Asha Greyjoy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doesnotsew) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-05-22 02:11 pm
doesnotsew) wrote in thecapitol2013-05-22 02:11 pm
Entry tags:
let the dead bury their dead [open]
Who| Asha and you!
What| Waking up and getting familiar with all this technology
Where| District 11 suite and training center!
When| Backdated to either the day after Timaeus's party (so during Week 6!) OR after the arena's ended, but this can also be a catch-all post for whenever your character is around!
Warnings/Notes| how is technology formed
She woke up the morning after the night on the boat expecting it all to have been a dream-- maybe to wake up still in the arena, or find that it was a last-second hallucination before joining the rest of the dead. What she had instead was a hangover, which meant she was very much alive. The room she was in was too neat, not a hint of a draft or moisture in the air, everything about the surroundings slightly foreign in a way she couldn't put her finger on. She left the bed immediately-- still no wounds, besides her headache, and a quick glance about her body reveals that not only is she missing minor scratches that she knew she received, she's clean in a way that not even the golden twins in King's Landing could achieve. Even the smallclothes she wore were unusual, like those she wore during the battle. Better to wear the boiled leather, she thought with a laugh, but then remembered that her brother must be dead by now.
Judging by the view from the window, she was fairly high up-- that combined with the exceptionally clear glass in the frame put her in a particularly important keep. The rest of the sights were dizzying, and she turned away rather than fight the glare. She needed a drink-- preferably spring water, she added as an afterthought-- and some answers. One door yielded to a wardrobe, from which she took the closest to a tunic she could find-- more like a dress cut in a strange style, but it gave her the maneuverability she needed. Boots were more difficult, but she had no time to waste picking over her footwear; she pulled one pair on, ignoring an assortment of things that didn't even resemble shoes, and went to find the other door surprisingly unlocked.
She found herself in another room, with one of the strange windows still showing the arena. Was it magic, or is this just more of their 'technology?' She recognized the area, and once or twice a person-- had she been here too? The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she reached out to touch it, just to get a sense...
Five minutes later, the thing had shattered, and she had moved on to pacing the room in increasing frustration, trying to find the stairs, figure out the candles on the wall, and most of all, trying to find a weapon. If the crackling noise from the thing breaking and her heavy stream of curses didn't get the attention of anyone else in the suite, her trying to force her way into the other rooms just might.
---
She'd learned a lot in the next few weeks, but it still wasn't enough to get home. However, it didn't take her long to find the one place she had access to her weapons, even if she couldn't leave with them. She spent a lot of time in the training room, for the security granted to her by an ax and a dagger, but also as a place to escape the world she woke up in. Training was training, unlike everything else here.
She tossed the throwing ax end over end to catch it with her usual skill, something to keep her fingers busy and her mind on home, before whipping it at a target. Stannis Baratheon, it would be today; in her mind, she pictured the people keeping them here the same way. "What's dead may never die," she muttered, pulling the ax from the dummy, "but rises, again and again and again."
Slashing it felt good, but it would be better if he were real.
What| Waking up and getting familiar with all this technology
Where| District 11 suite and training center!
When| Backdated to either the day after Timaeus's party (so during Week 6!) OR after the arena's ended, but this can also be a catch-all post for whenever your character is around!
Warnings/Notes| how is technology formed
She woke up the morning after the night on the boat expecting it all to have been a dream-- maybe to wake up still in the arena, or find that it was a last-second hallucination before joining the rest of the dead. What she had instead was a hangover, which meant she was very much alive. The room she was in was too neat, not a hint of a draft or moisture in the air, everything about the surroundings slightly foreign in a way she couldn't put her finger on. She left the bed immediately-- still no wounds, besides her headache, and a quick glance about her body reveals that not only is she missing minor scratches that she knew she received, she's clean in a way that not even the golden twins in King's Landing could achieve. Even the smallclothes she wore were unusual, like those she wore during the battle. Better to wear the boiled leather, she thought with a laugh, but then remembered that her brother must be dead by now.
Judging by the view from the window, she was fairly high up-- that combined with the exceptionally clear glass in the frame put her in a particularly important keep. The rest of the sights were dizzying, and she turned away rather than fight the glare. She needed a drink-- preferably spring water, she added as an afterthought-- and some answers. One door yielded to a wardrobe, from which she took the closest to a tunic she could find-- more like a dress cut in a strange style, but it gave her the maneuverability she needed. Boots were more difficult, but she had no time to waste picking over her footwear; she pulled one pair on, ignoring an assortment of things that didn't even resemble shoes, and went to find the other door surprisingly unlocked.
She found herself in another room, with one of the strange windows still showing the arena. Was it magic, or is this just more of their 'technology?' She recognized the area, and once or twice a person-- had she been here too? The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she reached out to touch it, just to get a sense...
Five minutes later, the thing had shattered, and she had moved on to pacing the room in increasing frustration, trying to find the stairs, figure out the candles on the wall, and most of all, trying to find a weapon. If the crackling noise from the thing breaking and her heavy stream of curses didn't get the attention of anyone else in the suite, her trying to force her way into the other rooms just might.
---
She'd learned a lot in the next few weeks, but it still wasn't enough to get home. However, it didn't take her long to find the one place she had access to her weapons, even if she couldn't leave with them. She spent a lot of time in the training room, for the security granted to her by an ax and a dagger, but also as a place to escape the world she woke up in. Training was training, unlike everything else here.
She tossed the throwing ax end over end to catch it with her usual skill, something to keep her fingers busy and her mind on home, before whipping it at a target. Stannis Baratheon, it would be today; in her mind, she pictured the people keeping them here the same way. "What's dead may never die," she muttered, pulling the ax from the dummy, "but rises, again and again and again."
Slashing it felt good, but it would be better if he were real.
no subject
He tilted his head.
"I'll take that as fair warning. I've no reason to bring the Arena here, unless you do."
no subject
Maybe it was better to stay here, where at least she could return if executed.
no subject
no subject
Fine. Good. There was nothing to return home for anyway, not at this point. She'd been away for too long, there wouldn't be time enough to stop anything. All she was was stranded in an unfamiliar time and an unfamiliar place, one which no one seemed to have as hard a time grasping as she did.
"Then what difference would winning make? At least this way I get the fight," she said quietly, not trusting herself to turn around.
no subject
He spoke evenly, even though what he meant was in essence suicide. Just because there was a chance you could come back, did not make it certain.
"But as said, not all return. Sometimes your life is forfeit with the game."
no subject
And that's enough, instead of living in this city forever, watching them fight from afar, playing nice and kneeling with no hope of ever standing. What then, Father? If we cannot rise?
The others, though, the ones that couldn't fight.... She let out something that was too bitter to be called a laugh, knowing realistically what their odds were. "That leaves those children with no chance at all." That was fine for her, and presumably for him-- but there were plenty here who had clearly never fought before. "Is it that entertaining to see them struggle?"
no subject
"There are those that will always find entertainment in cruelty," He said, his tone impassive. "These games were once only played by children, from what I am told. Only when they began to bring tributes from new worlds was that policy forgotten."
no subject
"I can see the appeal in changing. Now it's only mostly children, with a few adults who know what they're doing. Perfect for bloodshed and underdogs." But she turned around to lean against the dummy, crossing her arms in front of her, not smiling but controlling the burst of anger all the same. "And sometimes a few of those who fight end up clashing with each other instead of riding down babies."
no subject
Talking about it, however, didn't seem wise.
"A fight between equals is always more interesting," He said carefully, memories flashing back to his arenas back home. Perhaps he only meant it was more interesting for him. "Skill is its own entertainment."
no subject