Role Playing - Game of Thrones - Prequel: A MYOC Role Playing Game - Page 8

degausser · 03-26-2015, 04:44 PM

Rowena Tyrell
Rowena frowned after her daughter, knowing what she had said was true. She did not raise her daughters to be insipid little girls full of nothing but air in the head. Gemma had always been a thoughtful girl, and as of late she tended to retreat inward, keeping all her feelings to herself. As her mother, Rowena at times wished to grasp her daughter’s shoulders and shake her, implore her, beg her to share her hopes and her fears like she had done as a child and the smallest of ailments sent Gemma flying into her comforting arms. Gemma was no child though, and Rowena would not coddle her, not if she expected Gemma to be able to stand on her own two feet alone. “Perhaps,” she said finally. “Why don’t you take a spin around the dance floor in the meantime,” had been code for Why don’t you get out there and start meeting some people. “A little merriment would do you some good,” had also been code for You’re wallflower act is cute, dear, but depressing. Go pretend you’re having a better time than you are like the rest of us.

Rowena looked up at the sound of her name. Tales of your people’s warmth and beauty has filled the North for years. Well wasn’t he the gallant one? How uncharacteristically clever for a Stark. My men will be glad to hear them all true. Her lips curved into a crooked smile, and she eased back comfortably in her chair as she momentarily forgot the tart in her hand. “You mean tales of our queer ways and our soft lives have filled the North for years.” If her bluntness threw this Northern Lord off, he did not show it. Sensing an opportunity in his arrival, Rowena quickly backtracked. “You’ll have to forgive me, my Lord. I am but an old crone now, the flattery of well-meaning young men having long lost its charms on me.” At last a smile broke across her face. A warm smile, the kind his Northern lords were more familiar with from the tales perhaps?

“My daughter has yet to outgrow such flatteries though, you might try them on her.” Rowena gave Gemma an encouraging smile before nodding in the direction of the dance floor. “Perhaps during a turn out on the dance floor?”

Freya
She was still imagining a skinning knife in hand, layers of skin being peeled away like an onion when Elric spoke. Freya could hear the obvious confusion in his tone, and slowly, the fire building in her veins began to subside. Only now she was more confused. Yes, it was true she had said she did not want to go to the stupid party. Or Ball? She thought that was what he had called it. “Well you were saying maybe we ought to, and …” Freya trailed off, getting frustrated. She wondered where the disconnect had happened between them. It had been like this with them from the moment he had come to steal her away from her home. Things were different between them now. Stranger. She kept expecting something to come of it, but nothing had so far, as if neither of them knew what they were supposed to do next.

Growling under her breath, she closed the cloak around her tightly, feeling even sillier now for the fact that she wore the dress when apparently she did not even have to in the first place. Where did you go, Freya? “I don’t know. Somewhere at the bottom of an oval container with strange claws for feet?” She, along with all the dirt, the dried blood, fingernail clippings, eyelashes and shed hair were at that bottom of that tub.

Perhaps sensing her irritation and confusion, Elric’s wolf came forward on four padded feet to sniff at her. She had always felt comfortable around Night, his furs as familiar to her as Elric had ever been. But now the wolf sniffed at her cautiously as if she were some stranger. “I smell funny, don’t I?” The direwolf sniffed round the edges at her fingers and then at the dress, trying to reconcile the familiar voice he heard with the foreign smells he detected. When on all fours, the wolf came up just past Freya’s waist but after he determined she was his old friend after all, he rose up onto his hind feet, his two front paws reaching for her shoulders as his tongue began to assault her face in greeting. In that moment all of Freya’s insecurities melted away and she let out a hearty laugh, oblivious to the fact that in his assault he was tracking dirt all over her dainty little dress and smearing the rouge that had been painted on her all over her face.

Tybalt Lannister
That his mother and his wife were not fond of one another was no secret, though they waged their on-going battle the way that women generally do. Men settled disputes generally with steel, but women were far more subtle. Something so simple as a look could silence an entire room as his mother had proved times beyond count. His wife masked her displeasure well, the byproduct of an upbringing amongst the roses of Highgarden. But he knew Lorene as he knew the back of his own hand. Having spent the first months of their marriage memorizing every inch of her body, he grew to recognize the twitch of an eye or the subtle shift in her posture that suggested something striking a wrong chord in her. Tybalt supposed it was only natural for a wife and her good mother to be at perpetual odds with one another; Lady Ambryl had been for much of his life the only woman worthy of council and consideration. Several decades as a Lannister had made her more of a lioness than some of the woman born to the Rock. She did not like to share.

But now it was Lorene’s turn, and Tybalt’s responsibility to put her first in all matters. It left him perpetually in the middle, literally at times like the present in which he was sitting directly between the two of them.

