calm as still water, swift as a deer

❆ | 042 | Video

Wed, 27 Aug 2014 15:36:32 GMT

[Private to Polly]

Where are you? I found a good spot. [She's sitting on a pile of pillows, with a blanket (or maybe a dish towel) wrapped around her head like a crown. And she's grinning. Her own smile, not Mercy's pretty little thing: Arya's smiles are big and open, but they have a little bite to it. The wolf blood will always run hot in her, even when she's happy.]

[Private to Riddick]

Will you do something for me?

[Public, later]

[Still seated cross legged on her throne of pillows, Arya stares down at the device in her hands. There's an odd little look on her face, below hair that's terribly messy after she pulled off the towel-crown - like she's confused but not, knows what she wants but doesn't, like she's hovering between two worlds. She feels like she is.]

I graduated.

[The words feel strange: she's never combined them in that order, that conjugation, and the newness is unsettling. But she hasn't been afraid of new things in a long time. She can't be afraid of this.

Reaching off screen, she grabs a cookie, and lifts it up to show the camera: it has a frosting smiley face.]

Do you always get sweets? [She's been here so long, but it feels like the one thing she never fully realized. Instead of waiting for an answer - it doesn't really matter, does it, not now - she takes a bite and tosses the rest back onto it's plate.]

I'm going home. I've been here a long time, three years maybe. And I'm--

[She hasn't grown, except when she returned home. She is twelve and thirteen and fourteen and fifteen all at once, and she can't take the stillness of her existence here anymore.]

I could stay, and make a deal. I could probably kick my inmate to graduating. I could have my family back.

[She chews her lip for a moment, looking off toward the pillow and blanket forts. Finally, she just rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath. That's stupid. She won't do it.]

But I still have family. And I'm going home to find them.

So - goodbye, I guess. This was a good flood.

[She flashes a smile, wolfish and toothsome and pleased, and turns the feed off.]

comments

❆ | 041 | Video

Wed, 20 Aug 2014 21:47:34 GMT

[When the video comes on, it's not focused on her face. Instead, the picture shows snow, snow everywhere, and in the distance there is blurry movement, a direwolf running through the banks. From the angle, she's up high, sitting in a tree.]

Last year, when this happened, I spoke to my lady mother. And my lord father. Just for a moment. [She pauses, swallows hard and continues.] There was my brother, and my sister too.

[She's claiming them, making them hers again. She has been, she's taken back her name, but never like this. Never where anyone can hear.]

I spoke to a Dothraki Khal, the last time this happened. I've spoken to a lot of people I've never met. [And more Lannisters than she ever wanted to. When she turns the camera around to her face, she's chewing on her lip. Her hair has grown plenty since she arrived, bald-headed. It's past her chin now, brushing just above her shoulders. She looks like a girl again, though maybe that's because she grew when she last was home. She's only twelve or thirteen, physically, but she feels so much older than that. She's been here for years. Years and years, away from everything she knows. She stops chewing her lip.]

I'm Arya, of Winterfell. Arya of House Stark.

[There. It feels like a weight off her shoulders. She's said it before, she's meant it before. But every time this glitch has happened, Jaime Lannister has come to remind her of her name. Now she can remind him.

She even smiles, a little, at the corners of her mouth.]

I had other names too, for a while. When I had to hide to be safe. Arry, and Weasel, and Nan. Salty and Nymeria and Cat and Beth and Mercy, even. I don't know if anyone who knew those girls will hear me. But I miss some of you, and if you want to talk, then so do I. That goes for anyone. I like meeting new people.

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❆ | 040 | Spam

Fri, 25 Jul 2014 17:40:00 GMT

[Most floods - or take overs, or ports, or whatever stupid strangeness they run into - are tiring. Annoying. Dangerous. She knows this better than most people on board. She's been here longer than most people on board. She's seen the stupid floods, the painful floods, the dangerous floods. She's seen half a dozen attempts to take over. She's seen a lot, and sometimes she thinks there is nothing that can surprise her here anymore.

Some of this surprises her, but only in the abstract: it's not an escape attempt, but that's not wholly unique. She's not sure what will greet her when she ventures out, but she scratches behind Nymeria's ear and wraps her free hand around Needle's hilt at her belt. Between them both, she has nothing to fear.

