↪ closed starter for seraphina hightower ( @fromashe ), set in the afternoon of the second day of the headman's tourney, at the tourney grounds by blackwater rush.
being this close to the capital meant that along with the smell of dead fish floating along the waters, there was also the stale stench of human excretion that wafted up the stands to where she sat, prompting daenys to pat around for her pomander of citrus, mint and spices. ( it was bad enough that her head still spun from westerling's tent of debauchery the night before, but some would say that the vague nausea she felt whenever someone got hit in the melee was some form of comeuppance. ) she could not help but cast a longing glance over at the stretch of water by the tourney grounds ─ in her youth, daenys had spent days sailing from claw isle into the mouth of blackwater bay and up the blackwater rush, staying in an inn in the riverlands for a day or two before continuing her journey back home, gathering bits of news from the mouths of the fishermen and their wives, as well as surmising what went unsaid from the wares that they presented for purchase. now, it seemed as though those days would be behind her, if maelora celtigar got her way. another wave of humid air made her gag a little and she pressed a hand to her nose, glancing around to see if she truly was the only one affected by it ─ meeting the eye of another seated on the same row as she was, daenys offered her pomander. ( hightower. she dug through her brain for a name and came up with a title. the septa, seraphina. or was it former septa, if she was out here with the other unholy ? daenys blinked quickly. a pity, to hide such a face behind the walls of a motherhouse. ) ❝ i promise you, it does not always smell this bad. it is actually tolerable, when the capital is not also hosting half of westeros on the grounds. here, this is from dorne ... the citrus helps to clear the nose. ❞
