TEST DRIVE MEME #1

[abraxasmods]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to the very first test drive meme for Abraxas! This meme is run a little bit differently than most in that you'll be asked to choose one of the two different arrival scenarios below for your character to take. If you have any questions about this mechanic or anything else related to the TDM, please take a look at the questions below or ask one of your own here. For general game questions please still use the FAQ.

Arrival

You awaken suspended in the abyss, silent darkness stretching out in all directions. If you try to yell, you'll find that the sound doesn't carry. If you try to move, you'll find it's impossible to tell whether or not you're actually getting anywhere. If you reach for an item you were carrying last time you remember being awake, your hand will only touch bare skin.

You're naked and floating helplessly through the void, and what little air you have in your lungs is running out.

There's a pinprick of light that almost looks like a faraway star but as it grows it becomes clear that it's actually quite close. Through the opening you can see a bright room, but it's hard to make out any individual objects, as if you're looking from beneath rippling water.

A hand plunges through and you realize water is just what it is. Whether you take hold of the hand or not it will grab you and yank you up through the surface, lifting you out until you're sprawled on solid ground. Once you catch your breath, you can get a better look at the surroundings: tall trees and even taller stone pillars surround the platform you're laying on. Behind you is an ornate fountain, the base of which is so deep and so dark you might be compelled to scramble away from it lest it suck you back in to that endless abyss. Ahead of you are the walls of a large castle with several tall towers reaching up towards the sky.

If you had any powers, they feel unusually weak. Attempts to use magic or enhanced strength or powers of any sort fizzle out without any effect, but they don't feel completely gone, either.

Set into an indent on a marble slab behind the fountain is a card baring the image of one of the arcana.

An apprentice mage - the one whose hand lifted you out of the fountain - brushes the water off on their robes and runs back to join a group of three others, who all stare intently at a mage with highly decorated robes and a large, heavy book. He peers up at you for a moment and starts flipping through the book.

"I beg your pardon," he says, so absorbed in the pages of the book that he doesn't bother to look up, "I am Ambrose Rhett, the High Mage of the Kingdom of Thorne. One of my apprentices will explain everything in a moment, but please refrain from yelling and thrashing about until then. You're quite alright, and screaming gives me a hell of a headache."

Regardless of your response, he keeps flipping through the heavy tome, until he stops on one specific page, stares at it for a moment, and then exclaims:

"Aha!"

Scenario One: Welcome to Thorne

Ambrose's expression brightens, eyes twinkling with delight. He waves one of the apprentices over with a fine silk tunic, pants, and some basic sandals and with a wave of his hand they reshape to fit you perfectly.

"Success! It's a success!" he exclaims, slamming the book shut and scurrying towards you.

Now that he's not hunching over the book, he doesn't seem quite so stuffy and inapproachable. The apprentices all seem quite relieved at his jovial outburst, and the one that handed you the tunic stops to take the tarot card down from the marble slab. If you show any curiosity about the card, they'll let you take a longer look, but won't let you touch it.

"Please, come with me, you're an honored guest here," he says, motioning for you to follow him towards the castle, "As promised, my pupils will explain your current situation. And, ah - if you had any magic of your own, or other special abilities you can't access right now, fear not, they'll return within the week. The summoning takes a lot out of you."

One of the apprentices steps forward and rattles on and on about the castle, Thorne itself, the names of a bunch of royals and nobles, and of course, your reason for being here. The Kingdom and the world itself is in great peril, and tales of your exploits have reached far and wide across universes. If asked about these exploits, the apprentice will simply smile and shrug. The High Mage was happy to see you and that's good enough.

Once inside the castle you're taken to the North Wing, which has been set up as living quarters for you and your fellow newcomers. There are four people to a room, but each generously-sized bed has opaque curtains that can be drawn around it. You can meet your roommates here and discuss your shared situation (everyone appears to have arrived within the last few days), or you can wander around and meet the others.

There's also a dining hall stocked with all sorts of fancy food to meet every possible dietary need, and a library filled with epic tales and legends and the history of Thorne. Given that this is the Thorne library, it may be a biased account that makes the Kingdom look a fair bit better than the rest of the world sees them. Last but not least, there's a study hall where a few junior mages (younger and less experienced than the apprentices from earlier) might be willing to teach you some simple elemental magic. Think holding a small flame in the palm of your hand, or blowing a door shut with a gust of wind.

You may also notice that your sign is embroidered on your tunic: the same image you saw on the card from before with the name of the sign itself beneath it. If you ask the castle residents, they'll tell you a little bit about your sign (and will mostly stick to the positives, although some might point out the negatives).

