sixthiterationlogs | do you know what your fate is, and are you trying to shake it

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do you know what your fate is, and are you trying to shake it

WHO: Ygritte
WHERE: Bungalow #50, around the Village and at the Inn
WHEN: November 18th, throughout
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None at this time
STATUS: Open

Front of Bungalow 50

It was quite early in the morning and though the wildling had been warmly surrounded by Jon's arms, Ygritte was wide awake after a nightmare had jarred her out of sleep. It was of her last moments and the words exchanged between the two of them, only it wasn't at Castle Black where she died.

They were there in the Village.

She remained only long enough until she was calm again, the slow rise and fall of Jon's chest as he breathed helped. Going back to sleep wasn't going to happen so out of bed she slipped and dressed before wandering through the house and out to sit on the front step. It was quiet and the Free Woman decided she had at least a couple hours before the other townspeople started to wake and go about their day.

Around the Village/At the Inn

Ygritte didn't care if she was approachable. But today, for some odd reason, she put herself where the people were. Or as much as she could. Jon was off busy doing something, no doubt with his family, and sitting at their home wasn't engaging enough of an activity.

She wandered through, into the trees and back out along the river and up to the Inn where she sat and watched people come and go from a corner in the pub.

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After the recent events, Margaery had become more vigilant with her livestock, spending several hours watching them as they grazed and obsessively overseeing their return to their pens. Gilbert had managed to learn the commands for herding the sheep, but she no longer wanted to leave things to chance. Once everything was secure with the pens and the police station was firmly closed, only then would she go to the inn.

With her dog at her heels, she wanted nothing more than to sit by the fire and let her exhaustion melt away. Her face had started to heal, only leaving a faint bruise by her eye. The only testament to what had happened. While she had apologized to Jon, she had not yet followed through on her offer towards Ygritte.

It was only a matter of time before they ran into each other again. There wasn't much room to avoid each other and this meeting was bound to happen. Keeping her dog close to her (as she didn't want to get hit again), Margaery approached the woman hesitantly. "We should talk."

At the moment Margaery walked in, Ygritte's face had been pointed towards the fire. Plenty was going through her head, but it was hard to focus when the woman all of a sudden was standing there. As her head turned, the wildling's expression fell into a stony gaze.

"Should we?" she replied brusquely, looking up from where she sat. "Are ya here to blame me for that other animal found dead?"

Yes, she'd heard about it.

She plastered on the sweet smile that she used to placate Cersei in King's Landing, summoning up her mask of congeniality. "No," Margaery replied, taking a seat by the fire. Gilbert curled up against her feet, seemingly unaware that his mistress was still in the midst of a squabble.

"I believe the tally is now up to four," just for the record. "However I wanted to speak to you about when my ram was found. I behaved badly." It took a great deal for her to say it aloud, pushing past her pride. She focused on Jon, doing this more for him than for anyone else. "I apologize."

To the other woman, Ygritte was just an ignorant savage, that much she knew - that much she saw in the woman's eyes when they were last face to face. That wasn't the part that bothered the free woman. It was that Margaery was fantastically transparent in thinking that she would believe the approach and apology was sincere. She wasn't a fool. All this was in the face of keeping the peace.

Ygritte sat looking at her while she carried it all out, something that had to be difficult for the Southron highborne woman. After she was done, her expression turned rather thoughtful, though there were traces of amusement, too, when the red haired woman half nodded in acceptance.

"Ya don't strike me as a person to apologize, being a lady in the south an' all." Ygritte said, snorting a little. The way she spoke in return made it seem like this wasn't as serious to her as it was to Margaery. "But, okay. I forgive ya."

A beat and the wildling shook her head, lifting her mug of hot water to drink, yet paused. "Ya should know, though, I never forget."

She didn't expect Ygritte to believe it and wasn't overly bothered if she didn't. This wasn't about making friends, as she doubted they ever would. They were from two different worlds with different head strong opinions. What mattered more was at least coexisting peacefully for the sake of the village and for Jon.

She tangled with Cersei enough times to know not to let her guard down and remain vigilant against a hostile source. It seemed strange though that her strategies in King's Landing would even need to exist here. But neither woman seemed to trust each other and this was a tentative alliance, if it was even accepted.

For Jon, Margaery would at least make an attempt. He was important to her, even without his connection to Robb. He was the first she met here, the first that helped her settled in and the one who she truly felt connected to. He was her friend and she had no desire to lose that. If it meant extending an offer of friendship to Ygritte, she would do it.

"Ladies in the south are aware of their mistakes and the smart ones know when to apologize." She replied. It was true, she had behaved badly. "Well, thank you."

Her eyes watched Ygritte, feeling that sense of predatory danger creeping back over her. The same manner she felt around Cersei. She could be sorry, but she would never trust Ygritte. "Nor would I expect you to."

