sixthiterationlogs | I said I didn't want to join the polar bear club

Entry tags:

I said I didn't want to join the polar bear club

WHO: Arya Stark
WHERE: Fountain/Fountain Park
WHEN: Evening, Nov 18th
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Horrible wolfchild and her feral non!manners and probably some cursing.
STATUS: Open

It wouldn’t be the first time someone had hip-checked or shoved her off of a bridge. Certainly the first time in a while though, Arya had learned the signs to watch for in anyone competing for customers, trying to pickpocket, or simply someone inattentive when things were crowded. But she was quite certain she’d been nowhere near any bridge, nor was she near enough a ledge to be shoved off for whatever reason.

However she could worry about that when she reached the surface, kicking furiously towards the dim light that indicated surface. Scrabbling for something to grab hold of once she breached the surface, the gasp for breath becoming an almost offended noise at the cold that hit her when she hit air. Luckily it was simple enough once she’d gotten hold of the ledge to haul herself up and over onto the paving stones, sloshing water along with her as she hit the ground.

It was far colder than it should have been, which in itself was alarming. But what was even more worrying was the lack of any familiar architecture. Wherever she was, it was definitely nowhere near Braavos. And the clothes she was wearing were certainly not what she’d been in before, and weren’t nearly good for the cold wind that had her pushing to her feet, scowling at her surroundings like they’d personally offended her.

She needed to find somewhere inside where she could get out of the cold and get dry. Then she could worry about finding out where she’d wound up.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Ren has only had three days, barely even that, in the town of strangers who were uncomfortably familiar with his face. Most of that had been spent in or near the Inn that had provided sanctuary for him when he arrived. Now he had bundled up in layers of clothing, with the long black peacoat wrapped firmly around his body, and traveled back out into the familiar cold of the air.

He was studying the fountain from nearby when Arya emerged, and he could read the scowl off her with a familiar enough emotion to remind him of his own offense and anger at this forsaken planet he was now trapped on, even if temporarily.

He could have left her to her own devices. She would either make it indoors or die of a chill, and either way it would have been no more his problem. Instead he moved with a small scowl of his own and approached the stones around the fountain, avoiding the water itself for the memory alone. He had acquired an illness from the chill, too mild to keep him indoors when there was potential of something to distract himself with.

"I know of at least one building here with a heat source if you cooperate." He didn't offer the friendliest of a welcome, but his voice was calm and steady with a touch of a winter rasp.

"You can deal with your questions from there, or you can wait here for someone else to come along while your clothing turns to ice."

Edited (what are tenses) 2016-11-19 01:06 (UTC)

Among the influx of new arrivals, there had never been someone so young before as the girl that crawled out of the fountain, sopping wet and clearly frozen. Having come to the edge of the woods to collect kindling, Margaery heard the sounds of water splashing, indicating that someone new had been pulled into this realm.

To see a young girl was enough to push any chores from her mind and draw her back into the familiar realm of concern and nurturing. She removed her wool cloak hurriedly, offering it out to Arya. "You must be freezing. Put this on. We need to get you to a fire."

Arya's shock and likely confusion was brushed over for now in Margaery's head. What was tantamount to her was making certain that the girl did not catch ill. "There is an inn nearby with tea and broth. Let me take you there."

The scowl on the approaching stranger’s face didn’t seem to soothe her in the least, her own deepening when the hand that set habitually at her hip didn’t come in contact with the hilt of a blade. Letting out a hiss of displeasure she let the hand drop again, studying Ren a moment.

She didn’t trust him in the least, but at the same time she knew that the longer she wandered lost, the more likely she’d fall ill, or die of exposure. Head tilting slightly, suspicion not something she was bothering to hide in her expression or her tone. It would be stupid, insane to simply take someone at their word in this situation after all.

