(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

i tried to resist tagging this immediately so i wouldn't have to cry about your absence this month.

[drogon]

[ viserys would not have won the respect or the heart of the people, so desperate to be ruled by a benevolent monarch. though she is admittedly unprepared to occupy the throne now, constantly flourishing as her experience with power and authority grows while she gathers her army and her wits, viserys had known little of love and mercy. birthright or otherwise, the people would not have taken kindly to a beggar king — a man so entitled, spoiled, and still but a boy crying for attention and respect he did not deserve. his goals and tyrannical ambition had blinded him to the world around him, expecting others to cow to his whims while he spat on them, his actions and words marked by ungratefulness and cruelty. the stories of the boy-king atop the throne suggest that he and viserys are merely two sides of the same coin; while she thinks the baratheon boy's subjects may be desperate to flee from his heavy handed ruling, there is little joy to be found in exchanging one oppressive king for another.

her abilities as a queen have not ripened yet, but the dragon queen knows of love, of benevolence, of kindness and of mercy when it is needed. she does not need to solely rely on fear to have those before her bowing to her, nor does she wish for her passionate drive to rule to cloud her senses and judgment. if she ever becomes so weak-willed that she will allow her thirst for power to corrupt her morals, she is no better than the would-be kings and the tales of their own exploits that cause her lips to purse in disdain. ]

And you would think many would bend the knee to the daughter of the Mad King?

[ her father's reputation looms over her like the shadows cast upon them by the dragons and their wings overheard, and though she will not be deterred by the dark memories of a man she had never known, she knows his acts are still a fresh wound for many. nevertheless, she will show them that she is good and true, noble, a woman worthy of a throne. she can feel the kingslayer's gaze lingering on her, and it is only after a moment of observing her dragons in flight that she turns him, features softening as they tend to do each time she looks upon him, a hint of fondness lurking in her gaze. ]

Perhaps your fondness blinds you.

[ the retort is a teasing one, tone faintly amused, but to insist she isn't searching his eyes for a reaction would be a lie. ]

you suck and you know exactly why.

[inviolable]

Perhaps.

[ it would be dishonourable of him if he were to deny it. the daughter of the mad king is a risk upon itself. will she burn the city alive with wildfire in vengeance for her lost kin? jaime knows better — has for some time now, but many outside of daenerys' circle don't. the stories speak kindly of her, but, like many, other tales counteract, telling of her cruelness and dragon's breath burning cities of men and women and children alive. (he hears more of joffrey's than that of daenerys' supposed cruelty.) ]

[ he doubts she keeps him close for his ass kissing. he can lay it on thick, and has had the practice of doing so — though, when it came to robert, it was mostly done with sarcasm laced beneath — but daenerys sees through it as if it were flame. kings and queens are meant to rule with a court comprised of truth-tellers. he does, sometimes, wonder if he was meant to serve under hers were no bullshit passes without a scolding and a narrow of her bright, blue eyes. he knows she prefers words sharper and hotter than those that contain much falsehoods. he does wonder if the beggar king would prefer a kiss to the ass cheek rather than words as sharp as knives — and which one he would request such an act for. ]

Many would prefer to bend the knee to the Mad King's equally mad daughter than to that of a cruel brat.

[ he does lean in, ever so slightly, as if sharing a funny little secret, for he accompanies what he says with a small smirk: ] Fondness doesn't blind me to my nephew. [ fondness does blind him to his sister, however. and he doesn't doubt that daenerys hasn't heard the rumours — the truth — of them being inspired by her family's old traditions. he's not ashamed; it's one thing they have in common, something he thinks upon with humour. he does wonder if viserys and daenerys felt as though they were one soul split between two bodies. does she feel his loss, his death, just as hard as he does of cersei's? ]

i am an innocent little flower.