Last (and, if you ask anyone else in the castle, least) there is a worn stone staircase leading underground to the dungeon. You can go there, if you wish, but all powers are restricted in the dungeons and spending too much time with the prisoners will lead to some suspicion being cast upon you. If you ask anyone why the prisoners are being held there, you'll be told that they pose a great threat to the Kingdom (and, by extension, the entire world).

Scenario Two: Imprisoned

The High Mage scowls, grinding his teeth as he slams the book shut. "Another failure!" he barks at the apprentices, "You lot wouldn't know your ass from a hole in the ground, would you?"

All four of them lower their heads, and two of them mumble an apology that Ambrose either doesn't hear or refuses to acknowledge. "Well, don't just stand there," he says, waving a hand in the air, "We've put all this effort into getting this wretched creature, we may as well put it to good use."

One of the apprentices drops a baggy, rough-feeling tunic, a pair of pants, and some worn sandals in your lap and glares down at you until you put them on (if you refuse, they'll tell you they can kick you back down that well if you don't want to cooperate). They're glaring at the High Mage as much as they're glaring at you (when they're sure he isn't looking, anyway). You might catch one of them long enough to ask them why they're so upset with you, but all they'll say is that the High Mage knows something they don't, and he's awfully upset about it.

Once you're fully clothed, another apprentice clamps some heavy iron shackles around your wrists and leads you on. The High Mage is far ahead of you already, muttering some long string of Thornean curses before he stands up straight and pauses, spinning to face you.

"One more thing," he says, holding one hand in the air and chanting something under his breath, "Can't have you getting too troublesome."

If you had powers, the slight connection you still had to them slips away completely and you're left with nothing as the four apprentices drag you towards the castle. They may answer a few of your questions (with some insults and curses peppered in), but they won't tell you anything important.

Once you arrive at the castle you're brought to the dungeons and thrown into a locked cell. There are four people to a cell, and two sets of bunk beds with a thin and lumpy straw mattress. If you're over six feet tall, these beds are going to be awfully uncomfortable. You might as well meet your roommates. Once per day you're dragged out to an enclosed courtyard for one hour of recreation (with some crude weights, benches, and balls lying around but not much else), where you can meet the rest of the prisoners, but you can also talk to your immediate neighbors in the cells on either side and across the hallway. Just don't yell too much or the guards will snap at you to be quiet.

Everyone in the dungeon is fed one meal a day, and for a prison meal it's decent: a bit of meat, a bun, and a salad. It would seem that the Thornean chefs take too much pride in their craft to send bad food to the dungeons. The meals are all served in equal portions, though, so the smaller prisoners may be overfed and the larger ones may be getting hungry. Feel free to fight for food or share with your cellmates.

Crudely embroidered on the back of every prison tunic is the same image that was on your card and the name of the sign beneath it. A guard may explain a bit about the sign, and tell you some negative stereotypes they hold about yours.

You may be blessed with a visit from one of the more welcomed newcomers, and they may sneak you some extra food or a small book to read or they may share some of the information they've gathered. However, rumors travel fast and some people believe the honored guests in the castle above are somehow responsible for the lot of the prisoners below. And although you may hope for kindness, there's nothing stopping them from being cruel to you if they wish. The guards will certainly turn a blind eye if one of them wishes to take out their frustrations on you.

---

Questions

How do I choose a scenario for my character?
Pick whichever situation appeals to you most. Whether your character is honored or imprisoned has nothing to do with their personal morality, or how highly they regard themselves and their own accomplishments. Anyone can be put into either situation.

Can I try out both scenarios?
You can! But please keep in mind that only the one you eventually choose can be game canon, if you decide to keep any of your TDM threads.

What happens if my character refuses to comply with Ambrose?
Prisoners will be dragged against their will. Honored guests will be forgiven for their moment of panic or anger if they have one, and Ambrose and the apprentice mages will try to calm them and persuade them further. If they put up too much of a fight and/or start actively attacking anyone, Ambrose will warn them once that he's willing to put them back in the well where they came from (see below), and if they continue to fight he will make good on that promise.

My character intends on causing a lot of trouble (destroying parts of the castle, murdering the castle staff, etc.), what would happen to them?
Characters who make too much trouble for the mages and other staff would be thrown back in the well (which will mean drowning in the void, not returning home). Brawling with other PCs and causing minor damage is fine and will be greeted with a cranky attitude (if they are an honored guest) or a punishment like denial of food or temporary solitary confinement (if they are a prisoner), and there will be plenty of opportunity for destruction and murder later, but for now the Thorneans have no desire to keep huge liabilities around.

Ambrose will take it especially personally, as this experiment was his idea and too much trouble would risk the summoning spell being scrapped and potentially result in him being demoted. Rest assured it does not take much for him to throw someone back in the well at this point in time.

