hungry for the kill

[molineux]

WHO: Margaery Tyrell & you! c:
WHAT: random dailies. pls come bug her.
WHEN: mostly Harvestmere.
WHERE: Gallows.
NOTES: lmk if you'd like something custom!

Despite Margaery’s recent development with Gwenaëlle, she can still be found around the Gallows frequently, from charming the smithy into teaching her out to best sharpen her dagger to being on the training grounds learning how to best use it. She’s come a long way from her first session, but her movements are still too graceful to be properly aggressive, and anyone who offers to help her train will find it’s easy to catch a foot and ‘help’ her tumble to the ground.

When she’s not getting her ass kicked, Margaery’s often seated somewhere in the courtyard, which makes for an excellent position to work on her embroidery and people-watch at the same time - but if she desires more privacy, the herb garden is also a good bet. Those who stop by the apothecary might also be able to see her perusing the shelves for her beauty routine purposes - and get a tip or two if they desire to ask.

Speaking of routines: if there’s anything Margaery’s particularly religious about, it’s her baths. Like clockwork, she can be found carrying buckets of water up to her room at dusk - still looking regal as hell while she does it with her straight-backed posture and all - and with a focused energy that speaks volumes of how far she’s willing to go to get properly clean. Those who wish to have a conversation at this time may find themselves also forced to follow her exercise, as she’ll only stop her process for emergencies.

Comments

↣ derrica

[molineux]

Years of watching Loras practice has made Margaery hope that somewhere, slumbering inside of her, is her own talent for the fighting arts. Something to gift to her future children. And yet, on some days like today, it feels as though her own body is going through a force of rebellion: slow when it should be fast, rigid where it should be flexible. It makes sense, when her thoughts are so jumbled that she can barely get a sense of her bearings before a clash of weapons catches her off guard and —

A shooting ache jolts up her wrist and she drops the dagger as her breaths grow heavier, excessive amounts of sweat curling the baby strands around her hairline. She’s — annoyed, she can feel it, like a raw egg that threatens to crack and spill over at any moment, but she doesn’t want to break while she has company, and so Margaery swallows the rock in her throat and smiles, the picture of red-faced apologies.

“I apologize, Derrica. I don’t know what’s come over me today.”

arrives wearing the most intense shame cone ever

[tender]

They are meant to be starting slow. The way Vanadi had taught her is what Derrica is trying to mimic: basics, growing used to the feel of the weapon, build comfort in the movement of their bodies. The pair of them are well-matched. Margaery is slightly taller, but they are similarly slender; Derrica is not a daunting partner for Margaery to learn with, she thinks.

But their practice rattles to a halt as Margaery's dagger clatters to the ground. Derrica stops herself immediately, expression quizzical at first, then sympathetic as she drops any pretense as maintaining her guard. The dagger is tucked away in the borrowed sheath at her hip.

"It's alright. We're due for a break anyway, yes?"

Maybe not, but it's a graceful way of giving Margaery's a little time. Maybe this is too much exertion. She hasn't struck Derrica as a woman who had to engage in strenuous activity, and it is kind to respect those limitations. As they practice more, Margaery will build her endurance. It had been much the same for Derrica, after all.

↣ loki

[molineux]

She hadn’t meant to come back to her room so soon, but with an unexpected wedge of free time in her plans for the day, Margaery finds herself walking up the steps to the residence towers before the sun has even risen high in the sky. She’s thinking about how to best finish up the details on her flower silk crown for the next Hightown party when she turns the corner and notices a tall figure huddled over the lock at—

—yes, it is her door.

It’s only vague recognition that makes Margaery remain calm and assume he’s not a burglar - men of his stature are incredibly difficult to miss, after all. Perhaps he’s lost?

“May I help you?” she asks, tone almost sickeningly sweet to convey her true emotions. If he turns, he’ll find her standing a few feet away with her hands folded, one eyebrow raised and lips curled up in a challenging smile.

[icasm]

Well. Shit.

He's gotten rusty, not only at picking locks (granted it's been an age since he's needed to do it by hand and feel alone, no magic to help him) but at listening for people coming up behind him. He doesn't startle so much as he freezes, and the lockpicks disappear up his sleeve as he turns towards Margaery, smiles, and bows.

"I suppose you could." He tilts his head a little and pushes a hand through his hair before straightening his shirt. "You were with Gwenaëlle Baudin at the party in Hightown, weren't you? I was curious about you, I'll admit, but... unfortunately distracted that evening and did not get a chance to ask you to dance."

