Tiny Act of Rebellion

"Thirty five years is a long time to despise your best friend" Indie Genevieve Schovajsa Private and Selective Canon-inspired OC Tracking: snowdrenched Established September 2015

[snowdrenched]

On Indefinite Hiatus. 

[snowdrenched]

nowherexkids:

     She found comfort in Genie’s arms, as she always did. In the back of her mind, a small voice wondered if this was what it was like to have a mother–a  real mother, like she heard of in stories and saw on television, or in the park, or at the store. That voice was silenced though, when Mim squeezed back tightly and made her silent promise that Genie would never lose her. Ever.

     She pulled back from the hug and gave Genie a smile. Everything was quickly being forgotten. Fears had subsided. Uncertainty pushed aside. Gently, she patted the sides of Genie’s face before she started signing again.

     Did you hear it? I had a voice. Her eyes, still wet from the tears, now shone brightly with excitement at that development. There was still good, somewhere, in all of this and leave it to Mim to pick it out.

The relief she had felt at realising Mim was not lost after all, the relief and the gratitude, it was all very exhausting after the panic and the fear and the confusion. And the confusion, that was still there, still lingering, because this was all very strange and very new. And knowing that it was not a game, that it was real, that Mim could do these things....it made it no less confusing. But Genie, she did not care, did not care how confusing or exhausting it all was, so long as her little girl was okay, that she was safe. 

She smiled when Mim patted her face and turned her head to kiss one of her little hands as she did so. Little hands that immediately began chattering away, movements as exciteable as the look in her eyes, and Genie could not help but laugh a little.

“Yes, I heard it, but I also hear this voice now, yes?” She told her, playfully tapping her hands. “It is different, but it is a voice, miláček. Your voice,” She signed those words as well, emphasising her point, “No one else’s” @nowherexkids

[snowdrenched]

handofhonor:

“Katarina sounds nice.” Ned thought that the name would suffice for the young girl much better than Kathryn. While they might be the same name, she didn’t look like a Kathryn, only a Katarina. Ned watched the girl, who seemed intrigued by him, thoughtful and interested. Ned was about to wave to the small child before she started chattering away in Genevieve’s ear, Ned understanding none of it, having no idea what was being said. He could only imagine what was coming from her mouth as he knew small children could say the most outlandish things.

In another case, he would say that he would not have expected the girl to say such a thing but after everything that’d happened, Ned wasn’t quite sure. He frowned, wanting to sniff but he thought better of it, knowing that it would only help reenforce what she was saying. “I hope I don’t smell.” Ned thought it was interesting that Katarina believed he smelled like a dog, that he was smelling like an animal that he clearly was but only a few people knew. “How does she know I smell like a dog?” Did she have something special as well? Or was it just Genevieve who had some sort of talent?

It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear but he also knew that Genevieve was correct. After everything he’d been through, the soreness would stay, the pain would linger. He could feel the raw circle on his ankle, feeling the soreness from his injuries, the dull pain from his wounds. Mayhaps if he was elsewhere, he would have Maester Luwin look over his wounds but with no Maester, it would be proven difficult to do. “Good, that was a good decision.” Limited word needed to be out about how he had been missing, how he had been taken by hunters. The less people who heard, the better. Ned shifted slightly on the couch, pushing himself up so he was sitting now, the blanket still wrapped tightly around him. He could only imagine how Catelyn was going to react and if more than just Darius would be returning. “Your son may not come back alone.”

Genevieve shrugged, having no more an answer than Ned did. “Perhaps children, young children, they are more sensitive to smells, perhaps you remind her of....” She trailed off, not knowing. Had her granddaughter had a dog, had they once had a pet dog and did this remind her of that dog now? Perhaps Ned, he had shifted so often in that cage, perhaps it had left some smell on him...but Genie could not smell it, even if she tried. But then children...they were always different, they saw things adults did not, understood things because they had not been told what was wrong and what was right yet. They were still learning, still open-minded.

“I think that needs to be cleaned,” She added, gesturing to the ankle wounds, “I think the dirt in it, it will only make it worse” Genevieve set little Katarina down on the floor where the young child sat happily, pulling at her own feet as she did so, giggling when she toppled backwards and her little skirt fell about her head. She continued to giggle happily even as her grandmother went to the kitchen to get some water and some soap. Katarina decided then that trying to forward roll would be very good fun, but as she tried to do it, making noises of concentration and frustration, she only toppled sideways unsuccessfully. 

