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open | i just can't drop this feeling underneath my feet
WHO: Margaery Tyrell & open!
WHAT: Another rifter's arrival, jittery in a library, & getting lost in Hightown.
WHEN: Arrival, quarantine, and the first week after her quarantine is over.
WHERE: The Brecilian Forest, Gallows, Hightown.
NOTES:N/A.
WHAT: Another rifter's arrival, jittery in a library, & getting lost in Hightown.
WHEN: Arrival, quarantine, and the first week after her quarantine is over.
WHERE: The Brecilian Forest, Gallows, Hightown.
NOTES:N/A.
I. ARRIVAL.
The impossible heat of the wildfire isn't what Margaery feels last. No, it's the heavy dread that's worked itself into her veins, overtaking the inches of her hands and feet, emphasizing the rapid beating of her heart that pounds in her eardrums as she sees a glimpse of the future - her grandmother, alone, with nothing but the ashes of their family name trailing her like a cloud. Between that and the fierce, helpless anger that follows, Margaery can barely register anything else but the rumble of their doom, hands tight around Loras' arms before -
Bright green. The color explodes in her vision and it's the last thing her mind processes before she's suddenly falling, a sensation rudely interrupted by the sound of disturbed leaves, snapped branches, and rocks and dirt sent tumbling down uneven slopes. Shock settles into the corners of her senses, somewhat dulling the pain of her scrapes and bruises, although nothing seems to detract from the ache of her hand, the same green glowing up at her like a cursed brand through the paper she clutches. Above her, the sky ...glimmers? Seemingly ripped apart with the same garish hue.
She's always been quick on her feet, but this time, it's the terrifying sound of a inhumane screech that gets her to snap out of her daze, to push the pressing questions out of her mind and stumble to her feet. Distantly, she thinks she can hear the sounds of other voices, probably far closer than she can tell, but terror has her back in its grip and it's all she can do to back away from the fear demons closing in on her -
Seven hells.
II. LIBRARY
She's not exactly alone, but the thought of being limited to where she might go makes Margaery far more restless than she should be. She wakes early every morning, and wonders if it's simply her lifelong habits too stubbornly ingrained in her body, or fear of the unknown lurking in the back of her mind at all times. A probable mix of both, she muses, as she finds her feet taking her to the main library this morning.
The early hour allows her to slink through the aisles without garnering much attention, if at all. It's eerily quiet, almost oppressive in a way that Margaery has grown to appreciate these past few weeks - tangible silences that she can feel bearing down on her existence feel so grounding. Mostly because her own mind is never quiet these days, stretched apart from death and despair and grief, and the deceptively simple pain of homesickness that winds around her heart like a vine. Emptiness follows, too, for a home no longer present.
But she puts too much faith in what she hears, made evident in the next moment as she goes from turning a corner without watching where she's going, and ends up walking right into a solid source of warmth that is most evidently not a shelf. A good thing, perhaps, as the collision still makes her wince where her bruised ribs emanate their disapproval.
"Forgive me," she gasps, instinctively in a whisper. "I'm so terribly sorry. Are you alright?"
III. HIGHTOWN
The sky darkens above her as Margaery fights the urge to bite her lip - determined not to show any signs of uncertainty - and keeps following the path she's on. To others, her footsteps appear to be sure, undoubtedly hurried from the important appointment she must get to.
In reality, she is terribly lost.
Although the thought of stopping and asking a kindly-looking stranger crosses her mind, the last thing she wants to do is alert anyone in this strange place that she's alone, without anyone who'd inquire after her absence too seriously. No, she'll find her way on her own - even if that hope is faltering in her heart as she recognizes the same row of stalls she's passed an eternity ago. She's going in circles.
The crystal weighs around her neck, heavier and heavier as her exhaustion begins to make way for hunger. Her pride, the traitorous thing, is shrinking as she thinks she notices some men eyeing her with interest. She's done her best not to utilize the crystal so far, preferring to keep to herself instead of reaching out as she should.
Margaery takes a deep breath and shuts away her ego into a neat little box.
"I fear I may be lost in Hightown. Would anyone be able to help me?"
