#leo: 01

[calla-lefford]

Location: Dorne, Sunspear Open starter (1/3) / Set during the Dornish Ball

Calla was hardly in a celebratory mood, though there was a part of her that welcomed the distraction that the ball the Martells hosted provided. It was almost jarring, that she could have a crisis of anxiety in the morning and sit here in the evening dressed in a fine gown and wearing some of her mother’s jewelry. No one could know. The lady ate and drank and danced, gladly surrendering control as she automatically went through the motions of what was expected of her. She played the part to perfection, albeit without her usual inner fire.

A throbbing headache had made an appearance and despite drinking some water, it didn’t recede. “I’ll go to the balcony to get some air,” she said to someone and to no one as she got up from her place amongst some Reach people. She lightly brushed her forehead, her fingers trailing sideways to massage her temple, not paying much attention to where she walked. “Goodness, I’m sorry,” she said as she accidentally bumped into someone on her way to the open balcony.

[gael-hightower]

Location: The Iron Islands, Harlaw Closed starter for @leolefford​​

The taking of Old Wyk had shaken Gael to his core. It was one thing to read about battles and glory, and another one entirely to be the man on the battlefield. It was one thing to train and know how to wield a sword, and another one to know in his bones that a single movement could make a difference between defending himself or feeling an Ironborn ax on his body. That a single thrust of the blade could dictate whether his opponent continued drawing breath or died. His body was wary after that first battle, hands shook all night despite the maelstrom of thoughts he felt he needed to put down on paper. Gael Hightower couldn’t write a single word that day. And neither could he on the days that followed. When they moved on to Salt Cliff the young lord was no more used to the bloodshed— not in his mind or heart anyway, but his body did grow inured by the physical exertion of it all. It was hard to determine whether that was a good or a bad thing... getting accustomed to war.

He understood the necessity of what was happening in the world around him, his idealism and soft heart didn’t get in the way of why the krakens were to be buried... and while his body was strengthened and wounded and healed, Gael didn’t let his heart grow numb, he didn’t let his mind normalize the brutality of war. So as the forces of the Reach and the Westerlands gathered on Harlaw, he knew his face still stood out as one not entirely at ease with war, still affected by all that death. Sitting in the camp amongst the kin of King Tyland, sharing bread and lentil broth with lords and soldiers alike, his appetite wasn’t entirely there. He only absentmindedly swirled his bread in the soup.

[will-bolton]

Location: Wicked Brew Who: Open

Willow’s day had hit the time where there was a deep lull in people swinging by the coffee shop. It happened in the same general time every day- even her mother knew that and would text her to check up on her each day as though she wasn’t a full-grown adult. She knew her mother did it out of concern and love but there were times when it was frustrating to not be able to have some space between herself and the woman who bore her. It gave her something to do but she would have much rather had her time filled up with someone- anyone at that point-coming into the shop. She was actually just finishing what she assumed would be her final text back to her mother when she blessedly heard the door to the coffee shop open. Thank God, the redhead thought as she glanced up from her phone as she spoke. “Welcome to Wicked Brew. What can do for you today?”