It doesn't take long to eye the network and scope out what's happening: madness. Madness and chaos. She stands in her door way, watching the bumper cars roam, and she stops wondering what in the seven hells they are, and wonders instead how she can use this to her advantage. Her hand tightens on Needle.

She's been watching. One floor up is where Mira lives, one floor up is where she can find justice. She just has to get there.

When the cars skitter away from her door, she sees her chance.]

Go.

[She whispers the word, and darts out. She doesn't look back when she hears squeals and skittering - she runs, dancing past the cars, toward the stairs, to head up. She can feel Nymeria beside her, watches as the direwolf pulls ahead with her four long legs. She hits the stairs first, climbs up three, four steps at a time.

Then something happens. The stairs vanish out from under her oldest friend, and with a yelp, Nymeria sinks out of sight. Arya doesn't cry out. She stares with wide eyes and darts for the wolf, as if she could pull all that great weight up on her own - but the hole closes again as she reaches it.

Her heart hammers in her chest, and she bangs her fists on the newly appeared stairs, fighting the urge to rage. It's all right, she tells herself. Only a few days more. Everything is impermanent here. She isn't saying farewell to Nymeria again. She isn't.

Swallowing hard, she starts up again - keeping one hand firm on the rail, just in case the stairs drop out below her, too.

On the sixth level, Arya squeezes herself into a corner of the common room and watches. She knows where Mira is supposed to come out of. She has to show eventually. The spinning she ignores, focusing on a distant, still point, but when the woman doesn't show and her stomach starts to object, Arya allows herself a frustrated sound and moves on. She goes down to level eight, then, hoping to catch Mira wandering. She'll start at the bottom and work her way up. She'll make use of the time. She's the night wolf. But even the night wolf can be affected by poison, and when she feels her head start to swim, she turns and heads upstairs again. On level five, she reaches the landing just before her stair way turns into a slide. That leaves her hopping from raft to raft to reach the other end of the hall, and try the steps there. On the deck, she avoids the games with their deadly prizes, trusting in Needle. I should have brought the crossbow, she thinks distantly - right before the ferris wheel beckons. She's not sure how many hours she wastes there, but it pulls her on and she grits her teeth as it turns and turns and turns. When it finally lets her off, she runs for another deck, and another and another. Some hold her up, some she can't bypass. When she returns to the sixth floor, she winds up trapped in a spinning room. Her next jaunt on five nearly spills her into zero. When she finally halts on four a few days in, she sees something familiar.]

Nymeria?

comments

❆ | 039 | Video

Fri, 11 Jul 2014 22:12:04 GMT

Stop - don't chew on that--

[There are some crunching sounds in the dark when the video comes on, with occasional shots of light: it definitely sounds like it's being chewed on, and there's some scuffling and shuffling before Artos finally tugs it free. The camera spins, focusing briefly on a familiar but boyish face, before going dark again as the screen gets wiped off.

FINALLY the picture settles, and instead of a young girl, there's an even younger boy - nine, maybe ten. He's smiling - and anyone who recognizes him knows that, more often than not, he's scowling.]

Is this your doing, Polly?

[He turns the camera on Nymeria - still very much Nymeria, but Artos hasn't quite gathered the differences yet.]

I never thought I'd see Nymeros again.

[He pauses, because, well. Dying makes you fairly gods damned certain that you'll never see anything again. He shakes it off, turning the camera on himself again as he goes to sling an arm over Nymeria's shoulders.]

I know others are complaining of their rooms and clothes going missing: there are plenty of boys clothes here, but I don't know this room. [He swings the camera around the wooden walls, with his map stretched across one.] And this isn't my sword. It's too small. [He gestures aside to Needle.] A man can't fight with a sword like that.

comments

❆ | 038 | Voice + Spam

Mon, 23 Jun 2014 03:07:26 GMT

[Static is immediate when the audio clicks on, and in between the static is silent. It's hard to hear Arya when she does speak, though - she's whispering.]

--llo? Is --ne in th--aves?

[She woke up alone, with a pack full of as many helpful things she could get her hands on. There's a lot of fruit, some bottles of water she was able to find, and absolutely no acorns or roots. She still remembers how to scavenge them, though: some things leave an imprint on you, no mater how short a time they lasted or how long ago they happened. She remembers traveling through a kingdom ravaged by war. She remembers staying out of sight.

