eachdraidh

( SEELIE LOCKED )

luke's exhausted, and it's clear in his expression, of how gaunt his face is beginning to look. if he had a mirror, he'd be frightened by what he saw — he looks as though he's travelled back in time to be beneath the thumb of kronos, skin splotchy and patchy, the light dulling behind his eyes, and purple almost blossoming beneath his them due to his refusal to sleep. nightmares don't plague luke, not as he had witnessed them grab nico tightly when he had gone camping with the boys, but he doesn't want to risk succumbing to them with clarisse about. it's already awkward enough between the two of them — he doesn't want to make himself even more vulnerable to her. but the dara is sheathed at his waist, backbiter in his hands, as he glances at it idly, as though he's not interested in the question he poses to those of his court, but more in the blade that makes him feel a little more balanced than anything else in the drabwurld.

translation to words he can't form his lips into the shape of: is everyone okay?

and with a little camera work, he reveals the dara to be sheathed at his waist.

( UNSEELIE LOCKED )

if he's going to be stuck in unseelie territory for the time being, slowly making his way back to caer glaem, he figures he might as well make the most of it — meet the natives, set up a few dates, perhaps even end up going steady with a few of them.

Anyone up for a game of two truths and a lie? Pick the lie and you win the prize of feeling good about yourself after such a hard few weeks. I'll start! 1. I'm Unseelie. 2. I'm a big fan of Nike. 3. My father's the inventor of toaster strudel.

so, maybe, that's a lie and a half. hermes totally could've invented mean girls, right?

steeledskin

Dear fellows and members of the Seelie court -- [ the voice which addresses the locket is composed and clear and perfectly conscientious. but the girl whose image accompanies the voice looks a little less than all those things. her dark-dyed hair is fastened in an uncommonly simple braid...and if one looks very closely, she can be seen to have a haggard look about her. she's somewhere outside and all her caution is bent at hiding a panic she doesn't want to share with strangers. nor with those few genuinely waiting on her return. ]

I don't want to alarm any of you. Indeed, I speak to the very opposite of that effect. It's -- [ her gaze flickers 'off-screen' for a moment ] -- it's Alayne Stone. Those of you who are acquaintances [ not friends ] ought to know that I've found myself...left behind. I'm sorry. It should not have happened. But I suspect I won't make Caer Glaem again for some time. [ the fault of the matter is a little trickier than that, but she knows better than to play with implications. so after a steadying breath, she presses onwards. ] Or we won’t -- because I'm not alone. [ i have nymeria, she thinks but doesn’t dare to say. just like how sansa wants to speak directly to those who know her for who she really is -- but instead: ] I have a knight with me.

Don't I, Ser Gendry? [ and she twists her locket, letting it capture the surly blacksmith who stands a few paces away from her with an irritated expression. his armour is dented and blooded and the man sags with an obvious exhaustion. ser gendry is a man who looks and feels beaten, but it does not stop him from standing tall. he is a talisman of sorts: a warning, to any sansa fears might prey upon what would otherwise be a journey fraught with vulnerability. ser gendry is here; she is protected, albeit not happily so. he at last looks towards her and her locket and grumbles an unhappy agreement to her statement, which is accompanied by a nod. ]

A lady needn’t despair when she’s so well accompanied. Instead, my thoughts are with the returned; I pray the High Queen’s desired prize was taken without steep costs or losses. [ following this, there is no formal farewell. no official sign-off. her attention lingers, perhaps waiting for one or two responses in particular. ]

( ooc; sansa and gendry are now officially stranded and making their long way back to caer glaem -- and it’ll take them at least two months, though they’ll be reachable by locket at their respective ic inboxes. but for now, responses to this post will receive replies from one or the other or both!)

hexuality

Hullo.

[ And the smiling, freckled face of one Ginny Weasley is all up in this locket. She's clearly outside, soaking in the sunshine as she pulls back so her face isn't filling up the view. ]

There's been loads of talk lately about learning how to fight. Well, fight in other ways, proper swords and all. I reckon I got by all right with my wand during the worm fiasco but I can't deny that's a good thought. Merlin knows I've considered it. [ She laughs. ] Especially since I can imagine my mum in fits over me swinging a sword around.

[ She pauses, then, biting her lip around a thoughtful smile before scrambling forward (carefully) to hang her locket off a low branch of a tree in the bailey. She's sprawled (perhaps rather unladlylike, given the gown she's still getting used to wearing) on a stone bench, a broomstick in her lap, and she looks positively pleased about it. ]

But this is what I'm really excited about. I've had it since the fighting was over, as a gift... [ But she was still a little too banged up to use it. BUT NOW. ] It'd be nice, don't you think, to explore this place a bit? Beyond the castle. I'd love to see what's out there, properly out there.

[ Ginny releases the broom and it rises gently into the air. She touches it fondly. ]

Can't say I fancy flying in a dress, though. Am I allowed trousers here?

teenyoda

[Stiles hasn't used the lockets until today, a day spent flicking mostly through the posts and seeing how to actually work this thing and, oh, okay. Like that. It was like a weird magical phone set to Skype. Okay. He could do that.

