singillatim | OPEN; how could anything bad ever happen to you?

Entry tags:

OPEN; how could anything bad ever happen to you?

Who: Sansa and others
What: test drive catch-all and may event threads
When: throughout may for the event
Where: all over!

Content Warnings: Will add as things progress!

We all have a hunger.

It's easy to fall back into rhythm with Lady. The direwolf is a miracle, even though Sansa's stopped believing in things like miracles; she knows it is her, and Lady remembers her. During her first few nights in Milton Sansa slept with the wolf curled against her body, the two of them nested together like they used to do back in Winterfell.

Warmth, especially body warmth, can spell the difference between life or death during winter.

These days Sansa finds herself in something of a routine: she wakes early, lets Lady out to do her business and stretch her legs, and then says a quiet prayer to both the Old Gods and the Seven. For her father, and her mother, and her brothers and sister and everyone else who have died.

Then she goes through what reading material is available at the community center. She'll run out eventually; it's a lot like studying, only without a septa or a maester guiding her, but she'll make do.

Sansa's easy to find like this: either walking with Lady as the direwolf maps out the town, sitting by a window and reading, or trying to help with something. Anything.

Just try not to come up from behind when approaching her; she always has her knife with her.

[ Happy to write a closed starter for the event! Send me a journal PM or ping me on plurk (

weirwood) to plot something out. Also moving test drive threads here just to keep things neat. ]

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[ moved from here. ]

Cabins. How strong will the wood hold against the brute force of a beast? Sansa's grown up listening half-heartedly to her father arguing with masons and woodworkers and steelsmiths about how to build stables that will hold the horses well, kennels that would protect both hunting hounds and men alike. She wishes she paid more attention; if nothing else it would give her more confidence in this plan.

And she'll have to run. Her, and running — she's not the quickest runner, is she? Especially not with her clothes soaked through with the wet of snow.

If they make it back alive, then she knows the first thing she'll want to improve.

"Can we both move away from it?" She asks as quietly as she can from behind him. "Tell me how to help."

[ moved from here. ]

"Stuck? You mean—"

Like a warg? Sansa's heard of them, wargs and skinchangers, how there are people who can enter the minds of animals and even control them, but she's always been told it's a story for the wildlings; she's never met one. Her bloodline traces itself to the First Men, and from them, she supposes - were it truly a skill they could have - then she might be able to. But where to start?

Sansa's frown isn't one of disbelief, but of curiosity. She's visibly thinking, and whatever she's come to decide seems to be a pleasant thing when her frown eases into a mild smile.

"We have stories of skinchangers back home. Wargs, too. They say that, ages and ages ago, our ancestors could become one mind with creatures of the woods and the forests, or become beasts themselves. Old Nan said you could become a bear, or a wolf, or even a bird. A long time ago.

"Is it like that, for you? You cannot become another?"

[ moved from here. ]

"If this really is the land of Always-Winter, the snow would be last thing you have to worry about."

Wildlings. The treacherous terrain of the greater North, the wild animals that are often starved. The giants, allegedly surviving in small groups throughout the land, and other darker, scarier creatures if the stories are to be believed. Uncle Benjen told his fair share, certainly, and looking back, Sansa thinks not all of the stories he'd told were entirely made up.

"Staying warm will the biggest immediate concern, at least. And finding food that keep, if you cannot hunt. Without those two things, the winter will take you easily, so my father used to say."

Used to. Sansa tries not to remember how Ned Stark's head had rolled off the stone steps after he was executed.

"Why only two of every animal?" Belatedly, this part of Marshall Givens' story strikes her as odd. "What did the people eat?"

Edited 2024-05-05 19:37 (UTC)

[ moved from here. ]

"Her name is Lady," Sansa answers with uncharacteristic exuberance, thrilled at the familiar newness of having a direwolf to call her own. Lady's more than happy with the attention, similarly soft-tempered as her human companion when it comes to praise.