“Cooperate how?” What did he want for his help? Better to find out now before letting him lead her anywhere, though even with suspicion her tone wasn’t as angry as it could be. Upset about what had happened, but she was willing to hear him out. He seemed just as displeased as she was, which meant it was possible he’d wound up here the same way. Or that he was simply annoyed at being sent out after her. It was hard to say, and the lack of knowledge of the situation was galling in it’s own way, as hard as it made it to make a decision.

As suspicious as she was, Arya knew better than to turn down the offer of that cloak, bundling it around her shoulders to keep out the chill. Everything Margaery was saying was correct, was certainly what she needed at this point. Enough so that her wariness simply rose, scrutinizing the woman. Her accent was familiar, not of Braavos but definitely of home. Westeros, but not Northern.

“Where are we?” She wasn’t going anywhere with the stranger without some idea of that. The whole thing stank of a trap, even if she was uncertain what the goal was. If she’d been subdued to move here, then why bother with the ruse? Unless this was…

Was it some form of test? The thought had her paying more mind to the woman urging her on, brows drawing thoughtfully. But if it were a test, what was she supposed to do? What was she learning?

“Who are you?”

"Follow. Don't try anything stupid like pulling a weapon on me." He was terse and short with her, but his own hands held no weapons, and none were easily visible on him. He was out of sorts from his lack of weaponry and the dwindling power at his fingertips.

"I doubt there is anything else of use I could get from you and you can;t get me off this rock any more than anyone else here can." Not having just arrived at least. Even if she was a genius mechanic in hiding she couldn't build him a ship from nothing.

"There are people at the inn who for whatever reason seem interested in helping the half drowned." He gestured to the fountain as he spoke and then pointed over his shoulder back toward the inn, where a fire had been burning when he left. "They might have some food or some dry clothing. At the least there's a fire." He didn't consider himself one of them but he slipped off his jacket, far too long to be sensible for her and offered it to her with the frown still in place. If she wanted warmth she could take it. If she didn't he could at least claim that he offered some form of help in return. She wasn't immediately an enemy of his, so he had no real issue with her other than her inability to help him leave.

That was the question she hated the most. What exactly could she say to it? There were no answers in this world, only mounting questions and confusions. As far as she knew, they could be dead. She at least was, along with Robb. Reason, however, did not accept that response nor did she wish to frighten anyone. It did leave her frustrated that she couldn't offer anything in the way of explanation.

"I don't know." Margaery told her honestly. "The wilderness. There are others here as well, pulled in by the fountain." The girl had a Northern accent, but Margaery didn't want to jump to conclusions about who she was.

"I'm Margaery Tyrell." She turned, pointing down the road. "Do you see in the distance there? That's the inn."

“Fine.” It was simple enough of a request, even if she didn’t trust that she had nothing he wanted. All it took was one Lannister agent for her to be in trouble, after all. But why would he show himself if that were the case? Better to slink off and report her location if he was.

“I take it I’m not the first then.” At least so far as was being claimed. The idea of a fire was tempting, it was doubtful she’d accept any food. Who knew what could have been done to it. But the coat would be accepted, not bothering with anything beyond wrapping it around herself like a cloak, less likely to be caught up if someone grabbed her by it that way after all.

She’d feel better if she had her knife or even better if she had Needle but… she would simply have to make do with what she had available. Surely an inn would have things that could pass as weapons in a pinch. Even if she was hoping it didn’t come to that. Not that she was afraid to shed blood, but she had more important things to be doing than brawling.

"Good." His response was short as hers was. He was no more interested in trust than she was, and he had yet to feel comfortable even sleeping at the inn. He fully intended to find a secure enough place to lock himself safely in when he found a means of doing so and keeping it warm.

"You're not. I arrived in a similar way a few days ago. Presumably everyone here arrives the same way in the same clothing." Something that made him uncomfortable, but also a bit relieved. Her appearance meant it had not all been a lie, and the fact that others were there made it both more confusing and less likely Luke was involved unless he had taken to just exiling all his enemies.

