Entry tags:
- * setting: france 1792,
- aloy [horizon zero dawn],
- angela zieglar [overwatch],
- arthur [inception],
- ashitaka [princess mononoke],
- chiron [fate],
- daenerys targaryen [asoiaf],
- draco malfoy [harry potter],
- drogo [asoiaf],
- eren yeager [attack on titan],
- jacob frye [assassin's creed],
- joel [the last of us],
- jon snow [asoiaf],
- kate bishop [marvel],
- midnighter [dc],
- soldier 76 [overwatch],
- takatora todo [samurai warriors],
- yoshitsugu otani [samurai warriors]
THERE WERE MASTERS AND SERVANTS,
WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Prepare for the historic Battle of Valmy.
WHEN? Mid September 1792, France.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.
WHAT? Prepare for the historic Battle of Valmy.
WHEN? Mid September 1792, France.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.
IT'LL BE FINE;
between sainte-menehould and valmy,
1792: revolutionary france.
1792: revolutionary france.

read the valmy setting infopage
DEPARTING JERUSALEM
The clean up of the battle is slog. A full day of piling together corpses. Noting down famous men and women. In the heat, the bodies bloat and become fetid, and the smell builds until it cannot be ignored. Insects swarm, and vultures blot out the sun, swooping down and taking back what's been left for nature. Stragglers and the poor pick through the field for scattered weapons and valuables to collect. The bodies of important men and women are taken for burial; the rest are left for scavengers, animal or human.
It's in this gruesome scene that the order comes:
PACK UP, GET READY TO MOVE OUT. THE TARGETS HAVE BEEN NEAUTRALIZED. WE MAKE OUR DEPARTURE LOCAL TIME, DAWN.The present COST soldiers that have been in strict cover begin finishing their work, if they've decided to help the army move out, tend to the wounded, or clean up after the dead. There is no sign of the Commander yet, but maybe you recognise some of your fellow operatives. They seem be taking advantage of a particular event that maybe you stopped to see, maybe you didn't.
DEPLOYMENT: VALMY, FRANCE. IT'S GOING TO BE A WET ONE. WE ARE EXPECTING MORE TRANSFERS ON ARRIVAL.
Saladin beheads Reynald de Chattilion and his words fill the camp as much as the news of their next move.
A king does not kill a king, Saladin says to King Guy, and the orders run like wildfire through the camp: next they take Jerusalem, and it's in this march, that when the rest of the army moves on that COST slips away. A order to fall back in steady increments; when the time comes, Saladin's army is out of sight, marching toward Jerusalem.
In the midst of all of this, COST operatives begin to disappear, here one moment and gone in another. Such a strange sight, more than one native soldier muses, must be the fault of heat exhaustion.
The Time-Step
The transfer begins, and it starts like a vibrating heat on the collar bone, not painful, not to start with. Just a hum of sensation. But the vibration spreads. Veteran COST soldiers often refer to this phenomena as 'the buzz'. The sensation builds, feeling not unlike standing near a great engine, or the wind rattling the branches of a great tree. There is long a moment of motion sickness, and one cannot always be sure if it is you that is shaking from the inside out, or the world that is shaking you from the outside in. It may just be better to close your eyes against the growing nausea as the world blurs out of focus. A star shines in the distance. You may hear the faint rustling of leaves. Some swear they hear voices in this moment, indistinct words echoing off nothingness. Some swear they feel a touch of the divine. One thing is for sure: One moment you are here, and the next, you are not.
The soldier next to you might not have been so clever, when it stops and you find yourself standing in the green fields of France, September 1792. She or he throws up as the vibration fades. Everyone seems to stumble sideways for a second. The world turns, and then rights itself. The heat is gone, replaced with cold and wet.

ARRIVAL FOR TRANSFERS FROM JERUSALEM
It's raining.
You're inside of a tent, (another one), and it already seems to be bustling with movements, they call to you in French, which you understand if you did not already: hurry now, they say, you need out of that cuircass before they're spotted. The rest of the army will be following, and the Prussian army to meet it. There isn't much time to loiter around getting sick in this weather. You have a kit to pick up, and perhaps training to do.
ARRIVAL FOR NEW RECRUITS
The first thing you'll notice is the sound of rain. You awake in a tent that seems to be sheltering against the ruins of a farm house, and everything feels damp. It's a wet September morning in 1792, and when the woman across from you in the tent speaks, you understand it to be French. If you didn't understand French already, you sure do now.