It often fell to him to pacify the two most important women in his life. And yet it was his infant son that seemed to have the ability to mollify the lot of them. The future of House Lannister managed to accomplish with one clumsy gesture what Tybalt had been trying to do for the better part of two years now: he managed to get Lorene and his Lady mother to agree on something, namely that he was worthy of their mutual adoration. “You need only speak the word. I’m sure my mother would not mind watching over Damon while we took to the floor.” As familiar as he was with his wife’s ticks of irritation, he was equally familiar with the glint of mischief that danced in her eyes. It managed to stir a yearning in him that was not fit to be born within sight of his Lady mother. Given he was the son of the Rock and not some prurient Dornishman, Tybalt temporarily subdued his desire for his wife until it could be unleashed at a more appropriate time. And it would be. Lorene was not getting out of her wifely duties so easily, the subtle half-grin on his lips suggested. “We’ll have to make sure to ease up on the wine then to see that that does not happen,” he added quietly for good measure.

The sound of someone clearing their throat reminded Tybalt of where they were and he glanced back over at his mother, with placating apologetic expression. “The mask was lovely, mother. If you would be so pleased as to take Damon for a bit, I promise it will be put to better use next time.”

Starfield_Scribe · 03-26-2015, 08:13 PM

ELRIC

He could never quite explain the way he felt when it came to Freya, not to himself and, unfortunately, even less to her. He was one of the best hunters on the New Gift, he could run with his direwolf like they were carried on the wind, but Freya... When she wasn't near him, he felt... wrong. But then she would return, and even in the coldest of nights - which said something for someone like him - he felt just warm enough to go on. She was life. Somewhere in him he knew all of this, but never had he known how to allow the words to be spoken.

Her anger was diminishing. What had he said to make it so? He didn't see; all he knew for certain was that she wasn't upset at him anymore and the tiny knot in his gut was releasing just as rapidly as it had formed. She sounded almost shy all of a sudden, and it made him want to come closer to her, smell the flowers...

"So, a bath..." he guessed. Now for the briefest of moments he imagined her, naked, and he felt a surge of warmth.

The moment was interrupted by Night. The wolf had crossed the ground to go to her. There were very few people in this world that his wolf treated with almost the same familiarity as he did, but Freya was different. If Night treated Elric like a brother, then he almost had a sister in Freya. How many times had they curled up to the wolf, the pair of them, as children, whenever they would follow their families up into the deeper north. He would already be so big next to them, a shield against the cold... He knew her, it sometimes seemed, better than Elric himself knew her. He could see now, the way Night made her smile, and he felt his own mouth twitch at the edges, too, especially when Night sprang up to pick her face. He moved forward though as soon as both girl and wolf fell back. Freya was laughing, Elric heard, but it didn't matter.

"Night, come," he called the wolf, who stopped and turned to him, confused. He obeyed, stepping back, and Elric went up to Freya. The cloak had parted now, just enough for him to see the dress, or part of it; whatever part it was, it hardly seemed to matter now that his wolf had soiled it with as much if not more mud than Freya even had on her when they first arrived.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, knowing and not caring that a question of the sort of thing someone like Freya wanted to hear. He would take her being annoyed if he had to, so long as her reply was 'no.' He offered his hands to help her up.

Captivating · 03-27-2015, 12:16 PM

Ambryl Lannister
Should her daughter-in-law fancy herself an enigma, she was sorely mistaken. The insufferable rosebud did little to perplex her. Ambryl knew exactly what Lorene’s stiffened frame and raised eyebrows signified. She was pissing on her territory like a common Stark. Perhaps she would gift her a direwolf on her name day. The beast could devour her and the world would be righted. Yes, yes, I see your prickly thorns. Oh, how I quiver in fear Ambryl uttered inwardly. Her sarcastic thoughts gave way to a smirk. The ~~former~~ lady of Casterly Rock wondered what Rowena Tyrell might say. Would she exude pride for her uncouth tart of a daughter? The apple did not fall far from the tree. “What a sour expression. Might something ail you, dear? I can fetch a remedy,” Ambryl offered. Such careful, calculated words. Lorene would be foolish to question their sincerity. The comely blondes shared a cool stare ‘till Damon cooed. His sweet, cherubic face filtered away the tension. For now.

After a moment’s pause, Lorene declared herself the picture of health. She wanted for nothing but a dance from her husband. “How lovely to hear,” Ambryl rejoiced. A genuine smile took root upon the lioness’ face. If they should dance, Damon was hers to fawn over. There wasn't a joy greater than time spent with her grandson. Sweet nothings soon passed between the couple. The art of dancing, it seemed, closely matched the art of seduction. Ambryl remembered those days vividly. How many times had she and her late husband made love at such functions? Five children were proof enough of their exploits. Yet the image of her son fused with Lorene nearly caused her to retch. If only Tybalt had wed Isond. Two Lannisters made a much prettier picture. At mention of his mask, Tybalt directed attention to his mother. The red and gold veil was exquisite.