He started the short walk in the direction of the inn, keeping his head turned enough to keep an eye on her and still watch where he was going. His face was marred by a scar that traveled from the middle of his forehead, down his face and disappeared under the collar of the shirt he wore. It was a large scar that made him quickly recognizable from anyone else in the village.

"No one seems to know where here is, either." It annoyed him that even staring at the sky gave him no clues as to where he was in the Universe.

Tyrell. Arya’s gaze skipped towards her, grey eyes sharpening as suspicion simply rose at that detail. A Southern highborn lady out in the wilderness? That just simply didn’t happen, especially not with how calm she seemed about everything. A lady out with no escort, in a strange place after dark was not normal in the least. It screamed trap, like how some bandits would send out children to lure unsuspecting victims into an ambush.

“How many others?” Completely ignoring that it was generally expected to respond to someone giving their name with an introduction. Not that she’d be telling her a real name if she asked. It was a good thing she’d been getting better at the game of faces. “Who’s responsible?”

Assuming Margaery even knew. It was entirely possible that she didn’t. Not that Arya would believe her answer without investigating herself, but it was a good idea to ask anyways, to know what the ‘general story’ was. It was hard to find the truth of the matter if she didn’t know the whole of the lie she was looking to pick apart after all.

“Is there some pattern? In who shows up I mean?” If she could find a common link in the captives then perhaps she could make some logical guess about who might be behind this. She had no issues keeping up with him, unruffled by the way he was keeping an eye on her, given she was doing much the same. She had no idea who he was after all, better to be wary and look paranoid than be inattentive and dead.

She noted the scar, how deep and long it was, but didn’t comment on it. He wasn’t the first man she’d met who was similarly scarred or worse, especially among the veteran shoulders who had served under her father. Some enjoyed telling the stories of their scars worn like badges of honor, and others didn’t. So she’d learned better than to ask to let them tell her if they wanted. And she was quite sure that this man had no wish to start telling stories at this point.

“Suppose that makes sense for a kidnapping… what’s keeping us from simply travelling elsewhere?” Surely we’d come across a distinctive landmark or another town soon enough.”

"You are welcome to try. I intend to." He had been getting his bearings in the village first. Recovering before he drove himself forward again, relentless and determined. When they made it to the inn he went in first, but kept the door open for her while he scanned for the other inhabitants briefly.

"I don't know if there is a pattern." He was there for the second time, apparently, with no recollection of the first, and that did not sit well with him.

"Memories have been tampered with. This world isn't in any system I recognize, and the people come from planets whose names I have never encountered." It still doesn't occur to him that travel to other planets seems so impossible to many of the people in the village. They all seemed to come from underdeveloped civilizations.

"There's a map in the inn of as far as the people here managed to get. It isn't an impressive distance."

"The recognition in her eyes was enough to confirm Margaery's suspicion that this girl was from Westeros. Her accent also narrowing down the realm. She was of a Northern house, either a bannermen of the Starks or... a Stark herself? Margaery knew that Robb had another sister, one that had been presumed dead, having gone missing from King's Landing.

It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she would come to this place as well. Given Sansa's recent arrival, the odds that the other sister coming were increased. It wouldn't be shock if the entire Stark clan came to this place. They seemed destined to find each other again.

"Several," she said, unable to give an exact number. "I don't know who is responsible for this. There are no answers, I'm afraid." She told her gently. "Come and get warm. I can try to help once you are somewhere dry."

Peggy hears the familiar sound of activity in the fountain, but even then, it doesn't prepare her for the young woman that comes out of the fountain and into even colder wind. It's just a touch too cold for Peggy to willingly give up her coat, but she's quick to get to the girl's side, eyeing her up and down warily. "You'll catch pneumonia," she warns, "let me get you somewhere warm, somewhere with food."

She's going to freeze, won't she, small as she is.

"Welcome or not, that's not about to stop me."

Whatever she thought might happen, the warmth inside the inn was welcome She still took stock of what was happening inside before she settled, however slightly it might have been. No one was paying much mind to them, and it seemed they were there to eat or socialize. Nothing seemed off, nothing seemed strange... which in it's own way made her uneasy from the implications. That people had been trapped for so long that they'd... accepted it in some way.

