( 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

[unburdening]

[ bellamy watches her continue to climb in search of her book -- because how could he leave now? if something does happen, if she does slip or fall, who else is there to make sure she'll be okay? but she's a better climber than he'd given her credit for, better than he is; she finds her book and makes it to the ground safely, and it's there that he gets his first real look at her.

she looks like she could use a meal, or about a hundred. she looks like she's known hardship, struggle, hard-skinned and wary-eyed. she looks, in short, like any child he could've met back home. his eyebrows knit, and --

he steps between her and the librarian without a second thought. ]

You got a problem?

[wolfchild]

[ it had been a long time since anyone had taken issue with her choice of attire (or lack of it.) she could have been naked and merited not even a glance. most don't care for what a dirty, scruffy child does. in the time it took her to glance at her feet ( rough, ugly ), her audience of one stepped in.

not one to keep quiet and let someone else fight her battles for her, she pipes up from behind him, ] They were bothering me.

[ she steps up so she's next to bellamy. her book is held at her side ]

They're too small now. They pinch. So I took them off for a bit is all.

[ a lie. her boots fit her perfectly and they're the nicest pair she has owned in a long time. but if anyone is to be scolded it will be her. ]

[unburdening]

[ bellamy has no reason to doubt her story; he takes it in stride and gives the librarian a stern look. not that he has any reason to expect real danger in here (not that he has any reason not to expect danger at oska). but stepping up for this girl is second nature, and he's about as familiar with people caring about anyone's state of dress as she is. ]

There's your answer.

[wolfchild]

[ the librarian narrows his eyes, but he orders her to put her shoes back on, then gives her the name of who must be the cobbler. he eyes them both suspiciously a second longer, but she agrees immediately, kneeling to grab one of her boots. satisfied, he drifts away.

she waits until he's out of earshot to scoff. ]

Who cares about shoes?

[ setting her book on the floor, she sits down and finishes tugging on her boots. ]

oh my god i'm the worst /slowly slams in

[unburdening]

Librarians, [ he says flatly because -- apparently. the girl sits down and he crouches, all the better to be at about eye level, nodding at her book. ] You mind telling me what that book's about? You worked pretty hard to get your hands on it.

wow unforgivable

[wolfchild]

[ she eyes the cover: ten thousand ships. her fingers close over it as soon as she has finished. ]

It's about Queen Nymeria. She was a princess of the Rhoynar. Valyria threatened them, and would have killed her people and enslaved whoever wasn't killed. So she led her people across the sea and saved them on ten thousand ships.

drags hands down face

[unburdening]

[ with the way she refuses to let go of the book, he almost hadn't expected an answer. ]

She sounds like a good leader. [ he's not much for likes of queens of princesses, but saving her people is something he can respect. ] What happened to them?

[wolfchild]

She was.

[ a little fiercer. nymeria has ever been one of her heroes, a woman who reigned and did so almost alone and is celebrated as a warrior, as a leader, as a hero, as a woman.

she drags the books into her lap. ]

They settled in Dorne. She wed the lord of House Martell, and united all of Dorne under their banner. House Martell is still the reigning House of Dorne. The descendants of Nymeria.

[ and how should a braavosi orphan know these things, a voice not unlike the kindly man's asks her. a dornish sailor told her story, she answers back. he told it well. ]

[unburdening]

[ so this is a history, not just a story, at least to this girl. and he notices something else as he listens, hands dangling: this is a story she already knew, and it was here in this library. she might've heard it here, but with how confidently she tells the tale, names the places, he's not so sure. ]

I've never heard that story before. Maybe I'll give it a read, when you're done with it.

[ it's not precisely a question, nor quite asking for her permission. but there's room for her to refuse, and that's deliberate. ]

[wolfchild]

[ she blinks at him, a little furrow forming in her brow. the book is her only connection to the world she knew. there might be others, but it was nymeria's that first came to mind. her stomach did a nervous little flip when the title delicately floated before her.

it's only a book, though. grasping it between both hands, she offers it. ]

You can read it if you like. I know the story. [ and the songs. the songs first made her fall in love. a thousand years ago she named a grey pup after the warrior queen of the songs. ]

But if you ruin the pages I'll punch you.

i had to upload this icon just for you

[unburdening]

[ she catches him off-guard.

not just the offer, which he wouldn't have expected, but the threat at the end. she reminds him, of course, of octavia; and for her brazenness, she startles a laugh out of him. ]

I'll consider myself warned.

[ he lets his head drop long enough to make some attempt at straightening out his face, then shakes it; reaches out to gently push the book back to her. ]

You read it first. Tell me if it's a good adaption. If they get any details wrong, I won't know -- I need you to tell me. Think you can do that?

[wolfchild]

[ the look she aims his way screams duh. ]

I do know how to read.

[ hugging the book to her chest, she hops lightly to her feet, idly balancing on one foot, then the other. ]

[unburdening]

[ she stands and he straightens in turn, arms at his sides. ]

I figured, [ he says, dry. then: ] I'm Bellamy.

[wolfchild]

Zo. [ a little pause. ] My real name's Zokla, but Zo's all anyone calls me.