If you ask, she'll explain: you are fighting for France, as the Prussian army intends to invade and sack Paris. You may be a citizen, you may be a soldier; you have risen up in defense of France all the same.
She asks you what role you wish to play in the coming battle, and provides you with clothes and supplies to suit. She won't let you leave until you can pass for a native of France, setting up camp in the rain pouring down between Sainte-Menehould and Valmy.
MISSION OBJECTIVE
The forces of COST have gotten word that Regency operatives have gone to Revolutionary France, intending to turn the tides in one of the most historically important battles in European history. The Battle of Valmy, which decided the entirety of the French Revolution and all that follows it, must be won by the French army, as it was in history.
Unlike the incident in Jerusalem-- you may remember it, you may not-- COST has managed to get here before the day of the battle. Make no mistake; it's coming soon. But this time, you and your fellow travelers have time to prepare.
The French Army has managed to get ahead as well; they've maneuvered around the Prussians, cutting off their supply lines. You and your fellow soldiers are now chasing the invaders as they head for Paris. This is time to prepare and ready your forces. The fight is coming soon.

STAY DRY, STAY SECURE
A few things are strongly remembered about the Battle of Valmy; one of them is the rain. It's really pouring out here, and you're in the thick of it. Rain is a dangerous thing for an army such as this; during this era of warfare, gunpowder was an essential commodity, and wet gunpowder is useless gunpowder. Secure the supplies, rescue supply carriages from muddy sinkholes, steer the horses, check supplies, and try to keep the essential materials for victory dry.TRAIN UP
General Kellerman and Dumouriez are training peasants in basic military tactics. While veterans make up the core of this army, there are a substantial amount of peasants, and most here have never seen battle in their lives, or ever held a gun. Many are equipped with only rudimentary farming equipment. Help train or be trained so you're ready when the Prussian army arrives.MEDICAL
Plenty of people need medical attention, not from battle wounds so much as malnutrition and overwork. These are mostly peasant laborers, and they're not entirely fit for battle. Help people get as rested and ready as possible.ESPIONAGE
We have reason to believe some of the 'peasants' are actually Regency spies. Root them out by seeing keeping an ear to the ground for suspicious activity. They don't know all the words to La Marseillaise? Off with their head! Be careful not to attack time travellers on your side, though!MORALE
Keep spirits high! Sing, dance, and generally try to keep people from succumbing to fear. Despite the rain and the mud, despite the seemingly impossible odds, the average soldier is full of excitement for battle, ready to fight to the death to defend their freedom.SUPPLY AND SEEK
Since the French army is behind the invading force, they've cut off the enemy's supply lines. This means that, should the Prussians become encamped here for any amount of time, they won't be able to send for food and munitions from their home country. It's your job to make sure it stays that way. You may see someone riding on a swift horse in a Prussian uniform, attempting to sneak through French lines and try to get word back to mother Prussia. Chase them down, and make sure they can't get their reports back home so a second force isn't sent-- or worse.BE A COMMUNITY ORGANIZER
This battle is one that's widely known for its popular support-- for the most part, France unites against this invading force with alarming cohesion. Someone gifted with a clever mind, or perhaps a clever tongue, may be able to use that. The French army passes farms and peasant villages along the way-- make rousing speeches, and try to recruit more to the cause, secure donations of food and weaponry, anything you can get.
read the valmy setting infopage

MIDNIGHTER | OTA.
a.
His discomfort doesn't show, however. He seems completely calm when he comes across the child dangling in the air and raises a slender eyebrow. Dressed in the clothing of a civilian, with a phrygian cap perched on his head (more for the comfort of a hat than blending in), Yoshitsugu looks completely nonthreatening when he walks up and pats the failed pickpocket once on the shoulder.
"Perhaps the magic word is 'sorry.'" A short pause, and then he adds: "Or something more forward? I've heard plenty of colourful language and threats from the other children around here, there's plenty to choose from."
It's probably a joke. Probably. You wouldn't be able to tell from the look on his face, which is still calm and even.
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A
He walks up with a sigh, overhearing their conversation. "Not even a bit of cheek? The magic word is 'Excuse me, good sir. I tried to take your wallet, but I'm an embarrassing little amateur and got caught.'"
He leans down to eye level with the kid, turning sincere. "If you're not sure about the target's reflexes, test 'em first or use a distraction. Now this - " He holds up a bit of money in front of him. " - is yours if you meet me back here tonight. Five hours. Hopefully you're better at listening."
He pockets the money and stands, eyes going to Midnighter. "Do carry on, but I ask that he can still walk for my purposes."