Of course her observations didn't mean that she missed what Ren said, eyes widening as she rounded to face him, practically bristling.

"They what?!" Nothing of what he said made sense, but that was what she fixated on. Memories, which was all she had left, it was all she had of her family, enough so that even the idea of someone tampering with them was enough to bring up her ire without any hesitation. "How? What memories? How do we even tell?"

Nope. She was not okay with this, please excuse her a moment, she'll get back to the other things Ren was telling her once she'd gotten over her complete and utter outrage.

Not that Arya would be admitting it. As far as she knew this was some test. She'd seen the way the Faceless Men could change their appearances. Could this be some sort of test? An added level to the game? She had no way of telling, the rules weren't something they told her. Part of the game was figuring them out, only knowing she'd failed when the attempt ended. She'd gotten better at sussing out rules, but it was slow going and she was worried about how many failures would be tolerated.

"No answers that have been found, anyways." Suspicion was good, suspicion kept her alive, but at the same time she couldn't just wander around in this weather, not if she wanted to avoid dying. Nodding her head, taking a step to the side, gesturing lightly with a hand. “Lead the way. I doubt I’ll figure anything out by remaining to become the world’s worst ice sculpture.”

She chuckled in amusement. Arya at least had a measure of humor in the face of this situation. She lead the young girl to the inn, mainly in silence, allowing her to absorb everything and learn her way. Once they were inside, she removed the cloak and found her a towel and blankets. Guiding her towards the fire, she prepared a cup of tea and offered it out to her.

"It is a bit of a shock, I know." Margaery's voice was gentle, understanding the strangeness of it all. "There are rooms here that you may stay in, if you prefer?" She hesitated, wondering if her suspicions were correct. "Are you a Stark of Winterfell?"

She'd stood to one side, out of the wind while she took stock of herself, wringing as much water from her shirt as she could. When the stranger came closer, she glanced over to her, arms crossing, hands tucking under them to keep the cold from seeping too deep into them. It took a long moment for her to study Peggy before she finally nodded, with a grimace.

"That's... probably a good idea." She admitted finally, even if it was highly doubtful she'd accept any food offered just yet. Once she'd figured out warmer clothing she could find some food on her own, that wasn't at risk of having been tampered with. But first warmth, dry clothes, and answers were on the list.

For the moment the tea was taken with a small nod of appreciation, but set aside on a table to focus on drying off first. And because there was no way she trusted the offered drink. Everything here was strange, it was too quiet for a town, which was explained by Margaery's comment of there being so few brought through.

But it still seemed odd, not to be trusted.

"A room would be appreciated, yes." She didn't respond to the final question, using the excuse of toweling her hair to give herself a split second to think. Either this was some form of trap or it was a very strange turn of the game, and oh wouldn't the Waif be so smug to see her tripped up. She'd been in the middle of her day, in the middle of the routine she'd crafted. Not no one, but someone else-

"Sorry, but no." The lie fell easily from her lips after so much practice, and she offered a faint, apologetic sort of smile that she knew the shellfish merchant would give at a question like that. "I'm Lanna."

She notes that Arya sets the cup to the side, not bothering to drink it. Either she wasn't fond of tea or she was suspicious, which wasn't a bad thing. It was better that she was suspicious. It at least meant that she would be able to survive.

She simply gave a kind smile instead, hoping to find a way to reassure her somehow.

Her eyes swept over Arya's face, searching for signs of lying or deceit. If she was, it wasn't apparent for the seasoned courtier. Yet, a part of her was still curious. It wouldn't be the first time that a Stark lied about their identity. Sansa had come to this place with her hair dyed, calling herself by another name.

"Lanna? Of what house?"

She'd spent enough time drilling the details of this identity that she was fairly confident in her ability to keep up the deception, assuming that Margaery didn't think of something truly off the wall to ask her about. Being of Westeros, she'd thought of the question of houses thankfully, made an answer that should be safe. Her smile softened slightly from the apology at the reassurance of the returned expression.

