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ulfur, n. (Icelandic, from Norse): wolf

2025

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[a generic automated greeting in a synthetic voice: 'you have reached the inbox of Ned Stark. please leave a message.']

Date: 2020-12-13 06:47 am (UTC)
qelos: (⚔️ laugh)
From: [personal profile] qelos
I would not be surprised if they encourage it. Even if they aren’t studying human behaviour. Perhaps they simply wish for us to have every opportunity while we’re here, for that purpose they claimed we have.

[He guides her towards what appears to be a gambling house of some sort; whatever a casino is, and she goes, all too aware of how his arms shifts, his hand drapes at the small of her back.

It is... almost overwhelming, the cacophony of lights and sounds they step into, and she cannot help but gaze at everything a little stunned. She’s never seen anything like this. Gambling houses, certainly, but this is as strange as all else she’s seen since her arrival. Leaps and bounds away from all that she is familiar with. His hand is warm on the small of her back, though. Reminding her that she’s not stepping into things alone.

Her own brow lifts, just as teasingly, her smile fond and playful.]


Oh, I never thought you would.

Date: 2020-12-14 11:08 am (UTC)
qelos: (Default)
From: [personal profile] qelos
There is a great deal to take in.

[He guides her towards the bar and she goes, easily, taking it all in thoughtfully. His words earn him another amused smile. They would see whether or not she’s disappointed shortly. But the tavern maid seems to know her wine, so she suspects she won’t be.

Ashara toasts Ned and breathes in the scent of the wine they’ve been brought. It smells of oak casks and vanilla and dark red fruits. It reminds her enough of home to earn an approving smile before she takes a considerate sip. Hm. Not bad. ]


Yes.

[She misses it more than she knows what to do with, at times. The warmth of Dorne, the smell of the desert and Dorne herself carried on the winds. The simplicity of things. Even the grief at losing Ned, mourning the loss of the man she loved. She was devastated. But it was simple. Knowing that she’d lost him. No longer able to see him. Not this... complicated ease at which they’ve fallen back into each other’s company. Warm familiarity and ease. No matter how much joy it brings her. She’s in danger of falling all over again. (As though she’s ever not been fallen for him. As though she’s ever stopped loving him.)

But she can’t do anything else. He is Ned Stark and she is Ashara Dayne, and she would sooner cut off a limb than choose to avoid him. Even though that might be for the best. They fit together too easily and she’s missed him too much. There’s no stopping how she smiles for him. Just for him. They’re friends. That’s enough. She can smile just for him as his friend. In remembrance of their history together.]


A bit, at least. The sun in the recreation dome helps. The wind doesn’t carry the scent of the desert, or Dorne herself, there, but it does help.
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