02 ❆

[needlebearer]

Who: Arya and OPEN
Where: The corridors of the mansion, then Arya's room
When: March 8
Rating: G, will update if needed
Summary: Arya disposes of too many swords, then chills in her blanket fort
The Story:

a) Corridors

It's far more likely that Arya will be heard before she's seen; a metallic clank echoes down the hallways announcing her presence. She walks slowly, trying not to overbalance, her arms bundled full of swords of all different shapes and sizes. She's clearly struggling with the weight of them but keeps going nonetheless, looking down at them as though irritated with their presence, and looking more than a little daunted with the prospect of having to drag them downstairs, though what she's ultimately going to do with them she's not sure.


b) Arya's Room

She keeps her door open today, proud of her handiwork and wanting to show it off. Her communications device is next to her, discarded in disinterest, and she's sat cross legged in the middle of the pile of blankets, turning over a coin in her hands, almost entranced by it, though she quickly shoves it into her pocket when she hears anyone approach, scared that it might be taken from her when she's only just got it back.

Comments

[needlebearer]

"I was." She glances down at the pile of steel a little sadly, feeling very cut off from all of that now. "But my teacher was murdered, so I've been trying to continue by myself."

[araneidal]

Natasha looks at her, scrutinising, looking for the faint definition of muscle and change in how one holds a body when learning a discipline like sword fighting. It's faint but present — Arya's young but so was Natasha, once.

'Tell you what,' she says, after a moment. 'If you can't find anyone to teach you, I will.'

[needlebearer]

Arya blinks in surprise at the offer, then looks up at Natasha in delight. "Really? I always wanted to learn from a woman."

[araneidal]

The delight of a child, perhaps there's nothing ominous to a child learning swordplay in Arya's world.

'We have to fight differently, it's true.' She peers over the other swords. 'Do you already have one of your own?'

[needlebearer]

"Yes, but it was stolen from me, back in my own world." She sounds more bitter than sad over that, knowing she'd hunt down Polliver and get it back if it was the last thing she did. "I thought that maybe if I kept pulling them out of the wardrobe, I'd get it back." She glances down at the pile of swords almost resentfully, realising now how futile her attempts were. "There are a couple here that are similar to Needle, though. Here." She picks out a light fencing sword, automatically going into the stance of a water dancer when its in her hand.

[araneidal]

Natasha's eyes move up from the floor. Fencing isn't her forte, but whoever taught Arya was a dancer. It's in the feet, and the lightness of the grip. She nods faintly in approval and recognition.

'It will have to do. We can keep the rest in the gym, there'll be someone around here who can use the rest.'

[needlebearer]

Arya nods assent, then bends down to gather up the rest of the swords. "I'm glad to be learning from a woman. I've never seen another who knows how to fight."

[araneidal]

'All women know how to fight,' Natasha says. It's not a deliberate contradiction nor scathing in the tone. It's a fact. 'Why is it important to you to fight with a sword, specifically?'

[needlebearer]

"I learned a little, back in my own world." It stings to think back on it, on the day Jon had given her Needle, on Syrio's lessons, and she knows one day the sting will lessen but she doesn't want it to, as she's so scared that will mean she's forgetting about them. "I wanted to carry on with what I was taught, if I can. But it doesn't matter too much if it's a sword or something else, so long as I can get stronger." That's the one thing she can do, while she's stuck here. She can train and get stronger and then when she goes back she'll kill them all.

[araneidal]

There is one way Natasha knows how to be strong better than anyone else, and Arya even now sounds like a survivor. It isn't that she's afraid, she knows what's stronger than fear.

Anger is a powerful motivator. She looks down at the sword in her hand.

'I fight to win. I don't care for rules, or honour. If you're willing, that's what you'll learn from me.'

[needlebearer]

There was a time, not too long ago, when Arya wouldn't have liked that at all. But she's learned the hard way that those who cleave to honour, like her father, will only end up dead. None of her enemies were going to follow the rules, so she knew she'd have to follow their example and fight dirty. The end would justify the means. "That's what I want, what I need. If you'll have me."

[araneidal]

She doesn't like the idea of a child needing this. Even her, who knows firsthand what kind of child might. Natasha looks at Arya, searching.

'Can I ask why?'

[needlebearer]

The look she gives her is one of hardened resolve even stronger than the steel in her arms. "Because they killed my father. And my mother, and Robb. And Bran and Rickon. And Grey Wind, and Lady, and Mycah, and Syrio, and Lommy. They sacked Winterfell and they took Sansa and stole Needle. And I'm going to get all of them, even if it kills me."

[araneidal]

It's not steel. It's an oncoming tidal wave, a whirlwind, it's something that's contradictorily contained within a human body that is inescapable. Natasha's eyes narrow in assessment, and she says quietly, 'I'm sorry for your loss, Arya. I'll do what I can for you.'

Arya might die trying. In fact that's the most likely answer. Vengeance is not kind, and it too can't be held. Natasha doesn't have a soft spot for underdogs, but the risks here are surmountable. Whirlwinds have to learn to be unleashed, after all.

[needlebearer]

"I'm going to do what I can for me, too." It's the most she can promise herself, or either of them for that matter. She's long accepted she'll likely die before getting to even half the people on her list, but if anything that's made her even more resolved; they'd haunt her the rest of her life anyway if she just gave up, anyway.