vin. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
indispensible) wrote2013-09-22 02:57 pm
indispensible) wrote2013-09-22 02:57 pm
two. spam. graceless; i figured out how to be faithless
[Serafina told Vin that she had to do this - not just for the witches, but for everyone; not just for the people in this world, but for the people in all worlds. When Vin asked for further explanation, she received none, with Serafina's apologies. It wasn't that she wouldn't say; it was that she just didn't know.]
[Vin's love for her clan, for her people, is strong enough to overcome her distaste for being so close to so many people. She is capable of passing (most of the time) as a woman like any other, though Hal has to take care to stay close to her, not to stray. It makes her skin crawl, and his too, and they can't ever do it for more than a few hours at a time.]
[While they manage, they infiltrate. Vin is capable, when at her best, of seeming as high or low society as she likes. When she speaks to the Gyptians, she is almost honest in her bearing, even telling a few higher-ups of her goal: to gather intelligence on the General Oblation Board and its doings. Some of the very old men remember her. Some of them don't.]
[In high society, no one remembers her. All of those who were alive the last time she was here were so small that they have no memory at all of that time, or else don't believe there could be a witch among them. (She has been here before. There was a man. But he died.)]
[She flits among them like a butterfly, primped and polished and vapid. Only her eyes go sharp every once in a while: not enough to give her away entirely, but odd, absolutely.]
[At night, she can hide in the shadows. She can listen to clandestine meetings. And later, she can fly on her pine branch through the clouds that cling to her clothing like lovers' fingers. They don't want her to go, oh no. They want to love her.]
[It's good. Because she loves them. In the sky, that's the only time she truly smiles.]
[Vin's love for her clan, for her people, is strong enough to overcome her distaste for being so close to so many people. She is capable of passing (most of the time) as a woman like any other, though Hal has to take care to stay close to her, not to stray. It makes her skin crawl, and his too, and they can't ever do it for more than a few hours at a time.]
[While they manage, they infiltrate. Vin is capable, when at her best, of seeming as high or low society as she likes. When she speaks to the Gyptians, she is almost honest in her bearing, even telling a few higher-ups of her goal: to gather intelligence on the General Oblation Board and its doings. Some of the very old men remember her. Some of them don't.]
[In high society, no one remembers her. All of those who were alive the last time she was here were so small that they have no memory at all of that time, or else don't believe there could be a witch among them. (She has been here before. There was a man. But he died.)]
[She flits among them like a butterfly, primped and polished and vapid. Only her eyes go sharp every once in a while: not enough to give her away entirely, but odd, absolutely.]
[At night, she can hide in the shadows. She can listen to clandestine meetings. And later, she can fly on her pine branch through the clouds that cling to her clothing like lovers' fingers. They don't want her to go, oh no. They want to love her.]
[It's good. Because she loves them. In the sky, that's the only time she truly smiles.]
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This is the...she's lost count of what number party this is, but she's tired of playing at being a lady, she's no lady, and they wouldn't even let her bring Nymeria in from the kennel. Luckily, even Baleron has had enough of this stuffy nonsense; he weaves in and out of party goers, first a wolf, then a hyena, and occasionally a bird when it's too tight a fit. Arya doesn't have the luxury of shifting shapes, so she barrels through, dodging and spinning - and pushing when she has to.]
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[It's not the first time she's seen Arya, but it is the first time that she's attempted to make contact - in this case, by grabbing her wrist in a vise-tight grip before the girl can slip past. She doesn't pull or attempt to hurt beyond holding her tight, just pulls her arm up slightly so she can get a glimpse at Arya's face.]
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Let go, I didn't do nothing to you! [Except step on her dress, Arya knows she did - but she's not about to admit to her wrong doing.]
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[She tugs Arya a little closer and looks at her more carefully.]
I'm not hurting you. Am I? So stop struggling. You're no child.
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She didn't call her a child. That's new.]
Who are you?
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[She sighs lightly, less because she's bored and more because she's claustrophobic. She wants to be flying.]
Who are you?
no subject