What a good girl—Sansa had been a good girl, too, if terrible men are to be believed, and she's survived despite them all thus far.

And look at that: venison. Hard to come by during the depths of winter, when the castle's hunters need to contend with the commonfolk as much as the natural predators of the woods. Sansa thanks the girl profusely, out of respect for the skill needed to bring the meat to the table.

"May I know your name, my lady?" Is she a lady? Better to err on the side of caution than to offend with carelessness. "I'm Lyanna."

It's during the first few days that Levi takes it upon himself to scrub the main areas of the community hall clean top to bottom, irritated by the general state of abandonment and dust around town. He's just finishing the lobby when out of the corner of his eye, he sees a teen with what he assumes is a large dog trek back in from the outside, covered in snow.

"Hold up," he barks, holding a hand up as if he's able to stop them through willpower alone, and stomps up to them with a cleaned doormat which he promptly lays out in front of the door before them so they're not stepping directly on the floor. Then he crouches down -- or maybe just leans slightly, depending how big she's gotten, not to mention he's only three inches over five feet -- in front of Lady and holds a hand out, a rag in the other one, staring at her seriously as if he expects her to understand him. "Give me your paw."

He will not have snow and water dragged in immediately after he'd just wiped the whole place down, thanks.

Jim has taken some time to get a little more accustomed to the cold here, but he likes to think he's been doing alright. The clothes he's found in Lakeside have been a great help, thicker layers that help keep the cold at bay, and when the weather permits it, he ventures outside to gather what he can from nature in terms of supplies.

The air isn't entirely clear of the fog, but it has let up somewhat today, so Jim ventures just a little farther away from the buildings, down the road and through the lines of trees, in search of branches and other pieces of wood he can use for a fire. He's gotten himself an axe, but using it properly is another matter entirely; he's trying, to his credit, but it's more miss than hit whenever he tries to sink the sharp edge onto a thicker branch. It ends up stuck, and Jim's struggling to get it out when he spots movement from the corner of his eye.

He startles when he sees the animal; certainly bigger than the only other dog (or wolf, he really doesn't know) he's seen here. He turns, heart racing in brief panic, until he sees the young woman walking in the same direction, clearly familiar with the animal.

"Is he yours?" His voice is still quiet, just in case it might startle the wolf.

There's nothing for it. The creature is innocent - like the wolves, like the deer - far more innocent than the people lurking here, certainly far more innocent than he is. All the same, it looms over him like a titan. He's reminded of his battle against Goliath's family. The way they loomed over him before he cut them down.

"You want to help?" He says, engaging in a staring contest with the beast as he cracks his neck. "Then stay out of my way."

Only batarangs for weapons. He should have brought his sword - his bow. It circles around him, waiting for a move.

It stirs, tensing up as it prepares to pounce. He's faster. As it begins to move, he moves too, aiming the batarang right for the creature's eye, the only remaining part of the animal that remains as vulnerable as ever. Cougars have a uniquely poor sense of smell, but their eyesight is advanced. One eye down, one to go. Too bad it's decided to charge right for him, giving him just enough time to dodge with only a heavy scratch to his armour. The second swipe is enough to knock him over.

A feint. He needs it to come closer. To go for the throat so that he can land a killing blow. Unfotunately, to anyone who isn't a mindreader, it looks like it's just straight up about to kill him.

The large dog is a young direwolf named Lady, and her teenaged human companion is Sansa, presenting herself under a poorly-cobbled alias and story.

They've been playing in the snow for the better part of the morning: Sansa packs soft snow into small spheres that she lobs into the air, Lady chasing after each one and snapping at them. Most times she catches them, and the snowballs break apart against the direwolf's teeth; other times, Sansa's throws catches the wolf in the face or body, though Lady seems not to mind. Most people think wolves bark, but in truth, they don't - not the way people would think.

When a wolf barks at you, it means trouble. When a direwolf barks, it's a threat.

That said, it's been a while since Sansa's had to entertain an animal companion, and by the time Lady's ready to trot back indoors and nap for the rest of the day, Sansa herself is well and truly tired out.

