why that big ol' Wall was put up all that time ago." Ygritte snapped back, eyes only drawing to the finger being pointed to her.

That was once.

"I didn't touch your animal. If I did, none of us would be standin' here staring at it because I'd have taken the whole thing into the woods and carved every bit of it up and made meself a nice supper."

Edited 2016-11-01 02:32 (UTC)

She scoffed in distaste, "Do you think the 'whys' really matter? How does that change the actions and the cruelty? You can find all the explanations you want, but it doesn't alter the fact that your kind," she pointed once again at Ygritte, "have made a habit of this way of life!"

This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in front of the village or something that she meant to blow up to this extreme. Until this point, she had made it a point to be kind and welcoming to everyone, no matter their background. And until this point, she had avoided Ygritte, rather than engage with her.

Stress and a horrific death pushed her to her limits and she found her patience crumbling away. She could either panic or react with anger and anger seemed the better option.

"These stories aren't told for amusement!" Which was more of a lie than she would admit. How often had she and Loras been entertained with tales about the far North? "They serve as reminders of why exactly your kind have been kept behind the Wall. Why the men of the Night's Watch have been safeguarding the realm! Whenever Wildlings breach the Wall, it leads to nothing but raiding, rapes and death! How many children have your kind left as orphans? How many farms have you sacked and people have you killed because you can?" She waved her hand in dismissal.

"No one else in this village lives by the same standards that your kind does!" Margaery snapped, stepping closer. "Someone removed a sheep and then carved him up! What a coincidence that there is someone," she pointed once more, "here who is in the habit of taking what she wants!"

Ygritte stood looking into the face of the woman, expression shifting from irritation to incredulity and finally to ignited fury that was provoked by the other woman's ignorance and pointing her finger twice more. Insults she could take, to an extent. Narrow minded, obtuse Southron folk pushed her buttons to an irrational level.

After the second time Margaery pointed her finger, Ygritte's fist closed into a ball at her side. By the third time, the woman would barely get the words out before the wildling's fist connected with her face in a blinding moment. It was so quick that no one would have had the chance to stop it from happening.

"The why's do matter." Ygritte spat back in reply, taking a step closer to make sure the woman could see her face and eyes. "Us Free Folk live to survive. Because you kneeler's forced us to. Are your lands free of rape and death and murder and orphan children now? I've heard stories of your kind, too, an' how you all lie to survive."

The sudden impact caught her off guard, causing her steps to stumble until she was kneeling on the ground, clutching at her face. Her eye stung and ached; while she had been struck several times in the black cells, it had only been on her back, arms and head. She hadn't experienced pain like this before and the shock of it was enough to pull her out of her hysteria and panic.

She could hear Ygritte retorting to her accusations, some of them justified and true. For all that was said about the Wildlings, there were still just as many stories about soldiers and common men that would rob and rape without discrimination. The horror of her ram's death had stripped her of reason and sympathy, plunging her back into that place of discrimination and prejudice that so many of her people followed. It was easier to blame the enemy you didn't know than the one you did and she had fallen into that trap.

But apology wasn't something she was capable of, not yet and certainly not now. Her pride had been wounded and she still felt angry. She grit her teeth, forcing herself to keep from replying and making the situation worse.

He's far too shocked to react as quickly as he'd liked. He'd seen the redhead around, never actually caught her name or where she was from, and she knew the soft girl with the doe eyes and brown hair.

If he's being completely honest with himself, watching them verbally spat is fairly interesting, if not just a tad bit entertaining. The bottom line is that while the two bickering is something he'll let slide, an actual physical altercation is completely detrimental to the situation.

Whatever situation this is.

He's not stupid enough to try to physically stop them--he's no stranger to strong women and how they handle people that underestimate them--but he does purposely step in front of both of them. His hands are raised in front of either girl, palms flat. Hopefully, a disarming gesture.

"Ladies," he begins, southern accent twanging against their different dialects, "I don't believe physical harm is going to be helpin' anyone. You two can sort out your troubles later, but right now ain't exactly the time."

