fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (a raging water)
[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?
fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (a girl don't give a shit)
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.
fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (no longer a mouse)
[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]
fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (I will destroy you.)
[She still finds video weird, so for a moment, Arya's just awkwardly staring at the screen. She closes her eyes for a second; she might even be praying. Then she opens them again, and looks uncertainly at the camera.]

All you...people. You not-here people. [Pause. That sounded dumb. She chews on her lip, frowning - then straightens.]

Are the Lannisters all dead?

[THIS IS OFFICIALLY THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS.]
fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (she-wolves rip out throats btw)
[The cramped, sloppy handwriting is back, though it's much sloppier than usual, now. Arya's using her right hand. It's pretty hard to read.]I want a different warden. One who doesn't attack a bear who's just trying toleave.

[Writing is too hard, she's switching to audio. There's a tension in her voice, though, pained.] This whole place is stupid! No one changes just because you want them to! You won't make me a mouse again!

[She falls silent again, going so far as to hold her breath. It's a long moment before she talks again.] The whistling stopped. My door is frozen, and I can't see. [Mumbling:] Valar morghulis.

Who's there?

Spam for Rachel )
fearcutsdeeperthanswords: (srsly bro. srsly.)
[There is a very loud staticy noise tearing through the network, because Arya has now idea what the hell her device does. But she's nothing if not stubborn. And curious. And basically she is not giving up till she figures out this communicator thing.

Which means, Bargelings, that you are subjected to all sorts of technical glitches. The sound cuts in and out, sometimes with pieces of words, sometimes just the sound of a mic waiting to be spoken into. And then, video!

It's hard to tell what's in view, but some studying might reveal a shoulder. Which is hard to tell, because both shoulder and camera keep moving. There's a loud crack, a flash of what might have been a face, and then the ceiling. Shaking, and another crack! Yes. She's banging it against the floor. Just as she leans over the camera again - too close to get a good look - everything goes green.

Then it's as if she's managed to break the film strip, because a shot of her green chin is getting reeled over and over and over and over and over and over -- and then everything goes dead. A few minutes later, some text picks up.]


valarmorghulis|

[The audio picks up with a big thump and lots of static.] --magic, like --kszzszh--'s stories--

[Some quick thump thump crack thump noises, and oh look! Video! There still isn't much to see, though - the shoulder is back, and a jaw, and all that's particularly clear is that both are small.]

--isn't anywhere by the docks--

[Nope. Arya has no idea what this communicator device thing does, but it seems kind of weird and awesome, so it's coming with her on a sneaky walking tour of the barge.]

Custom Text



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.