( ɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ )

[bullshead]

VOICE | TEXT | VIDEO | ACTION

Comments

audio. [ backdated to the 14th ]

[wolfchild]

Stay in the forge until I tell you.

audio.

[bullshead]

[ B| you don't rule his life. ]

Why?

audio.

[wolfchild]

Something is loose in the halls and no one knows what. It already attacked someone. So stay there. Soon as I get Nymeria back I'll fetch you.

voice;

[wolfdreamer]

[you can thank Arya for this one bro]

Ser Gendry. Do you still have work to do in this ship's forge, even in the heat?

voice;

[bullshead]

[ thanks arya, THANKS!!!!

he kinda just... stares at this for a moment before responding. did he smile a little? he kinda did, maybe, no one will ever truly know because this wasn't video!!! HAHA ]

I don't have to.

voice;

[wolfdreamer]

[oh you'll smile again just you wait]

Good. They say that heat can kill you, if you are not very careful. [Not that he knows Gendry very well--but he is Arya's friend, and it would be sad if some ill fate here to befall him.] It never gets to be near this hot in the North.

Have you seen the pools on this ship?

audio »

[disfavour]

Boy. [ Because that's what he's referred to Gendry as, on the few occasions Nuada has deigned to speak to him. ] Can you tell me what you hope to achieve by creating so many dull blades? Besides an admirable collection of butter-knives.

audio »

[bullshead]

[ NO, FUCK YOU. HE ISN'T GONNA TELL YOU ANYTHING YOU FREAKY DOUCHE BAG.

nuada gets nothing but silence for a good while. thanks for reminding gendry how much he sucks. here he was, trying something knew with the knowledge he has and has managed (terribly) to accumulate by simply observing the others. only he ruined every attempt he made to put that knowledge into practice. ]

Nothing. [ because he's clearly getting no where with that stuff. ] I was just trying something new. [ gendry can't sound more grumpy about it if he tried. ]

audio »

[disfavour]

[ How rude. ]

Whatever it was you wanted to accomplish, you failed. Several times, in fact. [ JUST SAYIN'. ] You have only been taught your craft by humans before, have you not? The evidence is overwhelming in a waste of good metal. Never mind, don't answer.

[ For Nuada, who has lived with elf-smiths, dwarves, learned from goblins their skills and fortified Wink's entire mechanical hand when his friend lost the real thing, it's almost painful to see the mortal boy bludger his way through sword after sword. ]

If you are going to persist in this field, I will show you how an elf works a blade. Be in the forge tomorrow morning.

[wolfchild]

[ she dreams and in her dreams she witnesses everything. when she wakes it is with a heavy head and a hollow stomach. arya does not move. she lets her weaker girl eyes grow accustomed to the light and inhales deeply. nymeria knows, though, and the wolf licks her curled fingers. the rough wet tongue is a sweet comfort.

only nymeria remains on the bed with her, the wolf a warm presence at her head and back. the space in front of her is empty and cooler than it had been. ]

Gendry?

[ she stretches a hand across the bed as if she were just waking and finding him gone. as if she does not know what happened and means to find him. ]

[bullshead]

[ he doesn't move from behind the anvil (a subconscious attempt to put something between him and the white direwolf - futile if the beast lunged for him again) he had placed himself behind, watching the door that jon left through with his brow furrowed deeply.

gendry doesn't answer.

he had said little, in truth, but to him it felt like too much. let too much out to save his own skin or because he was too angry. it doesn't matter. his mouth tastes foul, as if someone fed him ash, and his head aches. ]

forward dated to after the jump fucking deal with it

[wolfchild]

[ nymeria obeys when arya bids her remain outside. her wolf has been sweet and quiet in the last hour. arya does not need to wear her skin to know nymeria feels as she does: tired.

she's not angry. she was faintly surprised when she realized she wasn't, but that too registered dimly. where once she felt keenly ( too much so, ) trying to discern her emotions now is like trying to peer through a fog. nothing lingers except tired. she's tired of disappointment. tired of being left behind. just tired.

the digital numbers on her comm told her it was late. there is no true night on the ship. or perhaps there is no true day. there is no sun to tell time. arya has forgotten the feeling of sunlight on her skin. the thought made her feel trapped. next thing she knew she raced down the hall and into an elevator. only when she was staring at the array of call buttons, nymeria's warm breath in her ear, did she remember she left her comm on the bed.

she could not summon the energy to return for it. if anyone sought her out —

better that they didn't.

she passes a hand over nymeria's head. maybe it's not surprising her feet brought her here. a sense of inevitability hangs over everything, making her surroundings acquire a sense of not-real. she doesn't remember walking here. now that she is here, she might as well see it to an end.

arya toes off her boots. her tunic is left at the end of the bed. her fingers fumble with her belt until she undoes it. a second sword hangs beside needle. a little longer, a little heavier, but an echo of needle, a skinny, delicate looking thing with a wicked edge. she keeps the blade sharp enough to shave with.

hugging both swords to her chest, she peels the covers back to allow her to slip under them. it's warm always in the forge and it's hot under the sheets with another body opposite hers. the bed isn't big enough for two; arya, built small and skinny, has to lie against him so she doesn't risk falling. she fidgets until she finds a comfortable position. the troll bone panels of the vest nuada made her will leave marks on her skin, but the vest is cooler than her tunic and it can stop a blade besides. she hardly takes it off even to sleep. arya lies on top of echo; needle is nestled between her and gendry. arya curls her left hand around needle's hilt.