“Štěňátko, Štěňátko“ She said to Ned, giggling again, just as Genie returned. 

“We need to clean that, if you do not mind, yes?”

[snowdrenched]

nowherexkids:

    She had cried so much, she was surprised she had water left in her eyes. Her cheeks were hot. Her mouth felt permanently turned down. Mim sniffed, wiped at her eyes too, and peered at Genie. The tears still lingering there only made her irises look all the more vibrant and unnatural in color.

    Was what Genie said true? Was it all gone? Should old memories be left behind. She sniffed again, her crying finally stopped. The clan had left her and she had found Genie almost right away. It was better with her, better than it had ever been with her kind. She had to remember that was not weakness. And that she was brave—the bravest girl.

    Encouraged by her words, she nodded, mustered a small smile and wrapped her arms around her neck again. She hugged her tightly and planned not to let go. Unfortunately, she had to, in order to sign: I won’t get lost. I will always be here with you. Even if I make a new face.

    Then she hugged her again, even tighter.

Genie knew very well what it was to be scared, to be scared of yourself, what your choices, actions, what you were, who you were, could do, the danger it could cause, the fear of losing people. Perhaps it was not like this, Genie did not have any special gift, any secret power, but she had lived in fear, in worry, she had been frightened and alone, even turning off all the lights in the house, every single light, and sitting in darkness, so they would not find her, just in case someone was sent for her, as they had been sent for her husband, just in case. 

She could not bear the thought that Mim felt even a little of that. No child should feel that, should feel afraid, or alone, or want to hide themselves, hide away.

“Good,” Genie nodded at the little girl’s signing, even as she already hugged her once more and Genevieve hugged her tightly back, making sure not to let go. “That is all I ask, not to lose you. That is the only promise I want”

[snowdrenched]

Just as a reminder, today I had a 12 hour shoot day, and it’s the same tomorrow and Wednesday, so a lot of my replies are being saved until that’s wrapped. But should be posted for y’all between Thursday and Sunday, as I will queue them. 

[snowdrenched]

@goxinsane liked for a short random starter

“ I loved my husband,” Genevieve said suddenly, speaking with an urgency, a desperation into the brief silence, a desperation to be heard, to be understood. “Love” She repeated, emphasising the word. Looking intently, and then she held up her hand, her left hand, the hand that still held her wedding ring, she held her hand close to her chest, showing the ring, but it keeping it close, close to her heart,  “I loved my husband. I want you to know that”

[snowdrenched]

Open starter call. Verses will vary.

[snowdrenched]

handofhonor:

When he heard Genevieve’s voice, he had been playing a small game with the little girl who seemed completely into it. Ned wasn’t sure what he did or how he did it but she seemed to love the game, wanting to catch his finger even if he pulled it away. The girl grabbed his finger when he wasn’t paying attention, his focus on Genevieve instead of the small game they were playing. Ned simply poked her on the nose again before Genevieve swept her away, the girl already distracted by the woman who took ahold of her.

“No, I was already waking up when she came over here.” Ned explained as he watched the two of them, both seemingly caring for each other. He laid back down on the couch, his chin pressed against the blanket as he stayed burrowed underneath them. “Katarina. Beautiful name.” Ned gave a small wave to the girl as her eyes never left him, staying entirely focused on Ned at the moment. He was a stranger in the room, a new person. Sometimes new people enthralled babies and toddlers.

“She’ll pick it up here, if she’s staying. She belongs to one of your sons. The eldest.” He couldn’t remember the name at the moment but he knew it was the eldest child, the one who was going to be having another baby soon. Ned wondered how long they would be staying in Westeros or if it was indefinitely. “I’m… tired and sore.” He was in more pain that he would admit, the blanket rubbing at some of the injuries but he was so warm and comfortable. He didn’t want to roll away, he didn’t want the blanket to be pulled off.

“Did you send word to Catelyn?” Ned had no doubt that word had been sent but he wanted to make sure, wanted to know if his wife would know that he was alive and… alive. He wasn’t sure if he would classify himself as well at the moment.