It's been a long time since Arya was alone. Truly alone, anyway: the journey from the Inn at the Crossroads to Saltpans was the last time she had no one in the world to lean on, even if she wanted to. It makes her feel big and small, all at once.]

Nymeria --ot here--

[That was the first thing she noticed, once the pack was on her shoulders and her sword was secured at her waist. When she called for Nymeria, the direwolf didn't come. It worries her, a little - not for Nymeria's safety, but for her own. A direwolf is a good companion to have, even in close quarters, especially when you can't see. She's not a wolf, after all, and there are no stars, no moon to light the way here.

The static swallows the sound of rocks striking, of a torch being lit.] --'m alo-- going to look--

[She cuts herself off, this time, as the faint echoes of a wail - no, a scream - reach her.]

Who was --at?

[Spam, Day 4]

( hallucinations spam )

[Spam, all other days]

( open spam! )

comments

❆ | 037 | Video

Wed, 28 May 2014 17:14:57 GMT

[When the video comes on, the focus is immediately on a toy. A bobblehead, to be precise. The figure is all in black, with a little beard and mustache. Arya puts the camera down and steps back so she's visible.]

I didn't wish for dolls. And I think this one's head is broken. Look.

[She pokes toy-Jon's head, setting it to wobbling. She lets it go for a few seconds before closing her hand over it carefully. She'll make fun of it, but she doesn't want it to break. Even if it doesn't look much like Jon.]

Does anyone have something to put a map on a wall? [She doesn't chew her lip, though she would had that habit not been mostly broken.] I want to hang this, [she sets the bobblehead down, picks up a map of Westeros so big that it doesn't quite fit in her arm span,] but I don't have nails.

[Private to Alec]

I'm tired of waiting. What can you teach me?

comments

❆ | 036 | Text + Spam

Fri, 11 Apr 2014 01:53:09 GMT

[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.]

comments

❈ | 035 | Spam + Voice

Sun, 30 Mar 2014 22:08:14 GMT

[Sometime after this gem, Arya gets on the network.]

Does a girl have eggs inside her? Chris thinks babies come from eggs. [She sounds like she thinks this is incredibly, incredibly dumb. And she might be wording it to her favor.]

[Open Spam]

[She was stupid, and let herself answer questions publicly. Which means people might know, and try to ask her questions she doesn't want to answer. She hates this flood. It was one of her first, and part of her wants to press a pillow to her mouth and scream. At least it doesn't mean she's spilling her story at will - at least she knows how to avoid it, now.

Maybe she can answer in Braavosi, if someone tries. Maybe that will work.

But she doesn't know. She doesn't know what will work, so she stays in her room and ignores her communicator. But she's learned to hate this small room, and eventually her bladder gets the better of her. She heads for the inmate toilets, and from there she goes to the CES, where she waits for Nymeria to let her in. She doesn't wear the collar Jesse gave her anymore, the one that lets her in whenever she wants - but Nymeria has it, stretched with thread to fit around her thicker neck. When the direwolf shows, Arya disappears into the CES. It's a forest she doesn't recognize, but that's fine. Birds and squirrels can't ask her questions.]

comments

❈ | 034 | Video

Fri, 21 Feb 2014 17:55:04 GMT

[The girl on the screen is older and taller, though not by much on either account: a few feet, a few inches. Her hair has been allowed to grow out, though it's pinned (messily) at the back of her head. She looks a little less like a child, a little more like the person she could grow into. The surroundings are different, though: gone is the cell from the House of Black and White, with its tiny bed and small chest for clothes. This is a bigger room, enough space for two girls to grow in and live in and fight in. It's the room she shared with Sansa in Winterfell, all old stone with furs on the bed.

She still chews her lip, though. She has a lot on her mind.]

I'm afraid.

[She doesn't sound it, even makes a face and looks a touch angry at saying it out loud. She doesn't like admitting it, she never has, but this feels important. Behind her, Nymeria lounges on the bed, huge and daunting. She is older, bigger, too.]

Not scared - maybe I was the whole time. I hated feeling like a scared little girl, so I stopped. I stopped everything but anger. Anything else hurt.

