#lykosog

[bllakcat]

ECHOING CLINGS OF CHAMPAGNE GLASSES ARE EVERYWHERE, : SO IS THE CHATTER OF PEOPLE, this event having gathered people from all around, &. one feline fatale dressed as a mere house - cat, of course. black silk gown reaches her ankles, flowing gracefully at its' hems, while the slit on the right side adds to a noticeable touch! as are the diamonds that decorate fair skin, SILVERY, PURE GLIMMER UPON HER NECK &. EARS. truly, a sight. ... but, she avoids the groups, only offers a polite nod of her head &. flashes an enchanting smile, promises to meet sometime at a dinner. ( yeah right. ) ... she is here for her target, justice delivered with grey morals of misfortune. but so far, no sight of him. HOWEVER, ... attention soon travels to an extended hand, where a glass of champagne is held with easy elegance. jade hues travel from it, to the features ; ah, what a coincidence. ❝ well well, ❞ amused tune taken, as head cocks to the side. vixen features not recognized like this, but his certainly is by her. ❝ what's this? ❞ brow raises, &. a smirk curls lips glossed black.

@lykosog : ❛  it’s  called  being  a  gentleman. ❜

SIREN - LIKE TUNE LETS OUT AN AMUSED HUFF, : PITCH SLIGHTLY ALTERED. &. slim fingers curl around the glass, jet black nail polish reflecting the light that brings mood to the grand hall. ... ❝ i was more surprised of the honors of one of the heirs themselves seeking out company, ❞ comes a tease, before the glass is brought to her lips ... black lipstick stain left. but who was she to speak either ; the lone cat. ❝ don't tell me you are avoiding someone in one of the events you are one of the guest honors. everyone must be dying to meet you. ❞

[odett3]

@lykosog

this is dangerous. odette knows so much. no one need tell her that ; odette is smart enough to know. she has lived under the thumb of von rothbart long enough to know when she is treading upon thin ice. even just broaching the threshold of her quarters to skulk through the hallways and flit from shadow to shadow is enough to have her in trouble. yet here she is, lingering in the shadows of the hall outside the straggling remnants of a feast held in the honor of a visiting king. contested king. war-torn king, who odette had heard the name of in the mouth of von rothbart. when her warden spoke of the young wolf it had been with a hungry gleam in his eye.

so she waits until a head of red hair walks past, exiting the feast odette had been forbidden from attending, and flits out a ghost-white hand to gently snag the elbow of the passing king. "may i - - - speak with you? privately?" her hair is loose about her shoulders and her white gown is fine enough to mark her has a lady, and there is something all together swanlike about the young woman - much resembling the symbol of von rothbart's house. "please?"

[rcsegildedarchive]

a starter for @lykosog​​

In her yet short residence at the capital, one thing Margaery had yet to fully master was navigation of the castle itself. The Red Keep was the first fortress she'd visited that rivaled the size and grandeur of Highgarden. Used though she was to the winding corridors and hedge mazes of her girlhood home, the layout of this castle still found ways to frustrate her. There was little rhyme or reason to it at times, with long halls that seemed to double back on themselves and staircases to nowhere. With every passing day, she found new reasons to curse Maegor and his architects. 

On this particular day, she silently wondered why the cruel old king had made it so difficult to find her way back from the courtyard gardens. Prince Aegon given her a tour of them a few days back and she'd been delighted by the first truly beautiful place in all the keep. So much so that she'd decided to break her fast there before the king held court that morning. What she hadn't counted on was losing her way back—much to Megga and Alla's exasperation—and arriving at the throne room almost half an hour later than she'd meant. 

The hall was packed by the time Margery and her ladies slipped inside, her usual spot near the front of the crowd was full. Rather than make a scene, she settled on finding a place towards the back. After all, she'd made it a personal mission to talk to a new courtier each day. And it seemed that Robb Stark would be her partner in conversation for the morning. She stepped into the empty spot next to him, her ladies dispersing in the rows behind.

They had not spoken more than a few words since her introduction to the court and he remained one of the residence of the Red Keep of whom she knew the least. Only that he was of the North and foster to the Targaryens. At least I can still learn something today.

“Would you mind terribly if I joined you, my lord?” Margaery asked, granting him a genial smile. “I shan’t be a nuisance, I promise.”

[mysfated-arch]

𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎: rosalie hale

she arrives like a fierce storm ────── a snarl lifting her lips over sharpened fangs still dripping with blood, a trail of wreckage and gore revealing her path straight to @lykosog's camp: a potential feast calling her name... she drops a severed head into the brush, stepping out of the night and towards the flickering fire like a nightmare ― draped in shadows and crowned with cruelty, she approaches with quiet confidence as ruby eyes scan the crowds for a victim, finding instead an intriguing head of auburn hair. " you ― " she calls, voice echoing off cotton tents like a thunderous roar, awaiting for man to turn and find the beautiful creature hidden amongst the night, studying him with a sharp, unmoving stare attempting to make sense of his presence, different amongst the rest. " ― what are you? "

[coerulus]

@lykosog

For three days Brienne floated in a red fog of pain, trapped in a world where waking and dreaming bled together until they were indistinguishable from each other. She could not tell when she woke or when she only dreamed of waking. She was lying on her back, watching a sky streaked with light. Shooting stars, she thought, until one landed next to her and her leg exploded into flames. She screamed and tried to rise, but she was trapped, sinking into the ground. As she struggled, strong hands seized hold of her and held her down. 