he's awake. though he has not spoken and she has not felt him move, he is awake. arya could not say how she knows except —

— except this is gendry. he was her friend for so long. the only true friend she has had. she can bring to mind every stupid face he made. in the bright colors the bravos favored wore she could sometimes find a shade of blue that she knew was the exact color of his eyes. she knows him as well as she has ever known anyone, and she doesn't know him at all.

cold fingers stumble in the darkness until they find his face. she cards through the roughness of his beard. it has been a hundred years since arya made him sit on the floor of her bathroom so she could shave him. gendry had complained so long she thought he would never stop, but when her knife touched his skin he had grown quiet and still. for a long time, the only sound was the soft scrape of the knife removing the coarse black hair. when she finished, she flattened her hands against his cheeks and neck. he had said she was going to cut him. she smiled before meeting his eyes. a laugh tumbled out of her. her hands encountered only smooth, soft skin.

everything changes.

by touch, arya elucidates his neck, then his collarbone. she splays her hand flat against his chest, her hot palm to his hot skin. his heartbeat is quick and sure and strong. it feels stronger than hers, aching and hollow in her chest.

arya hates him. arya missed him. ]

[bullshead]

[ he is awake, but he does nor speak and does not move. he lays silent as she shifts into the bed beside him. gendry doesn't bother to ask why she's here, he thinks he knows. (he checked a few times to be certain.) he just waits, flinching when she rests needle between them. a complaint jumps to the tip of his tongue, only to swallow it back down.

she won't stab him.

and gendry knows better than to speak, for arya is like a wild animal- a wolf. to speak now would spook her and she'll be gone, so silent he stays save for the soft inhale and exhale of breath.

he doesn't expect her hand, cold fingers brushing against hair and skin alike. it makes him still, muscles locking in an effort not to move, and he closes his eyes. it puzzles him, in truth, questions sitting in his throat wanting no more than to burst forth from his lips. what are you doing? he swallows it down as he did his complaints.

arya's hand turns from cold to warm on his skin, resting upon his chest to feel his heart beat. gendry moves, shifting until one of his arms wraps around her. he feels the troll bone vest with his fingers and brushes up against the hilt of her second sword. (his hand stops for a moment, he recognizes the feel of that hilt.)

once he settles gendry is facing her, with one protective arm wrapping around her. she might hit him for it, he thinks, it is hard to tell with her. arya is wild and unpredictable and not the same girl who ran away on that stormy night. she is harder, and colder now. a creature filled with grief, and a darkness brought on by the cruelty of their world where a girl desperate to find her family had once been. and at the same time he still sees her in there, the girl who called herself arry and thought no one would notice that she was actually a girl.

but he isn't the same either. he is just as hard and cold, with his own type of darkness lurking underneath. he never used to smile at the inn, not matter how hard the children tried to make him. gendry never laughed or smiled. he hadn't since that night and thoros despaired for him.

gendry inhales and hugs her a little closer, until he can rest his forehead on top of her head. what a pair they make. the hollow girl and bull headed boy. curled up in a too small bed as if their fight never happened. ]

voice.

[darkart]

You work the forge?

[ --a stranger, one who's not let his voice be heard unlocked on the network or his face seen at all; Severus hates people prefers text, but thought this might be smoother. ]

voice.

[bullshead]

[ it is greatly appreciated seeing that gendry can't read and finds the text to voice function a pain in the ass. ]

I do.

action.

[wolfchild]

[ sitting on his bed, her feet tucked neatly under her. in her hands, arya turns over a lock of yellow hair, a ribbon wrapped around it. ]

Whose is this?

action.

[bullshead]

[ he wipes the sweat from his brow, looking from the hair in her hand (yellow hair) to her face. seven hells. ]

No one's, put it back.

private.

[northerner]

Could you fashion me a weapon, if I asked it of you?

private.

[bullshead]

[ NO, GO AWAY. YOU STARKS CAUSE HIM NOTHING BUT GRIEF. ]

What sort of weapon?

voice;

[vindictam]

[ GOD WHAT IS TALKING TO PEOPLE ON THE NETWORK. WOW. AWKWARD. ]

Master Gendry --

[ clears his throat. ] I am told you are a smith of great skill, and I require a blade.

[ wait the bit with talking to people and this is so strange. ] I'm Corvo, I serve His Majesty, Stark.

[ yep that's it. good work Corvo you talked to a people. ]

voice;

[bullshead]

[ there there corvo, gendry's social skills aren't any better. also thanks for doing voice instead of video, not that he cares if he is covered in sweat and grime. ]

What sort of blade do you want?

doubletaps your inbox SORRY

[northerner]

Arya's missing. She's gone into the ship.

ARE YOU THOUGH?

[bullshead]

[ hear that? that is the sound of SHIT GETTING DROPPED. ]

What?

ring ring aka checking up on arya the official call

[northerner]

Gendry, I would ask a question of you.

[ ANSWER CAREFULLY ]

oh shit oh shit

[bullshead]

Okay. [ ?????? ASK IT ALREADY ROBB. ]