Thorfinn had thought about staying away from Margaery in the state she must be in. The harsh words she threw at the other woman. the wildling he had never learned bothered to remember her name back in Medietas, he certainly didn't know it now. He wouldn't call her that though, he hated the foul names that were often thrown his way in his raiding days.

Still he knew the animal as soon as he saw it butchered, he knew she was hurting. And even with harsh words at someone else, words she couldn't know cut him to the core, he couldn't leave her to suffer by herself. Stepping over to her he laid a hand on her shoulder. It was so rare for him to offer any kind of touch short of this, a comforting hand on her shoulder, or a hand up from the ground.

"Margaery." He spoke her name but unsure what else to say.

She had heard Thorfinn's voice, but hadn't registered it during the argument. It was only when she was getting to her feet that she remembered that her friend had tried to keep her temper under control. Much to her regret and humiliation, she wasn't able to restrain herself as she normally did.

Her eyes flicked towards Thorfinn, giving him an apologetic look before turning her focus back to the commotion.

When he saw her eyes connect with his. He remained momentarily still before moving forward to her. A lady like her wasn't made for brawling. He should have offered to teach her to defend herself. He stepped forward looking over her face a moment before speaking. "I wont ask if you are okay." Even a blind man could see she was not.

"Would you like me to walk you home?" He offered, though there was a sadness in his eyes that even he could not mask.

She wasn't all right, but it did no good to draw attention to it. What happened was due to her own actions and words. It didn't escape her notice that she had hurt Thorfinn as well. She couldn't be certain how she managed, but considering all she did, it wasn't a shock.

"No," she said, flinching as her head throbbed once more. "I can manage on my own. Thank you."

"You are welcome. The pain will ease with cold. If you find a cloth dip it in the river and hold it where it hurts." He spoke as he looked to her, watching her, he was sure she was in pain.

He looked back to Bushy a moment then back to her again. Unsure what to say that wouldn't just be explaining he can prove that woman didn't do this. None of the usable meat or pelt were taken. Instead he shakes his head some. Even if her words had hurt, she was still one of his better friends here and he was concerned. "If you change your mind, I will be here. Until they figure out what did this."

Deep down, she knew that Ygritte hadn't done this. In her anger and hysteria, she had sought a convenient target, and what she knew about the Wildlings had provided that in Ygritte. Once she was able to calm down and rest, she knew that she'd regret her words and actions. For now, she was still irritated and in pain. She wanted to do nothing more than return to her room and rest. Bushy's remains would be left to the others. She was too heartsick to even consider it anymore.

"Thank you," she said again softly. Slowly, she walked down the path back towards her home, ready to bury herself in sleep and the void of dreams.

Thorfinn's morning had been mostly spent dragging more dirty deposits to the Blacksmith. His long john shirt was already getting stained with dirt and the rustic color that stains the banks where the bog iron would be found. He had heard the whistle as he dried his cold hands against the tunic he wore. He moved quickly out of the blacksmith pushing the door back closed and moved to find what the noise was.

Arriving in time to hear Ygritte and Margaery arguing, in time to hear Margaery's harsh words about raiding. It stopped him dead in his tracks for a moment, a feel dreading filling him. What had happened?

He moved forward past the two, not sparing a look to them as he moved forward to see the animal. "ó fjandinn" The words came out in his heavy accent. Standing looking down at the animal. He could tell whose it was even through the mess. This was Bushy, Margaery's favorite.

He looked from the arguing girls towards the other's gathered but was worried to speak up. Who could have done this?

Edited 2016-11-02 01:39 (UTC)

"Thorfinn," Peggy greets him, drifting from Boyd's side as she presses a palm to his back to let him know that she intends to drift. She takes in the worried look on his face, not to mention the animal on the path. She knows as well as he does that this animal is Margaery's and Peggy's worry for the woman is paramount, though she's still thinking of strategies to extricate her from her own situation.

First, though, assess the situation and that includes the people near. "Are you all right?" she asks. "Have you seen something like this before?"

