open | i just can't drop this feeling underneath my feet

[molineux]

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.

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

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Comments

[acreage]

"That, I can help you with." Since his room is starting to resemble a small library, he adds, "And I can lend you books, too. It just depends on where you want to start."

A flash of memory: being newly arrived, marveling at the luxury of a bookstore, and John Silver suggesting, Orlais might be a good place to start. Or if you're curious about our enemies, Tevinter.

He frowns slightly at her question, though, weighs it in his mind briefly.

"Why do you ask?"

[molineux]

"Perhaps ones on the Chantry, if you have any," she decides with a thoughtful nod, more to herself. "I've found that understanding the relationship religion holds with different groups of people could be incredibly beneficial in grasping the culture overall."

At his inquiry though, Margaery's expression offers something more apologetic. "I hope I haven't offended you. Your demeanor, the way you stand, even, feels as though it may be from a world that's not as tightly wound in hierarchy as mine."

It's not really an important detail in the grand scheme of things, but it she can't help but notice it - perhaps because it's such a grounding reminder of their differences.

"It's..." she searches for the right word, the right phrase. The closest one is - "quite refreshing."

[acreage]

"You're in luck," he says, "I just finished reading one of those. I'll get it to you next time I see you."

He hadn't had much interest in the Chantry, in contrast to Margaery, until very recently. So much cleverer her to consider the significance of Theodosian belief system to attitudes right off the bat.

At the suggestion of offense, he shakes his head; a quiet don't worry about it. Wryly,

"The word you're looking for might be impertinent."

He's heard it before, he can admit this about himself.

[molineux]

"Very much appreciated, Jim. If there's anything I can also help you with, please do let me know?"

(It's their first meeting, so she won't regale him with the story about how religious fanatics directly led to the circumstances of her near-death. That feels more like a 100th meeting type of topic.)

"I don't see impertinence as a bad trait," she says with amusement, mostly because his wry acceptance tells her that he's used to hearing it in a more negative connotation. "I happen to think it's a form of kindness that you always let people know where you stand."

A kindness, to be sure, as it most definitely would've been a weakness back home.

"Are you the type of person who'd also appreciate being given the exact same honesty in turn?"