( 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]

[ most who come in greet her when they notice her. she responds in kind, hardly without looking up. a lie, of course. those she has met have been kind, but there is one among the bunch and all it takes is one. so as closely as she studies broad and narrow, skinny and thick leaves, she sees the people too, learning who is smart and who is stupid, who only looks scary and who might truly be.

the man is big. built like one of the aurochs she has only seen in books, but he speaks politely so she responds in kind. ]

Hello.

[ then zokla sees his face. still kneeling in the warm earth, her face splits into a grin. ]

Did you win?

[deemed]

[The coming of Kal-El to Oska has been a real boon to Odinson. At last, there's a partner who he doesn't have to hold back against, and who's capable of giving as good as he gets.]

It was merely a friendly bout. [A grins crosses his face, his hand coming to rub at the bruise.] But I'd say I won.

[He starts down the side of the greenhouse, looking for a specific plant.] I've not seen you around, I think. Are you new to Oska?

[wolfchild]

No, [ she chirps. cleaning her arms of earth, she tips her head. ]

Are you looking for something for that?

[ she points for good measure at his face. meaning the bruise, of course. maybe. ]

[deemed]

Aye. It's long since I've had need of such things, and my herb lore's always been rather rusty.

[The perks of godhood, rapid healing and regeneration... from common injuries.

He runs a finger over a leaf. It's not the plant he's looking for.] The shape's close, something akin to this.

[wolfchild]

I think I know which one. Wait here.

[ there's more earth clinging to her knees and the seat of her pants and the fine alastair-provided vest is streaked in more of it. she pays her state no mind as she tracks down the plant. quiet as a shadow, she slips through the greenhouse. her return makes a little more noise, but the pot is heavy, the plant above it green and vivid and curling.

she sets the pot on a table. it was no more strenuous really than moving the corpses had been to wash them. when she wipes at her forehead, she leaves another streak of dirt across her brow. ]

This is what you need. [ she lists off its many qualities, information she repeated to herself until she was certain to have it memorized. ]

[deemed]

[He'd offer to carry the pot, it'd weigh nothing to him, but she seems to knows what she's doing and he has no need to prove himself in that way. Besides, seeing so small a child be self-sufficient brings a smile to his face. She looks human, and he knows that not many human children are so determined at this age.

When she begins listing the plant's properties, he knows she has the right one.] You know your plants, oh learned one. Might I have a leaf or two?

[wolfchild]

It's stupid not to, [ she answers with a half-shrug. a little part of her is pleased, nonetheless. she hopes the kindly man will be pleased too.

if he ever believes her.

as she speaks, she removes two leaves carefully so as not to hurt the plant and hands them to the man. he has the build of a knight, though one of the biggest knights she has ever seen. ]

You never know where you'll be or what you'll find. Here you go.

[ her nails are short and dirty too, her hands roughened by sword practice and hard labor. ]

[deemed]

Wise advice. [He takes the leaves gently. It's hard not to notice the familiar callouses on her hands, to wonder if they come from shovels as well as swords. Training out to start young.

The leaves are tucked carefully into a pouch on his belt.]

I am Odinson, of Asgardia, god of Thunder and protector of Earth. I thank you, small one.

[wolfchild]

[ she blinks in surprise. there's a lot there to unpack, but first — ]

Do you know Loki?

[deemed]

[Though he expects an introduction in return, he's not surprised. Humans didn't do the introduction thing, he's found.]

Aye, he's my brother.

[wolfchild]

He's a pain in the ass. You can tell him Zokla said so.

[ she wraps her arms around the pot again and lifts it. takes two steps, then turns. ]

Are you really gods?

[deemed]

That's my brother. [His laugher fills the greenhouse, the smile extending over his face a change from the stern look he'd kept so far.]

Aye, we are. So far as I know we're the only ones drawn in to help ALASTAIR, but there may be others I've not met yet. [He offers a hand to take the pot, if she'll let him.] Have you gods, in the world you came from?

[wolfchild]

[ well, she's pretty sure refusing a god is a terrible thing to do so if he wants the pot, he gets the pot. ]

Hundreds of them. Every place has their own. In Braavos, they're all honored so there's lots of temples and shrines. Even the ones that have no followers anymore are kept in the Warren. It looks like a storehouse, but it's a place of the gods too.

[ all but the north's gods. the numberless gods. there is no heart tree in braavos. there is no soil to take root. so the old gods have no eyes to see or mouths with which to speak to her anymore.

she chews her lip. ]

I've never met gods before. Or I did, but they didn't say they were.

[deemed]

Most gods cannot resist sharing their names, but there are a few who can keep their secrets to themselves. [He himself can't be counted part of that group, given his own introduction.

The plant is set back where it came.] It's the same in my world, every mortal race has their gods and honour them... more or less.

[wolfchild]

Why aren't you there? With your people? Won't they miss you?

[ ever impertinent, but her eyes reflect nothing but curiosity. ]

[deemed]

I am not there because I am here. [Simple enough answer, without answering anything at all. He's not usually one for cryptic answers, but there are things here even he can't explain.]

As for the peoples of the Earth- they'll fare well enough without me. They are still young, but day by day they find their strength and learn to defend themselves from any strife that may befall them.

[wolfchild]

What about strife they cause?

[ she tips her head. ]

People are good at killing each other.