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D
The work of reloading is not too different from reaching into a quiver and reloading arrow after arrow, the shots meant to be in rapid succession to the point where the entire process should be automatic. But Chiron has had a lifetime of practice with the bow, and as of now a good...thirty minutes. In that time he's managed about six shots, and while his aim was as good as ever, the rest left something to be desired.
"You could--" he started, when a hand suddenly butted into his work. He looked up, then decided that it was actually better to not argue about this.
Re: D
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d-ish but mostly e
He wears his hair in a braid and bells in his hair, still, but he has shoved a tricorder onto his head all the same. Mostly it's to stop the woman from saying anything else in the crass, strange language he does not know but somehow has learned. He cannot kill her, but he can wish.
Drogo's watching the men prepare their sticks made of fire, lips curling into a snarl the moment anyone approaches him. Someone nearby helps another--square jaw, blue eyes, hair that reminds him of the Lamb Men--and he makes a rumbling noise of disapproval low in his throat.
"Weak," He says simply. It's difficult to tell if he means the helper or the help-ee.
lmk if this is 2 much.
it's beautiful i'm gonna cry :')
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c; between this and b it was a hard choice
"Gah...!"
Only a reflexive grab keeps him from toppling off of the cart.
As soon as his balance recovers he scrambles to finish his work before they loose anything and then clambers over the supplies, trying to get a good look at the new driver. He's none too pleased when he yells, "What's going on?!"
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b
A couple things click together at once and she's pretty much already rolling her eyes by the time she's turned far enough around to confirm that, yep, she recognizes that face. She's dressed like a civilian and doing her best to pass as a young man, though her best pretty much consists of men's clothes, a tri-cornered hat tugged low to shade her face, and crossed fingers. She helpfully tips her head up to make sure Midnighter can see her flat expression.
"You again." But then there's one more piece to click into place here. Brows draw together and then one rises, sharply arched. "Wait, is that Les Mis? Did you seriously just quote Les Mis at me? Wow, I had you pegged as like a...whatever-the-opposite-of-that-is kind of guy. Death metal? Really obnoxious techno?"
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kind of a mostly e
She thought she was good at blending in, and now that she remembers why she's here, she's not nearly as hesitant to do so. However, when she'd signed up to save the world (again, thanks) and the importance of not drawing attention to yourself was mentioned, she'd envisioned a very different context. She was good at slinking through brush, not drawing attention as she readied a strong arrow, and even the most alert of machines would miss her presence.
Not, you know, wearing clothing that absolutely hinders that.
She's uncomfortable in these clothes they've been given, because she's fairly certain she's never worn a dress in her life, but even worse, wearing the... cage around her midsection makes it impossible to breathe properly. She hadn't let them tighten it to the "proper" level, because she refused to be hindered any more than she had to, but still, all she can think is how ridiculous it is. How is she supposed to fight in this?
She sees Midnighter as she's pulling uncomfortably at the corset's edge, and of course she doesn't recognize him, at least assuming he was wearing that mask when they met last. If he wasn't, just ignore the previous part of that sentence, but at least it also doesn't really matter. Aloy half laughs humorlessly, then nods to him as she looks at his hair.
"That's a giveaway," she comments dryly, but it's not clear whether she sees the irony here or not. Her own hair is pretty much a giveaway too, since she has far too much of it to try and pass as a boy, and she's too stubborn to take up the local style for now. Her thick hair with braids and beads is definitely not the style du jour.
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It was an easy thing, guiding horses around to get them to the makeshift stables being used by the French. A gentle hand on the reins, a firm and soft voice, and when Chiron moved with the things, a set of reins in each hand, he seemed to have a similar gait. His eyes were always to either side, looking out for what might spook his charges.
"Hm," he said, when he turned the corner only to find that all of the available horse housing was in use. "There must be more around here somewhere. I doubt that these are the only horses that are a part of this army."
B.
Chiron rolled on the ground, taking a hit from one of the younger, inexperienced soldiers that he was working with. The boy couldn't have been much older than eighteen. Nineteen maybe. He had a sturdy build though, likely from a lifetime of lifting and moving the heaviest of loads. Chiron hadn't inquired too much about his background, only what his experience was.
Which brought Chiron back to the present. Before even moving onto firearms (something he'd pass on to someone with more experience), there was something more basic to be taken into account: general movement. Being able to elbow and hard shoulder and take a physical blow if it came to it. The hard shoulder was what sent him flying, and why he stood up with a smile.