“It is my Mother’s name,” Genie told him, uncertain whether she had told him before, whether it had been one of the many facts, stories, she had told, her first day in Winterfell after she had been reunited after Lady Catelyn’s brother had found her sons and brought them home. “I think in this language, in the common tongue, Katarina, it is Kathryn? It sounds different, I know, but it is actually the same name” Little Kat continued to stare, pale blue eyes impossibly wide as she looked at Ned. A man who was not only new, but also looked like a head under a blanket, just a head, and that intrigued the little girl even more and she tribbled off some chatter that Genie recognised as some attempt at Czech. 

“She is saying that you smell” Genie spoke with apology in her voice, “Like dogs. It is a smell she likes, I think,” She added quickly as if that might make it a bit better. It made sense that he would smell of dogs, if he had spent most of his time in his wolf form, trapped in that cage, perhaps even being made to live in his own dirt and filth. It was a wonder he did not smell more she supposed, but she had heard once that wolves were actually very clean animals. Perhaps werewolves were the same. “I cannot smell anything,” She reassured him, “But she was very close to you and children...they sniff everything just like they taste everything, things they should not be tasting sometimes” Like when Katarina had tried to lick the dregs of vodka left in a glass by her Father.

“I think perhaps you will be tired and sore for a long while, after all that you went through, after how long you have been gone...” Genie knew it would not be a quick recovery. Perhaps tiredness would be dealt with quickly, just like the dirt, but he would be sore for a while. Those chains looked anything but comfortable, anything but nice. “But I sent Darius with a letter, I sent him to Winterfell. I told him it is only for your wife to see, no one else”

[snowdrenched]

handofhonor:

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he fell asleep. He could hear voices at times, whispers and conversations but other times he was entirely wrapped up in his dreams, the rest of the world turned off from him. He didn’t mind it, after everything he’d been through, after everything he’d seen and heard, after all the pain that had been inflected, Ned was grateful to be laying on a couch large enough for him with a warm blanket wrapping around him. For once, he wasn’t asking for a window to be open, for once he was content with the warmness of the room.

He knew Catelyn would say he was ill, that he should lay in bed if he wanted to be warm. Between the two of them, Ned was always the warmer one, the one who threw the blankets to the side, opened the window, and felt the cool air come through. He never wanted to be hot. Even now, as he rested comfortably, he knew that Catelyn would be worried if she was here.

More than enough time had passed before he started to wake again, feeling tiny hands pulling at the blanket. He murmured something about Rickon needing to go elsewhere and the hands stopped. Mayhaps it was Rickon trying to wake him for something only to go back to his room and sulk. Ned definitely wanted to have a few more moments of peace but it didn’t seem to last much longer. When he finally woke, he was entirely confused, unsure why he was in a different room, wrapped in a blanket, with a pair of eyes that he had never seen before staring back at him.

Then it hit him. He wondered if Catelyn knew yet, if she knew that he was alive and well in their Governess’ home.

Ned slowly propped himself up, looking at the little girl. “Who are you?” He whispered, brushing some hair from her face, causing the girl to giggle and grab ahold of his hand. Ned didn’t push her away, only beckoning her even closer. “What’s your name?” He questioned from where he laid on the couch, wondering who in the world this girl could be but when she giggled again, Ned had a feeling she didn’t quite understand what he was saying. So instead, he gently tapped her nose, Ned evoking another set of giggles from the girl.

Genevieve had been in the bedroom, folding sheets, all of the many sheets, so many more now, so much more of everything, with her family here and it was really very small, a tight squeeze, but she would not change it, would not have them gone so she could have space , less sheets, and it was while folding these sheets, while making everything tidy, waiting to have a return letter, for Darius to come back, that she heard talking, a voice, outside the door, in the living room. 

She walked in and found Ned was awake. He still looked as bad as he did, as broken and bloody and starved, but he did not look like he might collapse, he did not look like had no strength left. Instead, he was looking entertaining, smiling, looking at her granddaughter who had clambered her way along from the seat Genie had put her own, no doubt crawling along the sofa to wake Ned up. Genevieve immediately felt apologetic.

“I am sorry, did she wake you? She can crawl but I did not think she would crawl over to you,” The little girl continued to giggle, grabbing at Ned’s finger with her chubby, little hand, “This is my granddaughter, this is Katarina” Genie picked up the little girl and she squealed with more delight now that her Grandmother had returned, clinging on to her with excitement, but eyes never leaving Ned, never leaving the new person who was different and interesting. 

“She only speaks a little, and most of it, it is in Czech. I am trying to teach her the Common Tongue” Genevieve cocked her head at Ned, looking at him carefully, “How are you feeling now? Are you in pain?”

