Arya Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aryaunderfoot) wrote2013-03-04 12:44 pm
aryaunderfoot) wrote2013-03-04 12:44 pm
1st Winter [Action]
[Early this morning, somewhere deep in the woods, there is a wolf howling.
It's a long, mournful howl, and the wolf doesn't seem to want to stop. Occasionally, she'll pause for breath, and then throw her head back again after a moment's rest. This place isn't right. Her cousins aren't here, the smaller ones of her pack. The air is too warm, too full of the smells of spring. And the more she searches, the more she howls, trying to get some sort of answer out of these unfamiliar trees.
Around mid-morning, the crumpled form of a small girl can be found on the path leading from the village to the Battle Dome. She's not hurt, just very much asleep (and scrunching up her face with each wolf howl) and very much covered in grime (and smelling faintly of fish cart). And there's also the fact that she's in a New Feather dress. As the howling reaches a higher pitch, she awakes with a start, freezes, and tries to figure out what this place is. There's a chill in the air, yes, but it isn't winter building up to full strength. It can't be the Summer Islands, and it most definitely isn't Braavos. This place...
...is less concerning than the fact that there is a journal right next to her with "Arya Stark" printed right on it. She gives it an incredulous look for a moment before deciding that this must be a test of some kind. The kindly man must be behind it. With a shake of the head, the girl stands, pushes the journal with a foot until it's tucked out of sight under a nearby bush, and then turns back to the task at hand.
And tries to ignore the mournful howling that is practically tugging her in its direction. That's not something she needs to worry about. That was Arya Stark. Not her. She's nobody.]
[With so many things glaringly wrong with this place, she figures it's time to try scoping it out. The girl very cautiously approaches the village, keeping to the trees for cover until she's sure there aren't any Lannister banners flying anywhere. When there aren't any, it isn't much consolation; the buildings are huge, and the architecture isn't anything she's ever seen before. This place may not be full of lions, but it's not exactly a safe zone, either. She's not even sure what it is.
Eventually, she finds her way into town, going around to see what exactly there is to see here. She doubts she'll spot any familiar faces, but she still makes her way through all the shops in the main square, trying to get some kind of sense of what kind of town this is. The smith shop is familiar, the fashions in the clothing shop completely outlandish, the foods in the indoor marketplace entirely alien.
And she is so, so very lost. As she makes her way through town, the old phrase starts repeating in the back of her mind: Fear cuts deeper than swords. She can do this. She has to do this.
Towards nightfall, after much exploration and poking around, the girl makes her way back to the stables she passed by at some point. The horses are horses. That much is familiar, at least. This much she can understand completely. And the familiar, earthy, horsey smells are something of a comfort when you're trying to wrap your head around what in the world happened to bring you to a place such as this.]
[[ooc: Feel free to run into her at any point!]]
It's a long, mournful howl, and the wolf doesn't seem to want to stop. Occasionally, she'll pause for breath, and then throw her head back again after a moment's rest. This place isn't right. Her cousins aren't here, the smaller ones of her pack. The air is too warm, too full of the smells of spring. And the more she searches, the more she howls, trying to get some sort of answer out of these unfamiliar trees.
Around mid-morning, the crumpled form of a small girl can be found on the path leading from the village to the Battle Dome. She's not hurt, just very much asleep (and scrunching up her face with each wolf howl) and very much covered in grime (and smelling faintly of fish cart). And there's also the fact that she's in a New Feather dress. As the howling reaches a higher pitch, she awakes with a start, freezes, and tries to figure out what this place is. There's a chill in the air, yes, but it isn't winter building up to full strength. It can't be the Summer Islands, and it most definitely isn't Braavos. This place...
...is less concerning than the fact that there is a journal right next to her with "Arya Stark" printed right on it. She gives it an incredulous look for a moment before deciding that this must be a test of some kind. The kindly man must be behind it. With a shake of the head, the girl stands, pushes the journal with a foot until it's tucked out of sight under a nearby bush, and then turns back to the task at hand.
And tries to ignore the mournful howling that is practically tugging her in its direction. That's not something she needs to worry about. That was Arya Stark. Not her. She's nobody.]
[With so many things glaringly wrong with this place, she figures it's time to try scoping it out. The girl very cautiously approaches the village, keeping to the trees for cover until she's sure there aren't any Lannister banners flying anywhere. When there aren't any, it isn't much consolation; the buildings are huge, and the architecture isn't anything she's ever seen before. This place may not be full of lions, but it's not exactly a safe zone, either. She's not even sure what it is.
Eventually, she finds her way into town, going around to see what exactly there is to see here. She doubts she'll spot any familiar faces, but she still makes her way through all the shops in the main square, trying to get some kind of sense of what kind of town this is. The smith shop is familiar, the fashions in the clothing shop completely outlandish, the foods in the indoor marketplace entirely alien.
And she is so, so very lost. As she makes her way through town, the old phrase starts repeating in the back of her mind: Fear cuts deeper than swords. She can do this. She has to do this.
Towards nightfall, after much exploration and poking around, the girl makes her way back to the stables she passed by at some point. The horses are horses. That much is familiar, at least. This much she can understand completely. And the familiar, earthy, horsey smells are something of a comfort when you're trying to wrap your head around what in the world happened to bring you to a place such as this.]
[[ooc: Feel free to run into her at any point!]]
Mid-morning
[She's been bitten by just about every animal she's ever been around, at some point or another, but it's never bothered her much at all. It's part of wrestling with pups or hand feeding horses. But that doesn't mean she's any more enthusiastic about petting the little miniature lion.
Still, it's a good way to put off someone's guard, to play along a bit. Besides, this is starting to feel like a personal challenge. She kneels, ruffling the cat's fur gently and scratching behind an ear.]
Most cats are beggars if they get the chance.
Mid-morning
Emil can't help but laugh a little at his pet's reaction.]
Yeah, I don't think I've ever met one that wasn't. I think that's just part of being a cat.
Oh, right, I should introduce myself. I'm Emil, and that fuzzball you're petting is Sial. What's your name?
Mid-morning
My name is Cat. [Beat. She's never really elaborated beyond where she got the name from, but given the "all cats are beggars" statement, it might be called for. Even though, hey, she's done her share of begging.] It's short for Catelyn, but nobody ever calls me that.
Mid-morning
They don't? Why not? That's a pretty name. Not that Cat isn't nice too, but Catelyn has a nice sound to it.
Mid-morning
It's too big a name for some girl working for a fishmonger. Besides, there are lots of cats in Braavos. It fits in.
Mid-morning
[He looks down at Sial, still happily purring away at the petting.]
I bet that's why Sial likes you so much, if there are lots of cats around where you live.
Mid-morning
There's a lot of fish for them to beg after. They're a lot more trusting than the cats in other cities. Sort of like yours, actually.
[Before Braavos, she'd never had a strange cat just stroll on up to her like this, after all.]
Mid-morning
Sial's actually a chimera, but he acts more like a cat than anything else. He even falls asleep in sunny spots all the time.
[And he gives Sial's back a pat.]
So was your city right on the water?
Mid-morning
Yes. Most of the city is made up of canals and bridges. It's really a bunch of small islands that are very close together.
[She glances back down at the little cat thing, frowning thoughtfully.]
Are you sure he's a chimera? I thought those were supposed to be bigger. And poisonous.
Mid-morning
Yeah, a lot of people have said things like that-- that the chimeras where they come from are much bigger and meaner. But this is the only kind I've ever seen in my world. All of the others I've run into look just like Sial.
I'm pretty sure he isn't poisonous, at least.