Trudging back to the community hall finds them stopped by a young-looking man, who—has been cleaning?

Sansa frowns delicately. The place has the look of a common inn, or shared quarters; Sansa would not have expected it to be kept in pristine condition, even if she were inclined to cleanliness herself. She starts to speak when the man gives Lady a command, and for a brief moment both girl and wolf are huffing in disbelief at the audacity.

Lady sneezes. It sends ice water and specks of sludge in through the door. When the wolf looks at Sansa questioningly, then at the man holding out a rag, Sansa takes a quick second to think. "Alright," she says more to herself than anything. She gestures with her hand, raising it as if to knock on air. "Raise, Lady."

Then she turns to the strange cleaning man and says, "Be gentle, please. She's a sensitive girl."

A man with an axe calls out to her, and Sansa feels a sharp-quick swell of panic rise up her throat before she remembers to swallow it down. She is, for the moment, safe in this strange little winter-place; she is as much a stranger to these people as they are to her.

That being said: a man with an axe, though it seems he's using it less than successfully.

"She's a girl, my lord," she replies, pushing the hood of her cloak back so that they may see each other better. She'd found her cloak during the feast, as she was rooting around for something warm to change into. Northern furs and leathers press to her skin like home, and she wears it like armour as she stands a few feet from the man.

For her part, Lady seems more amused than anything, hopping over to the man and sniffing his knees, his fingers. Lady had very quickly learned she would be offered some food or a pat on the head by being friendly; Sansa will have to curb that learned instinct, and quick, for both their sakes.

"She won't bite," Sansa adds to reassure the man; Lady's nosing at his foot now. "Though I would ask not to reach for the axe while she's close to you, she might take it the wrong way.

"Were you gathering firewood, my lord?"

The violence that erupts so quickly is brutal, and Sansa finds herself moving too slow than she'd like. She doesn't fight, has never fought with her hands in all her life, and when she steps back her skirt catches on something and it pulls her down onto the snow.

Useless.

But she's managed to stay out of his way, and there's a snarl that whistles through the air, a blur of white and grey impacting against the side of the beast and knocking it off its charging path. It's Lady, doing what she can to help.

The creature is now distracted and doubly furious, snapping its head in three different directions. Lady circles back to Sansa, and Sansa gets herself back up, and backing up, looking back and forth between the younger man and the beast.

This isn't good, is it? "Tell me what to do!"

[ moved from here. ]

Barter - Sansa can manage that, she thinks. She can sew, make clothes, wait on people if need be; she's had it done for her all her life, she can learn to perform the same duties if it's asked of her. She nods, cautiously, then makes to approach the other girl.

"I'm Lyanna," she offers, putting forth the name as often as she can until she make it roll from her tongue naturally. "And my direwolf is Lady. She won't harm you, if you would extend us the same kindness."

She holds out her hand to the other girl as well. "Are you not cold?"

[ moved from here. ]

Partner. Like Jon and Ghost are partners, or Robb and Grey Wind are partners. Both of her older brothers riding for just causes with their wolves by their sides, fighting along with them.

Perhaps that's why she and Arya fared so poorly in King's Landing. Losing their wolves so soon had been a portent of what's to come.

But Constable Fraser is talking about something called a rifle, now. How it fires things called bullets, and Sansa surmises they must be like very tiny arrows, or the pellets used with slingshots. It does seem more convenient for hunting, with its slim construction, and she supposes the rolled metal fused with the wooden stock would make it sturdier than a staff or a longbow - but how would it make a noise?

Sansa puzzles over it with a deep frown. "I'm certain you know your weapon best," Sansa remarks, failing to keep her doubt out of her voice. "But how would it make a noise? It's so... thin."

"Your father is right, always winter or not." It was just solid Winter advice that Raylan could easily agree with. "And I got a feelin' we've got wildlife to worry about. I hope y'all have some rifles - pistols are gonna eat up more ammo.."