“You shan’t be so forgetful next time,” Ambryl scolded playfully. She could never be cross with the boy…the man…before her. Especially when he offered Damon as restitution. “You do know the way to my heart. You two dance and enjoy one another. Don’t let me keep you.” Her hands took loving hold of the babe beside her. “Hello, my perfect Lord. You must stop growing so fast.” Damon cackled as if he understood. Holding tight to her grandson, Ambryl rose to bounce the energetic infant on her hip. Her cobalt blue eyes promptly fixed on Myri in the distance. Her daughter was holding court with a gaggle of girls upon last inspection. She’d captured the attention of a Tully now, it seemed. “Splendid,” Ambryl declared. Myri was knowingly awkward and insecure. Watching her overcome these weaknesses was delightful. And all a mother could hope for, really.

degausser · 03-27-2015, 05:08 PM

Freya
A bath. Yes, that was that strange word they had used. “Yes, I think that’s what they called it,” Freya managed to get out just before the weight of the wolf managed to triumph over her and the two fell to the floor. The floor came up beneath her quickly, steeling her breath away in the process. If she felt any pain from their tumble, adrenaline must have masked it because she was laughing heartily now. This was what she had needed, a brief taste of the familiar. In this strange place with its towering walls and its red stones, Freya feared she might lose herself. That all fell away as soon as she hit the floor, her fingernails digging into the dire wolf’s fur as the two wrestled around on the floor like the savages they were, struggling for dominance. Back when Freya and Night were both pups it had been closer to an equal fight, but at the wolf’s full strength it really had never been much of a contest.

Night had her pinned to the floor in little time, and at last she relented when exhaustion had overcome her. When Elric called to his direwolf though, Night stopped in an instant and Freya was free to assess the damage.

A full layer of spittle covered her face, and she used the sleeve of her dress to wipe it away, along with the tears that had come from her laughter. Elric towered above her now, a look of concern etched across his face. Her upper lip curled into the smallest of sneers and she let out a huff of indignant air. When she reached for his hand, she pulled herself up, only to collapse forward into his arms. “Yes, Elric! Your beast has bruised my arm and tore my pretty dress.” The high pitched tone she used was mimicry of what she imagined a southern girl or Lady or whatever might sound like, and she began to playfully weep against his shoulder. “There’s dirty and mud all over me and I am pretty sure I twisted my poor little leg.” During her tumble with the wolf, the skirt of the dress had ripped and now the cloak hung awkwardly over her left shoulder.

As soon as she began to slowly pull away from him, her smeared lips formed a theatrical pout and her eyes went wide like that of a doe she might release a quiver into. “I think you might even have to carry me,” she whispered severely. Silence hung in the air as their eyes locked. At the next moment, Freya shoved Elric to the ground, only to collapse next to him in another fit of giggles.

Starfield_Scribe · 03-27-2015, 09:18 PM

ELRIC

Freya had given him her hand, and it struck him to think it might be the first time he'd ever done so. To know what she was capable of, it was just as surprising to find how delicate her hand was. She started to pull herself up, and Elric thought his troubles were done, until all at once Freya stumbled, pitching forward. He didn't so much catch for her as his body being in the way stop her fall, but once she was there, his instinct was to catch her at the shoulders and make sure she went no further.

For all of half a second he thought she was going to yell at him again, until he caught the tone of mimicked mockery in her words. He knew better than to dismiss them entirely of course. He may have been dim when it came to his emotions and how to express them, but he could tell when Freya was diverting attention. She was hurt, but not so much that she would ever allow herself to show it like it was weakness. He had his own weakness, he knew. No one said it, but he'd see them staring at him, and he knew what they were thinking. He would lay down his life for that girl.

She was right there in front of him, so close he could just about feel her chest rise and fall as she breathed. He could smell the flowers, the cleanliness of her, what had resisted Night's massive embrace. The scent, the warmth, the breath of her... All at once, Elric felt like something greater than him was trying to break out of him. All at once, he wanted nothing more than this, him and her... She carried on her charade, weeping into his shoulder though there couldn't possibly be real tears in her eyes. Even then, his hands hovered over her back, wanting to draw her nearer, but he couldn't make himself do it, didn't know how.

When she looked up again, his hands retracted to where they'd been, at her shoulders, one hand buried in the cloak, the other grazing her bare arm. Her name was just near to his lips, begging to be spoken, to bring forth many more words, but they all died in his throat, along with what little saliva he had left. His mouth was dry as sand, when all he could see were her eyes, staring back at him. All manner of sense had abandoned him. I think you might even have to carry me. He would have done it gladly. He would have done plenty more, and by then it would have taken very little more to put him over the edge.

In the silence, his heart was a drum. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known, no one could have looked as lovely in his eyes as she did, on any day. What was he doing? He had stolen her, she hadn't given any sign of being against this, or he'd be dead by now, without a doubt. He was burning, he...

He was so lost in his head, and in the next moment he was on the ground, the breath knocked out of him and instantly his thoughts realigned. Freya fell by his side, laughing merely, and he turned to look at her, a free woman, just as he was a free man, and he may have stolen her, the way their people had done for hundreds of years, but he needed her to know why he had done it. Nothing was more important than for her to know that he had figured it out, that it had all come together for him, the moment he saw into her eyes.

