( open. )

[wolfchild]

CHARACTERS: the artist formerly known as arya and you
DATE: spanning several days
WARNINGS: will edit if needed
SUMMARY: arrival shenanigans aka indoor plumbing is the single greatest thing you guys

[ with the purple hood pulled over her shaved head and clad in her new black trousers with the white and purple piping along the sides, her feet encased in tall, good boots, the new girl looks like she belongs. zokla is her name, for being the word to come to mind after discounting the others. she did not know what to expect to risk cat as she might otherwise have done; she could no longer be beth since her vision was returned. she wasn't sure if the kindly man would have insisted on "no one" or if that here too would not serve.

it's a good word, she decides. fierce. the girl turns it over on her tongue. zo-kla. it has a sound like a pause, then a sharp strike. much like the creature it means. it will make a good name.

the bedrooms had been dull, each one identical to the last. at least, those she could open. she tried to pick one of the locked doors, but without the proper tools gave it up for lost. there is plenty more to see, however, and zokla's steps soon speed up until she is dashing through halls and rooms trying to see it all.

she is outside, studying the strange animals stabled with a curious eye and wishing she could mount a horse and ride out, but zokla has never touched a horse much less mounted one so she pushes aside the memory of wind through her hair and the ground falling away ( that memory belongs to another girl, and anyway she has nowhere to ride to — )

or she cranes her neck at one of the suits of armor, distracted by it, as if she might catch glimpse of the person that must be inside before stepping closer to knock on the metal and being greeted by the hollow sound, and when it sets off on its patrol, she follows behind, often getting it to divert from its path to show her where to find this place or that one until she has memorized the paths herself —

or she is piling a dish high come mealtimes, grabbing a little of everything and then some more because zokla would know the hollow ache of going to bed hungry and would cheer that those days are now past —

or she is in the kitchen standing on tiptoes before the faucet, laughing in delight at the splash of water on her fingers the temperature of which she can change, now hotter, now colder, with a simple twist of the knobs and from which she can drink deep, the water clean and sweet —

or she stumbles across the greenhouses and spends a day up to her elbows in loose, dark earth, learning which plants are safe and which will raise an unsightly purple rash on her skin, which are good to eat, good for injury, good for aches, and which will render you ill almost to death ( or kill you outright ) — when she's not chasing after a wide-leafed bush with pale red flowers that likes to get up and walk away on rope-like roots —

or she comes into the forge when it looks empty and passes a hand over the tools, picking one or two off the wall ( those that she can lift ) and thinks she might have known someone once who would have lived here happily —

or she makes her way through the dungeons to come upon the strange sight of a thousand, thousand mirrors stretching so far up and so far away she cannot see those furthest and spends hours among the reflections as if she might make sense of them. ( as if one of them might show her a wall made of ice at the end of the world. ) ]

(( note: feel free to use any of the suggested locations or use another! if you'd like a personalized starter, pm me or comment to this post! ))

Comments

[wolfchild]

[ her head whips around to find the speaker, but her fingers stay under the stream, happily on the way towards pruning. a tiny frown mars her brow.

just an old man with a kettle. talking about a — ]

What's a…micro waif?

[ she tried. ]

[spacerhyme]

Wave. [ he mimes what's probably intended to be a wave, of the ocean variety. ] A micro, a very small one. It means -

[ he reconsiders, just before he attempts to launch into an explanation of electromagnetism. he worked at the university too long. ]

...Actually. Never mind, the reasons are complicated, and probably boring. It's really not a very good name for it, now that I think about it... A demonstration's more interesting.

Here.

[ he moves quickly, pulling a small bowl out of a cabinet, and a bar of plain milk chocolate out of his pocket. breaks off a piece of the chocolate and slides it over to her, as he drops the rest into the bowl.

and then pops the bowl in the box-like contraption nearby, sets the timer for several seconds. the sound is awful, but it's gonna be like magic, rest assured. (his water still hasn't boiled yet, anyway.) ]

[wolfchild]

[ she seems to debate abandoning the sink, but finally twists the knobs off. curiosity winning out, she pats her hands dry on her coat. zokla would not hesitate to pick up the piece, thumb it or sniff it so she does all three. a little smear of chocolate comes away on her finger. she flicks her tongue at it, and her face changes. ]

What is this?