[snowdrenched]

handofhonor:

Somewhere soft sounded heavenly, as Ned had nothing but the hard floor for the last how ever many days it had been. Even just using the carpet would be enough for him. Ned longed for something soft to sit on, to actually sit and not have to worry about what would happen next. Even if it was only a week, by what Genevieve had told him, it felt much longer. Ned followed Genevieve, whether he liked it or not considering she held his arm, and found his way to her flat. He’d never been in her home before, as she always came to his, and he thought it suited her. It looked very much like something Genevieve would live in. It was small like her.

The couch was even fluffier than he had imagined, Ned wanting to sink back completely into it but he didn’t want to rub any of the dried blood into her furniture. It was not the easiest thing to remove he had learned as their children would shift at times, bringing in dead animals from the outside. Ned didn’t want to have Genevieve clean it up.

However, as the blanket wrapped around him and the warmth encompassed him, he felt safe for the first time in days. He felt comfortable and he felt himself growing tired. Genevieve’s cloak that she had allowed him to borrow rested on the couch, Ned tightening the blanket around him. “No.” He shook his head, wanting neither food nor water. In the back of his mind, he should eat, but the desire to sleep was ringing harder than the desire for food or water.

“This is comfortable.” Ned declared as he leaned fully back against the couch, the blanket wrapping him from head to toe. It felt as if he had his pups laying on top of him, the warmth of the pack encompassing him.

Genevieve had not turned away long, only getting a few things, getting him water, even though he said he did not need it, getting it him because he would need it, but when she turned around, brought it over, she found him dozing off, almost asleep, would be asleep if she just left him, did not disturb him. 

She chose not to. Putting the glass aside and let him sleep, and went off to write her letter to the Stark home. 

A telegram would be quicker, she knew, but telegram had to go through the office, a telegram had to be seen by those who worked there, would be seen by those who sent the message and those who recieved it. Before it reached Lady Catelyn, many, many people would know where Lord Eddard had been, that he had been taken, that he had been trapped, caged. Genevieve was not born in Westeros but she had lived here long enough to learn, to know, that people could not know that about the head of the Stark family, that it would damage them, damage their power, his authority. And she had heard enough from Arya and Bran, who had the biggest love for stories of all the Stark children, that this Bolton family she had not met would like the opportunity to take advantage of something like this.

So Genevieve wrote a letter, detailing where he had been found, his condition, that he was sleeping and for Catelyn to send reply as to where she would come to Ned or that Ned should be brought to her. She put the sealed letter in the hands of her son, Darius, who had been most eager for the sight of this place called Winterfell. She could trust him....

Ned still slept on while she was done, so Genevieve returned to her shop, serving customers, until Marcus and Gina returned from their walk, asking them to take her place, explaining why. She could see in their eyes that they were curious, that they wanted to stare, to look at a werewolf, to see him, but they did not ask, did not voice their curiosity.

So Genevieve went back up the stairs, taking her granddaughter, little Katarina, to wait for the return letter and to wait for Ned to wake up. 

[snowdrenched]

bold everything which you apply to your muse.

tagged by: @the-lady-oneill

tagging: @wolfqueennamedstark @yngwolfrobb @handofhonor @mnaxiontach @russetwolf @longmayshereign-cersei

DEFENSIVENESS:

arms crossed on chest // crossing legs // fist-like gestures // pointing index finger // karate chops // stiffening of shoulders // tense posture // curling of lip/baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE:

hand-to-face gestures // head tilted // stroking chin // peering over glasses // taking glasses off — cleaning // putting earpiece of glasses in mouth // pipe smoker gestures // putting hand to bridge of nose// pursed lips, knitted brows

SUSPICION:

arms crossed // sideways glance // touching or rubbing nose // rubbing eyes // hands resting on weapon // brows raising // lips pressing into a thin line // strict, unwavering eye contact // wrinkling of nose

OPENNESS & COOPERATION:

open hands // upper body in sprinters position // sitting on edge of chair // hand-to-face gestures // unbuttoned coat // tilted head // slacked shoulders, droopy posture // feet pointed outward // palms flat and facing outward

CONFIDENCE:

hands behind back // hands on lapels of coat // steepled hands // baring teeth in a grin //rolling shoulders // tipping head back but maintaining eye contact // chest puffed up/shoulders back // arms folded just above navel

