[ woundcollector ]

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Having successfully gotten his attention, Arya tries to melt into
the shadow cast by a nearby wall. Having still more to perfect
in the craft, it’s more wriggling than melting. 

             “Looking for you.” There is a breathy pause between
              the said and unsaid. “Are there other ways to win
              deaths for the Red God?”

                       ◤ alar  orghulis. ◢

        “ A boy should not allow his body to leave the wall’s surface,”
    Jaqen calmly adds, amused in slight by the child’s determination to
    act as he does. ( If she knew only what his body and mind have been
    through she would revoke her curiosity, likely, become disinterested
    with the enigmatic qualities a man possesses.

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        “ Why concern oneself with the Red God? Death is death, child;
    there is no death higher than another, nor is there a way to ‘win’ over a god.”
    A calculated pause ensues.                                     “The gods are not mocked.” 

 

[ woundcollector ]

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      “Pssst. Hey. HEY.”

She accompanies the final staccato whisper with
a sharp kick, too fast for anyone else to notice.

                       ◤ alar  orghulis. ◢
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        A swift turn of the head follows a childish kick to clothed shin.
    The miscreant of the situation is identified and Jaqen H’ghar’s mien
    regains its placidity.

                    “ What is a boy doing out so late in the evening?”

 
                       ◤ alar  orghulis. ◢
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        Gaze belonging to unacquainted individual adjacent is caught by own, a casual
    adjustment of weight to left leg following unspoken acknowledgement. ( Gracile
    body still appears board straight despite languid change of posture, with its rigid-
    ness of back and lankiness of arms and in the company of cool exterior is an air
    of hidden strength when words are spoken in an accent of Germanic descent. )

                “—Klimt’s Death and Life? It seems a woman has an eye for art.”

 

[27/04/2015 13:48:51] puck: [ wy jgdfhg - YOU HAVE A JAQEN STRIPE IN YOUR HAIR ]
[27/04/2015 13:53:50] no one.: i’m waiting for someone to see me in public and recognise it tbh!!!! that is my only!! life goal
[27/04/2015 13:54:05] no one.: ( when someone does that i’m going to propose to them lmao
[27/04/2015 13:58:56] puck: that kind of happened to me several times, but with another of my favorite characters
[27/04/2015 13:59:11] no one.: ( WHAT how are you single? if so, WHY?
[27/04/2015 13:59:21] no one.: ( if someone noticed the character thing )
[27/04/2015 13:59:26] no one.: ( omg i’m not coming onto you )
[27/04/2015 13:59:28] no one.: ( JESUS )

  "I said: I could be a wolf for you. I could put my teeth on your throat. I could growl. I could eat you whole. I could wait for you in the dark. I could howl against your hair." 

      —  (via altraviolence)  
inferuxs:

❝A man and a girl are choosing the path between the stars. ❞ ( /casually changes words to fit the characters. )

woundcollector:

LABYRINTH → the sentence meme
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She stares out over the churning water while the boat efficiently cuts through the water under her feet. Land, land she knows, slides further and further into the distance. Soon it will be as thin as a piece of parchment, then not there at all. The finality of her leaving Westeros behind is catching up, but Arya can’t bring it upon herself to regret it.

This is what is best. Her going to Braavos to be trained by Jaqen will mean her becoming the wolf she was always meant to be. This will sharpen her teeth, her claws, and her mind. Faceless Men knew what it was to hunt, and she would too. 

While her fingers grip the railing as if her white-knuckled hold will keep her calm, Arya looks up at Jaqen. Such a man of mystery, yet she can’t help but trust him. With anyone else she wouldn’t dare – yet his ability to be whatever he needs to be, whenever ( something that would surely cause distrust in anyone else ) is all that she needs to know she was supposed to meet him. They were supposed to help each other.

Maybe, once in a while, the gods did orchestrate something good. 

     “When we get there….” To the land between the stars. To the place she’ll become stronger than anyone knew she could be. “…I’ll be ready. I’m not afraid.”

 

[ woundcollector ]

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Immediately she halts the subconscious motion, hiding a halfway grin at his tone of voice. The man needs to say nothing else. Inwardly she knows there is error in the action, a clear tell, minor though it was. Everything thing she has learned - from him and his peers - tells her the chastisement is for her own good. If she is to be anyone, she cannot do what Arya does and expect to excel. Fingers remain still and she turns completely around, away from the rainbow of sooty shades outside.

                    (What she would have given years ago to have heard such an opinion on beauty.)

     “I only asked because….it might serve a purpose one day.
      In order to accomplish a task.”

                       ◤ alar  orghulis. ◢

        With a quick turn of frame ( rigidly upright back facing the girl, now, arms hanging at
    sides as weightlessness of limbs becomes evident by the intricately threaded forearm
    sinew that flits whenever a ghostly digit moves ) he silently exhales and reaches to a
    shelf lazily bolted into the hotel room’s bland wall. Deft fingers retrieve two sharpened
    — sheathed — knives and set the items on one of the twin beds accommodated by
    the House’s kind endowment.

        “A woman’s view on beauty? Effecting a task?” A murmured ‘hm’ ensues. 

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      “Take one.                                                                       A blade is politely proffered;
     Tonight a man will show a woman how these                                hilt facing receiver,
     will come into use during her time at the House.”                         
blade facing giver.  

 

[ woundcollector ]

inferuxs liked

She’s looking past her misty and warped reflection in a solitary windowpane, watching clouds roll by with the weight of rain turning them charcoal grey. A slight scritching is the only sign she’s moving, her nails peeling away the already chipped paint on the windowsill.

       “What do you think is more beautiful? Something with lots of colors, or only a few?”

image
                       ◤ alar  orghulis. ◢

        Soundless  steps effortlessly  carry weight atop  lithe body and the  threading of sinew
    into deathly frame halts just behind a woman once deemed ‘girl.’ The idle paring of aged
    paint  echoes into and out of ears  until a clearing of throat is  intended to halt the action.

        “Stop that.” A low susurration. Gentle nudge; power behind statement.
                                 Such need not be used, it is assumed.

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        “Colour does not measure beauty,” the  man continues  sedately.
           “What brings a woman to ask such a thing? The Faceless do
                           not bother with trivial things of the sort.”

 

Braavos. 

                       ◤ alar  orghulis. ◢

        The hollow gaze belonging to Jaqen H’ghar is cast
    ahead upon sprawling, grassy land that appears end-
    less to one’s naked eye. Overcast clouds draping lush
    flora and fauna coat the man’s armour with a dull sheen.

        To the right is a lovely girl who stands with a blade
    in hand ( Needle, he recalls her murmuring once or twice
    in assumed solitude [ his own presence unbeknownst to her,
    certainly; for the Faceless are to roam amidst shadows ] ), and
    a predictable look of determination painted across Stark features.

                                 “If a girl is to learn—” ( Prelude in a brassy tone,
                                                   eyes eventually catching adjacent’s. )

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    “A girl must come with a man to practise amongst the Braavosi.
                     Far and away and across the narrow sea.”

 

R U L E

INDEPENDENT
JAQEN H'GHAR
OF GRRM'S
A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE.

Y O U R

LOW ACTIVITY.
MULTI-EVERYTHING.
#INFERUXS

F A C E.

PLEASE READ
LINKS 02., 04., AND 06.
BEFORE INTERATCION.