He hasn't slept well since his memories came back. The truth is that Cougar's no surprised, but he also doesn't think he's going to sleep well until he can find some peace in his mind. Suddenly having all those lives on his conscience again is a hard thing and it means that he's tired, even with Jake there to kick off heat and keep him warm. He's taken to hunting at night, setting his traps, and collecting. He's got a few hares slung over his shoulder when he passes a house with a woman sitting outside of it.

Raising a brow, Cougar tips up his hat and lets his gaze slide over her curiously, wondering why she's up this late. "Hungry?" he settles for asking, instead of asking why she's awake, too.

Spending most her life outdoors, Ygritte's senses kicked up naturally. She could pick up motion in her peripheral better than most (or at least the average person) and could hear movement even further back than that. That was normal for the Free Folk. That was basic survival.

So, blue-green eyes were trained in the strangers direction when he emerged and then on his catch before drifting back to him. Yes, she was hungry now that it was mentioned and her stomach made a quiet rumble that she felt more than heard.

"Course I am and especially if you're offerin'." she answers, her Northern accent strong as ever.

Really, with food already starting to thin, a good meal was always appreciated. Even if she didn't know the guy.

Cougar gives her a nod of his head in the direction of his house, intending to do most of the preparations in the kitchen. Besides, that way if Veronica or Jake wake up, they'll know he hasn't actually vanished, but just went out for good. Before he expects her to come with, though, he tips his hat to her in greeting. "Cougar," is all he says, feeling like the version of himself (that younger version) is judging him, but too many words means too much out there.

Some days, like now, he's too tired to deal with that. "Come join, if you like."

That was something the wildling could definitely respect and after taking a quick glance over her shoulder to see there were signs of Jon being awake, Ygritte got to her feet and stepped down before walking towards him.

Now, the mention of being named after the animal animal had her narrowing her brows during the approach and when she fell in stride, looked towards Cougar. "That your name?" She'd wait for confirmation however he decided to give it before continuing.

"I'm Ygritte. Why do they call ya that?"

"Nickname," he admits, though it's still more his name than anything else has been lately, shrouding him in the protection of having something to identify him that doesn't give up his whole identity. "I'm fast and sneaky, like a cougar in a jungle."

"Big cat," is all he says and despite the fact that Cougar is definitely much shorter and smaller than most soldiers, he's got the grace of the cougar, has the hunting skills, and even some of the more feline habits, when you get down to it. "What is Ygritte mean?" he asks in turn.

She listened with interest, only eyeing him again to conclude in her own mind that he didn't look like one. But that stayed with her. Giving a little shrug, her blue-green eyes went back ahead.

"No meanin'." she answered. "Or if there is, I don't know it. My red hair has meanin' though. Clansmen say I been 'kissed by fire'. Say it's lucky."

Only it didn't bring her any such thing. Not in her world.

His eyes drift up to her hair, then back to her face, thinking about whether being kissed by fire is a lucky thing. "Not very lucky, fire," he says darkly, because of its destruction and how it could so easily take. He'll never stop dreaming about the fire and the helicopter, no matter how hard he tries.

"How can being kissed by it be lucky?" he wonders, arching a brow as if to say that the people from her world aren't very smart.

"Suppose that's it. If ya do and don't get burned, then it must be good luck." Ygritte said, turning back to look at the man with the odd looking hat on his head.

She grinned. "An' how can a big cat with that on," Ygritte nodded towards the top of his head before continuing, "Be sneaky?"

He had that one coming.

Cougar smirks as he tips his hat to her, with all the politeness that a lady is due. "Because I am still sneaky, but I am sneaky miles away from my targets," he says, extending a hand to mimic pulling the trigger of a gun, even as they walk. "No one hears me. Not unless I want them to," he assures.

It's a creepy cold day, so Kate isn't surprised when people linger at the Inn. There's the fire going, and the stove in the kitchen, and the boiler and the furnace. It is easier to keep things simmering in this weather than on or off, so the building is one of the warmest around.

Not that this changes her usual routine.

After lunch, with only a few people still lingering, she takes out a rag and her make-shift broom and starts to clean. Wiping down the tables, sweeping dirt and debris off the floor.

Given how rarely she's seen this particular woman, Kate doesn't want to ask her to get up, in case she takes that as a sign to go. So she pauses, and looks over.

"Enjoy the lunch?" she asks.

Ygritte glanced up, noticing the woman. She had seen her before, but knew they hadn't spoken before. Or, yet. There wasn't a lot of people in the Village as of that day. But new faces were showing up more and more, it seemed.

Giving a nod, she noted that the woman was tidying up and shifted to sit up a little more. "Not anythin' I've ever tasted before, but yeah, it was good. What was it?"

"Rabbit, with mostly burdock and miner's lettuce. Mint. Some other greenery and flowers," she says. The vague less that she doesn't know - for she does - but that more often than not, people don't tend to want to know the specifics. Just a broad, general outline.