He glances around, looking for the hints of modernity that would confirm that they'd have rifles. If this was the 1880s they were still okay.

"They all had to fit on a massive boat, and only a set were required for.. repopulation once the Great Flood ended. Lived off food stores they brought with them. Keep in mind that this story also says that the whole of humanity currently are descended from Noah's three sons, and I can promise that is not the case."

She cautiously watches one of the newcomers as she sits and reads. She's been wary since learning that everyone around her was human (or more everyone), but this one in particular catches her interest with the company she keeps. She eyes the creature that lays at her feet. It looked trained, something that she had not anticipated after the encounter with the wild beast. It was large, dangerous looking, but seemingly a loyal companion to the human.

She had come to the hall to see if there was something warmer she could wear to stave off the cold. She holds a few, much larger items in her arms as she carefully approaches, curious to what it is, curious to what she's reading...

"Might I ask what you are reading?" She decides for the easier opening to this conversation, keeping her distance all the same.

[hopefully this works! Let me know if i need to change anything.]

He watches her think.

The smile she seems to settle on is a little surprising. Bigby has had an entire range of reactions from people to this news, but most of them stick to either shock or disbelief. And while he might find a bit of that surprise on her, it's the smile that seems to take up the majority of the reaction. It's not a bad thing, clearly, just-- surprising.

Though her explanation makes it a little more clear. She's familiar with the concept, at least. Our ancestors, she says, like it might perhaps be a personal thing. And she clearly seems close to the direwolf, so maybe that's why the concept might not give her all that much fear either.

It makes it all a little easier to explain, and Bigby's body language eases once he replies.

"It's the opposite for me," he explains. "I was a wolf first, and a human second."

And if he understands the concept she's speaking of well enough, it sounds like it was the other way around for those people. Not that it makes the concept all that different, really. It only turns it upside down, and limits it to one animal, considering it is what he started as.

"I had to integrate myself into human society, and.." His gaze drifts over towards Lady. It's the clear affection between her and Sansa that makes him assume experience when Bigby adds: ".. well, I am sure you know not all people take kindly to having animals in their midst, especially not ones they consider lesser, or dangerous. I was told changing into a human was the condition for me to be able to join human society."

Levi grimaces slightly at the sneeze, but he's apparently willing to pick his battles at the moment. Most of it lands on the doormat, luckily, though he's aware it won't keep the place as fresh as he'd like. Well, hopefully it will stay dry and clean for today, at least, and that should help his stress levels somewhat. Tidy environment always helps him calm down when he's feeling out of sorts, and ending up in a different world is certainly an out-of-comfort-zone experience.

"Got it," he says, his tone quite flat but as it turns out it's not him being dismissive after all; his movements slow a little, and he indeed seems to be minding the girl's words as he gently wipes the direwolf's paw dry, then lets it go and holds a hand out for the other one.

At closer inspection, she may notice that while he does have a youthfully round face, there's a few lines around his eyes that suggest he's older than he looks at first glance. Maybe in his thirties. It's somewhat hard to tell with his small stature.

While he's taking care of the wolf, he beckons at Sansa with a tilt of his head as well. The mat is there for a reason and her shoes don't look muddy; small mercies of this cold weather. "You can come in too. Wipe your feet."

The person—

Oh. Sansa is taken aback, just a little, by the appearance of the person that's speaking to her. A mask, perhaps? They're wearing something that seems to have two tapered points, almost like horns or carapaces, and a flowing red shift. Truthfully, their appearance is unsettling, but Sansa's pleased to find herself only confused instead of disturbed.

She politely sets the book down and looks at where their eyes must be. "A book about... babysitting." Sansa understands very few things about the story, which seems to be a fiction, but she's nonetheless entertained by the antics of the children featured in it. "Why are you carrying so many things?"