Is the power loss for the prisoners permanent?
No, although honored guests will regain their powers first due to the lack of interference from Ambrose, the prisoners will be able to regain theirs soon enough as well.

Can the prisoners talk about anything private, or will they be overheard at all times?
There are guards patrolling the dungeon, but they aren't always within earshot. Most of the attention is being focused on the new guests, so the prisoners will have some opportunities for privacy.

Can my character leave the castle?
For now they will be prevented from leaving the castle, even if they are an honored guest. A bit of a gilded cage, isn't it? They'll also find that any powers they regain cease to work outside of the castle walls (this is also a temporary effect) so flying outside is not an option.

Can my character eventually side against Thorne if I choose to make them an honored guest/can they side with Thorne if I choose to imprison them?
Yes, characters in Scenario 1 will be able to betray Thorne, and characters in Scenario 2 can work themselves into Thorne's good graces.

How much will my choice of scenario affect my character's plot later on?
This choice will have a major impact on gameplay throughout the first few months of the game, and potentially a bit beyond that depending on where our players guide the plot. This decision - and every other major decision you make in game! - will also be used to flavor some mod surprises that will be coming down the line.

Don't get too anxious about this choice, though; this is just one choice you'll get to make in a game that has a lot of them, and every character in both scenarios can work their way towards many, many individual goals and outcomes. You're not locking yourself out of anything in the future via the choice you made on the TDM. It will primarily impact the immediate future with the far-reaching effects being up to each player.

Are TDM threads mandatory for my application?
No, you may use other samples, but we encourage you to post to the TDM and get a feel for this game and its mechanics before you join. If you do not have a TDM thread you will still need to choose one of the two scenarios on your application.

What if I haven't settled on a sign yet?
You can ignore sign-related prompts if you're undecided (or try out different signs in different threads).

Can a put a character on the TDM if their canon is less than 30 days old?
Yes. For this app round, anything that's at least 30 days old when the game opens on June 12th can be applied from.

Do the apprentice mages have names?
Their names are Jeffrey, Grigory, Noelle, and Jolene.

---

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Comments

Sansa Stark | A Song of Ice and Fire | The Star

[porcelainandsteel]

[Thorne is strange. She's never heard of such a place before. They talk about magic as if it were everyday, and they talk about her as though she were something more than what she is. Sansa, who has seen enough in thirteen years to know when it's best to keep her mouth shut, says nothing but empty pleasantries, asks no questions, and keeps her eyes open.]

[Thorne is strange, and far from Winterfell, but Thorne is also far from King's Landing, far from the Eyrie, far from Marillion and Littlefinger and the cold ache of Lysa's dislike. Far from the Queen. If Sansa has to be far from home, at least here she seems to be safe. They dress her in strange, unfeminine clothes, call her an honoured guest, and not a word is breathed of Imps or pretenders or treason. For now, Sansa thinks, that might have to be enough.]


[ 1 | Roommates ]
[She keeps to her chambers for the first few hours, gathering herself. She sits on the edge of the bed she's taken as her own, plucking at the curious clothes they've put her into, combing out her long hair (the dye seems to have washed out of it in whatever strange water she was pulled out of), and trying to think what comes next.]

[When someone else comes in, she starts, leaping to her feet, and essays a curtsey which is made unseemly by the trousers (she's never worn trousers in her life, and even something as simple as a curtsey feels different in them), her blue eyes modestly downturned. If the newcomer is a man, there's an added tension in her posture, but either way, there's a wariness in the glances she gives from under her lashes.]

Are we... is this your room? [There are four beds, after all.]


[ 2 | Dining Hall ]
[She can't stay in her room forever. She isn't at all sure how comfortable she is being seen this way - these clothes feel indecent, and she's not sure she looks much better than they do - but it isn't as though she has much choice, unless she wants to walk around naked.]

[Which, to be clear, she very much does not. Arriving naked was bad enough, with those eyes on her and the memory of the throne room far too clear in her mind.]

[It's the dining hall she goes to first. It isn't greed that brings her there, she's quick to reassure herself. It's just that it seems like a good place to discover her situation, and she is hungry.]

[For a time, she browses the food available, but she's largely more interested in the people, and if you happen to glance over at the slim young redhead, you're liable to see her watching you for a moment before, embarrassed at being caught, she looks away quickly.]

[But then she reaches the desserts, and one dessert in specific, and for a moment the wariness and guardedness drops away entirely. She's just a child, smiling in sudden and innocent delight at the cake she's just taken a bite of, and turning to the person beside her.]

They have lemon cakes! You really should try one.


