fearcutsdeeperthanswords | ❈ | 031

[With all these people graduating lately and all her wardens gone off, Arya has been doing a lot of thinking. She's wormed her way into the CES - she always seems to find a way - and is sitting against Nymeria, using the direwolf as a pillow. She's wearing a modern looking zipper hoodie over her usual threadbare attire; the zipper is open, but the hood is up, and on its top are two fuzzy, gray wolf ears. There's dirt on her face when she clicks the feed on, in a swoop from her cheek to her jaw; on the other side she's managed to accumulate a couple scratches. She doesn't seem to notice either.]

There's no one left from Westeros, besides me. Tyrion's gone. Viserys used to be here; I don't think there are a lot who remember him. Jon Snow was here, too. But he left.

[They all left is what she doesn't say out loud. She scratches at her jaw, somehow missing the dirt.]

I've been here a long time, though. I checked - it's two years, now. [She doesn't pause; she's already let that sink in.] Your worlds are all different from mine. You treat people like babies till they're old; you call them kids until they're eighteen, twenty. In Westeros, and Essos, and all over in my world - a girl is grown when she's flowered. [She makes a face, because it's a dumb euphemism, but it's ingrained.] My brother was a king when he was fifteen. He wasn't a boy, he had a beard and led men and killed his enemies. [And he died.

She pauses for a moment, looking up as a shadow passes over her, presumably a cloud.]

When I was littler, I wanted to know if I could build castles, or be a High Septon, or be a councilor to a king. He said I could marry a king, and my sons could be Septons and builders and knights and lords. Well I'm not getting married, and I'm not having sons, not ever.

Is that what it's like in your worlds, too? I don't mean, do they say no and you do it anyway, that's not any different. Are girls allowed to be rulers and builders and fighters where you all are from?

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Maybe. Ask him.

I didn't even tell you the story, god.

He's dead, too. [Probably. She doesn't think they'd have let him live.]

Well it sounds dumb.

...So ask the Second Bravos.

Well, you don't appreciate good stories.

There isn't a second Bravo.

What kind of bullshit hierarchy is that?

It's just how it is. I didn't ask.

I guess if you went around saying you were First Bravos, you'd find out who was in charge pretty quick.

I'd just wind up drowned in a canal.

What? Pssh. No. With Nymeria and the pack? Fuck no.

Nymeria and the pack aren't in Braavos.

Well, they could be. Eventually.

You're not coming to Braavos.

Why the fuck not?

Because you'd die.

Nuh uh.

What do you know about Braavos?

Not a single goddamn thing.

Then shut up and listen to me.

...

Listening.

Nymeria wasn't with me there. She's...I had to send her a way. A long time before I crossed the Sea. And you can't be stupid there. I went there to learn. To serve. [She chews her lip a moment.] To change my face. That's what I'm going to go back to.

....

See, this is why I think we just need to straight up bring a tank and a few machine guns to your world. You wouldn't have to deal with this bullshit about face-changing.

I'm telling you. Tank.

What's a tank? [Nose wrinkling and all.]

It's a giant metal machine. You sit inside it, nothing can get at you, and you kill a fuckload of people from a distance.

Okay. Get me a tank.

You can't just get a tank, Arya. You have to know people.

Fortunately for you, you know me. I know people.

Though knowing you you'd probably just roll it into a ditch and get stuck.

(no subject)

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