(2013) open rp post

[181]

permanent open rp post

new year, new post.
❧ select one of my characters (or one that you know I play but isn't on the list)
❧ leave a prompt: pictures work best; lyrics, scenarios of your own creation, etc.
❧ reply as many times as you want.
❧ the apocalypse finally happens.

❧ please note that I am extremely backtag friendly and will be backtagging these threads until the cows come home. and I'm always really eager to do things even if this post is found months after it's posted. also lol sometimes i may take a bit to get to them since some characters are harder for me to think up things and require some canon review! sorry for the wait, i'll make you a vegemite sandwich in the interim.

Comments

little wolf

[drogon]

bows please forgive me for this is late and awkward; arya is set somewhere in season three au.

[distrust]

[ a dog is no wolf, arya is most certain of that. even if he fights bravely (bloodily) and scavenges for food (thievery), the hound was not a wolf. the hound was a fierce dog, perhaps the fiercest of them all, but not even he could protect arya from all that which chased her. quiet as a shadow, quick as a deer, arya's worst enemy was on the backs of her heels. and so, she slinks off into the night, into the darkness of a woods, when she sees there is no other place to run. arya of winterfell is on her heels and weasel or arry can't quite sit still. the dog is no threat to a wolf, but a wolf is to another. ]

[ on the outskirts of the woods is a village. a small, rundown place, with a few huts and a few people. they're noisy, she thinks, until she finds herself crouching beneath a bush, and watches as men — dozens of them, all identical, with their armour pristine and their movements in sync — trample over the commoners as if they were the grass blades beneath their own feet. (though, the commoners fight back, stupidly, she thinks, with their stupid spears and their stupid shouts — in the name of the king!.) the large stone structure behind the village, where she undoubtedly presumes the lord and lady of the rundown and very small river and bridge live, creaks and groans as shouts and fire are launched into the air. ]

[ she hears a loud scream — something from up above — but will not catch it until it's over. she plans to stay within the woods — deep in the heart of it, away from the fighting, but finds herself cut off by a man with no teeth. pushed further toward the outskirt of the woods, arya finds herself trapped. on instinct, she raises needle, pointy end towards the man, and spears him as if a fish. he collapses, hands pressed hard and tightly to his wound as blood trickles thickly from the hole within his flesh. arya steps back, stumbling over her own awkward feet, and begins to move as swift as a deer before she trips over a root and falls. with her knees scraped and bloodied, just like her hands, she's not sure how long she lays there, immobile, frightened, but when she pulls herself up, she sees the aftermath of the fight. ]

[ blood and smoke is everywhere, licking the trunks of trees and the grass blades beneath their feet. up within the sky, dragons reign freely, their wings flapping so hard and violently arya is certain she feels the earth shake. and when she dusts off her hands, cut and bloodied with her own and that of a stupid man with a stupid stick, she sees her. now would be best to run — best to hide and keep running, all the way back to winterfell like a good wolf. within the midst of the flames, she sees her walk, untouched by the very thing that should destroy her. she watches as the woman walks through the flame and does not burn. ]

it is lovely, you are lovely, and you always have my forgiveness.

[drogon]

[ unlike those fabled cruel kings that rule with a heavy hand and a heart cloaked in ice, she takes no pleasure in observing as the fields run red with streams of blood. screams punctuate the air, war cries and wailing alike; it is a quaint city that she loathes to see reduced to its current state, devoured by a dancing flame and the insolence of its own inhabitants. i will do you no harm, she had said, on the condition that they obeyed her requests. water, a decent meal, and shelter were all she had asked of them, but their fealty to a malicious boy-king had rid them of their virtues and led them astray — had forced them to raise their spears and daggers to herself and her men, and before she had truly processed the abrupt turn in events, her own men had formed an impenetrable wall around her, slaying all those who dared to inch closer to the dragon queen.

the city is in ruins now, a ghost of the idyllic village it had once been, with its flourishing crops, clear and shining streams, and its quiet forests. her dragons continue their assault overheard, ensuring that no remnants of the land it once was are left in their path of destruction. it is a sight she wishes to turn away from, but cannot; the young girl she had once been would have crumpled into a distraught heap at the display of violence, but she forces herself to look at the bodies strewn at her dainty feet now. she is no longer a girl ruled by her brother, but a woman who has sprouted scales and wings, and while she has instilled within herself some semblance of mercy, there is no kindness she can spare for those that would favour their foolish king so fiercely as to threaten the safety of herself, her children, and the men in her service.

but when she walks through the flames, untouched and pristine amongst the ruins, she sees no threat in the child her gaze falls upon. she looks to be a fragile, frightened thing, but dany no longer allows appearances to deceive her. even so, the sight of a young girl makes her heart and features grow softer; she is not a mother in any traditional sense, but her heart cries out for those that are lost within this world, alone amidst falling castles and crumbling aspirations, just as she is.

she is cautious enough to linger only a few feet away, but she bends, hand extended, and locks her eyes to the strange girl's gaze. ]

Come here. I mean you no harm.

[ it is an order. her tone implies as much, as gentle as it may be. ]

aw yis aw yis khaleesi's forgiveness that i am unworthy of for my treacherous heart!

[distrust]

[ they had never meant her lord father any harm. from what arya understands, king robert had called ned stark forward in the hand of friendship to lead him and his table of councillors to a happier and flourishing future. but all arya can think of is her lord father's head detached from his body. they had promised her protection, a new home away from where her heart truly sleeps, and here she is, far from king's landing, not frightened (for no one is frightened), but very much alone and cold. ]

[ words are powerful things — she has learned as much with her lack of name. though, she does wonder if names are more powerful than that of a word — i mean you no harm can be a lie. everyone lies. everyone who thinks she's too stupid lie to her in order to gain her trust. she is nobody but a mere peasant — she is not a lady (she never has been) and she understands her name — stark — will mean nothing anymore. she is a traitor's daughter, and, for that, they hunt her like a wolf to remove her head from her body. ]

[ arya does as she is bid, though. she cannot run — this woman has spotted her with her quick, purple eyes. arya wonders if she can see through the shadows, can see the darkness that now surrounds arya's heart. quick as a shadow — but not quick enough. she doesn't wipe her hands on her knees, doesn't brush the dirt from her shoulders or her hair. she comes as she is — dirty and shadowed, masked and stupid. ]

[ her thick brows furrow as her gaze hits the woman before her hard and accusing. where is her sword? where is her knife? she can see her claws — their long and sharp and thick, like a dragon's, the beasts circling the sky up above — but arya stark has not heard of danaerys targaryen's travels. she does not know of the dragon girl who has set westeros ablaze with fear and fright. she's been too lost within her own bubble of survival to know she stands before a woman who has every right to slash her throat, or, worse: cut her head off. ]

Who are you?