[ 3 | Library ]
[The books call to her, a pleasure tinged with the same guilt as the lemon cakes. Not the knowledge they contain, although Sansa is old enough and hardened enough now to be all too aware that she'd better learn where she is and what's expected of her. But the stories...]

[Sansa Stark has always loved stories. It's an indulgence she's rarely been able to give herself, since this whole miserable chapter of her life began. As soon as she sees the library, she knows what she wants to do: gathers up an armful of books, finds a quiet corner, and sets out to bury herself in handsome knights and beautiful maidens and epic loves. It isn't the same, of course, as sitting with Jeyne back in Winterfell, listening to Old Nan's stories and giggling as they did their needlepoint. It isn't the same, but she hopes it can take her back there, for a moment or two.]

[That hope is dashed quickly. The stories themselves are not so different to the ones from home (which is, she tells herself, good to know), but that makes it worse. She is different. Time and again, she reads the stories, and she thinks Lies. Lies. All of it lies. The knowledge of it sits like a stone in her belly, until at last, looking close to tears now, she stands abruptly and goes to return the books to their shelves. If you happen to be reaching for one of them, she looks at you with red-rimmed eyes.]

Don't bother. There's nothing worth knowing in that one.


[ 4 | Dungeons ]
[A lady shows kindness. A wise lady builds goodwill. Sansa is a little afraid to go down to the dungeons, especially when the natives of Thorne keep on saying that the prisoners down there are so dangerous - but she also keeps thinking about her father. She keeps thinking about what different kinds of prisons there are. After a day or two, when she's heard from others that it isn't so bad, she gathers up a selection of sweet cakes and pastries from the dining hall, wraps them in a kerchief, and starts down into the dungeons to visit the prisoners.]

[So it is that a young girl comes to be standing outside your cell, her nose wrinkled just a little at the smell. She smiles at the inhabitants, a small and shy smile that doesn't fully reach her eyes.]

I brought you something. It isn't much, but I thought you might like it.

[She holds out a cake, but she hasn't actually come all that close to the bars, hanging back as though she's afraid she'll be grabbed.]

Roommates

[song_of_ice]

[He held back, amazed to see her, not simply here, but so much younger and less worn than he last saw her. He hated to admit it, but he missed the girl she was once. While not exactly kind to him, she had been gentler and...young. The Sansa he left was hard, cold, distant and aged by trauma. This was a glimpse into the past.

And perhaps part of him that wanted the sister that never second guess him or seemed to resent his position. But that thought left him guilty and cross with himself.

He finally stepped forward, worried she might not know him...or even want him.]

Sansa?

[porcelainandsteel]

[She didn't know him. Not at first. The Jon she knew was barely older than she is now, not a man grown, with a careworn, bearded face and the bearing of a soldier. It was only when he spoke that she recognised him, and raised her head in sudden shock, her demure look lost in wide-eyed realisation.]

Jon?

[It doesn't matter that he isn't her true brother. It doesn't matter that they were never close. He is still home, still part of Winterfell and the North and those now far-gone days when things had been all right and she was still a sweet summer child who believed in songs.]

[She is halfway towards him, her usual timidity gone in the urge to embrace him, before it strikes her that he may not feel so warmly towards her. What has he heard, North of the Wall, about his half-sister? That she named her father a traitor and stood there with the Lannisters as he was beheaded? That she wrote and begged Robb to yield? That she was wedded to the Imp, that she conspired with him to murder?]

[Her arms, half-raised, drop limply to her sides, and she steps back again, biting her lip, suddenly afraid.]

You... [She can't seem to look at him any more. Her eyes lower again, dart off to the side.] You've changed. You look well.

[song_of_ice]

[After Arya and Dany, he had come to realize memory was tricky here. He was missing future moments that apparently soured his relationship and sent him beyond the Wall again, memories that both Arya and Dany possessed. He took it for granted and assumed anyone else He knew from home would be the same, leaving him out of the loop.

But this Sansa never reunited with him, apparently never suffered a marriage with Ramsay or turned completely cold. He could only grin with relief, rather than regret at what she forgot. This was a fresh start with the sister he once knew.

His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight.]

You look different too. [Younger, happier and so much like her mother...much to his regret.]

I am glad you are here and not below.

[porcelainandsteel]

[Sansa flung her arms around him as soon as he hugged her. She wasn't sure she had ever hugged Jon before, always keeping that distance between them, as she knew her mother had wanted, but now she clung to him with abandon, burying her face against his shoulder and closing her eyes tight.]