[She reaches up and touches her chest.] I had a hole, here, after my family died. I didn't think it'd ever heal, so - I stuffed it with other things, till it scabbed over. Anger, and revenge.

[She rubs the spot over her heart, then drops her hand again, tugging at the edge of her shirt.]

But I'm not so angry, anymore. I have pictures, of everyone, [and there is indeed a photo album sitting open behind her on the bed, near Nymeria's paws] and I realized I was forgetting what they looked like. But I remember what all the Lannisters look like. I remember every stupid golden hair. But I don't remember what Rickon looked like. He was only three. Or four - I don't remember anymore.

[Chewing on her lip again, Arya leans back and grabs the photo album, dragging it into her lap. These were gifts, from Christmases past, things she never asked for, never wanted, but needed very badly. She pulls out one picture, holds it up for the camera ~~except pretend he looks younger~~.]

This is him.

[She gives it a moment, then tucks it away, and closes up the album beside her.] I don't have any pictures of the people who killed him. I don't want any. I think - I'd rather remember what my brother looked like, than the person who killed him.

comments

❈ | 033 | Video

Thu, 09 Jan 2014 19:59:57 GMT

[Jesse is gone. Her pack is abandoning her again, and though she knows her first pack, her first family are dead and gone, she knows just as well that time and death mean nothing to the Admiral. He can show her them. He can show her all of them.

Maybe he can show her Jesse, too.]

If you know someone named Nan, or Nymeria, or Weasel or Salty or Cat or Beth or Underfoot or Arry or even Arya Stark--

[She chews on her lip, knows she's doing it and doesn't care enough to make herself stop.]

I'm here. Who can hear me?

comments

❈ | 032 | Spam + Video

Fri, 27 Dec 2013 01:17:30 GMT

[Spam for Polly]

[She sleeps without moving, and has for weeks now. Nymmeria is not remotely a fan of it. Sometimes at night she'll jump up to lay beside her; right now, she's sitting with her chin laying on the foot of Arya's bed, paying rapt attention as she peers over the girl's toes.

It's definitely not Nymeria Arya notices when she wakes, though. The wolf's intense staring wouldn't alarm her nearly so much as Polly's does.

At least she doesn't shout. Gray eyes go wide, and half a second later her left fists snaps up, aimed almost without thought for her warden's nose.]

[Public]

I still think Christmas is stupid. I don't care about some dead man's birthday, or some fat man in a suit. What's the point?

[Private to the Admiral]

I don't need naps, and if I did, they shouldn't be this long.

You stupid.

( the mouth on this girl )

comments

❈ | 031 | Video

Sun, 01 Sep 2013 22:40:14 GMT

[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?

comments

❈ | 030 | Video

Sun, 11 Aug 2013 19:43:47 GMT

[When the feed comes on, there's the briefest flash of Arya's jaw before the camera focuses on Nymeria's face. She's not snarling, in fact she looks rather peaceful - but she is a direwolf, and you know, pony sized.]

This is Nymeria. She's going to spend a lot of time in the CES, so you shouldn't worry about her. She doesn't eat babies.

[Arya turns the camera back on herself, eyes narrowing.] But she might make an exception if you pull on her fur. All you stupid babies should leave her alone, or else it'll be your own fault when you lose your hand.

[She goes to kill the feed, then, but pauses. Where she was relatively (meanly) amused a moment ago, she's pensive now.] Tyrion's gone. His door went back to normal again.

[She makes a face.] Kirk, too. But he's a liar and you shouldn't ever trust him anyway. I'm not making this announcement again when you're grown up, so write yourself a note if you think you'd care.

[Stark out.]

[Private to Lark]

Where are you?

[Spam]

[The overwhelming question during this flood has absolutely been where's Lark? She brings Nymeria out of the CES to go looking, and she follows Nymeria's nose half the time - though for a couple hours, she goes back to her room and changes shape herself. They look comical together like that, a pony sized wolf and a pup, but it's not that much stranger than Nymeria walking around with Arya when she's normal-shaped; she wishes she was getting taller.