"I think that's plenty of the basics," Chiron said. His eyes searched for the best person to hand the young man off to. "Now as for aiming and firing..."
C.
It felt...inappropriate, in a way, to participate in the recruitment of food, supplies, and bodies. Being thrown into someone else's war was one thing, but to try and drag others into a conflict with only a surface view of it was another. But that very lack of understanding was why Chiron had wandered off with those trying to gain more for the upcoming battle.
In his lifetime, Chiron had trained plenty of warriors, but he had never participated in the wars themselves. He had lived in the wilderness for the most part, removed from the propaganda of those who launched wars, and so the things he heard were nothing short of fascinating.
He hung towards the back, those with clever tongues having achieved their goal of some extra food and a few more bags of grain.
"Interesting," he murmured to himself.
a;
Having just finished helping to unload supplies from one of the carts, he's heard as much said to others. Dressed as a civilian, phrygian cap and all, he wears his saiken at his hip, which while a little more ornate and eastern in design, doesn't look hugely dissimilar to the military's sabers.
"You have some skill in handling horses."
He's seen enough, and is familiar enough with equestrian pursuits, to note that.
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c
Aloy is no stranger to war at this point. Though she'd hadn't had any sort of title, she had been an impromptu general for the Carja, since she was the only one that truly knew the war that was coming to them. They were fighting against machines, but not only machines. The cultists that worshipped them were formidable in their own right, so this isn't the first time she's been at the forefront of a great battle. But still, that had been different. She had gone to the king, told him and his advisors of what was coming, and then while they organized things on their end, she had left to see her quest through. All of the detail went over her head, because she didn't have the time to simply watch.
But now, the situation isn't quite so urgent, and she watches as troops are rallied and food is distributed. Her brow is knit together slightly as she watches, because it's strange to her. It's a moment where she's reminded starkly of just how isolated of a life she had lead until the Proving, and she's still not sure how to feel about that. These aren't her people, she knows, but still, seeing how they interact with each other feels almost alien.
The man near her speaks, and she doesn't think he's really talking to her, but—
"Yeah, that's a word for it," she replies dryly, but there's a hint of that curiosity in her tone. She shifts, crossing her arms, then shrugs. "Is this how things always are?"
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b
Or a fellow COST agent, looking for some support. That's what it seems like, anyway.
"You need a hand?"
76 recognizes the way Chiron trails off, searching for someone who might be able to step in and provide additional assistance. He'd rather leave well enough alone, but the reason they're here is to make sure this army has a fighting chance. If those are his orders, well, he'll carry them out.
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Yoshitsugu Ōtani | OTA
There are many reasons to feel a little... uncomfortable after this latest transition.
The lack of a facecloth is a very immediate one. Yoshitsugu is standing outside under a small cluster of trees, clad in the gear of a civilian of the current time period. It's a mishmash of clothing topped with what he was told is a 'phrygian cap,' which he's pulled down enough to ensure his eyebrows are covered, but he can't hide any part of his face if he's to avoid looking suspicious. Now, usually he doesn't mind being perceived as a suspicious sort, but here... well, it's not an option.
Water drips onto Yoshitsugu's face. Tree cover is far from perfect, after all. He blinks and stares up, touching a finger to his exposed chin as he does so, and hums thoughtfully. A completely unfamiliar land, a time period ahead of his own and a climate so different to the one he just left?
"I'm definitely going to get sick," he says, technically into the air but from an outside perspective to the person who passes by. Water drips down his forehead as he drops his head to smile a little at them. "Let's hope it's not a fatal illness."
b. PURELY MEDICAL
One skill Yoshitsugu had learned when he was younger was that of giving a good massage. Whenever Takatora had been healing up it had helped the healing process to give him ones in the right area; other squad-mates had benefited too.
Years have passed since then, and perhaps the skill is a little rusty, but so far nobody in the medical area has complained. Most of the poorer people here who need help are suffering from the aches of overwork and a good massage can help sore muscles considerably. Some had been suspicious of him when he'd made the suggestion but every trial he's given someone has worked out well.
...okay, some have yelped when Yoshitsugu pressed too hard, but it had all been for good reason.
"I told you I wasn't going to rip them out," he says, sending his latest satisfied patient away before turning his sharp gaze to the nearest soldier or civilian. "You? Muscle aches or do I need to send you elsewhere in the tent?"
c. WILDCARD
[Anything else you want him involved in? I'm up for most things, just drop a prompt here or PM me if you're unsure. ♥]
a;
"Don't even joke about that," Takatora sighs as he approaches Yoshitsugu.