[ and — rising a little on tiptoes the better to see around the old man — what are you doing with the rest. ]

[spacerhyme]

[ he glances down at her. ]

Chocolate. If you don't like it, that just means your sweet tooth needs work.

And, look...

[ he grabs the bowl out of the box and tilts it so she can see what's become of it. all bubbling brown liquid, now. but it smells good. ]

Melted. You can reheat food in seconds with that - handy if you haven't got time to bother with the cooker. Or, if you'd like to see an egg explode. [ no. ] D'you want tea, by the way?

[ as he speaks, he's set the hot bowl down and is on the move again, hunting down the milk first. ]

[wolfchild]

[ sorry, were you expecting an answer to your question? because she's dipping her pinky finger into the liquid. it's hot, but she's burned her fingertips before, and anyway chocolate is amazing.

when she joins him again, she has the bowl hugged to her chest and has essentially cleaned it. she scrapes the sides and bottom of chocolate with her fingers before sucking the sweet off her skin. ]

Show me how to make an egg explode.

[ priorities. ]

1/2

[spacerhyme]

[ he turns and stares at her for a moment, jug of milk in hand...

teetering dangerously on the precipice of responsible adulthood-- ]

[spacerhyme]

Tea first, then we'll explode an egg.

[ science is responsible adulthood.

plonks the jug on the counter, grabs two mugs out of a cabinet, and sets about tea-making. one for her, whether she wants it or not. ]

[wolfchild]

[ wow, old man. you want to throw down.

the prospect of egg exploding is enough to put her on her best behavior. the electric kettle is also enough of a new toy to bring her over. ]

You boiled the water in that? What makes it get hot?

[ and without fire. she wants one for nondenominational winter holiday season. ]

[spacerhyme]

[ who knew that's all it took. could write a book on parenting tips for idiots.

pouring steaming hot water in the mugs, and gesticulating with his free hand as he explains, ]

Electricity. The stuff that lightning and static shocks are made of. The electricity flows into the kettle, where it heats up a bit of coiled metal inside. Very quickly.

An open fire's just sloppy in comparison.

[ places a mug in front of her. ]

[wolfchild]

[ she wraps her fingers around the mug. the smell wafts up. she sniffs in an attempt to determine what all is in the tea.

she sighs wistfully. ]

I wish I had one.

[ it would have made boiling water to clean it and wine to clean injuries so much easier. ]

[spacerhyme]

[ black tea and bergamot. we're all fake brits here.

he starts adding sugar to his.

...and doesn't stop adding. ]

Maybe if you're good, you'll get one for your birthday.

Or, better yet, learn some tricks you can take home, while you're here.

[ after he's dumped about 10 kilos of sugar into his drink, he brings his hands up, waves them around a bit whilst mugging dramatically, and performs a deft but still basically obvious sleight of hand trick, blowing into his palm and bam - an egg appears!

why, or at what point he acquired an egg, who the fuck knows. ]

[wolfchild]

[ if she was impressed by the chocolate and the microwave and the electric kettle, this is where she draws the line. ]

You had that hidden up your sleeve.

[ the better trick would be why he had an egg, but she's also far too inured to people carrying strange things to wonder overlong. ]

[spacerhyme]

[ he glances away, slightly more disappointed than he probably ought to be. one day, one day, someone will be rightly impressed. ]

A magician never reveals his secrets, and neither should you.

[ holds it out to her. ]

Go on, stick it in the microwave.

[wolfchild]

It's not magic. It's just a trick. Cutpurses do the same with a knife.

[ but she will be taking the egg, thank you. the buttons mean little to her, but she thinks she can remember which areas he pressed. she mimics his actions as best she can and is rewarded by light and the glass plate inside starting to turn. arms on the counter, she sets her chin on her hands to watch. ]

[spacerhyme]

[ he comes over to join her, sipping his tea. ]

Give it a minute.

