Arya Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fearcutsdeeperthanswords) wrote2014-04-09 10:04 pm
fearcutsdeeperthanswords) wrote2014-04-09 10:04 pm
❆ | 036 | Text + Spam
[Leaving the bloody mess behind her in her little rented room, Mercy rushed down five flights. She had some lines to say, and Izembaro would have her head if she was late for her entrance. She wouldn't be late: the first act would finish soon, and she'd have plenty of time to catch her breath and say her silly lines. It would be harder not to roll her eyes at Bobono's fake cock.
As she ran through the day's heavy fog, though, something changed. Shifted. She couldn't tell what, at first, only that the fog was not so thick as it had been. And then, all a sudden, the fog was gone. And so was Braavos.
Skidding to a halt, Marcy stared down the long hall ahead of her, lined on either side with doors. This was not the way to the Gate. This was not the way anywhere.
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy, she thought to herself, and started forward again. Some magic was at work, here. She had to sort out what magic would send her back - before she was late. That was all there was for it.
One of the doors looked familiar, and she came to a halt in front of it, staring. This is Mercy's door. Reaching out, she pushed the door open, and there was Mercy's little room - only the spot where she'd left Raff's body was plain wood. The blood that had sprayed across her floor boards when she cut his throat was gone, too. But on her bed was something new. Closing the door behind her, Mercy picked up the queer black box, turning it over.]
asdfsdljkgh
[No sooner does she accidentally send the text to the network does she manage to turn on the video: there's a flash of a shaven head, a shapeless brown dress of wool, even the blue hempen rope that serves as her belt. A flash, and no more. Her fingers find the off button, and she slips the device into her pocket. It doesn't belong in this room, but neither does she. Only Mercy does, and Mercy wouldn't spend time looking over such a strange thing. So she turns and leaves again, looking up and down the hall before picking a direction. Mercy is bubbly and sweet, but Arya knows how to disappear.
She follows her feet, wearing Mercy's confusion and her sweet smile, but looking with Arya's eyes. There is something familiar here, only she knows Mercy has never been in a place like this. The problem is, she doesn't know when she would have been, either.
When she reaches the deck she gasps, and for a few moments, Mercy is too afraid to move. It's the whole of the sky, and Mercy is afraid it will swallow her whole. But that, she knows, is silly. She forces herself forward, finding a secluded spot by the rail where she can crouch and pull the communicator out for a better look. Mercy wouldn't bother with this strange thing, but she understands that many things are worth knowing.]
As she ran through the day's heavy fog, though, something changed. Shifted. She couldn't tell what, at first, only that the fog was not so thick as it had been. And then, all a sudden, the fog was gone. And so was Braavos.
Skidding to a halt, Marcy stared down the long hall ahead of her, lined on either side with doors. This was not the way to the Gate. This was not the way anywhere.
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy, she thought to herself, and started forward again. Some magic was at work, here. She had to sort out what magic would send her back - before she was late. That was all there was for it.
One of the doors looked familiar, and she came to a halt in front of it, staring. This is Mercy's door. Reaching out, she pushed the door open, and there was Mercy's little room - only the spot where she'd left Raff's body was plain wood. The blood that had sprayed across her floor boards when she cut his throat was gone, too. But on her bed was something new. Closing the door behind her, Mercy picked up the queer black box, turning it over.]
asdfsdljkgh
[No sooner does she accidentally send the text to the network does she manage to turn on the video: there's a flash of a shaven head, a shapeless brown dress of wool, even the blue hempen rope that serves as her belt. A flash, and no more. Her fingers find the off button, and she slips the device into her pocket. It doesn't belong in this room, but neither does she. Only Mercy does, and Mercy wouldn't spend time looking over such a strange thing. So she turns and leaves again, looking up and down the hall before picking a direction. Mercy is bubbly and sweet, but Arya knows how to disappear.
She follows her feet, wearing Mercy's confusion and her sweet smile, but looking with Arya's eyes. There is something familiar here, only she knows Mercy has never been in a place like this. The problem is, she doesn't know when she would have been, either.
When she reaches the deck she gasps, and for a few moments, Mercy is too afraid to move. It's the whole of the sky, and Mercy is afraid it will swallow her whole. But that, she knows, is silly. She forces herself forward, finding a secluded spot by the rail where she can crouch and pull the communicator out for a better look. Mercy wouldn't bother with this strange thing, but she understands that many things are worth knowing.]
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[He takes a deep breath. If she really doesn't remember Nymeria, he'll be worried.] She's your wolf, Arya.
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[She's your wolf. She can taste blood and see the stars and the moon, like she can in every dream.] What? What am I to do with a wolf in Braavos? I'm Mercy. [Mercy, Mercy, Mercy.]
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You're not in Braavos. You're on the Barge. And you're Arya.
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I never did. People just call me Mercy, is all.
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[How long do you lie, when it's obvious? How long can it last?]
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I know you do. We lived here together for over a year. You're Arya.
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A year?
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More than.
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How did you meet me?
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I was complaining about something and you told me to stop whining.
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Tell me about Jesse. [That memory feels like hers.]
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Her face remains placid, though she feels it hot at the back of her throat.]
Thank you.
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[Her face might not show it but he hears a hint of something in her voice.] Are you okay?
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[No. Maybe. He won't let her be Mercy.]
I don't know. [She looks down, finally lets herself frown.] I think so.
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I'm glad you're back.