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thearena2015-10-18 09:13 pm
needlebearer) wrote in thearena2015-10-18 09:13 pm
Entry tags:
She tried so hard to be brave, to be fierce as a wolverine and all...
Who| Arya and YOU
What| Catch all for Arena 15 so far
Where| Medieval/fantasy area and Winterfell
When| Week 1-3
Warnings/Notes| Memories of torture in prompt C, animal cruelty in prompt C
a) Medieval/fantasy area
She's more than a little weighed down by the amount that she'd come away from the Cornucopia with. Arya's backpack is full to bursting, and the baseball bat in one hand and the guitar in the other both drag along the ground after her. She's very aware of how conspicuous it makes her, lumbering along through the countryside like that, but the alternative is to leave behind some of the gear she'd grabbed, and she'd fought too hard for it to just leave it now, especially as it would only end up in the hands of whoever might be tailing her, and used against her.
She casts furtive glances behind her now and then, but most of the time her attention is taken up by the castles and halls she passes, all with very different architectural styles and very clearly inspired by different worlds, but all possessing the same grandeur and history. She wants to stop and nose around in every one of them but something inside her keeps her pressing on and on ... until finally Winterfell rises up into the horizon ahead of her.
b) Winterfell
Somehow, Arya knew she'd find her home here. A very accurate copy of it, at least; but even if they'd brought Winterfell here brick by brick, it would never be home again, not with the amount of family she'd lost. She feels a mixture of deep pain and nostalgia as she crosses over the threshold, and as she ventures deeper inside she runs her fingers over the stone walls as though to memorise every crevice. The castle is eerily empty - a fitting, desolate monument to the family who'd inhabited it for so long, she thinks gloomily - and part of her feels as though she's disturbing it just by being there. The memories of the ghosts of her parents and brother she'd encountered in the catacombs of a previous Arena played on her mind, and every time she turned a corner she expected to see them again. Still, she can't bring herself to move on, knowing that this would most likely be the last time she ever got to see anything of her own world and her own former life, and knowing every second was precious.
c) Winterfell, night
It's pitch black when Arya awakens, the sharp stinging at her throat making her eyes snap open and flail around, feeling for another Tribute and a weapon. Instead there's the squealing of the rat in her ears, clawing and biting and determined to go for her neck. Rats don't usually bother Arya - she'd eaten enough of them, in Flea Bottom and on the road in the Riverlands and latterly in the Arenas, when food was scarce - but the desperation with which this one is crying and clawing and determined to break through her flesh brings her instantly back to Harrenhal, to the Tickler strapping bucket full of the rodents to smallfolk who he must have known had no information to offer, increasing the heat further and further until the rats ate straight through the poor victim in order to escape. She lets out a scream more of aggression than fear, grabbing at the rat and flinging it to the stone cobbles, and as it tries to scurry away she steps on its tail so it's trapped, bringing the baseball bat down on the creature again and again until there's nothing left but a crimson stain on the stone floor.
d) The destruction of Winterfell
As the bombs begin to drop, Arya scrabbles for anything she can get her hands on, determined to at least not to leave the guitar to be crushed in the chaos. Debris flies up on all sides, and for a few moments she finds herself running deeper into the path of the explosions in her confusion. When she turns back, she's just in time to see the great turrets of Winterfell collapse, and watches the castle fold in on itself with a heaviness in her heart. That was it, then. Gone in a blink of an eye, just like so much of her family. It takes her a long time for her legs to move - not until a bomb blasts deafeningly near to her - and then she finds herself running, leaving the last security of her home and the enchantment of the other castles behind, heading deep into the forest.
What| Catch all for Arena 15 so far
Where| Medieval/fantasy area and Winterfell
When| Week 1-3
Warnings/Notes| Memories of torture in prompt C, animal cruelty in prompt C
a) Medieval/fantasy area
She's more than a little weighed down by the amount that she'd come away from the Cornucopia with. Arya's backpack is full to bursting, and the baseball bat in one hand and the guitar in the other both drag along the ground after her. She's very aware of how conspicuous it makes her, lumbering along through the countryside like that, but the alternative is to leave behind some of the gear she'd grabbed, and she'd fought too hard for it to just leave it now, especially as it would only end up in the hands of whoever might be tailing her, and used against her.
She casts furtive glances behind her now and then, but most of the time her attention is taken up by the castles and halls she passes, all with very different architectural styles and very clearly inspired by different worlds, but all possessing the same grandeur and history. She wants to stop and nose around in every one of them but something inside her keeps her pressing on and on ... until finally Winterfell rises up into the horizon ahead of her.
b) Winterfell
Somehow, Arya knew she'd find her home here. A very accurate copy of it, at least; but even if they'd brought Winterfell here brick by brick, it would never be home again, not with the amount of family she'd lost. She feels a mixture of deep pain and nostalgia as she crosses over the threshold, and as she ventures deeper inside she runs her fingers over the stone walls as though to memorise every crevice. The castle is eerily empty - a fitting, desolate monument to the family who'd inhabited it for so long, she thinks gloomily - and part of her feels as though she's disturbing it just by being there. The memories of the ghosts of her parents and brother she'd encountered in the catacombs of a previous Arena played on her mind, and every time she turned a corner she expected to see them again. Still, she can't bring herself to move on, knowing that this would most likely be the last time she ever got to see anything of her own world and her own former life, and knowing every second was precious.
c) Winterfell, night
It's pitch black when Arya awakens, the sharp stinging at her throat making her eyes snap open and flail around, feeling for another Tribute and a weapon. Instead there's the squealing of the rat in her ears, clawing and biting and determined to go for her neck. Rats don't usually bother Arya - she'd eaten enough of them, in Flea Bottom and on the road in the Riverlands and latterly in the Arenas, when food was scarce - but the desperation with which this one is crying and clawing and determined to break through her flesh brings her instantly back to Harrenhal, to the Tickler strapping bucket full of the rodents to smallfolk who he must have known had no information to offer, increasing the heat further and further until the rats ate straight through the poor victim in order to escape. She lets out a scream more of aggression than fear, grabbing at the rat and flinging it to the stone cobbles, and as it tries to scurry away she steps on its tail so it's trapped, bringing the baseball bat down on the creature again and again until there's nothing left but a crimson stain on the stone floor.
d) The destruction of Winterfell
As the bombs begin to drop, Arya scrabbles for anything she can get her hands on, determined to at least not to leave the guitar to be crushed in the chaos. Debris flies up on all sides, and for a few moments she finds herself running deeper into the path of the explosions in her confusion. When she turns back, she's just in time to see the great turrets of Winterfell collapse, and watches the castle fold in on itself with a heaviness in her heart. That was it, then. Gone in a blink of an eye, just like so much of her family. It takes her a long time for her legs to move - not until a bomb blasts deafeningly near to her - and then she finds herself running, leaving the last security of her home and the enchantment of the other castles behind, heading deep into the forest.