INSECURITY & ANXIETY:

chewing pen or pencil // rubbing thumb over opposite thumb // biting fingernails // hands in pockets // elbow bent/closed gestures // clearing throat // “whew” sound // picking or pinching flesh // fidgeting in chair // hand covering mouth whilst speaking // poor eye contact // tugging at pants whilst seated // jingling money in pockets // tugging at ear // perspiring hands // playing with hair // swaying // playing with pointer/marker // smacking lips // sighing // rocking on balls of feet // flexing fingers sporadically

FRUSTRATION:

short breaths // “tsk” sounds // tightly-clenched hands // fist-like gestures // pointing index finger // rubbing hand through hair // rubbing back of neck // snarling // revealing teeth/grimacing // sharp-eyed glowers w/ notable tension in brow // shoulders back, head up — defensive posturing // clenching of jaw/grinding teeth // nostrils flaring // heavy exhales

[snowdrenched]

handofhonor:

If they were not in the current situation, Ned would have laughed at the small jumps every time Genevieve heard the gun shots. However, given the situation, it was somewhat difficult to find amusement in anything. So, he continued to move along side of her, grateful for the cover of the town as they slowed to a steady, quick walk. The buildings and people would help them somewhat blend in. A strange half dressed bloodied man wearing a woman’s cloak with a short, probably well-known tea shop owner would raise some concern. Luckily, not many would recognize him here, at least he hoped not. He didn’t need his wife and children to hear whispers of whatever lies would spread before they reached his families ears.

He followed after Genevieve, staying exactly one step behind her the entire time, trusting that she would lead him to a safe place. He longed for it, longed to be out of the watchful eyes of people. He could feel the second glances, the looks of others as he walked barefoot next to a nicely dressed woman. He could only imagine the thoughts that were circulating through people’s minds. Ned was grateful when he caught the sight of the shop, having been there once or twice before, he recognized it.

Ned felt a new strength when the door opened and he was able to stumble inside. The latch of the door sent a feeling of safety. For the first time in a week he finally felt safe. “Thank you.” An exasperated murmur left him as he wandered towards the back of the shop, away from windows, away from the door, away from the prying eyes. “I don’t know if I can ever repay you.”

It always seemed such a short walk. When she arrived from Winterfell, when she arrived back home off the train, the walk to her shop, her little flat, her home, always seemed so short, so quick, but now, now that she was walking with Ned, now she was trying to get him somewhere safe, somewhere indoors quickly, it suddenly seemed a very long walk, impossibly long, taking forever to get there.

Only when she got through the door, got them both through the door, closing it behind him, did Genevieve take a deep breath and realise she had not been breathing as she walked, holding her breath tensely.  She silently waved aside talk of repayment, a sharp hand flapping to say ‘no need’, before she took him by the arm again, leading him towards the stairs. “Not in the shop, it is all kitchen and kettles, you need somewhere soft...in my flat”

She led him slowly up the narrow stairs, leading him to a small home that was cosy and warm and colourful and full of things that she liked, colourful things, paintings and trinkets and blankets and everything lively and bold and welcoming. And a couch, a couch that was soft and plump and near and easy to lead Ned to.

“Here, you need to sit. And you need clothes, and bandages and some water and food also,” There were many things she needed and she could not do them all at once. She paused, thinking which would be best to do first. Genie led him to the sofa and allowed the blanket there, the coloured and patch-worked one that was so thick it could warm any man, to fall around him. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

[snowdrenched]

nowherexkids:

    It was too hard to explain now that she couldn’t use words. She had never before realized how hard it must be for others to understand her when she couldn’t speak. Her eyes tightened, arms squeezing Genie all the more. She was hesitant to let go, to change anything now. She just wanted to be held and comforted and kept safe.

   She would never change again if it meant Genie wouldn’t reject her.

   A sudden, renewed fear washed over her. Her tears had stopped, but the threatened once more to spill over. She drew her head back, sad little eyes peering up at Genie. She swallowed hard and answered the question truthfully and the only way she could. She nodded her head in confirmation. That was exactly what had happened. Hearing it put into words made Mim’s breath come out faster. Her sobs, as always, were silent. Tears ran fresh down her cheeks.

    She brought her hands up and made a feeble response. I did not mean to scare you. Or scare any one. I did not mean to be weak.

“Oh no, darling, please do not cry, don’t cry,” Genie did her best to wipe away the silent tears, dabbing at them with the corner of her sleeve, being gentle, very gentle, as she did so, “I did not--I am sorry. Those are bad memories, I think, yes, bad memories that we do not, we should not think on, forget them, yes? All gone, poof! In the past!” She encouraged, still dabbing away those little tears from the little cheeks. How could anyone leave her? Leave her behind? Just abandon this little girl, abandon her because they thought she could not do something, to leave her like that....it made Genevieve angry, she felt it, boiling inside her, an anger that she could do nothing about. She would never find these people, never see them to confront them. 

“Weak?” She could not hide her shock at that, “You are not weak. Never, not in a hundred years, not in a million years. You are the strongest. The strongest little girl I know. And brave, remember? Brave, strong girls cannot be weak...it just is not possible,” Genie made a ‘pfft’ sound to display how ridiculous that was, how silly. 

“And you did not scare me,” She continued, “I was scared you were gone, that you were lost, gone somewhere, because I do not want to lose you. The thought of you being gone, that is what scares me”

[snowdrenched]

handofhonor:

snowdrenched:

“Yes, they are fine, they did not get caught, not like you,” The innocence of Genevieve’s statement made her miss the fact that it might imply he had been foolish, or that he was the only one stupid enough to get caught. It was not what she had meant at all, she had only meant to assure him he was the only one of his family to be taken, that all the rest were home. “But they are worried, very worried, I think fearing the worst…your wife especially. I think….I think past experiences, things with your brother, with your Father and things she’s known, I think it has been making her worry that….” She did not say the word but cleared her throat instead; the meaning was very clear though. Catelyn was thinking that it was more and more likely that Ned was dead or gone, out of reach, never to be found. 

“I think she wanted to search more herself, as a wolf, so that she could find you, but…I think also she had to put your children first, staying with them and letting other people search. But they are safe, you do not have to worry–” Genevieve stopped suddenly when she heard a noise. And if she could hear it, then Ned certainly could, for Rickon delighted in telling her again and again and again that werewolves had very, very good hearing. The sound of footsteps, crunching in snow, several, and voices, men.

“The Hunters?” She guessed quietly, looking at Ned, before encouraging him to walk faster, as fast as he could. They just needed to reach the other side of the woods, to reach the opening to the town where she lived, just as long as they were in reach and view of people, they could take all their time then getting to her home, as long as they were out of the woods. The sound of a bullet whizzed nearby and chopped through the trunk of a tree. 

“Good.” There was definitely relief flooding through him at the knowledge that his children and wife were safe. He wanted nothing more for them to be safe, nothing more for them to be well and warm in their own house. He would go through the worst of the worst a thousand times over to keep his children and wife safe. He would do anything for them, anything at all. “That I was the same.” Ned never trusted hunters but after they had captured and killed both his Father and Brandon, his trust went quickly down. He didn’t blame Catelyn for fearing such things, for fearing the worst. After the history, after what he had taught her and their children, he didn’t blame anyone. In truth, he had assumed the same when he had been taken. To be out in the open… it was a relief.

“I don’t blame her. She needs to be with our children.” Ned replied before he paused, hearing a noise. He felt his hair raise across his body, his back stiffen as he glanced around quickly before the noise that Genevieve heard echoed out. He felt his heart racing as he quickened his step, keeping as low as he could, glad for the cover of the trees and the cloak that Genevieve had given him. “Move.”

At the sound of the bullet, Ned jumped and pressed on even faster. He felt something tear at his foot but he continued running, knowing that another injury wasn’t going to stop him. Ned needed to get away, he needed to continue pushing through. He didn’t care what he looked like, where they ended up, as long as they were away and safe from everyone else. Before he knew it, he could hear the sound of people, the sound of horses, and life. He was more than relieved when the town came into his view. However, he didn’t stop walking quickly, he stopped running, but he pulled Genevieve close to him, looping his arm through hers as they continued to walk, trusting that she’d guide him to the safest place.

“I think also, your children, they need to be with her,” Genie added. It was hard, she knew, hardest on children, she knew that as a Mother herself, seeing her boys, her own children, losing their Father, having him taken, gone, killed, knowing he would not come home. If Lady Catelyn left also, even just to look for her husband, their Father, even if she was not caught, she would be gone for a time, and the children, they would feel it, feel both parents not there and it would all be worse, so much worse. 