[He didn't look like Jon, and he didn't quite sound like Jon, and he didn't smell like Jon, but he was Jon. She knew that, deep inside herself, knew it from what he said and how he said it and from the small movements of his face when he spoke, which had never before seemed so blessedly familiar and comforting. And he did not know what she had done, or if he knew he had forgiven her, and he wasn't the family she would have chosen, but he was family nonetheless, and as she held him tightly, her fingers tightening against the back of his tunic, she felt the tears welling up in her eyes.]

[After a moment, she pulled away just far enough to look up at him, a small frown creasing her forehead.]

What do you mean, below?

[She hadn't asked many questions about the castle so far, and so hadn't been told about the crowded dungeons beneath.]

[song_of_ice]

[Seeing her this young spun him back to his youth, that cynical green boy that went to the Wall, picturing the heroic order that he had grown up hearing of. All of it before the brutal reality of the world, the loss of their father, Robb and Ygritte. He could remember his resentment, not simply at his birth but his true born siblings too. Looking at Sansa, he could only feel shame at how he was. He never protected her, but maybe he could now. He could be the brother that he always should have been.

There was no real going back, but this was a second or third chance. No more bitterness, no more resentment on either side. They could band together and be a true pack.

He frowned, having assumed she knew of the prisoners. Oh God's, he'd have to keep Cersei from knowing Sansa was here.]

There are dungeons below. It's where they are sending the ones that were brought here by mistake or were some sort of disappointment. Don't ask me why, I don't know.

[porcelainandsteel]

I only arrived a few hours ago. [There might be just a little bit of defensiveness there, a hint of sharpness. It was only slight, though, and only for a moment, her discomfort at not knowing washed away by the sheer joy of seeing him again. Of one small thing being right.] They didn't tell me very much.

[She looked up at him, and smiled again, scanning his face, trying to find the boy who left Winterfell in the man before her. She could see him, when she looked; it was still Jon, in the end.]

If that's the case... Well, I'm glad you're not there, too.

Mother's mercy, Jon, I never thought I'd see you again! [And she hugged him tightly again, trying not to give in to the thick knot of tears in her throat.]

[song_of_ice]

No. They don't seem willing to tell us much. [He understood the reason, that they wanted complacency. It wasn’t in a jailor's interest to tell the prisoner everything. What these mages wanted was a bird in a gilded cage, singing on command, content with their lot. That wouldn't last long, not with the numbers being brought in and the discontent below.] I know just as much as you do.

[Jon Snow, once again knowing nothing.

He could only marvel at her youth and warmth, basking in the affection he didn't realize he was longing for, even after their reunion at the Wall. It was almost like this was his real sister, finally arriving at last. Not that they were ever close before...]

Different paths can lead to the same castle. I think we will always find our way home.

Where were you before coming here?

[How far back did her memory go?]

[porcelainandsteel]

[Her face clouded at that, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek. Her voice was very quiet as, letting him go, she stepped away and let her arms fall back to her sides.] This isn't home.

[Winterfell was home. Winterfell, and Arya and Bran and Rickon and Robb, and their father, and their mother, and the godswood red in the evening light. Winterfell would always be home, and Winterfell was still far away, beyond reaching. And Jon was a comfort, and she was glad to see him in a way she had never been before King's Landing, but he didn't make it home.]

[At his question, she hesitated, not sure what to say, or what he already knew. The truth should be easiest, but the truth had become such dear currency lately, and more than anything, she wanted not to turn him against her. The truth was a path laid with traps, things she didn't want to examine, things she would sooner he never know.]

[But she didn't want to lie, either. Not to him, not when their reunion felt so fresh and full of hope. She sighed.]

...The Vale. I was in the Vale, with Aunt Lysa. [Littlefinger, she decides, doesn't need to be mentioned just yet.]

[song_of_ice]

No. [But they would find their way back. She would eventually find him at the Wall and Winterfell would be theirs again. Even then, it wasn't exactly home. Home was their father, a silent guardian that stood as firmly as the foundation of the keep. Home was his quiet presence, warm but stern, promising their childhoods would be safe. Jon also imagined that home was Lady Catelyn for Sansa as well, the nurturing woman he never got to experience. Home was Robb and Rickon and so much else that was missing.

He reached for her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze in an effort to stave off the sadness. He didn't want the gloom drifting between them, possibly returning her to that hardened state that seemed worse than a wall of ice.] We have to be home for each other for awhile.

[Which he was willing to be, if he could. Though his face darkened slightly at the mention of the Eyrie.]

I take it Littlefinger is still guarding you?

[porcelainandsteel]

So he says.