Is he just going to slither right over the fact that he was trying to get into her room? Yes, apparently.

[molineux]

The explanation is fair, although from the quirk at her lips, it's clear that Margaery knows he's deliberately skirting over the fact that they're at her door right about now. However, she does retain the social skills of a proper lady, and as such, decides to take the more gracious route.

"I'm flattered that you noticed me," she says, smirk blooming into a full, warm smile. "And I'm glad you've searched me out-" by manner of speaking, "as I believe I also noticed you with Gigi's best friend, but I too, became preoccupied."

She steps closer, until it's obvious that she's going for the door, and opens it with little ceremony to show that there isn't much. Her room is neat, with a faint whiff of lavender oils breezing out to greet them. Apart from the day-old flowers sitting in a vase by the window and the collection of luxurious dresses (Gwenaëlle's work, no doubt), it more or less appears to be standard living quarters.

"But unfortunately, I don't believe I'm very interesting at all." Margaery's normally too well-bred to lean against things, but she finds she has to now, with his height and how close they are together, standing in the doorway. There's a definite note of amusement in her voice. "The most scandalous things you might've found are... things typically found in a lady's room."

↣ prudence

[molineux]

Margaery holds the opinion that the best part about training is the part when she gets to take a breather and watch other, far more skilled people. Some make it look like a proper dance despite the heaviness of their weapons, and although she knows that there’s no measure of grace in the battlefield, it’s almost enough to romanticize the whistle of steel through the air or the heavy satisfaction of a target well hit.

She’s only in the process of stretching for warm-ups the first time she spots someone she doesn’t believe she’s seen before - almost stately, with the same amount of confidence housed in her expression and the grip of her swords. The confidence is clarified only a moment later, as Margaery watches one of the straw heads fall off with poorly disguised interest. Her swings had been so well-controlled, almost effortless, and even though the muscles in her arms pull at the motion, Margaery manages a gentle clap.

“That was truly wonderful, my lady.”

[sagaciouselle]

She doesn't expect the applause, for whatever reason; she's aware of people watching her, but that isn't new. People watched when she practiced with a staff back in Hasmal's Circle as well. She's always been ruthless, even if it is just a matter of training as opposed to the real thing.

It's easier to be calm in a practice run. Even if the fury is always just there, beneath the surface.

She turns to glance over her shoulder at the woman who has spoken, inclines her head. "Thank you." 'My lady' is such a strange, double-headed term for her. Mages can't be ladies or lords unless they're Tevene, and she's had her fill with that particular behavior for a lifetime, thanks.

But there's always the chance that this woman doesn't know she's a mage; it's not like one can tell just by watching her with a sword, of all things.

"What is your weapon of choice?"

[molineux]

Margaery clearly doesn't expect an invitation for a conversation, with the way she blinks before seamlessly transitioning into a smile. "Words, I suppose. Which aren't as impressive as your weapon of choice, I'm afraid."

She studies the woman properly, now that she has her full attention, and she finds that she's even more striking this way. "I don't mean to interrupt your session," she adds apologetically. "Women with proper weaponry are still a sight I find myself adjusting to, but more often than not, they're impossible not to admire."

This world is better, in that particular regard.

"I'm Margaery. I came in through the rift a few months ago."

↣ ellie

[molineux]

There’s a small corner dedicated to the art supplies Margaery’s managed to procure in one of the corners of her room, although it takes her spotting Ellie drawing in the courtyard that reminds her of her successful venture.

“Here.” she says by way of greeting, looking entirely too proud of herself as she approaches her friend with an armload — which looks to be more than it really is. A quick rundown of the supplies yields four canvases (three average-sized, one small), a small wooden box full of different colored ink glasses, and a tin can that turns out to hold jet black paint.

“I happened upon a gentleman who confessed he attempted to take up art in hopes of impressing a lady. When she turned down his fifth attempt at her portrait, he gave up his pursuits. Unfortunately, he never bothered with charcoal or any other mediums so this is everything he still had.”

It strikes her then, that maybe it’s not as good of a find as she’d hoped, and her expression falls slightly. “I hope this will be enough?”

[notathreat]

Ellie's sitting cross-legged in a corner of the courtyard herb garden, sketching what appears to be a detailed rendition of several different medicinal herbs, stuff like elfroot, blood lotus, spindleweed -- opposite an accurate but uncolored ink drawing of a Crystal Grace. There are notes in the margin, first in Ellie's own hand, a language that belonged to her in another world, and then over again in blocky, somewhat clumsy Thedosian lettering. (She's still getting the hang of it.)