[drogon]

[ she is not susceptible to believing the whispers of men as they conjure their stories, spinning their sordid webs; tales of warfare and famine are often overshadowed by an obsession with betrayal, secrets, and lust and, most importantly of all, the highborn players attached to such salacious legends. though she does not succumb to accepting all rumours as truth and does not wield them as she would a weapon, it is not entirely peculiar for the realm to indulge in idle gossip, she thinks. the most harboured secrets can tear a man kicking and screaming from his throne — a subtle tactic, far less brazen that a sword piercing one's heart, but just as effective (if not more so) at tarnishing one's title and status. the kingslayer has been shamed thrice over — as a traitor to her father, as a traitor to himself and his kin, and as a sister fucker, as the fables had so kindly worded it.

she does not think to ask if there is truth in those venomous words; perhaps some part of her wishes not to know while the other portion of herself insists her knowledge of his own affairs is irrelevant. a confirmation or denial would hardly skew the manner in which she and her unsullied regard (and admire) his prowess in battle, and her her family not practised the same traditions? if viserys had his way, she would be bound to him as his wife, and that inkling alone drives her to banish all thoughts of ever broaching the subject. there is only one truth: she has instilled her faith within him, and no knowledge of his own affairs will sway her trust or conviction. ]

I am not mad.

[ but she sounds faintly amused as she rebuffs his words, smile contorting her lips as a reflection of her own. in some ways, jaime lannister is dangerously contagious in terms of mood and spirit. ]

So you claim.

[ if he is standing here, at her side, how fond of his nephew can he truly be? ]

HAHAHAHA. never heard anything so hilarious in my life!

[inviolable]

[ he does think of her as mad. had thought her mad, a little girl taking on the giant men of westeros with nothing but a dothraki army as her shadow. children serve no part in war — and it's why he thinks joffrey as a little fool, not for his decisions (for he is surely a fool for those) but because he can't fathom the idea of it. he thinks of it as a game where if he says kneel, his enemies will bend the knee for him. he thinks his anger is greater than that of stannis baratheon and renly baratheon, even that of the wolf boy, robb stark. but joffrey is a little fool, for his anger is nothing but misplaced entitlement. he's seen anger in the steps danaerys has taken, from the way the dothraki (a herd of sheep who follow men with braids, not women with stark white hair and dragons curling around them in tales) flank her sides to the way the city before them now burns. ]

[ while children should serve no part in war, they do. and he thinks of how joffrey knows little of it, but has transformed himself into one of the biggest threats and targets out of all the men on the board. the tales of the dragon girl had been laughed at, mocked in front of others, but robert baratheon had feared her — the power of a girl, lost to westeros, the threat of her thought to be dead. isn't that why he had sent poison to ride on her tail? ]

[ he does smile, amused, and takes a step in. joffrey isn't a touchy subject for him, but it most certainly is an uncomfortable one. a boy king ruling westeros like a fool — and it being his blood. he thinks his father holds no pride for his grandchild. ] Do you think my claim as mad?

[ she clings to the memories of her family — false and true — as if they were palpable things; she places so much loyalty into what she knows of them — to never be like the mad king, to never fall voiceless and unprotected like her mother, and to never be as ignorant and thankless as her brother. jaime thinks himself differently, but he does the same thing: he thinks of his brother, he thinks of his sister, and he thinks of his father. he has tarnished his house name many years ago, but he still strives to live up to the jaime lannister his family wants him to be. ]

[ but a part of jaime wants to push. to push and ask the one question he has never quite given much light: does she think the moment she sees them, the petulant face of joffrey or the beautiful face of cersei, that he'll simply flock to their side? he doubts danaerys remembers viserys with pure fondness (for the beggar king can't be a man of kindness if he begs), but he doesn't doubt she feels a loyalty to his memory. (she would have to, would she not? they were the last, while the lannister pride flourished. he thinks it different, how little remain of the dragons and how many linger of the lions, of how lancel lannister's death would not affect him in any way possible if it were to, unfortunately, occur. but it's not any different. even now, when he thinks of defying his own house, he knows, on some level, that he would attempt to return to his family and it be the same, as if he had never left their side of the war.) ]

[ loyalty. such a confusing and complicated little thing. ]

I'M SHEDDING TEARS RN.

[drogon]

[ she seems to fear little. some would claim that itself to be the mark of a madwoman, for those whose hearts are free of trepidation, even in the most precarious of situations, are surely vicious and threatening in their own right. an individual with little left to lose will gladly gamble it all, and there is little else that perturbs even the most valiant of soldiers than that of a menacing beast, rash and violent to the point of insanity — but the targaryen woman is not mad in spite of the blood that flows throughout her veins. viserys had been seized by his own insanity, the lack of a crown atop his head his only fear. his envy of his sister and disquiet lurking within him had led him by the hand to a molten crown, but dany does not look upon tall, brash men and statuesque (and pompous) kings with her eyes lit by fear. it is a careful game she plays and a line she must toe, for one should never allow their emotions to be so openly displayed on their features.