[For her part, Sansa isn't sure that guarding is the right word. He looks at her, sometimes, in ways that make her skin crawl, and it wasn't him who, in the end, guarded her when she had actually needed it, when Marillion came to her bed. Nor was he the one she entrusted herself to in King's Landing, not knowingly. Poor, dead Ser Dontos shivers in her memory, the way that the Blackwater had closed over him. Petyr Baelish, she suspects, guards only what is his, and no matter whether she may call him her lord father in public, she is not his.]

[In any case, he isn't here, so far as he can tell. Perhaps that shouldn't relieve her, but it does.]

[She looks up at Jon, her brother whose name was never Stark, and a small, sad smile tugs at her lips.]

They call me Alayne Stone, there.

[So you aren't the only bastard among us any more, she means. And, perhaps, in the space of that meaning, I'm sorry.]

roommates 2, it's a stark zoo

[facelessgirl]

[ It's taken a long time to tire Arya out. Even when restricted to the castle she's had plenty to explore, and since they'd said nothing about the new arrivals being denied access to the roofs of the keep (even if that access had been through a window), Arya is still brushing dirt and leaf litter from herself as she enters the room. She hasn't even considered exploring her way to a bath, for what would be the point?

When she finds the room occupied she stops in her tracks, her cool, grey gaze falling on a ghost she isn't prepared for. Her sister, but not at all as she's known her recently. Not as the woman she's grown into, someone whose face shows as little warmth as the moors around Winterfell.

This is the girl Arya had left screaming on the steps of the sept in King's Landing. The one that had fainted beside their father's corpse. Arya's collected expression cracks open in shock and she simply stares, wide-eyed. ]

...Sansa?

[porcelainandsteel]

[How long since she saw Arya? Before the execution. Before the letters. Before all of it.]

[Sansa stares right back, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the sister she has thought for a year must be dead. Arya looks different, almost as different as Jon - but, at the same time, so very much the same. Still dirty and unladylike, still Arya Underfoot, still clearly running and scrabbling and scrambling her way around the world in that way which once embarrassed Sansa so thoroughly, but now just grips her chest with painful, wonderful relief and love. Alive. Arya is still alive.]

[She ought to hesitate. She ought to remember that Arya was there when things went wrong, that Arya has never been the most forgiving, that Sansa has done things that she can't even forgive herself for. She ought to hang back, afraid of that coldness she'd seen for a moment on the face of the woman who is, unmistakeably, her sister.]

[She doesn't. She's already moving to grab Arya into a not entirely ladylike embrace (Gods, she thinks, she's taller than me now), the tears starting to her eyes and spilling over almost at once, coming more easily and more uncontrollably than they have since King's Landing.]

I thought you were dead! Arya, I thought they killed you!

[facelessgirl]

[ Arya is too stiff with shock to respond at first but it's the smell of her - clean, thick hair and sweet breath - that snap Arya's arms up and around her sister as though she might be snatched away just as quickly as she'd appeared. It's a strong embrace, perhaps a little too strong until Arya realizes the fear with which she's clutching her and consciously relaxes her arms around the delicate rib cage. Sansa is crying, she realizes, and Arya breaks away and holds her at arms length to get a proper look at her.

Gods, she's... shorter than her. Only by a hair or two, it seems, but Arya has never before been able to look her older sister in the face at a relative height. Her perception of the room and her own size seem to be swimming because of it.

It's a lucky thing she's already spoken to Jon, but she'd been convinced it had been a trick of memory. This, she's forced to accept as she stares, is something else entirely. ]

No one's killed me!

[ There's a note of irritation in her voice because Arya doesn't understand what's going on and Sansa is crying and that is not helping! It's also making her tear up as well, which only makes her more indignant. ]

Gods, Sansa, stop! Don't you... [ But Arya shakes her head, finally releasing her sister's arms. ] You don't remember any of it either, do you?

[ How could she? This Sansa is a child. ]

[porcelainandsteel]

[Not a child, Sansa could have told her. A woman, blooded and wedded if not bedded, and I remember too much to bear. But she does feel like a child, unsure what to do with her baby sister looking her in the eye and more a woman grown than Sansa is, with that tone of anger in Arya's voice that Sansa doesn't know what to make of. Arya's hands, she realises, are strong as a boy's, her grip tighter than it's ever been before. Sansa finds she's glad of that, and when Arya does let go, for a moment she's afraid she'll fall without the support. Her knees seem to have gone out from under her.]

I remember some things. [It sounds rather defensive, a hint of the old Sansa who could never bear to be corrected by her tearaway sister, even as the tears continue to fall.] What happened to you, Arya? You look...

[Older. Harder. Tougher.]

[Alive.]

Last time I saw you was... was in the sept. You can't blame me for thinking the worst.