Smile into the camera, Stiles.]

Hey there, uh, fairy people. And non-fairy people. And, uh, the draconically inclined. Or furry. I don't... just... hi. So, in light of the whole worm thing, which by the way, eww, I have a question. Since there seem to be a lot of, um, not exactly human people around and ones who have skills with like, swords and magic and stuff, ah, what... hypothetically speaking, would someone who was just a regular, normal, average human be able to do here? You know, besides hiding under tables and throwing rocks ineffectively?

[This was a very important question, Drabwurld. He wasn't a werewolf or a wizard or witch or... any of the multitude of people here that he'd run into. His coordination was subpar and, well, he didn't really have any skills that included cutting the heads off of giant worms or not getting eaten by dragons if they felt the need.]

Just, ah, I guess just reply here, if you want. Or leave a message if you're looking at it later. 'Kay. Uh, thanks.

steeledskin

I offer my gratitude to those fighting the worms. [ here is a voice both measured and composed, albeit young. ] And gratitude is all I can give, barring my prayers. And they are given whole-heartedly for all of us. May the Warrior give you the strength and courage required for your victories. And may the Mother bless us all.

[ sansa stark has long come to doubt the efficacy of the seven new gods. she isn't entirely certain the old gods listen, either -- but their rustling leaves and independent ways give her more peace of late than anything the seven offer: incense and rituals. however! she has resigned herself to being alayne stone to those who are not immediately known to her or trusted by her. and alayne stone worships the new gods, not the old. she is meant to be exactly as petyr baelish described her: a pious bleater, whose ardent faith discourages unwanted questions. so she speaks of blessing of the seven, but holds the old gods in her heart. she only hopes that arya and her allies will forgive her this identity fraud across the lockets.

most of all, sansa doesn't want to disappoint the people to whom she'd promised her help. like in maegor's holdfast during the blackwater, sansa hopes to lift spirits and rouse bravery. perhaps if she voices her thankfulness, others will follow in kind.

before she ends, she has only one question -- the paranoid fugitive in her needs to know: ] These pendants are truly remarkable. Magic, is it? But more efficient by far than any raven. [ ... ] Can they be used to talk only to one person, and privately? If anyone has managed it, I would thank you to tell me how.

bullhorned

[The forge had echoed loudly from the sound of hammer on steel. Such had been the case for a week now, ever since Gendry had discovered the forge and learned he had the freedom to use it and its materials. He had fallen in love immediately. At the Crossroads, he had suffered a shambling forge that he'd had to largely put back together himself. The forge in Harrenhal had been better, but he was one of many who worked it. Tohbo Mott's own forge came close, but it lacked the size of this one. It was expertly crafted and spoke of a skill he could only imagine. His old master had talked of the forgs in Qohor and Volantis and how great they were. He could only imagine them being like this one.

And so Gendry had set to work. His half finished sword was completed. The blade was made sharp and glimmering. He did not bother himself with anything but the most basic of hilt and crossguard. Why should he? The sword had been forged from the only steel he could acquire. Now he had superior metal to work with and he imagined how he might forge himself a sword of the finest steel as could be found. And then, armor. A new helmet. Greaves, gauntlets, breastplate, pauldrons, and gorget. And why not? They were generous in their provisions and Gendry though to himself that when he had finished, he would look more a knight than even Ser Loras Tyrell. And then he would be more than just King Robert's bastard son born in Fleabottom. He would be a self made knight, secure and confident in his own armor.

A week in the forge. Drenched in sweat and smoke, with nothing but a damning heat as company. It suited him fine. He was hard at work creating a new helmet, after all. Indeed, he was so utterly devoted to his craft that he had not even returned to his bedchambers. He found the hard ground of more comfort than the feather soft bed provided to him and the distant heat of a cooling forge like a friendly reminder of home. And though he could not claim to have friends among his fellow arrivals, there were at least people of note that concerned him. Even if some, like Arya Stark, thought him as little more than a stranger.

And so he tried the locket.]

[Audio]

I found a forge. A good one. Better than any I've ever seen, at least. These fairy folk might be a queer sort, but they make for fine things. So I've been doing the same.

[He paused and wondered at his own message. Did he want to offer to craft armor and swords for others? No. And certainly not for charity. He only wanted to arm himself and make himself a knight. Once he had, he'd only need the forge to maintain what he already had or replace what might be damaged. So he keeps himself from offering something foolish.]

If there's other smiths about, you might find the place of use. [And then he lingers after that, unsure if more should be said. And so stupidly he can be heard lingering. Breathing.

And then it cuts out.]

[Afterwards, Gendry resumes his work at the forge, where he has discarded his shirt and set himself to the first steps of his new helmet.]

(ooc: prose and brackets are both welcome.)

Entries tagged with gendry waters: asoiaf

2 ☭ VIDEO & TEXT | SPECIAL LOCKS FOR SEELIE AND UNSEELIE

(second lemon cake) video ✧ locked to seelie

001 — video ( seelie )

Video - Seelie/Unseelie

(first lemon cake) voice ✧ seelie & unseelie

Forge One - (Audio)

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