( but she fears many things when cloaked in the darkness of her own tent — failure, where the kingslayer's true allegiance lies, for the safety of herself and her men — though she does not dare voice her own thoughts aloud. the possibility of being painted as a madwoman who is frightened by very little is preferable to the image of that of a scared and lost lamb. at times, she still feels that fragile and vulnerable girl stirring inside of her, crying out for all that she's lost, but more often than not, the dragon has forgotten how to shed a single tear. )

does she think his claim mad? perhaps, though she has to wonder if it is sincere curiosity that motivates his inquiry, or if it's mere wryness. she does not falter in the face of his amused smile, nor his advancement toward her; she tips her chin upward, as always, to regard him without flinching. it feels like a dance, at times — and one her body and mind has grown accustomed to, rehearsing the maneuvers with grace and poise rather than crumpling to the ground in a clumsy, shameful heap. she thinks it a challenge, almost, a test; it seems jaime lannister has been evaluating her since the moment he had been dragged into her camp, grinning in his shackled state.

he grins now, and she smiles back without much thought. where it had once infuriated her (and, in part, still frustrates her), it is a comfort in these strange lands they walk upon. ]

Do you care if I think you or your claim mad?

[ a question for a question. jaime lannister may strike as he pleases, but she has her own evasive maneuvers. ]

my poor little dragon :c my kelly c, i will buy you the best books in all the land to make up for it

[inviolable]

[ he thinks of answering her question with a question — simply to see her fume smoke. but he opts to go a different route. he wonders if anything surprises this dragon, and he supposes that this is a test to see if she thinks she has him pinned. but while he assumes she might think she has him all sorted out, he does believe he surprises her. (and if not her, those who know him — or of him — like ser barristan selmy). surely he must've, for a lion never turns his back on his own pride, but jaime has proven almost everyone wrong since his recruitment into the kingsguard. ]

[ or queensguard. the kingsguard had painted him as a traitor, a man who would slay those that he served. all they saw was the wolf's tale of a lion's betrayal, not the act of a knight honouring his vow of keeping the people of westeros safe. they refused to see what he had sacrificed to save thousands, if not millions, of lives — his own honour, his own beliefs, the safety of those within westeros. the mad king was surely mad, but even he could be prone to having sharp ideas. what if the wildfire had been already put into motion the moment his blade had cut into his flesh? but, luckily for him, the mad king was simply that: mad. he knew daenarys' own men used to watch him with sharp eyes — his reputation proceeds him, even to the lands outside of westeros. like he had done many years before, he proves them wrong, time and time again, by stabbing his blade into the backs of men who oppose the mother of dragons rather than her own pretty back. ]

If you think me mad … [ he smiles, glancing away, if only briefly. hadn't he once told his father he could care less of what anyone thought of him? he still maintains that he doesn't. he is a lannister — he cares not of how anyone could possibly perceive him. ]

[ but jaime lannister is mad. he's mad for reasons that he knows fully and truly — he stands here, in front of this dragon, not as an enemy, but as an ally. and, sometimes, when he chooses to be foolish, as kin. ] But I do wonder. It's my blood that sits on the throne, yet, I seem to care not of it. Wouldn't you question that?

[ he doesn't mean to step into the shoes of her advisors — surely she has had enough of ser jorah, questioning her every move — but jaime can't help but push. daenarys only has stories to form portraits of the men she now opposes. while his are nothing but fact, they are still that — stories. many would claim them to be fiction (and he is most positive that if the bear were here, he would be doing just that. jaime's not blind. he had seen a tenderness in his gaze that he often sees reflected back when he gazes in the mirror), for a lannister pays his debts — and while the debt he would owe daenaerys would be that of simply opposing his shit for a nephew, he doesn't collect. he finds that he never intends to. the myth of the lannister follows him wherever he goes, but he finds that people have it all wrong. lannisters can be loyal animals to those outside of their pride — from time to time. it honestly depends on the person in question. ]