[facelessgirl]

[ 'What happened to you, Arry?' The question always hits her harder than she thinks it will and the ghost of the answer steals into her eyes for an unsteady moment. They turn a distant, dark grey, caught in the past she'd survived and the many places and experiences currently shuffling themselves around in her memory. She's learned how to go numb in these moments but she isn't sure how to answer. It's with an unsurprising grace that Sansa saves her from it. ]

The last time...

[ In the sept? The sept at Winterfell had been destroyed in the sacking and never rebuilt. She couldn't mean there, in the sept where they'd prayed as children. Then that meant... Still staring at Sansa, Arya shakes her head like she's seeing one of Sansa's songs finally come to life. ]

You're just like Jon, then. You don't remember the rest.

[ The rest that Arya can't forget. She clears her throat and blinks, proud not to have cried in earnest, but it's still painful to see what Sansa believed had happened to her - what she'd left her sister to live with. ]

I left with the Watch recruits. The Night's Watch, I mean. To go north. We... didn't get there.

[ She can't imagine telling Sansa about the road they'd walked, the battle they'd fought, but the worse things that had come after? How could she ever tell anyone any of that? ]

I lived off pigeons for a while, before that. In Flea Bottom.

[ That, at least, she knows will make her squirm. ]

[porcelainandsteel]

[She's not disappointed. Sansa has hardened in many ways since she last saw Arya, but in many other ways, she's still just a sometimes-fussy, often-frightened girl. There's some change, in that her look of disgust is much milder than it probably would have been a year ago, but that's more because she's better at hiding it than she once was.]

[Pigeons are fine. In pie.]

Arya...

[There are a lot of different tones mingling into her voice, there. Pity, guilt, and just a touch of that scolding scorn of old, as though she can't quite believe any sister of hers would do anything so wild.]

[She sniffs, and, in the absence of a handkerchief, dabs delicately at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve.]

Did they... [She lowers her voice, looking almost as though she's afraid they might be overheard, although nobody else is in the room.] They didn't hurt you, did they? [The thought of her sister, her little sister - even if she's not so little now - all alone with the kind of ruffians who are sent to the Wall; the thought of her sister eating pigeons in Flea Bottom; the thought that her sister might even have been there in the riots, in the Battle of the Blackwater, without even the pyrrhic protection of the Lannisters...]

[facelessgirl]

[ That tone, which makes it sound as though she imagines that Arya had some choice around mealtimes when surviving on the streets, makes her scoff out a smile now instead of sending her into a little indignant rage of her own just like it might have all those years ago. Little annoyances like her sister's ladylike sympathies seem like such a silly thing to get upset over, now.

Even if the little flash of defensiveness is still there. ]

I take you don't want to hear about the bugs we had to eat on the road, then.

[ But she actually grins at Sansa as she says it, somehow one of the horrible memories turning, right then in her mind, into something funny she can torture her sister with.

Because the rest of the memories... ]

The brothers? No. [ Another fainter smile. ] I pretended I was a boy. Only one figured it out.

[porcelainandsteel]

I always said that nobody would be able to guess you were a lady.

[It's teasing, as it might have been in happier times. But the tone of it is entirely different: absent that real sting of frustration, and, instead, coming with a kind of uncertainty, almost shyness, that Sansa never used to show with her sister. There's something else in her voice, too, undaunted by the clear disgust she shows at the mention of eating bugs: she actually sounds proud.]

If I'd known you were alive, I would have tried to find you. I swear it.

4

[reignfall]

⟪ Little enough happens in the dungeons, and considering all the things she could think to do to an enemy trapped, perhaps she ought to be grateful for the boredom. If the roles were to ever reverse, it would not be the slow passage of time her current captors would learn to dread.

Is this why she is marked as The Devil? It would make it almost flattering.

Either way, she has a pack of cards to pass the time with, and a precious few hours a day to look forward to, when she is able to meet her twin. All else is nothingness, and perhaps that is why she perked up to listen when she heard timid, girlish steps approaching the cell across.

Even with her back turned, the Stark girl is as easy to recognise as ever, that Tully-red hair and that birdlike way she holds her shoulders, and when she offers that nameless prisoner a cake, but won't step close enough to be grabbed by some man's dirty hands, she laughs. It is a taunting sound, and cruel, and full of sunlight all the same. ⟫

You should step one closer. He may teach you a thing or two you will need in the future.

[porcelainandsteel]

[That voice. That laugh. Sansa flinches visibly, the cake dropping out of her hand, her back jolting straight as if she's been slapped.]

[It's a moment before she turns. Long enough, she hopes, to steady her expression, to pull that armour of courtesy around herself. She has no power here, she thinks, and hopes to all the gods, old and new, that that is true. If Cersei Lannister has one iota of power, then Sansa has no doubt she'd use it to rip the still-beating heart from Sansa's chest.]

