❆ | 042 | Video

Aug. 27th, 2014 09:39 am
fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (I am neither walker nor sleeper)
[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.]
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❈ | 027 | Spam

May. 12th, 2013 02:48 pm
fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (even Sansa)
[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.]
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❈ | 016 | Video

Apr. 27th, 2012 04:53 pm
fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (a girl remembers smiling)
[Arya is smiling when the video clicks on. She's still as dirty and mussed up as ever, the flood hasn't changed her thoughts on presentibility or cleanliness, but she is much, much less guarded.] I think we should have a feast. We can bring tables to the deck, and we can have songs - we'd only need some drums, and lutes, and I know all sorts of songs. My sister used to sing, she loved songs. I never tried, but I could sing some. And Nymeria and me, we can help set up, and cook. It'll be fun!

[Who needs subtlety to learn about you all when she can just gather you in one place to chat?]

Does anyone else want to help? I'll be on the deck.

((OOC: Super affected. Where she was prickly and guarded, she's now full of hugs and very open. Seriously anyone coming in contact will be subjected to hugs. Totally open to spam!))
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When at last she slept, she dreamed of home. The kingsroad wound its way past Winterfell on its way to the Wall, and Yoren had promised he'd leave her there with no one any wiser about who she'd been. She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon...But it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her "little sister." She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything.
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