#seffora 001

[fromspringandfire]

setting : sometime before the kingdoms’ departure in the reach, the gardens ; @seffora-merryweather

there was a sweet smell that hung in the air, one of fresh grass and blooming flora. it was almost nostalgic to the dressmaker of somerset as she wandered about the gardens. her mind was filled with thoughts of pins and threads lately, that she had decided she desperately needed a break from her craft. it was not the easiest to tear herself away from a project, but the sunshine and fresh air was some much appreciated respite. laena paused for a moment just to relish the sun’s rays upon her cheeks and the fresh air filling her lungs. when she opened them, she happened to notice a familiar figure not too far ahead.

seffora merryweather had been someone she would consider a friend during her time in the reach court. the woman had a kind disposition and she and laena got along well. the latter’s rather abrupt departure had put a pause in their relationship. that, and the war that came over these lands. laena had heard what the other endured, her sister playing a pivotal role in all of it, but she did not intend to bring such matters up.

her feet moved in the direction of where the lady stood, and when laena found herself within an appropriate distance in which she was not shouting, she attempted to get her attention. “lady merryweather.” the silver haired woman called, standing before the other now. they had dropped such formalities when they were in court, but they were not alone now, and it had been long since they spoke. “i am glad to see you.” she held her hands in front of her, a bright smile bringing out the dimples in blushed cheeks. “i have heard talk of a philanthropy you have taken on, and i would love to discuss that with you if you have a moment.”

[myriamas]

who: @seffora-merryweather when and where: semi-flashback, the rows within of the great sept of lannisport/ouside. context: myriam is a henothiest; and it shows in the great sept when she only pays tribute and prayers at the base of the mother's statue rather than as a collective within the pews.

the great sept of lannisport loomed above, its seven spires glinting in the midday sun as sainted glass momentarily basked all those who stood within it in hues of colours - a kaleidoscope. as myriam adjusted the golden veil over her thick cascade of dark waves, she remained solitary in her position within the great sept and the others within the hall - she had knelt long enough at the base of the mother’s statue, her whispered prayers drifting upward like smoke, silent and deliberate in her native tongue.

the others—dornish and westerosi alike—had gathered in collective reverence within the pews. she had no interest in joining them.

as the bells tolled above the sky and the sea breeze of lannisport immediately uplifted the scenery the moment the doors opened, she was one of many who descended the marble steps, the warmth of the sun replaced the cool solemnity of the sept, and myriam pulled her veil back over her shoulders, freeing herself from it. her gaze swept over the gathered nobles lingering outside, laughter and murmured words filling the air, hearing the sounds of animals and chattering alike. she lifted the bottom of her skirts to begin the descent down the great steps, and it was then she noticed her—a lady dressed in soft gold and green, her fair hair neatly coiled beneath a modest lace headpiece.

her features were refined, her stance poised, though there was a gentleness to her that seemed incongruous with the ambition so often associated with the reach. a part of myriam inwardly died in realisation she had begun to be able to locate where the andals probably lived based simply on their facial features; a slight breath escaped her full, darkened lips - one of sheer disappointment in herself. she turned again, making no real notice of the woman again. then it happened. a burly man in a flowing volantene robe, his voice booming as he barked orders to a servant, turned abruptly and collided with seffora. the force sent the reachwoman teetering on the edge of the steps, her balance lost.

myriam moved without thinking. her hand shot out, gripping seffora’s arm and pulling her back before the woman could tumble down the steps in what would no doubt cause her embarassment if not physical harm. now she looked down upon the sight, there were still so many stairs to descend - one wrong move upon her head and it could have been far worse than she expected. the impact of their collision jarred her, with her jaw clenched as her sharp gaze darted to the volantene - the sudden target of all the growing issues she began to have with their kind.

“idiot, are you blind?” she snapped, her voice loud, fiery and like the crack of a whip. “or do they not teach you manners in volantis? too busy learning how to exploit people?” she let go of the woman’s arm quite forcefully, her hand lingering a second longer than necessary before she straightened herself; it was then myriam all but clapped in the direction of the burly volantene, clapped for him to get on his way. as he walked away, no doubt cursing her in his own tongue, she looked back at seffora. even in her kindness and her care, myriam was an abrupt woman.

“volantenes,” she said coldly, not bothering to lower her voice. “always so reckless. they seem to think the world bends to their will—steps, people, everything. shame their arrogance doesn’t extend to their coordination.”

she darted her kohl lined gaze back in the man's descending figure; feeling herself churning at the mere sight of him. how she wished to see him fall. "you okay?" myriam finally asked, as though she needed to remember, looking over the younger woman. it was then she noticed it, the back of her dress being entirely torn. "ah, your dress..." myriam muttered, standing in the way for a moment; the movement was swift, fluid. her overcoat, shaped like a corset, had slipped from her had been handed to seffora - leaving myriam in her traditional dornish clothing, with no extra cover.

"you can put this on, clasp it from the middle. we look the same size."

[ofsacredseas]

setting: highgarden, ayca takes lu’s suggestion to come here to work on her art ; starter for @seffora-merryweather

the gardens of highgarden were almost too beautiful, almost too perfect. their vibrancy seemed to mock the tangled emotions that simmered beneath ayca mallister’s carefully maintained composure. she had been here for days now, ostensibly to find inspiration for her paintings, though she doubted any amount of sunlight or roses could soothe the storm within her.

a canvas rested on an easel before her, its surface a mixture of hesitant strokes and bold swipes of color—half-finished, like a thought interrupted. ayca stood before it, brush poised in her hand, her expression as sharp and unyielding as the blade of a dagger.

she didn’t turn when she heard footsteps crunch softly along the gravel path behind her, though her grip on the brush tightened. “if you’re here to critique, you might as well save your breath,” she said curtly, her tone carrying the bite of someone who had grown too accustomed to unwanted opinions. “this one’s far from finished.”

her dark eyes flicked briefly over her shoulder, catching sight of a blonde haired woman she did not recognize, only assuming she was one of the many other artists who she had run into in the gardens, but the woman’s presence seemed entirely at odds with ayca’s mood, poised, warm, radiating a kind of light that ayca often found herself recoiling from. still, she didn’t send her away.

“i’m told highgarden is an artist’s dream,” the lady of seagard continued, her voice softer now, though still carrying the weight of her natural guardedness. “but all i see are flowers that don’t know when to stop blooming.” she glanced back at seffora fully this time, one brow arching slightly. “what about you, my lady? are you here to bask in the glory of endless roses, or do you have some other purpose in mind?”

the words were direct, but there was an undertone of curiosity there—faint, almost imperceptible. despite herself, ayca couldn’t deny that part of her wondered what the other woman would make of her unfinished work, her guarded words, and the barriers she wasn’t quite ready to lower.