Thorfinn looks up from staring at the animal almost spaced out by the time he hears Peggy's voice. He blinks a bit snapping himself from his thoughts. "I'm fine, nothing to worry about." His English was always improving because of the deep immersion he goes through daily. He's nearly got it mastered. "Yes, I have... but never in a peaceful time." He admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Usually after a raid or as a warning one would come to scare the village." He admitted the knowledge he had. "It's a bad omen Peggy." He worried Margaery might hear him but he couldn't deny what little insight he had when it could be important. His eyes shifted back to the women a moment before back to Peggy. "Someone needs to take Margaery away. She loved this sheep. She shouldn't see it slaughtered."

"Yes, I do think it is." She doesn't believe in omens quite the way that Thorfinn does, but there is still a great deal of concern when it comes to something so mangled and awful. She breathes out and looks to Margaery, her gaze sharpening on the other woman, though. "Who's she with?" she asks, having missed that introduction.

Beyond that, it seems a heated exchange, which implies that the two of them already know each other.

"We need to be ready for whatever is coming." He spoke, worried for what it could. What would have ripped the sheep apart like that. It clearly wasn't a bear, and he doubted it was the woman Margaery was yelling at. He didn't look back when Peggy asked her question. "Her name is Ygritte." He leaned closer, since Peggy was one of the few who knew the secret he was keeping. "I do not know her in this world... but the other." Clearly he didn't want either of those women hearing him. "She's a skilled archer, we faced one another in a competition, she beat me. I have not spoken to her here though... this is my first time seeing her here."

He was worried she might recognize him but he had been such a hot mess in his younger years he doubted even if she was from that same world that she would. "Margaery thinks Ygritte killed her sheep. I've been listening."

Peggy eyes the woman in question and tries to assess the threat level she possesses. She knows better than to take appearances for what they are, given both herself and some of the adversaries she's come up against. And yet, she eyes Ygritte and shakes her head. "No, this seems too brutal for a person. I don't mean that in terms of ability, I mean in terms of how," she says.

"It's too raw, too wild," she says. "Like a monster did it, or a human being with tools I've not seen, unless they're being hidden."

"I understand. It is like a bear, but a bear would have taken meat." He spoke as he motioned down to the body. He looked worried down at the body. "She keeps them in a safe place, someone let Bushy out." He felt it needed to be said. A sigh given as he looked back to the women then to Peggy. "No one else is going to want to say this... but I think we should take him to the inn. That is a lot of meat to waste."

She nods at his assumption, because it's an absolutely fair one. Any of them, human or animal, would have taken the meat. This was done for sport or pleasure and Peggy doesn't really want to find out which of the two it had been. "We should," she agrees, eyeing Margaery and the other woman. "Would you like to try to convince her of that?"

Thorfinn shakes his head. "No, she would never agree. I know this. I will offer to walk her home. That way she doesn't know. It may be dishonest, which I don't like, but it is for the best." he explained his view. Looking a little worried Margaery's way. "I'll bury the bones later if she asks, at least Bushy will have a grave."

Peggy nods, all officious and full of business. "If that's the case, once you have her safely out of sight, I'll get some help in order to bring it back to the inn," she says, thinking that if they do the work there, they won't have to transport it very far in order for it to be useful.

"Good luck," she offers with a squeeze of Thorfinn's upper arm, knowing that this could go poorly in so many ways if they aren't careful.

He nodded softly. "If I cant just walk her home, I will convince her to leave. She is as stubborn as most of us, but I can do this." He spoke as he gave her a nod at the squeeze of his arm. "If no one else is around when its taken care of I will help carry it. I can lift Bushy easily." He'd done so before when he was helping Margaery sheer the sheep weeks before.

He nodded and it was about then that Margaery was hit, his eyes going wide. "...I'll go in a second." Yeah, he wasn't stepping into that just yet. But the second Margaery was by herself he did step over to talk to her. Ending with Margaery walking off on her own and Thorfinn looking a little more upset.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Event; Don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash

Either, Or, And Thread-Jackable/Shareable

no subject

no subject

for Boyd

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Either/OTA/Thread-jackable

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Either/Both/OTA

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject