#liver-y

[fromashe]

the tully trio of whimsy ft. amerei, rover & aila

[fromashe]

closed to @liver-y (for grover) setting: days before the ball, amongst the entertainment of planky town

when perusing what planky town had to offer, laena spots a familiar person in the crowd. she'd found a nice perch to people watch from, working her carving blade against the small block of wood into the shape of bird, when grover tully... hobbles? limps? moves without their usual energetic gait. he seems alive and well enough. she has to wonder how much of the rumors are true. she hops off the ledge and melds into the movement of people approaching from the opposite direction.

as they close the distance, walking towards each other, she gently hip checks grover and uses it to disguise her hand slipping into his pocket to drop her latest wooden figurine. they'd done this dance before, though back then, especially the early days, she'd be taking whatever valuables were on his person than offering a gift. she takes the step forward to keep walking to see if he'd notice, if being back on westerosi soil and the pampered life of a lordling has dulled the instincts of a sellsword.

[steggr]

↪ closed starter for helvis baratheon ( @liver-y ), set on the morning of the first day of the headman's tourney, after the execution.

how anyone was expected to eat after such a grotesque display of justice was lost on jocelyn, but perhaps it was their mistake for choosing a few more minutes of rest before trudging over to the great sept with the rest of their household ─ now, watching the bustling chaos of servants carrying platters of roasted meat for what was expected to be days of celebration, they could only feel sick to their stomach, even if there was no love between the iron islands and the stormlands. they knew that they ought to feel some vindication for the punishment ( after all, their stepmother had been stricken by the poison and people had died from it ) but all jocelyn felt was a vague brush of fear ─ of the crown and those that might one day sit on the iron throne. the purposeful, quick strides of someone familiar shattered their morose thoughts, prompting their eyes to lift from where someone was trying to mount a fattened pig on the roasting pit, to where their stepmother was presently, surrounded by a few baratheon stewards. grabbing a handful of grapes from a passing basket before quickening their steps. ❝ i wish to speak to lady baratheon. ❞ they did not push the others from their stepmother's side but they were not polite about it either, furrowing their thick, baratheon brow until they got what they wanted. ❝ stepmother. ❞ a small nod, features softening into a little, hesitant smile before their gaze darted away, skittish like an animal that was trying to domesticate themselves. ❝ have you eaten ? ❞ they extended their palm, offering their stolen goods. ❝ it must have been some relief, to see justice served on the ironborn scum. ❞

[steggr]

↪ closed starter for helvis baratheon née selmy ( @liver-y ) in the sickroom allotted to the ruling lady baratheon.

it seems as though the servants have had enough of jocelyn being underfoot over the past week or so ─ a small stool is dragged from some forgotten corner of the room and they are being guided ( pushed ) gently onto it, told to watch their stepmother for signs of rousing as the healer needs to keep track of her symptoms to see if she was getting better ( or worsening, but the servants do not say that after their brows furrow so fiercely that it almost gives them a headache ). somewhere between watching the steady rise and fall of helvis' stomach and fighting back a small yawn, slumber finds them with their forehead pressed against their stepmother's side, eyes blinking open every few minutes at the slightest shift of discomfort. rest does not seem to come easily to helvis and it is not long before the ruling lady awakens ─ jocelyn does not dart up quick enough to hide where they had been resting just moments prior and to hide the embarrassment, they fuss quietly with the cup of water on the sidetable. ( they had kept a palm over the mouth of the cup, to deter any further attempts of poison, even if the servants had assured them that the need for such worries was not necessary. ) ❝ my lady. ❞ jocelyn clears their throat, awkward. ❝ um. water ? you need to stay hydrated while you sweat out the poison. ❞ parroting the instruction of the younger maesters as they try to catch the eye of their stepmother. jocelyn wants to ask if she is well, but the words do not come. ❝ ... you look better. ❞ ( do you feel better ? lies the unsaid question. )

[hretiks]

　  　 WHO   shiera   waters   (   @liver-y   ) 　  　 WHERE   red   keep   sickrooms 　  　 WHEN    some   time   after   the   harvest   feast

　  　 THERE   IS   STILL   HEAT   from   where   there   was   fire   ,   but   at   last   ,   qian   can   open   his   eyes   without   the   sensation   of   his   head   being   pounded   down   by   the   weight   of   the   world.   time   had   been   a   blur   ,   as   was   his   surroundings   ,   and   between   the   moment   he   fell   and   now   felt   like   a   hell   that   seemed   to   go   on   eternal.   for   a   second   ,   he   was   almost   tempted   to   accept   the   gaunt   hand   of   the   stranger   reaching   out   to   him   ,   just   so   the   torment   stops.   but   not   a   moment   too   soon   ,   the   fires   ceased   and   he   has   awakened.   the   remnants   haunt   but   he   is   alive   and   breathing. he   cannot   tell   how   long   he   had   been   ridden   by   this   bed   ,   but   his   bones   ache   ,   begging   to   be   severed   from   their   prison.   the   world   spins   when   he   lifts   himself   up   ,   but   qian   tries   his   best   not   to   hurl   as   his   empty   stomach   churns.   bloody   gods.   only   then   after   a   moment   of   respite   he   begins   to   make   a   clearer   sense   of   his   environs   —   grey   vestments   going   in   and   out   of   the   chambers   ,   a   few   afflicted   others   confined   to   their   own   beds.   the   scent   of   poppy   permeates   ,   lending   him   comfort   and   nausea   at   the   same   time.    not   too   far   beside   him   ,   a   lady   ,   most   likely   as   he   ,   just   waking   up   from   the   nightmare.   “   you’re   the   hand’s   daughter   ,   are   you   not   ?   “   his   voice   comes   out   coarse   ,   hours   without   water   have   made   his   throat   raw.   “   do   you   know   what   happened   ?   “   he   coughs.