"Freya..." he breathed her name, and being a man of few words, he didn't put his fate not in words but in action. In a single motion, his hand brushed the hood from around her face before coming to rest at her cheek, a moment before his lips came to brush against hers.

Captivating · 03-28-2015, 12:10 PM

OOC: Pammie, I thought I'd wait on a Gemma reply before posting Torren.

Indira Targaryen
Draped beneath a castle curtain, Indira allowed herself a smile. How proud she was of Valaena and Lucrerys. The littlest dragons always thought of one another. Lucerys, for example, pledged a dance tonight on his favorite sister's behalf. Never mind his immense hatred of the exercise. Shifting closer, Indira listened to Morgan speak. The handsome Kingsguard was campaigning for a quick departure. He should hate to keep the King and Queen waiting. His dedication to the royal family was a curious thing. Most men proved unattached in their service to the crown, void of any emotion. Yet Morgan appeared to care. A cool breeze passed as Indira reviewed her concealment with a frown. Her distraction had exposed a shoulder. Repositioning, she prayed to the seven for immunity. Why should she be caught? Her sleuthing ways were not impure. The princess had merely taken to observation on her mother's behalf. The youngest Targaryens were mysterious creatures. Assurance of their safety and loyalty was vital.

Dira emerged from the shadows upon the room's clearing. The ball could wait. She required wine for her troubles. Coaxing a male server into filling her request was surprisingly facile. A bit of harmless flirting, innocent touching, and soon she was in route. Indira walked the stairs to her favorite balcony eagerly. Her smile dissipated once rounding the corner. "Oh, it's you," she stated dispassionately. Dacey Pyke was the last person Indira expected to see, though she was not among the worst. The prickly lady in waiting was preferable to Isond and Daena's other drones. "Shouldn't you be fluffing a skirt or mending a hem?" Dacey bristled like the Kraken she was. "Relax. I'm not here to police you. I'm here to drink." Motioning toward the Iron Born's goblet, Dira smirked. "It would seem we had the same notion."

TAG Dacey

Starfield_Scribe · 03-28-2015, 02:14 PM

DACEY

Of all the people who could have appeared, none of them were ever going to be welcomed with joy, but there were those she was even less eager to see. Anyone called Targaryen was right at the top of her list. She had nothing against the little ones, not truly, but the others... She was aggravated on principle. She was no one's servant, but thanks to her father and any others involved in this 'transaction,' she was here. And they would not be spared knowing how she felt.

The steps had heralded the arrival of none other than Princess Indira Targaryen. Dacey just barely kept from emitting something like a growl. Oh, it's you. Dacey didn't move. She just might have gone on and tossed the dragon spawn over the balcony's edge. Killing one of the King's heirs wouldn't get her home, not in one piece. So she stayed where she was. If she ignored her, she might be left alone. The girl with the dragon mask was still staring at her and, clearly, was of a mind that she had too many teeth and needed to have a few knocked out. She was starting to see red, gripping her empty goblet so tight that it could have snapped, given the time.

Growing up on Harlaw, she had been surrounded by her people, men and women who saw the world just as she did, so to find herself in King's Landing had been a shock in ways she could hardly explain. It had fuelled the anger she already stoked at, for being made into a handmaiden, and for having been made to look on high to those giants that were the Targaryen heirs, it took time for her to process what Dira was telling her and come down off her fury. She stared at her some more, silent. When she showed the bottle, Dacey took a moment before stepping closer to the other girl, staring her down the entire way, to see what she would do, if she would back away or change her tune. When she didn't, still without a word spoken, she placed her empty goblet on the ledge and waited.

degausser · 03-29-2015, 01:08 AM

OOC: Freya to come tomorrow. I would also really like to play either Lyonel or Silas, so if anyone has an open character, let me know and I'll tag them.

Jaehaerys Targaryen (III)
As his Queen secured his mask to his face, he could not help but to appreciate the mask she had donned, observing the intertwined dragon and seahorse. His Laena had never fully abandoned her Velaryon roots and it was something she passed on to the children she bore in their marriage. It was Jaehaerys’ desire that he, his Queen and his five children might all be as one, and yet his own mask still served to segregate him from his wife in a way. His two eldest twins wore similar masks. There was no denying Maegor and Daena were dragons. Neither had ever embraced the spear pierced sun of their mother’s house. He wondered briefly if that had been his fault as well. Jaehaerys did not have time to dwell too long on his thoughts, and he followed after his Queen in pensive silence.