She looks up when Margaery heads up to her, her mouth actually dropping open when she realizes what she's carrying. She drops her sketchbook to stand, reaching out to help Margaery hold everything.

"Holy shit, are you serious?!" Ellie asks, the shock and pleasure all too evident on her face. "This is awesome-"

[molineux]

The relief comes first, and then a trickle of realization. After that, gentle laughter. "This is the first time I've ever seen you so happy," she notes with a properly pleased grin, teeth and all.

It's not that she's being sentimental, but in times like these, when full smiles are so rarely given the opportunity to shine, it makes all the difference. The fact that it's Ellie also doesn't hurt; the inherent heaviness in her expressive eyes seems to be chased away, like storm clouds cowering from the sun.

Margaery catches a glimpse of the sketches as she unloads to give Ellie a chance to inspect all the materials and she goes on to ask, "Am I correct in assuming you need these supplies to prepare for Satinalia?"

bathtime

[altusimperius]

He's just coming out from the group quarters and on his way down to the communal baths when Benedict encounters Margaery trundling along with a bucket in each hand. He pauses in the doorway with a look of mild confusion as she makes to ascend the stairs, his eyebrows climbing with surprise or perhaps respect.

"Putting out a fire?" he asks, already knowing the answer, but finding it a little bit funny anyway.

[molineux]

She's used to the looks by now - apparently you go around smiling at everyone a few times and they get surprised when you show how toned you actually are - but it doesn't get any less amusing.

"Yes, in a way," she says with a smile that looks far more mischievous for what she's actually planning. Indeed, his question and her answer could dabble in double meanings - her favorite. "It's undoubtedly my favorite part of the day, for all the time I get to have to myself." She pauses, briefly. "Are you on your way to the baths?"

[altusimperius]

When she speaks, Benedict is quick to identify her voice as the one he heard over the crystal the other day-- to whom he made a total arse of himself, no less, but he tries not to let it show in his face when he nods in confirmation to her question.

"It's quite a lot of effort to go to for privacy," he replies, nudging his head toward the buckets. "Worth it?"

Apothecary

[muckspout]

As Margaery is perusing the shelves, Edgard pops up right behind her and gasps lightly.

"Whatever you do," He says seriously. "Don't drink that."

He holds his hands up and seems like he's about to explain and then shakes his head, changing his mind.

"Just don't."

[molineux]

She's not expecting company - not one so close, either, and his gasp only ends up making her jump in turn.

"Well, now you've got me curious." she says with some faint semblance of a pout, eyebrows furrowing as she takes a closer looking at the bottle he seems to be indicating.

"This one, you mean? Do you have a bad experience with it?"

[muckspout]

Margaery's jump makes Edgard jump and hit the shelves which precariously wobble. Edgard makes an eek face and looks to the shopkeeper who appears to have not noticed.

"Did, yeah. It was very strange."

He shakes his head.

"Turns out you're not supposed to drink it."

↣ abby

[molineux]

As fun as it is to engage in harmless espionage and sabotage, Margaery finds herself looking forward to more than just potentially leading Abby astray. And it's very obvious if the dress she's wearing as she casually strolls out from the kitchens is of any indication, with her back almost entirely exposed and a low neckline.

There are no sweet greetings today, not when the thrill of a predatory game is afoot. Instead of a smile, Abby gets treated to the sight of Margaery's lopsided smirk.

"Before we begin, I'd like to know what you'll do if you find Diplomacy's pins here. Just so I know whether or not I'll need to keep an eye on you."

That's definitely a lie, as she intends to keep an eye on Abby no matter what, but she looks for the tells in her expression anyway, hoping to find a clue that she'll be able to apply to future situations.

"Will you be sweet enough to give it to me, dear Abby? There may even be a reward in it for you."

[armd]

"Christ," she mutters, noticing her from across the hall; Abby did not dress for the occasion. She's wearing trousers that have dirt on them, and a dull-coloured shirt that laces up over her collarbones, hair braided loosely back. A few strands have already escaped over the course of the day: they frame her face. She gives hardly any thought to her appearance on any given day, but she's thinking about it now, and very much so.

Margaery is doing her sly princess thing again, if the curling smirk is anything to go off of. Abby regards her as she draws ever nearer, her gaze dropping momentarily to the deep cut of her dress, drinking her fill before she meets her eye. Would be rude not to indulge, right.