Reaching out, he grabs Yoshitsugu's wrist and tugs insistently.
"Come on. I'm getting you a space in the hayloft."
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But he had also stopped to watch Yoshitsugu's technique, once it became clear what he was doing. Rusty hands or not, they had a good understanding of the body, and it was clearly doing some good.
"It might be worth establishing a line at some point, if word spreads of your skill."
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a;
This war will go poorly. Most of these men will be snapped in two once fights begin. He's sure this one will, too.
"Rain cleanses." It's said as a matter of factly, Drogo unbothered by it. His braid is tucked underneath his jacket, but his bells still make noise as he moves his head to look at him better.
"If you are sick, you are not strong."
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a
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Jacob Frye | OTA
Jerusalem was... intense. He's never really had to be in the aftermath, witness that many bodies. Toward the beginning of their trip to France, he just... doesn't have an appetite. He's wondering what the hell he's doing here, wondering if he's left Evie to the chaos he'd unleashed upon London.
The class difference here is keenly felt, especially for Jacob. It seems time doesn't heal all wounds. Jacob is swept up in their cause, listening to anyone who will speak with him about freedom for France. He's civilian, and he wears red, white, and blue things whenever he can, wears a cockade to show his support.
So when it's night, and the army is trying to keep from thinking too hard about what's next, Jacob starts up a song, getting the people to sing along once he taught them the lyrics. It's a clever song, and it seems to be talking about the difference between classes in a humorous, bitter way. Still, none think too hard on the lyrics, enjoying themselves singing and dancing to it. He stops to sit by your character, noticing they aren't dancing. "Not enjoying yourself?"
b ) leave them underground
Jacob's been busy. He hasn't even had time to deal with his grief, his frustration, his hurt. Weirdly, though, as he sits down in the shared tent, he thinks of his father and his mother. He never even got a chance to know the woman who died birthing him.
He looks around, sees that no one's watching him, and snaps out the hidden blades in his sleeves, studying their sharp edges. Maybe he's just like his father, in a way. Maybe this whole agreement to fix the future is just Jacob's way of running away.
c ) the scene wherein they disagreed on who should live and who should bleed
It's dark, the scent of rain still lingering from an earlier downpour. Jacob's been on the track of false allies this entire trip so far, and his main source of intelligence has been urchins.
He happens to be nearby when one man catches one of his urchins going through his things and gets incredibly angry. Jacob sprints between them, and tries to talk him down before getting punched right in the jaw. He manages to calm down the situation fast, though, with his quick tongue. The man stomps off, and the urchin sprints away.
"You're welcome, you ungrateful shit," he mumbles, holding his quickly reddening jaw and watching him disappear.
d ) wildcard
[Make your own option! Contact me at
b
He likes his tent, although having to share it is mildly grating--tents, at the very least, remind him of home. The weather, too, when the rains come along the great grass sea. He spends time in his tent when he isn't training--mostly because he can remove his shirt, he can feel grounded, and his hair is free and no longer tucked underneath his jacket.
Currently, he sits cross-legged, rebraiding is as best as he can himself. When he glances over, he spots a gleam of metal.
Daggers.
"Mihesof." He points.
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Daenerys Targaryen | Game of Thrones | OTA
The arid desert soon becomes a distant, sweeping memory, replaced by wetness. People speak in a language she should not know, but suddenly understands, and she's left standing with a dress--puffy and ridiculous looking--in her arms. All around her, people are busy preparing. Yet she... she is frozen to the spot, in a daze.
What is this?
Eventually, after a few dark looks and urgings to hurry up, and after further struggles and cursing under her breath, she'll manage to wiggle into the dress. It's an ugly thing, entirely impractical in the setting, especially when she's handed a sharp sickle and butcher's knife. The sickle reminds her of an arakh, though much flimsier. Chase the enemy, they say. Oh, how she is ill prepared for war and battle in this way.
Still, if you look like a warrior and someone just as out of place as she, she'll likely flag you down as Generals Kellerman and Dumouriez train those unprepared for upcoming war. "Will you aid me?" The question is as awkward as she feels, but her look is earnest. At least you'll have an attentive student.
II. SPEECHES ARE HER JAM
It feels wrong to fight for a cause she does not believe in. Still, to feel so useless is not something that sits well with Dany, no matter the location. Add to that the fact that she refuses to play medic again, and there's somewhat of a predicament: what is she supposed to do?