They go all over, looking for the other alpha - though Arya thinks he might not be an alpha anymore. Or not yet. Or however this is meant to work.]

comments

❈ | 029 | Video

Fri, 07 Jun 2013 22:19:38 GMT

[When the video comes on, the view is skewed: if you look long enough, it may seem like you're looking at a small section of a blanket, possibly on a bed, and a fold of cloth to one sight. Up comes the camera after a moment and an in drawn breath, and the fold of cloth is one skinny leg, the blanket tucked on a bad. Only then does she turn the device around so she's visible.]

I'm-- [Arya Stark, she almost says, but she's afraid to. Last time there was Tyrion; last time there was Tywin. Better they should think she's dead. But there are people who she wants to know she's alive. She chews her lip a moment, and decides to forgo names all together.]

I'm looking for anyone from Westeros.

comments

❈ | 028 | Video

Mon, 03 Jun 2013 03:59:35 GMT

[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.]

comments

❈ | 027 | Spam

Mon, 13 May 2013 02:55:05 GMT

[She's seen Winterfell's grounds before, but never it's keep or the winter town outside it. Now, she's standing in front of the open, rusted gate, and she can feel her heart beating in her ears, taste iron on her tongue.

She's home.

Nymeria didn't wait for her before trotting off, snuffling through moss covered ruins, broken walls and smoke covered rocks. Nymeria is never very good at waiting; Arya isn't surprised, but she wishes the direwolf had stayed. Her stomach twists and her hand clenches and unclenches around Needle's hilt. Needle was Winterfell's gray walls. Everything looks wrong, now. It looks burned out, and empty, and nothing like the home she'd ridden away from years ago. She isn't sure how long it's been.

She walks through the rusted, almost unhinged gate - not with her head held high and her shoulders straight, as she'd have liked to, but with straining ears and darting eyes and careful steps. Silent as a shadow. She'd heard, in the Ragman's harbor, that Winterfell had burned, but she's never been able to picture it. She couldn't picture the wreckage of the court yard, or how she can't quite reach the bedroom she'd shared with Sansa, or how the crypt is half covered by stone and timber, not before seeing it..

Only the godswood is as she'd left it - or near enough - and the weirwood, with it's white trunk and red leaves and bloody face, is where she slumps, arms wrapped tight around her knees as she stares into the half frozen pond.

It's not home at all.

Later, she'll slip her skin and sprout fur and run with Nymeria, run through this place and hunt the animals who live where they shouldn't. She'll try to move beams and find her old room. And she won't come out any time soon.]

comments

❈ | 026 | Video

Fri, 19 Apr 2013 17:52:13 GMT

[The video clicks on, and those unaffected will notice that Arya looks different. When she arrived, her head was shaved bald; she hasn't kept up with that, but yesterday it was no longer than her chin. Today, it's well on its way past her shoulders again, and much less messy than one might expect. And she's in a proper northern dress. Hell has frozen over.

The expression on her face, at least, is a very familiar scowl.]

You can't put princesses in dungeons!

[It's an angry huff, but there's a reason this is public, instead of private to Arthur.] My brother is King in the North, and he'd cut off your stupid head himself for jailing me. [Behind her, Nymeria gives a quiet warning growl, more annoyed than distressed. That hasn't changed, either: they still feed off each others emotions. Arya tosses hair over her shoulder, and keeps glaring at the screen.]

Robb's a better king than Arthur can ever be. Robb never put little girls in dungeons. [Not that she likes thinking of herself as a little girl, but.] He's fair, and smart, and not paranoid like some kings.

[This is perhaps brought on by the last flood, which was very close but not quite like home, and she misses her family. And anger is less annoying to her than petulance.] You all think Arthur's good just because he's a king, but he's not. He's just a stupid craven.

[Private to Arthur]

You give me Needle back, or the next time I buy poison, it will be for you!

comments

❈ | 025 | Voice

Fri, 01 Feb 2013 00:22:07 GMT

[Private to Arthur]

Stop yelling at the people teaching me. I asked them to.

[Private to Rumpelstiltskin]

[She's been torn over saying anything to him, because he kind of went to bat for her, but she thinks he did it all wrong.]