She was kneeling before Lady Catelyn, imploring, begging her for forgiveness. She called her name, but her lady did not answer. Catelyn brushed the hair from Brienne’s forehead with a hand as cold as death. Icy, wet fingers crawled down her face, running off her cheeks like tears.  

There was a sour taste in her mouth. Brienne was sitting up, but her head was lolling forward. Red droplets appeared on the bedsheet beneath her. She forced her head up, peering through a haze at an indistinct group of men. Who were they? What did they want with her? There were others lying down nearby. Perhaps this was a crypt, and she had woken up among the dead. Something caught her eye- in one corner, a flash of auburn hair. “My lady?” She tried to reach out, but pain shot through her arm from fingers to shoulder and she fell back on the bed, gasping in pain. “My lady... I dreamed you were dead.” 

 When next she awoke, her vision was somewhat clearer, though her head was still foggy. How had she gotten there? She remembered a war... no, not a war. A massacre. Men dying all around her, and her lady... 

“My lady!” Brienne tried to sit up, with limited success. She had to call out, even though a part of her knew. “Lady Catelyn?” 

[musenssang]

Robb [ @lykosog​ ]

              “Robb!” He calls out, followed by a most unprincely jog, so he might catch up with his father’s Ward. Side by side, and with Ser Barristan's watchful eye on them, Do you know where Jon has gone?” He asks. As he leans in closer, so he might wrap an arm  around the northerner's shoulders. 

               The Truth is Aegon know well enough where his brother was, Packing up a Set of horses, bedrolls, Wine, hunting gear. As Crown prince he had a tail at all times, while Jon had considerably more freedom. and oh how he yearns for it. He knows, that he’ll never be truly free, that duty will always compel him to return home. He does not need the kingsguard reminding him of it. 

               “We’re going  hunting, you me, jon and dany.” he whispers. And why not? they were all three capable swordsmen, and the kingswoods was but a day’s ride form the city, what ill could befall them there. “But u have to help me loose him.” he gives the mildest direction backwards. Having an old man there, will certainly dampen the fun. 

[bllakcat]

YOU SNEAKY THING, : THE FELINE VIGILANTE, once again where she shouldn't. but then again ; women &. cats go where they please! &. there was little next to nothing that could contain her, even the highest security can break underneath her claws ... ODDS IN HER FAVOR MAKE SURE OF THAT, IF ALL ELSE FAILS. &. especially now, when there was a purpose to be here ; the maggia had their goals to cause their own harm &. to steal, &. she wanted there first. if only to spite them &. ruin their plans. grudge never forgotten. ( hey, better in her claws than theirs, right? ) &. SO WHAT IF SHE KEEPS SOME OF THE GOODS TO HERSELF IN THE PROGRESS? only fair, right? ... knowing her rivals, they'd already be on the move ; which is why felicia is aware that she needs to be fast. however ...

@lykosog : ❛  i  wasn’t  expecting  company .  ❜

NEON LIGHTS REFLECT THROUGH THE WINDOWS, : THE AREA OTHERWISE DARK. but that does little to affect sharp eyes of the cat burglar. she turns around, &. the features recognized ; how many times she has seen them in the newspapers. ... hand lands on her hip, &. with an exhale, she leans weight on one side, ❝ huh, ❞ comes the mere breath, seemingly amused by something. ❝ i didn't expect the golden boy to do some overtime. ❞ SO, BOTH RECEIVED A SURPRISE. to their luck or their misfortune.

[worshipsonlydeath]

[  hug  ]  sender  pulls  receiver  into  a  hug

for @lykosog

Arya stiffened, hand instinctively going for Needle's hilt before it dawns on her that it's only Robb. That there was no harm intended and no need to defend herself. It takes a few heartbeats for her to force herself to ease up, a deep knowing that her discomfort would not go unnoticed.

Instead, she let out a groan of faux frustration (because how dare the younger Stark allow their eldest brother know how much he'd been truly missed). It was far easier to play the impertinent little sister for sake of pride, for the desire to keep the front that not much had changed, and life was as it always had been. Maybe they could pretend that an embrace had not become so foreign in such a short time.

Slowly leaning into the hug, Arya allowed herself to relish this moment, the safety Robb's hug promised, the knowing that for the first time in a long time there was no need to be the strong one for strength sake.

The world had taught Arya long ago to be independent, that for survival sake trust ought not to be freely given, and the only one she could have truly relied on was herself. A lone wolf, when wolves were pack animals. It almost felt unnatural to be shoved back into the mold of little sister as if she didn't bear the scars of survival with her innocence withered at their father's grave.

Despite the initial protest, she brought her hands up to return the hug, burying her face into his chest. Their reunion was no small feat and though the pieces of their family would never fit the way it once had, mayhaps they'd find new ways to move forward. They'd have to. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives and they were so much stronger together.

"I've missed you."