[ it rolls around the plate, round and round...

seconds pass, the steam inside builds . . . ]

[wolfchild]

[ she watches intently so as not to miss anything. a side deforms, bulges out. bubbles crest and are shoved aside by more. zo is almost about to ask is that it.

it explodes in a spatter of egg and shell that paints the walls and the door.

she laughs. ]

It exploded! [ she rounds on the old man. ] Did you see that?

[ like he hadn't been the one to suggest this to start. ]

1/2

[spacerhyme]

[ he can't help but crack a smile at her reaction. also, y'know, exploding eggs are just inherently quality entertainment.

he feigns surprise for a second anyway. ]

Did it?

[spacerhyme]

[ he leans over her to pop open the microwave door, wiping a bit of yolk off the glass inside. ]

And that shell seemed like such a clever way to keep its insides in, before... You'll want to keep the hen away from this.

[wolfchild]

[ she steps back to let him do as he will. her mouth sets in a "how stupid do you think I am" way. ]

I wouldn't bring a hen in here anyway. Not unless I was going to eat her. And there's no point in eating a hen until she stops laying.

[ wisdom brought to you by the once starving corner. ]

[spacerhyme]

[ sound logic - not that he'd been serious. (although he may have once, in the name of science, accidentally exploded an egg inside a hen before, but that's... never mind.)

closes the microwave door on their mess. he won't tell if she doesn't. ]

Where are you from?

[ he tilts his head at her; if he were still in his universe, he'd have made an educated guess, but since those rules no longer apply... ]

[wolfchild]

Braavos. [ with no more things to explode, zokla wanders back to the table and her previously abandoned mug. ]

It's known the world over. Places as far away as Yi Ti and Asshai know the purple sails of our ships.

[ she speaks proudly: a true braavosi girl, claiming the city-state's triumphs as hers. there is much to take pride in braavos. a city founded by escaped slaves, hidden for years, growing stronger…until the time came to reveal itself to the world. and it did so with a fierceness unparalleled claiming a position of power and prestige, this bastard daughter of valyria. her ships dominate the seas. kings tremble at the mention of the iron bank. the titan roars its warning at the entrance to the lagoon: no enemy may enter and hope to remain afloat.

a city made of stone upon a hundred isles where a dozen languages suffuse the air and all gods are honored and the harbors are always thriving with sailors, traders, captains, soldiers, travelers, each armed with a hundred stories of places far away.

it is the perfect city for a little girl to disappear who has no place else to go. ]

[spacerhyme]

Hm. [ takes a thoughtful sip, turning the names over in his mind. ]

I don't know of it. But I'm taking note, in case I spot purple sails someday.

[ it's a thing he's having to admit more and more often these days. he's used to knowing things. or, at the very least, having heard of things. as incredibly old and excessively well-traveled as he is. on the one hand, he feels perpetually off-kilter, confronted daily now with entire realities he's had no inkling of. but on the other... what could be more exciting? he's always been motivated by the desire to see and learn everything, and here he is, a sponge with a multiverse of new information to soak up.

he has questions he knows she can't answer. foremost: is it earth by another name, or a different planet entirely? show him a satellite image, zo. ]

So then... what do you make of all this?

[ he gestures widely at the kitchen (or the castle in general.) ]

[wolfchild]

I have food every day. As much as I want. I have mine own room, too, with a bed and clothes and good boots.

[ she kicks her good boots under the table. ]

So what they ask will be very hard.

[spacerhyme]

[ he finally sits down. ]

It will be.

[ he's not generally one to sugarcoat, doesn't matter if she's ten or fifty. there's no point. ]

From what I've seen: complicated and dangerous, with minimal preparation. So it's very much up to us [ he swings a finger between her and himself, then points out the kitchen door ] to prepare ourselves.

Has anyone explained to you what the multiverse is, or a computer, or a gun, or a biro?

[wolfchild]

[ all of the options receive a mute shake of her head. her grey eyes are large on her face, and seem too old — more, in contrast to her marked youth. no fear, though. finding herself alone in a strange place with rules she can only scarce begin to understand…it's not the first time she's done it. the prospect of danger and labor do not daunt her, either. the world is dangerous and difficult.

it was the leaner, hungrier, meaner animal that more often came away with the food she tossed them. that's her. ]