I'm not a baby, you know.

comments

❈ | 024 | Voice

Thu, 24 Jan 2013 16:54:45 GMT

[Private to Beatrix]

[You know what sucks? Spending a few days with the surname of the people you really want to murder the crap out of. Arya has been fairly quiet since the flood ended - mostly to keep from having Nymeria hunt Tyrion down and murder him. If he would stay dead, she wouldn't have resisted at all.

But she's trying to be Faceless again, and it's much harder with floods and breaches and Lannisters, but they were going to train her in all sorts of things in the House of Black and White - so she's ready to train in all sorts of things here.]

I want to start learning. To fight like you do. Can we start now?

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❈ | 023 | Video

Sun, 30 Dec 2012 08:26:19 GMT

[When she clicks the video on, she is wearing the lightest part of her mail shirt...and over that, a sweatshirt, with the hood up. There are wolf ears on top. DON'T JUDGE HER. She is also chewing her lip, almost absently: and you can see the exact moment she realizes it, and stops.]

Thank you. For the gifts. Why did we give them, though? What's the point?

[Private to Arthur]

Make Gwaine spar me. He has to, if you order him.

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❈ | 022 | Voice

Wed, 12 Dec 2012 20:02:22 GMT

A girl...

[She trails off, and there's the briefest hesitation. She'd thought it was a way to stay Faceless, to keep true to everything the kindly man has taught her. But it just makes her stand out more. No one here knows Braavos, no one knows how they speak the common tongue, and no one knows her.

When she starts up again, it's as if she never stopped, all confidence.]

I want someone to teach me to fight. Without swords. I'm small, but I'm fast. And I'm strong. [She sounds a little less certain of that, but she will fake it till she makes it.]

And I want to learn to shoot a bow. Who knows how to teach it?

[There are no Lannisters here, now, but maybe one day there will be. Maybe one day she'll go back to Westeros, and though she has every intention of burying Needle in Cersei's chest, she doesn't care if she kills the others from a distance.]

[Private to Bruce Wayne]

A man - you said you'd teach me.

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❈ | 021 | Text

Thu, 08 Nov 2012 19:13:46 GMT

( MASSIVE asoiaf spoilers! )

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❈ | 020 | Text | backdated before port!

Wed, 31 Oct 2012 16:41:13 GMT

A girl remembers she was here before. She remembers people called her Cat, and knew she sold cockles and clams in Braavos. But that girl is gone. She belongs on canals in the Ragman's Harbor, not here. A girl doesn't belong here either. She wants to leave. She won't answer to Cat any longer.

[She doesn't mention Arya Stark; why talk about some dead girl?]

Her warden calls her Jeyne now. Jesse calls her Shadowcat. But she has no true name, and she never will. Even when she's older.

[And that, ladies and gents, is how Arya deals with having been an adult for a few days. Apparently.]

[Private to Jesse]

A girl will punch you again.

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❈ | 019 | Text + Spam

Mon, 20 Aug 2012 18:03:44 GMT

( open spam )

( Infirmary spam )

[Public]

[Much later, when Arya has fumbled with her device (but not nearly so much fumbling as she did the first time she arrived; something about this, too, is familiar to her) she sends a message, in text.]

A girl does not understand why she has been brought here. She was in the House of Black and White one moment-- [It's meant as a threat - be wary, I live where the assassins live, I am one of them, I will be one of them--] and here the next. She would like to be returned.

(OOC: Derp forgot to mention! Arya doesn't have her Barge memories right now, but they'll be filtering back in with the week. But she'll continue to pretend not to know anything because how do handle relationships.)

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❈ | 018 | Voice

Wed, 11 Jul 2012 03:26:57 GMT

[When the feed clicks on in the middle of the night, there's some scuffling, as if the device is being moved about. A blanket rustles, a wolf's claws clack across hard stone, and a little girl breathes in sharply.]

I dreamt--

[She cuts out mid sentence, and the device falls, its clatter muffled by a thing blanket. The clacking claws sound again, along with a bark, sharp and concerned, then angry and wild and uncertain. It's very loud, then fades, as if Nymeria's darting to and from the device. It goes on for a long few minutes, then abruptly, she falls silent. There are a few empty heartbeats, and then a howl starts on level seven, broadcasts across out from room eighteen, out further over the network, high and sad and mourning.]

[OOC: And Arya's off for a canon update! Leaving behind a very asdfkjh direwolf. :c]

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