As they travel between farms and the smallfolk villages, she notices a running theme: many of those who stay behind are as engaged as she (which is to say very little). After one man's attempts to rally the smallfolk fails, she huffs, tucking a chunk of silver hair behind her ear. Of course that sort of talk would fail! Who wishes to fight for a cause when those meant to inspire are enthusiastic, but not much in the ways of a leader? Where is the authority? He might as well've been some drunken fool babbling about the rain.
...Which is precisely why at the next village, Dany is stepping toward the gathering crowd. You may find her standing before a rapt audience, her voice booming as she speaks of fighting against the invading forces, rallying behind their current leadership, taking back what is theirs. She refrains from the Targaryen motto, but her war cry is much akin to what she might've said to her Dothraki, prior to sailing to Westeros.
Once she's done speaking, she rolls back on her heels to catch her breath, beaming at the group of people who seem to have taken her words to heart.
"It's not what I envisioned," she tells you, if you step up beside her, "But the smallfolk here are tired, just as they are in my lands. Perhaps that will make the difference."
III. I'M ON A
BOATSUPPLY CART, MOTHER FUCKERIt's still raining. She's come to accept this wretched fact eventually, despite her misery in being a water-logged dragon queen. Today, sit sits upon a supply cart beside you, nearly dozing in place after restless, sleepless nights. Nodding off would not be nearly as bad if her head hadn't thunked against your shoulder.
After a murmured apology, she straightens, shoving water-laden hair from her face--and that's when she notices it. A man, frantically riding. She squints past the water dripping off her lashes, then reaches to grip your arm. "Over there!"
If you don't listen to her, she'll nearly snarl at you in frustration, before yanking the reins away and directing the horses after the lone rider. Don't be surprised as she leads the horses with a skilled hand; she was a khaleesi, after all.
IV. HOUSE HUNTING
No matter her status in life, Dany has never been forced to survive in squalor. Even when she and Viserys lived off the scraps of generosity prior to her marrying Drogo, there was a comfortable bed, food to be had, and cleanliness. Even as a khaleesi, while dirty she might've been at some points, rain and mud were not the norm. Even upon her capture with the Khals, and as dirt-streaked as she'd been prior to their realization that she was the wife of the great Khal Drogo, she'd not been so miserable. This place, this land she's forced upon...
"No more," she snaps one morning, after another restless night's sleep. There is mud all around her, the pitter-patter of rain bouncing off the tent and seeping into the ground near her, into her pallet despite her best efforts. There are dark circles under her eyes, her hair a matted mess, despite her best efforts to keep it in its conqueror braid. She's cold, achey, and hungry as she tugs her fingers violently through her hair, freed from its braids. "I will not live like this another night."
Are you the unfortunate soul that has to listen to this venting? The one who watches as she first braids that hair, then gathers her meager belongings in preparation of finding better living accommodations?
Good luck trying to stop her, pal...V. WILDCARD
Not feeling these? Hit me with your best shot! I'll match your format :> Feel free to poke me on plurk or discord if you'd like to hash out some details, as well.
A LITTLE BIT OF THIS AND THAT
So he stands watching on the sidelines as Daenerys gives them all a rousing speech... something about their lands, their homes, whether or not they have enough food to fill their bellies, the fact that their spirits will lead them to victory. It's along the lines of what he might have said, and his attention is rapt. This is a dangerous place for her, but when she'd told him she had faith in herself, some months ago, he'd gotten a taste of this kind of speech. He's never seen her deliver something like it to a crowd, but it's clear that this isn't the first time.
As she passes him, she comments that the smallfolk are tired.]
They are. War will make it worse, for a while, but I think they believed you.
UNTZ UNTZ UNTZ, WE DO WHAT WE WANT
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ii-ish
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ii;
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I. even queens can't avoid an asskissing I MEAN ASS KICKING
he likes that booty don't lie
he'd have to be cold blooded not to appreciate
bless him and his armani suits
he's rocking turn of the century French fashion for now
blow her away with a suit later, bb
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I
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Malfoy | OTA
B. Rain Rain Go Away
(misc)
B
Draco's words barely caught his attention. It was the younger face that said them that caused him pause, a netural face sliding into a slight frown. It remained there, disapproving, and moreover, silent.
In truth, Chiron just wanted to see if the young man would realize that those kinds of words usually invited scorn rather than anyone willing to help.
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A.
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EREN YEAGER | OTA
-ii. play ball
-iii. what a load of horse shite
iii.
So he only pokes his head in the stables to see how that works-- he's never seen a stable before and he's curious. "Looks like what?" He grins at finding his favorite little weirdo. "Like you're stealing a horse?"