Upon exiting their private alcove, the King and Queen shared a look with one another, him smiling in encouragement to her and her presence providing all the comfort he needed to face the throngs of Westeros gathered in the Great Hall that evening. Jaehaerys glanced around the masked masses. At the far end of the hall was a pride of lions. The roses of Highgarden were engaging a wolf Lord and a small school of trout had joined in conversation with a young hobbling stag. Amongst the sea of dancers on the floor he spotted a bear from the north and a flock of swans from the Stormlands. He saw falcons and foxes and even a scorpion from the hot sands of Dorne and yet there was no Dira. Jaehaerys frowned at that. He knew that in all likelihood she was merely stalling, hating crowds as she did. But the King wanted her here. With so many people in the Red Keep, many of whom were unfamiliar, he did not think it wise for her to wander off on her own. His reign had been blessedly peaceful for the most part, but there were always daggers waiting for an opportune moment in the dark.

“She’s not here,” he observed out loud. The King’s tone was quiet and severe. His mouth had settled into a thin line until his two youngest children approached with Prince Morgan at their heals. Lucerys hung back a bit, but predictably, the moment his youngest saw him, she vaulted in his direction. The thin line that had formed on his lips threatened to break as Valaena approached. In her excitement, the ribbon securing her mask began to unravel and the King bent down in order to help her secure it. “Well who is this lovely little creature? It can’t possibly be my Valaena. My Valaena was at least half a foot shorter the last time I saw her,” Jaehaerys teased playfully, tugging gently at one of her golden curls. When he stood back up to his full height, his gaze briefly met Morgan’s, his expression one made of stone. “Find Dira, would you? She has yet to show her face this evening, masked or otherwise.”

Starfield_Scribe · 03-29-2015, 10:22 AM

LAENA, LUCERYS, VALAENA, MORGAN

The princess Valaena had awaited this day for as long as she had known it would come. Her sisters would tease and suggest she had been anticipating it for as long as she'd drawn breath. When Prince Morgan escorted them in - he insisted she could call him Ser, like she did all the other guards, as he was truly a knight, but her mother had scolded her for it and made her clear on the notion that his title was important - she nearly swooned. All the lords and ladies, the ladies especially, with their dresses, and every one of them present as guests with their own masks in a multitude of shapes and colors... She had never seen anything like it, and she would have enough here tonight to feed her imagination for as long as she lived.

"Here come your mother and father," Prince Morgan told her and Lucerys, and in his tone came a warning: don't wander off. So she paced forward just as she had been taught, as would be expected of a princess, making as hastily as this would allow, and when she knew she was near enough as it would not matter, she closed the last of the distance with a half run, stopping just in front of her father.

When he bent to meet her height and reached to fix her disturbed mask, she was all smiles. His query made her laugh. "Father, it's me, I swear it!" she nodded, grinning as he touched her hair. She meant to ask him to dance, but then he was standing up again, turning to her Kingsguard.

Morgan heard the King's command, both the words and the tone behind it, and with a quick salutation to both him and the Queen, he excused himself from his charges - giving one last nod of encouragement to hesitant dancer Lucerys - then went in search of Princess Indira. He had a vague idea of where to look.

Laena said nothing about Dira, to her husband or the guard. Whatever she was doing, whatever was keeping her daughter from having joined the ball already, there would he a reason, and she liked to believe she knew that reason would be something that played in all their favors; by 'all,' she would of course mean her husband and her three children. "You two had best stay with us now, until Prince Morgan returns with your sister and can resume his post, is that understood?" One day they would reach the age where they didn't want to have a Kingsguard tailing their every move, and they would have to grin and bear it. But that time was not yet this one, and Valaena gladly moved to stand at her father's free side, while Lucerys moved to hers.

"Yes, mother," he replied obediently, and she smiled down at him, touching his cheek. She couldn't deny she missed his smiles. Once upon a time he would have been just as jubilant as his sister, but now his face was nearly rigid. Still, a mother could learn to read beneath layers. Her son showed his love in other ways, for instance in the next instant, when he held out his arm to her, and she quickly turned a knowing look to her husband before releasing his arm and taking their son's. When she saw this, never to leave him abandoned, Valaena reached up and took her father's arm. There never stood a man Valaena Targaryen loved more dearly than her father.

Morgan is going to be searching for Dira but I don't want him to get there just yet, so if anyone wants to intercept, he's OPEN

degausser · 03-29-2015, 01:46 PM

Freya
The laughter that came from her came from deep within the pit of her stomach. It was no shrilly thing, no small giggle, but a full on fit. Not more than mere seconds could have passed before she heard her name, though it felt like an eternity. And yet her name came, and Freya shifted her weight so she was staring at Elric. In the brief seconds that hung between them, all she could think about was how uncomfortable the ground was beneath them. Grass and dirt had never been comfortable, but it had been what she knew, so she was used to it. The cobblestones of the courtyard had little groves in them. They scratched at her skin through the thin fabric of her torn dress. She thought of this even in the last few moments before she felt his lips touch hers.

And then the whole world fell away.

To be sure, Freya had sensed this moment coming for quite some time now. Men did not steal women away because they wanted someone to talk to. Elric could have talked to anyone. No, men stole women away because they wanted to kiss them, to writhe and wiggle beneath their furs with them, to claim them for their own. Elric had stolen her, but in the many leagues that existed between this strange city with its smell of sweat and piss and the smell of cedar and pine to the North, he had failed to claim her. Was that what he was doing now?