[She turns slowly, the man she was speaking to forgotten, and tilts her chin up just a little. The urge is there, born of old habit, to curtsey. As if a curtsey would do anything to assuage the rage of a grieving mother, a shunned queen.]

...Your Grace. [That habit won't die. Septa Mordane raised her to be polite, even under such circumstances. She tries to look at Cersei, tries not to be too obviously afraid. I am a wolf, she tells herself. I am a wolf, and you have no power here.]

[She doesn't feel like a wolf. She is seized by a cold and trickling terror, a certainty that will not be assauged by mere facts, that Ilyn Payne is not far away, that his sharp blade and his rough hands are waiting, that the Queen of Westeros is not so easily dethroned. Her fingers tighten on the napkin she carries, and she bites down on the inside of her cheek.]

I would not have expected to find you here.

[reignfall]

⟪ Even among the general smell of the dungeon – which has nothing still on the dungeons of the Red Keep – the scent of fear is one she picks up with the greatest ease. She wonders, idly, what is worse on the girl right now: fear for her own life, hatred for those who took her father from her?

There is rage behind Cersei's every thought in this cell, but she does not seem immediately ravaged by grief, nor does she seem to be blind with savage hatred. As far as she is concerned, this is simply the silly girl her son will be saddled with for the rest of his life, and it is also the little fool who had, by playing a game no one seems to have bothered to teach her, sold her own lord father out. Now there is blood between them, and the red stain won't cease its tainting until one of them is bled dry. ⟫

You are so well-raised, little dove. ⟪ She knows the lines, at least. ⟫ I should be less surprised, myself. I visited your father in the dungeons, perhaps we are not so different.

⟪ She makes of her voice an even thing, and she stands with all the same grace as she always does, as though she is not dressed in rags, as though her hair is brushed to shining perfection. This things will be again. Her reign is not over. ⟫

[porcelainandsteel]

[We are very different, Sansa thinks bitterly, but does not say, any more than she lets herself show the sharp twist of fury at the mention of her father. Too much tact, too many manners for that. Courtesy, Cersei herself once told her, is a woman's weapon. Sansa has learned that lesson all too well.]

[But something is wrong. Sansa's eyes narrow, just a little, and she finds herself chewing at the inside of her cheek, looking at the older woman through the bars. Little dove. There isn't enough venom in it, not enough fury. It's scornful, but it's only the same scorn she learned to read in everything Cersei says to her, that bitter condescension she'd once taken for kindness.]

[Joffrey had choked on his own breath, and died purple as the amethysts in Sansa's hairnet. And yet Cersei looks at her as though she is no more or less than a girl. As though she didn't know.]

[Sansa shifts uncomfortably, smoothing her loose pants as though she could turn them into a proper skirt by rearranging them enough, and essays a small (and perhaps slightly spiteful) test.]

If I had known you were here, Your Grace, I should have come sooner. I know how hard it is, after all, to be far from your family.

[She will not pretend not to miss them, will not pretend to think them traitors. Cersei does not have the power to make her do it. That is in the past.]

[reignfall]

⟪ If her son had not been so reckless with Eddard's sentence, she could now have a willing and eager pet roaming freely through the castle, rather than to be faced with spiteful wolfspawn. And how quick her little dove is to puff herself up, now that there are bars of iron between them. More like than not, she had gloated the moment she heard of Jaime's capture, fancied it some sign of a victory of her brother's that could carry a lasting weight.

That glee could be beaten out of her like a thieving nature could be beaten out a serving wench.

But for this to come to pass, she must first exercise patience, and patience has run thinner and thinner within her as the years of her marriage carried on. To summon any of it at all feels next to impossible now, yet she is ever superior to all other men and women. She can conquer this, just as she has conquered all else in her life. ⟫

You kind words warm my heart. ⟪ And her voice is as gentle as a winter's breeze. ⟫ You know very little, of course. Your uncaring brother can hardly be compared to mine, and you will not know love until my son gets you with child in time. ⟪ She inclines her head, and then, she does turn softer in truth. ⟫ Your family has sold you, little dove.

[porcelainandsteel]

[Until my son gets you with child.]

[Sansa's knees feel, of a sudden, boneless, as though she might not be able to hold herself upright all too long. She wonders, faintly, if it is more obvious in these strange pants than it would be in a proper skirt.]

[Until my son gets you with child.]

[Gods' grace, she doesn't know.]

[She keeps her voice steady, even if it sounds to her a little reedier than usual. She keeps her small and polite smile, her mask of courtesy.]

My family are here, Your Grace. Did you not know?