"I could pretend that it's a secret recipe, but that'd just be me playin' around. Still, I'm glad to hear it meets with ya approval. We're makin' a fair bit up as we go along here."

That much she knew. It was the rest of the stuff and the way it was served that perplexed the wildling. Meat was generally eaten off the bones or in stews and soups. Basically, if it tasted good, it was devoured.

"What's that?" Ygritte asked curiously, sounding out the foreign sounding word. "Rec-ipe."

"Hey. It's Ygritte, right?"

One step into the attached room that served as the inn's pub and meeting area, and Ygritte's red hair was instantly noticeable, a candle flame attached to the pale wick of a neck. Jess, having come in from outside to consult the hand-drawn map (some snow and mythological monsters weren't about to keep him from checking out the Grecian ruins, no sir), paused a little ways past the door once he spotted her sitting at the table in the periphery of his vision.

He shifted his gaze to her. There were a couple of redheads in town--Jess saw some more than others when they frequented the inn or their duties overlapped, but Ygritte stood out from the others, not only because of her accent and mannerisms. He still remembered her from her first day, wandering out of the park in wet scrubs.

In all that time, she hadn't seemed like the type of social butterfly who waited around for company for company's sake. It was partly out of wondering how she'd been doing, and partly out of curiosity at her presence that he decided to speak up, veering toward her table instead of the map.

Ygritte had been staring off in such thought that she almost didn't hear Jesse when he spoke directly to her. Her head turned and she immediately recognized the approaching person, remembering his name and everything.

Giving a smile in greeting, she nodded with a snort. "Must have made quite the impression on you. Can't say many people want to remember someone like me."

Which was totally okay with her.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how Ygritte viewed the attentions of those who'd never heard of Westeros before coming here, Jess had a good memory for names and faces, and he exercised that talent regularly here, taking mental roll calls as best he could. With how quickly people could get lost or fall off the face of the earth, it was necessary to keep tabs on who was still kicking around. That included Ygritte.

He tilted his head slightly. "You mean slugging Margaery?"

... And yeah, it was also true Ygritte had left an impression the month prior. He'd heard about the upset over the dead sheep--seen the end result, too, in the puffy welt on the other woman's face.

Jess' held no judgement or reproach, though. How the women knew each other and what they were quarrelling about was none of his business, and he knew perfectly well that sometimes actions were more effective than words.

Ygritte's expression turned to one of amusement before quickly fading into indifference over the situation that had her punching the Southroner in the eye. There would be no apology - ever - from her, but as far as the wildling was concerned, it was all water under the bridge now.

"No," she answered, lingering a moment. "Where I'm from, my race of people aren't exactly looked at with any kind of respect. Not from anyone south of the Wall. We're all bad."

"Bad?" he echoed questioningly. Jon had mentioned a Wall, hadn't he?

If Ygritte's hope was to stave off conversation, saying something like that was guaranteed to have the opposite effect. Racial tensions weren't unheard of where he was from, either; Jess' curiosity was piqued at the possibility that they had emerged here, in this giant petri dish where they were already divided by scrub color and skill level.

"Why is that?"

Ygritte gave a little snort that paired with an expression that might as well been of equal parts pride and defiance. The Free Folk didn't speak kindly of the people south of the Wall, and vice versa and that much was obvious then and there.

"Ah," she sounded, as if thrilled she'd engaged him enough to ask. "Well that's a long story. One that goes back longer than I've been around."

But it was one she'd tell, at least to put everything into perspective for him.

"Way back, the kneelers built a wall as high as a mountain to keep somethin' far worse than us Free Folk out. We call 'em the Others, or White Walkers. An' After a time, anyone south of the Wall forgot why it was built and the Others became a story all on its own. Each time we tried to pass to ensure our survival, the Crows were there to make sure it didn't happen. To them, we're no different than the Others."

Despite the ignorance and the fact none of it made any difference there, it still made Ygritte angry. It's the reason she punched Margaery. That and the woman pointed her finger at her one too many times.

"Fortunate that I like history. Long stories are fine by me. I'm not busy doing much else if you feel like telling some of it." Another thing about long stories--they usually meant a person had to settle in and get comfortable to hear it, and so Jess did, pulling out a chair to seat himself.

He tried to avoid getting too personal with people here, not one to share his life's story and expect one in return, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested in hearing about other places. Other worlds. The more comfortable he got with that particular concept, the more fascinating the array of possible universes became.

"We have a saying--history is written by the victors. Margaery's people did the writing on the south side, you're a part of these Free Folk on the north?" It could've been a page taken out of a book on the Roman Empire versus the Britons... aside from the 'wall as high as a mountain' part. Hyperbole? Hard to tell. "What's so bad about these 'White Walkers' it takes a feat of engineering to barricade them out long enough to turn them into an old wives' tale?"

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do you know what your fate is, and are you trying to shake it

At the Inn

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front of bungalow

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Inn

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