She did not react at first, startled by his move as she was. But when what was happening between them finally began to register with her, Freya’s body began to react on its own. Her weight shifted so her hips were parallel with his and her lips pressed firmer against his own, the hand not currently tucked awkwardly between silks and cobble stone losing itself in his mess of unruly hair as her dirt crusted fingernails dug into his scalp to pull him closer to her. They went on like this for near on a minute before Freya remembered where they were and the events that led up to this moment. She pulled away first, her hot breath hitched as she struggled to catch her breath as their eyes locked once more. Freya had always thought his eyes grey before, Stark grey, but she noticed now there were flecks of gold and green in them as well. Strange, she thought to herself, that there were still things about Elric she had yet to discover. She looked forward to discovering more about him.

That’s when she struck him with the back of her palm.

Freya scrambled to her feet, brushing flecks of dirt off her skirts and plucking off tiny pebbles from her arms. “You stole me away two moons ago, and you wait until now to do that?” Freya remained breathless, her eyes wide, blood hot in her veins. Only the glint in her eyes hinted at her excitement. Still, she had no intention of letting him off so easily. “Now that there is no trace of the North left in me, only these flimsy silks and perfumes of the South? Is this what you’ve wanted all along?”

Starfield_Scribe · 03-29-2015, 05:25 PM

ELRIC

He had known Freya all his life, and he had never known her to be all that easy to catch off guard. Then he'd kissed her, and for a few seconds, he had felt her startled, lips caught to his own but unmoving, surprised. Then he had gone from a flash to a sear, hoping it might wake her up, and it did... She was wide awake now, and his mind and body came alive together. She was pressing herself closer to him, and when she grasped hard to his hair, his fervor doubled. He never ever wanted to go back to a life where he didn't know how her mouth felt against his.

He was so caught up in the kiss that if he had lost the last breath in his lungs and passed out, he wouldn't have noticed. When Freya pulled away, the evening air rushed back into him, and he stayed as he was, gasping, staring at her. He was moments away from giving serious thought to ripping that dress off of her. One second he was thinking about the feel of her body in his hands, and the next... Stars exploded in his eyes when that small delicate hand of hers clapped hard against his cheek.

He was floored, while she was standing. Now he was staring up at her, no less hungry for her, but confused as to what had changed in the space of a second.

"What..." he tried to speak, dumbstruck. When she spoke, he sat up. Was that it? Had he waited too long? "But I..." he mumbled, until he got a look at her face. No, she hadn't changed her mind, she wanted him, he could just see it, the way her eyes sparked, but there was something else, and that something was the reason why she had pulled away. Is this what you've wanted all along?

How could she think that? How could she ever think that? Didn't she know him better than that? He got up to his feet, never breaking eye contact from her. If she knew him, she knew how hard it was for him to express this by now. He had to try. He wasn't going to lose her... They were too close.

"Freya, I didn't... wait," he swore. "Whatever I did or didn't do, waiting was not... I couldn't... I didn't know how..." His head was too full, it ached, trying to make sense of what it was that stormed inside his heart whenever he so much as thought about her. "I don't care about that dress, you can have it off for all I..." He stopped short, realizing he might have been deviating off topic. He took a breath. "I don't care about that dress, I care... I care about the woman inside it. More than care." Her posture shifted, which he took to mean maybe he was headed in the right direction. On faith of that chance, he took one step toward her, then another, stopping and looking down into her eyes. "I've been trying to show that to you, for years," he went on, the weight of that statement pressing on those last words. "I know it took a long time, but I swear, I won't stop... I won't ever stop trying to show you how much I love you."

degausser · 03-29-2015, 10:41 PM

Lyonel Baratheon
“You’re a shit player, Lord Commander, and worse, you’re a cheat.” Across the table, a pair of amethyst eyes flared angrily and Lyonel Baratheon observed with private amusement the vein at the side of his opponent’s neck was throbbing in time to his accelerated heartbeat. It was pulsating fast enough that Lyonel wondered if it might burst right then and there. His own eyes of aquamarine were placid, evidentially unmoved by the accusations being made of his character. “Don’t be a shit sport, Rollo.” Lyonel Baratheon’s eyes smiles, but his lips did not. “You know I won that game fair and square.” He didn’t, of course. If his gold cloak was good for anything it was obscuring cards up the sleeve of his tunic. Rollo didn’t need to know that, though. Even if he did, he was an unscrupulous, deceitful and duplicitous sellsword. Calling Lyonel a cheater was like calling the kettle black. Rollo was probably cheating too.

Lyonel was just better at it.