"I couldn't rightly say. If mother had claim of a house, she didn't tell me." It was safer to avoid claiming an allegiance after all, and it wasn't such a strange story- plenty of children didn't know their fathers or were bastards. Many more children were orphaned as things got worse as well. Not that she was going to bring that up. She was just a shellfish merchant after all and no one would expect her to know much about such things. Better to play unknowing of such things then.

"So you're a Snow? Which house was your father?" It seemed a bit silly to be questioning a child so rigorously, but there was something about this that didn't sit well in Margaery's mind. She had seen so many liars and been honed to perceive another face behind the masks. She couldn't prove the girl was making this all up, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

"We have a few Norther lords present in this place," she said, laying the ground work. "Perhaps they may know the orphanage that you were raised in or your father's men?" She would slip the Stark name soon. Her real interest was in seeing how much further this would be taken.

She should have known a Southern lady would ask questions. She'd gotten used to being among Braavosi, the lower classes where such questions didn't matter. An orphan was an orphan, no farther looking needed. But she needed to keep up the ruse. No ties, nothing that could be checked. If she was trapped here, better that Margaery couldn't face check her story with these... Northern lords she claimed were there.

"I couldn't tell you to be honest. Mother didn't speak of him, and we moved not long ago." A small shake of her head, settling the blanket around her shoulders once she wasn't completely drenched, which gave her another moment to think. Worried that the woman would see through her claims, that she'd continue to pick at the edges of the story before Arya had time to smooth them over. "I was never in an orphanage, so I'm not sure how much they might know. It's a kind offer though."

This would be so much easier if she truly was no one under the mask. If there wasn't another identity there to fight against her words, even if it was only her imagination.

"If you're mother didn't belong to a house, you could at least tell me which part of the North she raised you in. Which village? Was it the coast or was it near Winterfell?" Margaery asked, catching a flicker of something. The way she paused when she wrapped the blanket around her, so similar to before. It flared her instincts.

"How did your mother feed you? It must have been a difficult life, especially with the war in the North. I saw so many families turn to their liege lords for help, only to be turned away. I trust your lord were kind? Were they active in the village? Did they side with the Boltons or remain true to the Starks?"

She wouldn't give up just yet. Her instincts were rarely wrong and still finely honed. Both Cersei and the High Sparrow had kept her in practice.

The Seven take this woman and her questions!

"We were in White Rock... it was difficult but mother was a seamstress, would mend sails and nets for coin." She had never been more thankful for her lessons as she was right now, only slightly uneasy in naming the harbor town. Big enough that should any of these 'Northern lords' be familiar, it would be unremarkable that they didn't know her mother. "We didn't stay long once things started to spell trouble, mother moved us to Braavos the moment she found a ship in that direction that was willing."

Details, but they gave nothing. Arya couldn't help but feel a wash of worry that this very trait would just have Margaery digging further, suspicious. If she knew more about the woman she might be able to think of some 'safe' details that were a bit more telling, but with nothing of substance to go off of she was very uncertain about risking it.

She was scrambling. It was becoming more obvious by the moment. The girl was a skilled liar, but she was still too new at it. With a few more years, even a seasoned courtier wouldn't be able to catch her in these little slip ups. It was enough to earn Margaery's admiration.

"Which ship did you take to Braavos?" Margaery asked, watching her with a leveled expression. "Perhaps you could even remember some of your mother's clients. I can't imagine there were many willing to stay overlong in White Rock, given the reeving that the Iron Islanders were doing. I heard how terrible it was to live on the coast."

She paused, a small smile appearing on her lips. "You must be familiar with the Starks. I only asked if you were associated with them because Lady Sansa and Jon Snow are here." She left Robb's name out for a moment, knowing the story would be called into question if she mentioned the late King.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 4

I said I didn't want to join the polar bear club

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject