#altmeme;

[sinnhelmingr]

alt! // @chaoswrote

“It has been many a year since the Dreadfort has had so honorable a guest.”

The word is a whisper in her guest’s ear, easily mistaken for wind playing a trick upon her. The only sound that follows is the flow of wine into the goblet, a deep crimson flecked with the remains of spice. In another life, such an offering might be refused, considered tainted by the family who dwelt within these halls.

Now, only the daughter remains. A quiet host. A gentle lady. The lands do not flourish, with the snow so high beyond the keep, but they endure. In the world beyond the war, this is the most some Houses can hope for. The Lady Bolton has given her people that much during her tenure.

Pulling back, the wisp of a woman stands stark against the long shadows of the hall. Yet the fire glows in a way that is almost merry, scented by the stewpot that hangs over it. The oddity goes uncommented upon by its mistress. She knows how crass it would be, to sour this dinner with talk of assassins and poisons.

At least present company will know their meal is safe.

“We have little to match a lady of your means, but all that is mine I offer in service to you. Til this storm passes over us, I swear it shall be so.” The small solar is guarded against the howling beyond, but other parts of the ruin might still shriek about the eaves. Lyanna does not speak of how anyone who survived the war should be able to contend with a few ghosts.

The hostess draws, at last, to her own chair. Settling in, pulling her dark furs closer about her slender shoulders, she takes a long moment to study the other. What terrible luck, that this be the closest outpost from the storm. The Dreadfort is nothing like it was in her father’s day, yet it still looms like a shadow over the Queen’s rule. Often, she is still amazed she was allowed to reclaim the sepulcher that remained after the rebellion.

“There is some good fortune, if you in the mood for its telling. The Last River will have frozen over in all this blizzard. You should be able to cross it without issue. I could send some men to see you there, when you take your leave of us.”

LYANNA BOLTON, an asoiaf oc, coming soon to an @eclipsecrowned​ near you.

[trickyvik-blog]

alt!

other voices.

Alright, so they needed a new point of entry. It shouldn’t be that hard, as Captain MacTavish proved. One hit, and the window shattered. Waiting for the telltale alarm, he eyed Riley warily. The masked lieutenant said nothing in the frightful silence, and Soap began to wonder if the building had been left unguarded in the chaos of the raid. 

More likely someone had shot out a generator and left the place with no power. It would certainly make clearing out any stragglers interesting, and more than that, explain why the automated doors remained sealed. Raising his hand, he signaled for his team to follow him in, gently easing through the window, the broken glass crunching under his boots. His gloves might have picked up a few shards, but nothing stuck to him, and his uniform seemed intact.

It would be easier to move, but it was also a risk. Either the enemy could see him and he shake up their aim, or he walked into them in the dark hallways. Flicking his night vision goggles down, he dared to move further into the tomb that the concrete edifice had become, his white-knuckle grip on his rifle tightening.

This didn’t sit right with him, but he could no longer tell if it was an actual threat, or that reeling sense of deja vu brewing in his gut.

@whatthehellkindofnameissoap // Modern Warfare Canon

[trickyvik-blog]

alt motherfucker

other voices.

“I would not trust that one, sai. She’s terrible skittish.”

The lanky blonde looked down from her chores at the far end of the stable, catching the light through the windows so her gold hair blazed. Summing the tall man up with stark grey eyes, she found herself unable to put a name to the face. An outsider, but one dressed well enough for the times.

It would not do to palaver on and on like some silly child.

“If it is a ride you’re seekin’, t’would be better if ye took an older mare.”

Wiping her worn hands on the rough fabric of her blouse, she straightened to her full height. The young belle breezed past the newcomer to a stall almost at the door, clicking her tongue to coax its occupant nearer to her.

“Now Moony,” she began, her Meijis voice softened as she stroked the horse’s muzzle, “She’ll get ye where ye need with near-to-no complaint.”

The old grey mare might not be the prettiest they had, but what good was beauty if you had no use?

Susan Delgado // potential RP account.

[trickyvik-blog]

alt!

other voices.

“Koshka, a lady so lovely should not be so alone.”

He keeps his voice even, silk-soft, and the grin he wears betrays nothing. He takes up the seat beside her with a measured grace, nigh draping himself across the wooden bar. Even at this proximity, there is some distance between them -- he does not lean in to her, does not overstay his welcome. It is simple conversation between a beautiful woman and a man who is -- by his own egoistic measure -- also beautiful.

The stranger peers out at her from behind long lashes, his dark eyes flecked with brown in the dim light of the bar. Tall and strong, he is no doubt a striking specimen, even down to his thickly-accented voice.

All of these things made it imperative he make himself invisible. People could get antsy if such a big, foreign man were to overstay his welcome. An idiot striking out at the bar would just be a typical feature of any Saturday night. Glancing away from her for a moment, he turns to get the bartender’s attention, taking the opportunity to watch his target from the full length mirror behind the bar.

“Could you please refill my friend’s drink? And put it on my tab.”

@codenamenikolai // Modern Warfare Canon