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ii
I snorted at how blunt he was
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ashitaka | ota!
[Rain fell unevenly, sometimes in messy downpours which lasted until they slacked off into mist for a time before renewing their attack. He was used to the elements, but he longed for his own clothing. The grass cloak had kept most rainwater off, and his clothing had not weighed him down when damp. This strange garb—that which he had been told was that of a French citizen—felt cumbersome enough that he worried for how he might be able to move, should the necessity arise. That thought brought with it an even more bitter one. He had no weapons from home, only a crude blade and what he had been told was a hunting rifle. He would prefer not to use either, but the thought of handling the latter was the most daunting of all.
The steady march of the army was by no means silent. Clamor and clatter of wagons and armaments, interspersed fragments of conversation and brief flights of song, the wet slog of feet and hooves and wheels through, all underscored by the omnipresent rain. All of this noise had faded into a hum of difficult travel for Ashitaka as he marched, however, and was almost lulling in a way until it was broken by some harsh shouting nearby, accompanied by the sound of distressed horses. He moves without thinking to see what happened, coming across a large wagon that had run slightly off the road to where it sunk into mud deep enough to swamp the wheels by nearly half of their height. The horses, nearly immobilized by the mud and the weight of their trapped burden, were struggling and beginning to grow panicked, causing several people to approach to try to calm them. Men were shouting, already trying to organize an effort to free it. Damn fools, hurry! It's full of gunpowder! We can't allow it to get ruined!
They were beginning to recruit help from others passing by, but Ashitaka needed no further provoking. He begins to walk towards the stuck wagon, glancing to his side to someone else who had slowed to watch the misfortune.] Come on. [A goad, but a fairly gentle one.] We should help them.
[They were meant to blend in, after all.]
II. every mouth sings of what it's without
[Attempting to move the army through the rain and mud without the aid of the sun was too much of a risk, so the army's movement slowed to a halt as dusk began to fall. Having never been a part of an army, only skirting their fringes, the coordination and seeming single-mindedness of such a massive force was impressive to watch. Tents began to crop up across the expanse of people, horses, and cargo, each person doing whatever they could to get themselves out of the rain. Tents were still mysterious to him, being far more used to finding places to sleep in the elements. He ends up beneath an admittedly scraggly tree, facing a new challenge: the food.
Bread was strange to him. Stranger still was the concept of any meal that did not use rice as its sole staple. The small portion of vegetables at least had some semblance of familiarity, at the very least resembling things he had seen before. The strange, dark, hot drink he was given was perhaps the worst of it, though. One small sip had proved it to be nothing but ceaselessly bitter. He set it aside, wondering why one would subject themselves to something like that.
Ashitaka looks up from his heel of bread when he hears some agitated conversation. It's from a short distance away where a few men, headed up by one particularly red-faced individual, argue with someone in uniform.] My brothers and I, we were the ones that hunted these birds. [Glancing past the man in uniform, he notices several others carrying away a number of game fowl.] We should be given at least one or two. Otherwise, it is us going hungry while the officers eat like a king! [He spits at this. The soldier stammers into a response, though they were both clearly growing heated.
Ashitaka watches, though he has a bad feeling about it. He stands, moving to where some people were watching.] It would not do well for a fight to break out. [He says it generally, though he has a natural impetus to intervene and try to diffuse the situation.]
III. a fine weapon to rule the world
[It wasn't that Ashitaka held the rifle with inexperience. Well, not just that, anyway—he had certainly never used one before, so it certainly looked awkward in his hands. No, the bigger issue seemed to be that the young man regarded the weapon with what looked like outward scorn, as if it were something that would sooner burn his hands than perform its function.
He's been instructed how to use it. His stance is passable, and he stands steady despite the pronounced frown on his face. The makeshift target was prepared. Closer inspection would show that the weapon was shaking in his hands, though it was strange. His left hand was perfectly still, trying to keep the weapon steady, but the right had an odd tremor to it. Closer inspection would also prove that look of consternation on his face almost seemed pained. Regardless, his inaction was growing apparent and was beginning to attract some harsh looks from watching instructors.]
IV. wildcard!
[Whatever works! Feel free to chat me up if you have questions or ideas.]
note: I will switch to prose if you reply with it, I mostly used this format to shrink the tldr.
III.