"What I'll do?"

She chuckles, her eyes bright. "Think I'll probably put them up on top of a high shelf."

And: already distracted. She fucking knew this was going to happen, "What's the reward? I should probably know, so I can consider all my options."

[molineux]

It's as good of an invitation to play as any, and while Margaery continues to keep an eye out for any implications of discomfort, she can't help but be delighted. Her flirtatious banter with Astarion is safe in their mutual, unspoken agreements, but this nebulous arrangement with Abby is unknown territory - something that ventures far beyond set expectations.

"Well," she says thoughtfully, appearing to be entirely serious. "I was going to offer you a kiss, but if you put the pins on top of a high shelf, I'd be most keen to get you between my legs-"

Her smile is downright smug in brief pause that follows.

"-so that you might help me retrieve it myself, seated on your shoulders."

And then it's back to wide, innocent eyes because of course that's what she meant all along. How could there be any other meaning?

"Shall we?"

training ground;

[sparklequeen]

Like Margaery, Glimmer has started focusing on her training. While she's quite comfortable with her staff already, her dagger-work needs, well, work. So here she is out on the training grounds again, dressed in comfortable, practical clothes and with a wooden practice weapon in hand. So far, it's been a bit of a case of the blind leading the blind, but as long as they practice, they should improve, right? Glimmer is fussing over a particular technique.

"So you just... thrust in like that, right?" she asks, almost rhetorically as she extends her arm in a lunge.

"But don't you end up overextending that way?"

[molineux]

"You're not wrong," Margaery says slowly, reaching out to gently knock her own wooden dagger against Glimmer's in a slow mimicry of how she's seen others disarm. "It also seems to keep your retreat without injury nearly impossible, but I think perhaps - it's all in the grip? And the aim. If we aim correctly the first time around, we may not have to worry about how much we've overextended."

It's mostly her theorizing, and maybe about 30% bullshit, as justifying movements from the memories of all the spars she's seen is proving to be useless - and not for the first time, she wishes her brother was here. Margaery shoves that thought down though, smiling faintly at Glimmer as she mimics the lunge so the other queen can attempt to disarm her.

"What made you want to pick up dagger training, when you're already so skilled with a staff?"

[sparklequeen]

"Right, if you hit them it doesn't matter because uh, they're dead, right?" Glimmer asks, a touch rhetorically. She turns her practice weapon aside, as if to mimic being disarmed, then draws her hand back into a guard position, ready to go again. Then Margaery comes at her and she mimics the disarming movement, moving slowly as if it might provide insight into the questions at hand.

"A couple things, I guess? My friend Ellie--she's really good with a knife and so I guess I'm kinda hoping we can practice?" An excuse to spend more time with a friend is good, right?

"And I want to be able to fight if I lose my staff. Ellie and I did a bandit sweep the other week and... um..." She finds herself struggling with how to word what comes next.

"I had to use my dagger on someone." There. That's safely detached from the reality of stabbing a man to death so close you can smell his breakfast on his breath.

Training grounds (the latest, let me know if you want any adjustments)

[sohighandwild]

Margaery would normally be a better candidate for a mark than an ally, but Ket better than anyone knows that appearances can be deceiving. Loxley has earned enough trust that he can effectively vouch for others, and it's not hard to imagine several ways for Margaery to make herself useful. And the fact that she's taking steps to learn to defend herself is, in its way, heartening. If nothing else, it shows a woman willing to adapt.

"You know, it's funny," she observes, from where she's leaning against the fence surrounding the training grounds. Depending on how hard she's been concentrating, Margaery may or may not have a sense of how long Ket has been there. "My dancing teacher used to say I moved like I was in a knife fight, and here you have the opposite problem."

[molineux]

"I'm going to be stubborn and take it as a compliment." But the lopsided smile on Margaery's face easily gives away the fact that she's knows it couldn't be any further from the truth. At least she's far past the embarrassment that comes with being witnessed in an uncomfortable zone - a positive development, in this new definition of survival. "But a knife fight requires a certain light-footed quality that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to master."

Dancing is built into her muscles by now, proving to be all the more stubborn to forget. Dancing is all about grace, small movements of her feet but with certainty in where they land. The unpredictability of a fight, always, will irritate Margaery more than she can express.

"I'm used to knowing where my feet should go to work in tandem with someone else. Harming them, while not being harmed return, is... difficult to imagine."