sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

WHO: Arya Stark
WHERE: By the fountain
WHEN: December 13th, afternoon
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Arya Stark being Arya Stark, discussions of violence more than likely
STATUS: Open

It had become something of a habit. Arya would explore the strange town, and on the days when her older brothers weren’t keeping tabs on her? She’d range further. Into the woods, looking for any signs of anything off. Old campfires, ruined buildings, anything that might hint at what story this place had. Not too far yet, not with what had happened. Just enough to start getting used to what was normal, so she’d notice when things were off. While snow hid quite a bit, the lack of leaves and undergrowth currently meant she could see much more of her surroundings.

But even on days when Robb or Jon were paying more mind to what she was doing, her daily explorations took her to the fountain park. If anyone asked, she was simply hoping that other members of her family might show up. Not entirely a lie, but the knife borrowed from the kitchen hidden under her coat belied the claim, as did the dark expression she sometimes cast towards the fountain when alone.

There were specific people that if Arya saw them arrive would certainly get a hand, though that would be followed rather quickly with a knife somewhere unpleasant. There was no way she’d take any risks and if there was one Southern lady here already, who was to say more wouldn’t come? Those who meant her family harm? So no one should pay any mind to the girl scowling at the fountain like it had somehow personally offended her, hands in the pockets of the coat she wore. She wasn’t bothering anyone, wasn’t getting into trouble. Just plotting a bit of hypothetical murder, nothing wrong with that.

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"Only on occasion?" She grinned, already packing the next snowball together. "I would be careful not to let him hear that too often." She glanced over her shoulder, pretending to make certain he wasn't there. He wasn't and she knew that, as he was likely in the woods, but still. It was all part of the game.

Arya would have fared well as a Tyrell. There was even particular qualities in her that reminded Margaery of herself when she was younger. Perhaps it was that reason that lead her to want to nurture and encourage her abilities in deception. It wasn't something she could easily approach, so she preferred instead to make Arya feel at home.

She gave a cry of surprise as Arya's snowball landed on her shoulder. The burst of cold seeped into her scrubs, wetting her skin. Hardly deterred, she lobbed a snowball after her, watching it land short of hitting her.

Margaery was trailed after Arya, pausing only to pack more snow between her hands. "I'll get you for that!"

Arya didn't mind how things were at the moment. She'd settled when she realized that Margaery didn't tell Robb or the others about her lies when she arrived, something that might pique her older siblings worries for her if they heard. Content to let things continue as they were, see what happened with the bond that was slowly forming between herself and the older woman.

Friends were rare for her lately; she just worried that trend would continue in this place somehow.

But for the moment she didn't worry. She just laughed hearing the retort, leading away from the fountain, scooping snow from a windowsill as she turned a corner. If Margaery followed too quickly, she'd certainly be getting snow in her hair before the smaller Stark girl was taking off again.

She always had a fondness for children, though it was impossible to label Arya as a normal girl. Her maturity and spirit were unlike anyone else that she had met before. It was easy to understand how she was able to slip through Cersei's fingers. It would be impossible to hold someone like Arya down. She was clever in a way that couldn't be taught. She was born with it.

If it were even possible for Margaery to have a child (which she doubted since she was technically dead), she would want a daughter like Arya. The Tyrells relied on strong women and Arya would be well suited among them.

She nearly stumbled over herself as Arya showered snow in her hair. The snowball fell from her hand, lost when her gaze became obscured by her long curls. It was a momentary setback before she was chasing after Arya again, tossing another snowball after her, this one better aimed at her.

Gods above help anyone that wanted to make Arya do anything she'd set her mind against; she was far too stubborn to simply lay down and accept it. She'd claw and twist her way out just like an angry cat, she'd proven it time and time again.

Once she'd gotten Margaery, she took off again laughing, the sound devolving into a yelp as the snowball exploded against her back and some of the snow slid under her shirt collar.