Arya Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fearcutsdeeperthanswords) wrote2013-05-29 10:55 pm
fearcutsdeeperthanswords) wrote2013-05-29 10:55 pm
❈ | 028 | Video
[Backdated to a day or two after the Silent Hill port.
The video clicks on, and Arya's eyes flicker into the camera and then away again, staring at some middle distance with a look that says she's seeing something not present. She looks a little shell shocked, but not particularly battered; she's washed since port - washed several times, because she can still feel bloated, waterlogged fingers on her shoulders - and her hair is damp and pushed back now, just long enough that it needs to be tucked behind her ears.
She's wearing the black and white robe she wears most days, but the starkness of the black has faded, and the white is much more gray by now. Around her neck is a chain, and in her hand is the ring she's threaded it through. It's a man's ring, with a gold band and a blue stone. She's turning it over in her fingers, sliding it to and fro on its chain.]
Rumpelstiltskin is gone.
[She falls silent again, and looks down at the ring instead of the camera.] He graduated, and now he's going to look for his son. He's been missing since he was my age, but he'll always be his son.
[This is right out of a note Rumpel left for her; it's no where in sight, though. She doesn't have to read from it. She doesn't add the rest - that Bae would always be his son, just like she would always be someone's daughter. It's too hard to think about, now, and it's definitely too hard to talk about. Her head droops a little lower, and it looks like that might be it - but a moment later she drops the makeshift necklace and straightens, finally looking at the camera. She's fierce looking - she's found her purpose and she's dogging it.]
You all don't have to call me Cat anymore. [She wavers, chews her lip, then draws a deep breath.]
My name is [Horseface, Underfoot, Arry Weasel Nan Nymeria Squab Salty Cat Beth - she breaths out, and lets them all go] Arya Stark. I'm Arya, of Winterfell.
[Something drops from above onto the bed behind her, and in the corner of the screen, Nymeria lifts her heads from her paws to look over as Arya turns, dropping the communicator to her bed. There's a hostled view of the ceiling, then dark fur as Nymeria comes to inspect. Eventually it's grabbed up again to be shut - but not before getting a glimpse of a black cloaked, lined in white fur at the collar, with a silver direwolf's head stitched into the fabric. The feed dies as she finds a note scrawled, Happy Christmas.]
[Private to Merlin]
[A bit later - long enough that she's decided to put the cloak on, with the fur brushing up against her cheeks - she adds this message on.]
Thank you. [It's a little awkward, maybe, but she manages it with minimal fidgeting.] For fixing him. [She doesn't add that it was her fault, that she feels guilty that he was hurt at all. If she's lucky, he'll just know that much.]
The video clicks on, and Arya's eyes flicker into the camera and then away again, staring at some middle distance with a look that says she's seeing something not present. She looks a little shell shocked, but not particularly battered; she's washed since port - washed several times, because she can still feel bloated, waterlogged fingers on her shoulders - and her hair is damp and pushed back now, just long enough that it needs to be tucked behind her ears.
She's wearing the black and white robe she wears most days, but the starkness of the black has faded, and the white is much more gray by now. Around her neck is a chain, and in her hand is the ring she's threaded it through. It's a man's ring, with a gold band and a blue stone. She's turning it over in her fingers, sliding it to and fro on its chain.]
Rumpelstiltskin is gone.
[She falls silent again, and looks down at the ring instead of the camera.] He graduated, and now he's going to look for his son. He's been missing since he was my age, but he'll always be his son.
[This is right out of a note Rumpel left for her; it's no where in sight, though. She doesn't have to read from it. She doesn't add the rest - that Bae would always be his son, just like she would always be someone's daughter. It's too hard to think about, now, and it's definitely too hard to talk about. Her head droops a little lower, and it looks like that might be it - but a moment later she drops the makeshift necklace and straightens, finally looking at the camera. She's fierce looking - she's found her purpose and she's dogging it.]
You all don't have to call me Cat anymore. [She wavers, chews her lip, then draws a deep breath.]
My name is [Horseface, Underfoot, Arry Weasel Nan Nymeria Squab Salty Cat Beth - she breaths out, and lets them all go] Arya Stark. I'm Arya, of Winterfell.
[Something drops from above onto the bed behind her, and in the corner of the screen, Nymeria lifts her heads from her paws to look over as Arya turns, dropping the communicator to her bed. There's a hostled view of the ceiling, then dark fur as Nymeria comes to inspect. Eventually it's grabbed up again to be shut - but not before getting a glimpse of a black cloaked, lined in white fur at the collar, with a silver direwolf's head stitched into the fabric. The feed dies as she finds a note scrawled, Happy Christmas.]
[Private to Merlin]
[A bit later - long enough that she's decided to put the cloak on, with the fur brushing up against her cheeks - she adds this message on.]
Thank you. [It's a little awkward, maybe, but she manages it with minimal fidgeting.] For fixing him. [She doesn't add that it was her fault, that she feels guilty that he was hurt at all. If she's lucky, he'll just know that much.]
[Private]
[He can tell she's a little hesitant. Revealing something about yourself is always difficult; it feels like you're exposing something that can be harmed. So he decides to be as careful as possible.]
My sister tended to growl when she was angry. She couldn't sing either.
[Private]
[He's good about these things; she doesn't trust easy, but she thinks she could trust him.]
Why did she growl?
[Private]
[Private]
I don't blame her.
[Private]
What's your sister that sings like?
[Private]
She's annoying. And she liked dumb songs, like Jonquil with flowers in her hair, and the Bear and the Maiden Fair. [The annoyance in her voice isn't for Sansa, though; it's not even really annoyance, but something else more painful that she doesn't want to put a name to.]
She's good at sewing, and singing, and being a stupid lady. She's nothing like me. [But she's my sister. Arya bites her lip.]
[Private]
[Private]
No one's said it like that before.
[Private]
[Private]
That's - that's smart.
[Private]
[Private]
[Private]
[Private]
She does grin at that, though.] I can. She can't cook at all. [Probably.]