IV. WILDCARD
[ please let me know if you'd like a customized starter!chignon or pm works c: ]
no subject
And so it becomes her turn, although she bears it with far more gratitude, as there is kindness still, underlying the formal delivery of this sound advice. "You are not wrong to say so." She does not feel the need to explain herself, as the outcome has already been determined, but what she can do, is offer a small smile with, "I promise I will be mindful of my wanderings next time, and secure an escort or a suitable method to find my way back."
Her smile grows, until it's interrupted by the growling of her stomach, rude and impatient now that it's been waiting to dine for hours - a life of food constantly within reach is not quite the easiest foundation when it comes to acclimating to Riftwatch, as it turns out. Margaery looks appropriately rueful, placing a hand over it as if to silence it somehow. "My apologies. The market stalls were so terribly fascinating, I kept putting off coming back.
no subject
βWell. I have a table for this evening at an establishment not far from here,β a noble's club that she has been building a relationship with, and Margaery may make herself unintentionally useful toward some of those ends if these pretty manners are anything to go by, βso we will repair there for dinner, after which I have already scheduled a hire carriage to return to the docks before the last ferry.β
Several hours before, she expects; she might have lingered more alone, but she is nothing if not adept at adapting her plans on the fly to new pieces on the board.
βI may need to leave you, briefly, but I don't expect for long. It will be an opportunity, if you like.β To ask questions of her; to see a side of Kirkwall that most new rifters do not, immediately.
no subject
Still, Margaery's still aware enough to be grateful that despite her lengthy excursion, she's managed to keep herself relatively clean through the course of her wanderings - anywhere that's not far from here will undoubtedly be an establishment that requires a bit more focus on appearance, and she'd rather suffer a wait than risk being an embarrassment to Riftwatch or this woman.
"May I know your name? Or what you would prefer for me to call you?" Memorizing names is something of a specialty she has, simply from the many hours spent poring over history books and family trees with her tutors, and it is a strength she relies on heavily now, navigating through the many unique names she's heard over the past few weeks with relative ease. Something about her rescuer though, makes Margaery think that she'll most likely have a name that suits her unusually well.
no subject
If she had said, you may call me Madame de Cedoux, the implication would have been different; that perhaps it was Margaery particularly who might call her so, that it was of a piece with the way that she has clearly reserved her judgment yet. A criticism might have been read into such wording, and it is clearer with the way that she chooses to introduce herself that this is simply how she introduces herself.
She doesn't linger at it, but begins walking with the expectation of Margaery falling in step with her β it is, indeed, not far to the club where she signs herself in as Mme de Cedoux & guest and exchanges pleasantries with the attendants who take her capelet, her hat, her gloves with nary a pause over her anchor-shard as its exposed. Margaery herself is clearly sufficiently novel as to draw glances, but the novelty isn't worth anyone's job and most of the other guests this evening aren't gauche enough to be caught staring.
They are shown to a table upstairs of the split dining area, where it's quieter, and Petrana requests wine but seems to expect that they will simply be provided with the set courses for the evening and does not bother herself about what those are.
no subject
So she does her best to be a credit in Madame's presence, keeping her wandering eyes to a minimum so she looks every bit like she belongs in her company and not a straggler who's managed to tag along. But once they are seated, she waits an appropriate amount of silence before gently breaking it with the first of many questions she has rattling about. (Given the nature of their meeting, as well as the comfortable quiet that accompanied them all the way here, Margaery assumes small talk isn't exactly appreciated.)
"May I ask what it is you do in Riftwatch, Madame de Cedoux?"
Despite her very best efforts, her tongue still stumbles over the unusual shape of these particular syllables.
no subject
she accepts, without losing the thread of her conversation, the wine poured for her by a discreet attendant who fills Margaery's cup, too, before withdrawing.
βthough I am myself a member of the diplomacy division.β
Of course.
βAt one time, when Riftwatch was still but a satellite of the Inquisition, I held the post of Ambassador for that division. I have maintained certain connections that I made during my tenure.β This may go some way to explaining her ease in Hightown, as well.