Thousands of people had poured into the city over the past week flying standards from all over the seven kingdoms, looking for glory in the Grand Tourney held in honor of the prince and princess’s nameday. Despite his drunken bender the previous night, Lyonel Baratheon, in all his half-drunken glory participated in the jousting tournament himself, unable to resist the tempting call of golden dragons. He fell from his horse after the first tilt. Lyonel spent the rest of the day nursing his hangover and a bruised ego with more mead until it was time to show up to work. The high born and anyone with the most miniscule of importance piled into the Great Hall of the Red Keep for an evening of masked revelry while the low born were left with the grungy brothels and taverns of the city to celebrate their victories or drink and/or fuck away their poor performances in the day’s earlier events. The influx of people in the Red Keep meant most of the City Guard had been dispatched to the Grand Ball to work with the King’s own men and help maintain order. Lyonel being the benevolent and conscientious Lord Commander that he was, left the easier work to his men while he stayed behind with a smaller regiment of men to patrol the city.

That’s what Lyonel was doing now. Patrolling. He’d been patrolling The Street of Silk for the better part of the evening when he spotted his old friend Rollo stumbling his way from a brothel to a tavern, a healthy sized coin purse swinging from his belt. Lyonel was concerned he might be robbed, you see. Rollo had never been a clever man. It was the contents of that coin purse he reached for now. His companion continued to glower at him, grunting more choice words under his breath. Lyonel smiled crookedly, his chair creaking loudly beneath him as he pushed it backward before standing to his full height. “I promise that not only am I not a cheat, I am also a man of my word. I believe I promised a round on me when I proved victorious over this game and I will not go back on it.” Lyonel motioned the nearest bar wench over. He decided to do Rollo one even better. “See that this man’s cup is never empty for the duration of his stay here.” Lyonel placed a golden dragon in the girl’s hand. “Have a cup for yourself as well.” He paused one last time to wink at Rollo before making his way toward the exit and back out onto the street. The Lord Commander of the City Guard had more patrolling to do.
OPEN

Freya
I didn’t know how … Suddenly it all made sense to her. Freya had grown up with Elric Stark, the both of them close enough in age that they might have still been sucking from their respective mother's teats at the same time. She knew him when he was a boy and she knew him when he was a man, but it seemed to her in that moment that Elric was still a boy in many ways. He struggled to express himself with words, not realizing that words were hardly necessary. Never mind the fact that she sought an explanation from him. That was free folk girl logic for you. But no, his words were not necessary. He had the right of it when he kissed her and she could not help but think to herself that she wished he would just stop talking, stop trying so hard, and just kiss her again. Elric knew her well enough to know that if she did not want it, she would have simply retrieved the knife strapped to her thigh and sunk it into his gut.

But no, he continued to talk. I don’t care about the dress. You can have it off for all I… Oh really, now? A single brow arched, and the scowl on her lips twitched to reveal her amusement for half a heartbeat before it was gone again. Elric continued to speak, but Freya could not help but linger on that last line. He had taken her from her home, but he still needed to take her. He needed to cast aside whatever doubts and insecurities he might have been nursing and just go for it, throw caution to the wind.

And finally he did, just not in the way Freya had anticipated. “L-love?” The word came out in a single breath, as if she could not comprehend it. You love me had been there on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be released into the world as her lips parted to do so, but only air came out. It was her turn now to be flustered, to be unsure of what to do or say. Elric stood the span of a moth’s wing away, a look of expectance on his face. She knew she needed to say something. That she loved him as well should not have been at all in doubt. Words were wind though. She did not want his words. Freya could feel her pulse quickening in anticipation of what was to come next. She wavered on her feet, swaying forward as if to capture his lips once more. But she stopped. He needed to do it. Elric had started it, he needed to finish it.

Freya’s eyes widened, desire burning furiously in them. “Show me,” she whispered after what seemed an eternity.

Starfield_Scribe · 03-30-2015, 09:33 AM

ELRIC

Had he known how to read the thoughts playing across her face, he might have found his courage and acted a long time ago. He knew, if anything, that for the second time in a surprisingly short time, he had caught Freya off guard. She may have been the one who had slapped him, but now she was the one with the dumbstruck eyes, looking at him. He wasn't entirely immune to that sensation in that moment.

How long he had worried that he would lose her? Whether he knew what these feelings in him meant or not, he had known in no uncertain terms that he meant to spend his life with that girl. That she might end up with another man would fill him with as much dread as the thought that he would ever find his words and have them thrown back into his face along with any trace of friendship and companionship between them.

It had never crossed his mind, what would happen if she didn't run. Now every second that went by, the two of them standing here, he felt more joy and life than he ever had. She'd said the word, the one he'd been struggling with the most, and on her lips it sounded so hopeful he felt a flame.

The longer the silence drew on, the more aware he grew of himself and of her. He was looking down at her, so close that he could feel the flutter of her cloak brushing against him whenever she breathed; she was breathing hard, just as he was. He wasn't sure what he was waiting on, but something had to happen, and quick. She was staring up at him, and Elric Stark may not have been a man of words, but he only had to look into those eyes to see she wanted him, and that was all he needed to know, because he had never wanted her more than he did in that instant.

