sixthiterationlogs | (no subject)

WHO: Margaery Tyrell
WHERE: The Fountain
WHEN: July 21st
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: N/A
STATUS: Open

There had been green before her eyes and the rumble of the ground beneath her feet. A sudden roar and then it all disappeared, replaced by the sound of splashing and swirling water before her eyes. Margaery sputtered, liquid filling her eyes, nose and mouth, pulling her down into the depths as she struggled to understand what was happening and where she was.

Pressure grew in her chest, reminding her that she didn't have time to rest in a delirium. She needed air and needed to fight to the surface for it. Kicking and struggling, she swam fiercely, channeling all of her confusion and fear into her movements. It wasn't long before the light she chased was in reach and the surface surrounded her. She took a sharp ragged breath, scanning around her environment, on edge and waiting for more danger. Her limbs trembled, shock deeply rooted in her.

Slowly, she pulled herself from the fountain (was a fountain really so deep?) and fell against the ground. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her heartbeat returning to normal. She sputtered, spitting out the excess water that had found itself into her mouth.

That was done. She had survived, but where had she landed? What place was this and what waited for her? What nightmare had she woken to?

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It seemed impossible, ridiculous even. How could they simply appear in a fountain without any idea of where they were. It was then that she felt the pack on her back, the supplies she had come with. Confused, she set them down, staring at the bag as though it were cursed.

Carefully, she opened it, examining briefly the clothes inside. All were strange and unfamiliar to her. Trousers, odd undergarments and colorless fabrics. Bleak, just as this place seemed to be.

"They seem to have brought me rather prepared." She sighed, pushing back stringy strands of hair. "Is there shelter nearby?"

Edited 2016-07-27 14:07 (UTC)

"Only thing missin' would be some whiskey," Kate says with a sigh and a wry curl of her mouth. Of course, there are other things missing. Important things, even, such as an easy access to food they don't have to hunt. But she hopes her meaning gets across: wouldn't a drink be just wonderful right now?

"There is, miss. There's an inn, that's closest. No staff, but a few of us are stayin' there. If you'd like, there are also dozens of middle houses around. Some people have claimed a few."

She shrugs. "The inn's stable enough. And they have this contraption that pumps hot water straight to the baths."

If not running water was marvellous enough, but it is also hot. As long as the boiler is going.

She's never had whiskey, but she understands the meaning and craves it. Margaery gave a half hearted laugh, trying to pull herself together again. "I suppose that means no wine either." She had never been a large drinker, but after all the deception she had to endure and play as well, she needed something to relax her.

Yet the game didn't seem over, not quite. Wherever she was, she couldn't afford to let her guard down. Not until she understood this world and its rules.

As much as she would enjoy company, the idea of being surrounded with people (bodies scrambling over one another, tearing past each other in panic, frantically pushing to get out. 'Let me through! Let me through!') didn't appeal to her. Having so many packed together, it sent a chill up her spine.

"We can simply claim houses without protest?" She asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "What is this place?"

"No wine," Kate confirms, wistfully. "No beer, no champagne, no port, no brandy, nothin' alcohol at all. It's a the Temperance Movement's dream, 'ceptin' there's no tea either."

At least, not proper tea. There's plants to make the herbal kind, she knows, but no proper tea at all.

Then she laughs softly at the brunette's expression and incredulity. It reminds her so much of her own. It's more of a huff than a proper laugh, though. She still has her manners.

Mostly.

"The strangest darn place I've ever been, miss, mindin' me language. But none of us quite know what to make of it."