The bullets made Genevieve jump, she could not help herself, after the first and then the second and the third, no matter how near or far they were, how close they came to hitting them or not, she still jumped, yelping, every time she heard the sound. It was important to keep moving, keep running, she knew, and prayed she would not trip on a root hidden under the snow..here on the border, the border between the North and the Riverlands, some places were very snowy and other parts not at all, so that it was often deep enough to hide things but shallow enough still to trip over them. 

“They cannot come through the town, where there are people, too many people, to see them, attack them...they are cowards,” She spoke firmly, with confidence. Hunters were cowards and cowards did not come out in the open...so at the first sight of the town, Genie felt new strength, a new burst of speed, pulling them both forward. “It is not far, to my shop, my home, but I think we should not be too slow...” She looked back, glancing over her shoulder to check they were not being followed, “Come, this way...”

[northernirishsnowflake]

Request: Red shirt and black trench outfit. 

[snowdrenched]

handofhonor:

If Ned had not been concentrating on the ice, he would have made some sort of face. But, he didn’t really want to fall on his face so he decided that it was better to focus on the ice beneath his feet. Ned couldn’t but give Genevieve a look when she told him to use his claws to dig into the ice. He’d been doing the wolf thing long enough to know how to get across ice. Regardless, it still wasn’t the easiest thing to do, let alone when snow was falling around him and distracting him.

Once he could focus on getting across the ice, Ned managed to find himself in the snow. Now he remembered why they always warned their children not to be on nor around ice during the moons. It made things more complicated than it needed to be and the results from falling into the ice was something that he didn’t want his children subjected to. It was cold and dangerous.

Ned bounded towards Genevieve, shaking the snow off his head, feeling the rest of it falling off him. It was a freeing feeling as he danced around her, tugging at her dress lightly enough that nothing was torn. He wanted to do something but he also knew that Genevieve probably wouldn’t want to venture into the woods. He glanced at the woods and than back to her, a soft whine escaping him.

Genevieve was worried he would rip her dress, tear it, even though he was being careful, clearly trying not to bite too hard, his teeth...they were very sharp and very large and her dress, it was only fabric, not strong, not made for wolf teeth. But he continued to tug, to bite and tug, and it was clear he was pulling her somewhere, asking for something, wanting something. He was more playful than she ever saw him as human, more playful than she had expected him to be as a wolf. 

She had thought he would be sombre, serious, an imposing beast, that easily struck fear, but she saw now he was more like Rickon, like when the boy got over excited or simply moody in his lessons and would change suddenly, shifting, this is what he was like. This same excitement, same playfulness. Perhaps against enemies he would be that frightening, that imposing and unnerving, making himself full size, but for now he was very much like an overgrown pup.

“I am not going into the woods,” She shook her head, realising what he wanted now, “The woods, they can be dangerous, especially now, with this moon, these shifting of moons, or whatever it is called, I am not certain,” Genevieve was not certainly on the reasoning, the mythology, the magic, she only knew it was making things unpredictable, “And what if you change back? Change while you are in the woods? Maybe it is better to stay, yes?” She rubbed his fur, rubbing along his muzzle and nose and the back of the ears, “Your family, they will wonder where you have gone, if you go into the woods”

[snowdrenched]

hellscounsel:

There’s something so utterly dull about Sunnydale. A demonic hotspot neatly wrapped up in a suburban package. —-but Beast free (!) For now. Seated in the middle of the empty library, stiff and impatient, she can’t help but flinch at the approaching footsteps. Eyes warily lift from her copy of Rhinehardt’s Compendium to spot a woman, every inch the perfect rendition of a suburban mother, to match her suburban community.

 The wife of her husband’s friend (How very vague!).

 “I doubt that.” Folding the thick volume shut, attentions shift upward to the woman, the smile drawn along sharp features is polite, neutral. “Are you familiar with a man by the name of Rupert Giles?—- I have a favor to ask him, and, last I heard, he was the librarian for this school.”

“How can you doubt it?” Genevieve asked, cocking her head to the side, almost looking childlike, childlike and innocent as she questioned the woman. “How can you doubt it, doubt it’s true, when you do not know the person I’m talking about, did not know who they were?” She returned her gaze to the book she was translating, the text she was working on. “She was someone married to a dictator. She tried to have my husband killed” 

She let that statement hang in the air, let the woman think what she wanted to think about that comment, that conclusion. 

“I know Rupert, yes,” She looked up again, “He is the librarian, yes...why? Why do you need to see him?”