That word again - rifles. They must be the preferred weapon in these parts; Sansa thinks she might want to learn to wield them, if they're as light as the one Constable Fraser was carrying. She's not the swordfighting type, not even the knife-fighting type, but if it's anything like a bow, then maybe she can learn.

She's done little but learn over the years, and about things her mother would never have thought her ready for.

This story, however. About a great flood, a large ship, and food stores and sons and children. Sansa's confusion is clear on her face, bordering on disbelieving, and she doesn't quite manage to keep her confusion out of her voice when she speaks again.

"And their wives?" It stands to reason, if this Noah's sons have seeded the rest of the lineage, that they would have wives, but— "If it's only in pairs, then are men and women not counted into it? What of children? Did their get simply marry one another? Or did they have sisters that became their wives, and then—"

It would certainly keep the bloodlines pure, but the madness in the blood would've risen quickly. Within two, three generations, at least. "This is a very strange story."

Edited 2024-05-09 18:02 (UTC)

A wolf first, became man.

"Men themselves are animals," Sansa answers carefully, letting her gaze drift away momentarily. An animal can be trained, and can be taught to kneel and sit and play dead; an animal won't torture you or torment you for its entertainment.

In many respects, men can be worse than animals. Ramsay certainly is.

"Wolves keep to their packs, from what I know," she continues. "And wolves are loyal. Always dangerous, yes, but so are men. Anything can be dangerous if you give it the chance to be. I'm sorry you were forced to change." It's a sincere apology, even as Sansa accepts she has no true understanding of his world. "You shouldn't have had to."

She's a Stark, and the direwolf is the sigil of her house - it's high time she embraced what that meant.

Still, curiosity gets the better of her. "You can tell me if it's foolish to ask, but can you speak to wolves?"

There's books about babysitting? She supposes that would be something to write a book about: an instructional guide to caring for children. It made sense in her mind that it existed, but it surprised her all the same. Were there children here as well? She wonders, for a moment, what sort of book Midwife would have written, but she's skeptical about her practice with childrearing.

"I see." What more could she say about that?

She tilts her head, then glances down at the bundle of fur in her arms. "Ah." Yes, that is a little obvious, isn't it? "Randvi told me about a communal cache of warm clothing. I ... will need to find someone to make alterations, but I believed these would be most helpful to keep warm."

She couldn't stay inside - but her shift was not enough. "I unfortunately lack the skill." Weaving was one thing, creating something with it was another.

"That is an excellent logical conclusion, Lyanna." From anyone else, those words might sound patronizing or sarcastic, but not from him: Fraser is always sincere and he is no less now, complimenting her. It's clear she's never seen a firearm before, and so her words, while ignorant, are proof of a lively mind beneath, one that questions, one that pieces together bits of knowledge to make a new whole. He knows plenty of adults lacking the ability to do either.

Fraser shifts the rifle off his shoulder and into his hands, running a gloved finger along the stock to the barrel and back again as he goes on. "It is thin, but the power doesn't come from this casing itself. What makes the projectiles go is a tiny, controlled explosion, inside it."

He taps gently. "That releases energy, which then propels the bullet through the barrel at high speeds."

Edited 2024-05-10 19:49 (UTC)

Raylan firmly believed that everyone could learn. If they could shoot a bow, they were already halfway there, but he had been an instructor at one point in his life. He knew what he was doing in that department. Frankly, anyone who doesn't know how to shoot here should probably learn. For emergencies and considering the accessibility, if nothing else.

But he's sure some smart capable soul here is already working on that.

He can't help but huff a breath and smile at her questions and confusion. "Faith often has a way of brushin' those lack of fuller details under a rug. Or three. Noah and his family, wives included went. And then they repopulated," he drawls, long fingers fanning out in a gesture reminiscent of a storyteller sprinkling flavor over an ending.

"I've never been a believer myself and generally, frowned upon in conversations lest someone get offended. But there's all sorts of strange stories everywhere, right?"

Always something unknown, always something to learn. Folk Tales were right next door to fiction, right next door to science fiction and not something Raylan was uninterested.