His hand slipped to the back of her head, pulling her against him and reigniting their kiss, swallowing up her whispered invitation.

If the previous embrace had been a slow one, powered with little more than revelation, this one was an explosion, holding all the hunger and need he'd kept pent up over the years. He had seen her naked before, sure. Their people were not a shy one, and Freya loved to swim. He had felt his body stir for her, more times than he could count, but always he'd been unable to act, choosing instead to hide. He wasn't hiding anymore, he was hard against her, and he wanted her to know that.

Elric pushed the already rumpled cloak off the shoulder it still covered and it pooled at her feet. He had given little attention to the dress he'd guessed her to be wearing, and after her tumble with Night, it wasn't looking its best, but he didn't even give it a second though, grasping it and forcing it to yield its hold over Freya. With a great tear it came apart, her smallclothes quickly joining it and the cloak circling her feet. In one effortless motion, he picked up the lithe young woman around the waist and lifted her away from the heap, only to lay them both down on top of the fabric, having the briefest thought of comfort against the hard ground. He was still road weary in his old clothes, just as covered in mud and soil and grass as he was, smelling of these, and blood, and fish, and wolf, but it did not matter. Freya's fingers had joined his in that same haste to strip away the layers he hadn't already shed in their journey north.

He was breathless, staring down at her. He loved her, and she knew. She wanted him, and he could feel love in her, too. He had stolen her, the most beautiful woman in the whole of Westeros, and now as he slid inside her, he was claiming her for his own.

fleur captives · 03-30-2015, 10:09 AM

OOC: Libby, might I snag Ambryl/baby!Damon for Isond?

I apologize for how long it took me to respond -- this week of work has been seriously exhausting.

Syemon Baratheon
He had acknowledged Axel Tully first but was surprised when the first to respond was the young woman to the Hand's side. Eyeing her briefly, it was mere curiosity that drew his attention to her at first, but something altogether different that caused his gaze to linger on her face as she moved her mask of gold and black - the colors of his house sigil, he noted - to the side as she spoke. Syemon struggled for a moment to remember what his Lord father had said Lord Tully's daughter was named but soon enough had her name on the tip of his tongue. Rosamund Tully. Her words were hopefuland as far as he could tell, the sentiment behind them was meant fully, not simply spoken out of propriety. She seemed just as out of place as he did amongst the nobles of Westeros and wondered if she truly enjoyed life at court as much as some of the other ladies-in-waiting he had encountered throughout the evening did. He nodded in acknowledgement as her companion took his leave; he did not introduce himself and excused himself quickly but Syemon did not have to struggle with placing a name and a face as he had with the young woman before him. He recognized him easily as Lanford Tully, occasional footnote in his uncle's retellings of the City Watch, and watched his departure with interest as he collided with one of the young Lannisters on his way through the ballroom.

When Lord Tully spoke, however, Syemon put an end to his wonderings and focused his attention fully on the man who stood before him. "My Lord, I'm afraid he is not long for this realm. The Maester has sent a raven just this morn, writing of how fast my Lord father seems to be fading," he did his best to seem appropriately solemn as he repeated the Maester's words but the truth of the matter was Lord Ormund Baratheon and his son had never been close and now it seemed would never have the chance to be. His foremost concern was the future of he and his sisters, of House Baratheon, and the inevitable conclusion of the elder Baratheon's life only served to deepen his worry. "I am here now to settle his affairs but will depart for the Stormlands soon." He turned to the girl once more, an excuse to look at her again if only for a moment, and bent his head respectfully. "Lady Tully, if I am to see my Lord father again, I will be sure to repeat such sweet words to him. Your kindness may serve him better than the change of scenery has."

Captivating · 03-30-2015, 10:15 AM

OOC: Please do, Leigha!

Indira Targaryen
Had she been a true kraken, Dacey Pyke’s tentacles might’ve grinded Dira’s scales to ash. As fate would have it, she was a bastard. The sea beast of her father’s House withered weakly in her veins. She could thrash and growl all she liked, theatrics did little to mask the truth. Legitimization was the crux of her intimidation. Without it, Dira lacked the energy to breathe fire. “Are you wed to that particular post?” the princess inquired. Her lavender eyes narrowed into slits. She was certainly not the poster child for patience. Stepping forward, Dacey extended her chest, the gesture meant to serve as a fear tactic. Dira remained unafraid.

Did the help know so little of their employers? Targaryens never receded. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons made this message clear. Her legacy lived on, in her children and her children’s children. “I’m waiting.” A bare goblet came to rest upon the balcony’s edge; a fine olive branch, indeed. “I don’t blame you for hiding,” Dira reflected, pouring generously. “I commend you. A bastard with a brain is a rare find. Most of the lady’s are a bundle of giddy nerves. One would think Maegor and Daena are the first to celebrate a twentieth name day.” Scoffing, Indira guzzled her wine without rest. Her frustrations mounted as she readied for a second glass. “Thank the Seven for liquid tranquilizer.”


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