#𝗩𝗜𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗬𝗔 𝗖𝗘𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗚𝗔𝗥 ⸻ with harlon greyjoy

[aechor]

amethysts stay on the lord's features ⸻ the way he stands, the ruggedness of his hair, the clothes her wears on his body, the little bit of information he shares. there is not much that visenya knows from the world around ( except what she has read in books, whose accounts can never be as trustworthy as what her own eyes see ) but she knows then that the lord's blood before her either runs with salt or snow. ❝ such a habit would have many think you have something against such gardens. and others might believe you when you say you are admiring it closely. ❞ there is a sort of poetry to destroying something beautiful, visenya supposes ⸻ whether it's from the inside or the outside. ❝ where is it that you call home? ❞

his questions momentarily transform him into her brother, her fingers growing more and more busy with the thought of it ⸻ vanarr would see it as a crime, for her to choose the company of a stray cat over the many lords that he wishes to have her make an impression on. laeya would think it a waste of time, the young celtigar doesn't doubt it. now, visenya has to wonder just where the lord before her means to go with his questions. ❝ unfortunately for my family, it is a habit i cannot seem to break. ❞ head tilts, breath escaping through forced relaxation. ❝ is it a habit of yours as well or did you just find yourself far away from the rest by chance? ❞

harlon didn't believe it. it would pain him too much to do so. that a woman such as the one before him could show any inkling of doubt or surprise at the possibility of an admirer? no. no, that was — that was a situation that did not make any sense in his mind. harlon had been posed to assure her of the contrary — to wax any amount of poetic on her fine, elegant features, as any aesthete worth their salt would — when her cheeky, and entirely warranted, little question brought him up short.

ah. you could fish the kraken out of the isles, but you could never leech the salt from the sea in his veins. "some habits are harder to quit than others, i suppose. we have few blooms such as this one where i'm from. i would argue that i am merely ... admiring it more closely." his smile grew wider then, brow quirked in the same manner hers was. he liked her. and her cat. "do you make it a habit to hide from others, my lady? i do believe the festivities are over there, are they not?"

[aechor]

the smell of the midday meal fills the air, there is chatter filling the spaces between the nobles, the bellow of someone who's had too much red wine echoing throughout the gardens. visenya finds refuge on the outer circle of the gardens, finding the company of stray cat balancing atop of a small wall while she hums a familiar tune under her breath. her hair is no longer styled in the way it's meant to be, flowing free instead. visenya notices too much, she gathers. she is not blind to what runs through the cobblestones of king's landing when so many nobles gather ( much to her dislike, hoping to claim ignorance and make the most of that bliss ⸻ oh, how she wishes she was not privy to smaller changes in people's tones, how they shift from one foot to the other when the conversation is not to their liking ). king's landing feels different to visenya now ⸻ it is cleaner and better smelling, without a doubt, but that is not what tugs at the hairs on the back of her neck. and when she is made aware of why exactly that is. you've a group of admirers, you know. visenya turns to let purple eyes meet whoever speaks, hand dropping from the softness of the cat's fur. ❝ i do? ❞ the valyrian starts, looking over to where the culprits had been sold out for only one moment. it is surprise that mingles with her words, thinking ( and hoping ) herself far enough away to not be noticed by anyone. ❝ perhaps they were admiring the cat. ❞ a full turn to her new company, eyes darting to the flower for a breath before looking up again. ❝ do you make it a habit to pluck flowers from gardens that are not yours? ❞ there's jest in her words, eyebrow raising to emphasize her question.

🦑 — can be on any of the days in whichever public setting most fits your character.

"you've a group of admirers, you know." harlon's voice was quiet, carried over their shoulder by the breeze and only just audible. he aimed for conspiratorial, with his wine - stained lips curled up at the corners, countenance kept light and open, and the mischief in his eyes tempered to a glint. really, he was on his best behavior. "they huddle together just to your left over there, and turn away every time you so much as glance in their general direction, so as to not get caught gawking, i presume." i saw them, though, harlon thought. just as i saw you. he canted his head to the side then, ignoring the few dark strands that fell loose from behind his ear, and gestured at them with the small flower he'd been twirling — one he'd plucked from a passing display. "have you noticed?"