Why did it have to be the dog? If it was the girl that decided to try and interfere in a show of bullheaded stubborness - as civilians tend to do - he could actually be mad. It's not even a case of the wolf being poorly trained or not knowing any better - the wolf has clearly been trained perfectly well.

A good dog, even.

In an instant, he leaps to his feet. The monster seems to have settled on the desired target or at least, it decides to line up a swipe against the wolf as she dashes towards her.

When Damian gets in the way, when the massive sharp mutated claws breach the outer layer of his armour and spill his blood onto the white snow, it only yowls in pain and rage. It hurts. He thinks it might have cut into one of his old scars, probably the Heretic's.

If this is how you perform against a common animal, you bring shame to me. You were taught better than this, Damian.

He was.

Goliath's family was stronger than this, but he'd had a sword. He'd had a bow. He'd had a suit of armour. That's a fallacy though. If you rely on the tools too much, you will be powerless when you're without them. Kill it. Kill. Pretend it's The Joker, pretend it's Black Mask, pretend it's Deathstroke, pretend it's Bane.

"My advice? Look away."

He grips the batarang buried in it's eye, and twists it, driving it deeper and deeper in. With his other hand, he fishes out his grappling gun and shoots it around the beast's forelegs to try and force it to the ground as it howls and writhes in pain. The noises become less ferocious in it's rage, and more pitiful and mewling in it's agony.

He can't picture Bane, or Deathstroke, or Sionis, or the Joker. He just sees Goliath. The creature falls limp. Not dead yet, just whimpering.

[ moved from here. ]

If this place neighbours that of my home then he will be. North of the Wall, in Castle Black. Do you know of it?

[ if he does, then she might still be within the bolton's reach; a problem, certainly, but she has better chances with lady by her side, just a little. if he doesn't, if the lieutenant john irving has never heard of the north or the seven kingdoms of westeros—then she may be safe yet.

but that presents a different problem. ]

Please, let me help.

[ there's some desperation in her voice in asking his permission. how easily men's tempers change, after all, and sansa's fingers are numbed by pain by now, if not the ice.

she doesn't mean to be uncharitable or to be disrespectful in her thinking of him. they've only just met, and her suspiciousness is unfounded, even if her reasons for it are justified. sansa frets about behind him, unsure of where to place herself. lady, in sympathy, whines beside her. ]

You say you're from an army. Your queen. May I ask under whose banner, or noble house?

[ moved from here. ]

"I... no, I haven't."

Her future, up until very recently, would've meant bearing Ramsay's violence until she either died or provided him with an heir. Until then, until the mercy of death finally turns itself upon her, thinking about the future only makes Sansa feel sick. She keeps what little hope she has smothered underneath her, only because to let it fly free might mean having its wings clipped all over again.

Too many disappointments in the last five years. Too many deaths and betrayals for a girl to endure.

"When you say medical training, would that mean some knowledge of women's courses?" She puts her roll back down on her little plate, keeps herself from tearing it up into crumbs. Food is precious, especially during winter; she wouldn't want to waste anything over something so silly as a shaking hand, or a nervous mood. "I don't mean to be so forward, but I thought I should ask."

With a small, frustrated sigh Sansa turns to look back at the table and the tools laid out upon it. Healer's devices. Sharp points. Steel and cloth and the rust-laden stench of crusting blood.

"I'm being silly, I'm sorry. I'm bellyaching over my troubles and I've just met you." With sincere concern, Sansa asks, "Does the food agree with you?"

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OPEN; how could anything bad ever happen to you?

→ thefifthchild

→ bigbaddy

→ tinstar

→ castitas

> community hall! lmk if this works (also feel free to splash him with doggy shakes tbh)

outside

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lady obliges!

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sorry dami 🥲 they are Helping

→ guidemyway

→ maintiensledroit

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community hall

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aww~

lmk if this is okay also!

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cw for pretty heavy eye gore, horrible animal cruelty

→ extramuralise

→ thering