[ It's with little trepidation that Eren pops into the shaky fellow's personal space. At arms' length away, it's so blatantly obvious that there's something keeping this guy from fighting that makes Eren want to just put his hand on the gun and lower it for him. In the end, that's exactly what he does. ]
You look like a big softy. [ He sighs. ] You'd be better off baking bread than making someone else dead. I'm telling this to you for your own sake, screw the weapons training, find something that works for you. Something that doesn't make you shake in your boots. If you're gonna be flaking out at this stage, there's no way in hell you're gonna be able to fire at another man.
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ii.
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III;
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I
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( training )
Training
A wicked sneer spread over his face as the farmer fell. He was about to laugh and call the guy an idiot, when the woman spoke up. He lifted his head, looking her over briefly, before turning his attention back to the training.
"None of them should be. Look how useless they all are."
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training
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arthur // inception // ota
[ Almost immediately after getting new(ish) clothes, a rifle, and some rudimentary information, Arthur finds a quiet corner to process in.
A few deep breaths and he thinks of the answers he'd gleaned from Grothia through their messaging earlier. It's not much but it'll have to do. Frankly, this should be his area of expertise; as point man, he's used to getting the barest info and then having to dig into the research. Just treat this like another job. That's it.
Letting out a sigh, he rolls his shoulders and feels less panicked overall. That doesn't stop him from reaching into one of his inner coat pockets and procuring a simple red die with white pips.
If anyone comes to break his concentration, they'll notice he's rolling it multiple times on a small side table. It always lands on three. ]
02. M e d i c a l
[ Being in the past has some perks. For example, there's so much he could be recording and writing down for potential dreamshare jobs. Things to make the dreams feel more real. There's also that allure of answering questions that even historians are still scratching their heads over.
(Arthur is drawn to that, he likes being right, after all).
The downsides, of which there are many, includes rudimentary medical supplies and practices. He'd poked his head into one of the medical tents, scoping out the situation. It was, in so many words, not ideal.
He's silently observing near the entryway, brow furrowed and mouth turned down.]
Probably too much to ask for, but avoiding getting shot seems like a good course.
03. T r a i n i n g
[ The camp training grounds aren't anything to write home about. But maybe Instagram in that "wow look at this mess" kind of way. Still, he's not going to turn down the opportunity to figure out how to sight one of these damn rifles.
Arthur spends a good portion of time with the gun dismantled where it can be, cleaning the various pieces before fitting them back together. Once it's loaded, he tugs on a cap, carefully tilting it over one ear. His first shot goes a bit wide of the target, hitting the outer edge.
Minutes later, it gets a little closer to the center. And then closer. And then a small hair off.
Could be worse.
He's reloading another shot when he glances up, expression open. ]
Did you need something?
04. W i l d c a r d
[ Got something else in mind? Go for it! ]
3
As Arthur takes his apart, she does end up casually wandering closer, since she's a bit curious about the components, but not so much as to impose. She's really just observing everyone, and when he does finally shoot, it only gets a passing glance of interest. Like she was thinking, not at all accurate, though she doesn't say anything about it. It's not really his fault, or so she assumes. It's also why her reply comes easily, but coolly. ]
Not really. I'm just watching.
[ Though that's probably not a good answer, is it? Aloy realizes this and considers just, well. Leaving. But she decides against it and elaborates after a small shrug. ]
I've never seen guns like that before. It's more like a cannon.
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busts in here for 01
my body is ready
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1
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two
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76 | ota
ii. train up
iii. supply
iv. closed to angela
v. wildcard
holds heart
and she frowns, just a few seconds before lifting her gaze to him. they hadn't gotten to names in their last conversation, focused more on what COST's purpose or reasoning for them had been.
but something about this man had felt familiar, though maybe that was just her familiarities with soldiers. she hadn't worked like this in some time, and angela hadn't found any familiar faces from either time-step. yet )
You happen to have come at the right time.
( things, on this mission anyway, hadn't really heated up yet. they'd gotten to france far earlier than they had in jerusalem, affording them a little more time to prepare )
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arrival;
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JON SNOW ✥ SOME OPEN AND SOME CLOSED
SAD DRAGON STORIES (CLOSED TO DAENERYS)
[Ten minutes, she says, and for those ten minutes, he can't sit in the tent... not with the full knowledge of what he's going to have to tell her when she reaches him.
It propels him to his feet and through the flap, and he walks back and forth on the muddy ground and examines the blade of one of the weapons they've given him and finds it satisfactory and places it back in the tent, then paces again, another twenty rotations back and forth, then more, uncounted.
Finally, he sees her coming.]
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A GAME OF CLASH OF STORMS FOR DRAGONS (CLOSED TO GOT CAST)
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