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[ This ship is no place for children. Tommy's seen lots of people talking about how much they hated it here or how much they wanted to get back where they came from and except for short moments, Tommy does't really get that. Where he came from isn't any less dangerous than here. People don't die any less. He can try to get on with life just as easily here as there. But it isn't a place for children.

If he got stopped and asked, he'd say he wasn't looking for Alayne when he ends up in the kitchen, but the reality is he'd checked a few places before he found her, just to make sure her and her friend are doing okay. When he sees that he's found her, he stops in the entrance to the kitchen, thinking about that first time they met and how easily startled she was, and clears his throat. ]

Hey.

[ It's late (or so Petyr assumes — the passage of time is hard to measure without the rise and fall of the sun) when they make their way to the oxygen gardens. The ship is still an alien thing to him (sterile, too clean, too enclosed), but there's something near comforting in the gardens, despite the blue light that pervades each level. It's a blue he's never been familiar with. Not the blue of the sky over the Trident nor the blue of any jewel he has ever seen.

So he seeks out the blue of the eyes of his daughter, his gaze inevitably finding her again no matter how fascinating his surroundings might prove. (Admittedly, it isn't necessarily so much a need to find some grounding anchor as it is to make sure that she is by his side, that she is still his. It's something that paints itself as simple concern, the concern of a father looking after his daughter, making sure that she stays safe in an environment that has yet to prove itself strictly friendly. They make quite the picture. They always do.) ]

[ She is not herself, though that is to be expected. Were she a girl with a single heart and a single mind she would not be expected to find herself recovered so simply or so soon. But Alayne Stone has more than one heart, just as she has a second name and a hoary host of ghosts the follow it. (By rights, she should be a ghost too but— she is not.)

She spends the first few hours crying then the hours that follow that sleeping. She does not say a word, she does not let anyone touch her, but if she is left alone for even an instant she rouses from whatever sleep or daze holds her and shrieks as if she were ravaged anew. Her dress, having been torn and stained by the attack, is stripped of her but is kept nearby because, for some reason, she will not let it be put away. Given that the only other clothes are the uniforms provided by the lockers, she spends the day in her small clothes, bundled in blankets and draped loosely with her winter's cloak. The fabric and fur gathered to her, the collar of bruises she wears around her throat are barely visible though those that watch her will catch glimpses of it here and there (angry and ugly, a telling reminder of Magneto's wrath). On her stomach, hidden beneath the covers, there is a terrible grinning scar. Absently, she touches at it through the layers of cloth as she stares at nothing at all. Her red hair, loose and unkept, spills over her shoulders in need of a brushing. Slowly she blinks and slowly she breathes. (No, she is not herself.)

Death changes everyone — those that grieve, those that survive, those that remember and those that forget.

Death changes everyone. But it changes the dead most of all. ]

[ The gift is simple enough, left there in front of Alayne's room with a note attached. A silver mockingbird crafted through spare parts Erik had found throughout the occasional trips he took throughout the ship, bolts here and there, broken down and recrafted as a means of testing his own mutation and its limits. For Alayne however, it's a token for his trust in her, a bird small enough to sit in the palm of her hand, beaded eyes and a bow attached though Erik doesn't know how to truly handle a young girl in the first place, and what sort of gifts she'd like.

Attached is a note written in Erik's script, formal cursive though he hopes it's legible enough for Alayne to read, even if the language isn't English in the first place. ( On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux ) A simple enough statement, but it's the ending that signifies its source; the word Magneto written in ink, and subsequently crossed out with a single line and an addendum in the form of Erik Lehnsherr right next to it.

He doesn't stick around to wait and see her find the object, the note indication enough of its source. She knows how to reach Erik, where he's likely to be in these times, often found in the gym or in the libraries, keeping to himself, not out of loneliness, but a solitude he finds comforting. Whether or not Alayne comes isn't something Erik expects; she's entitled to her own privacy, surrounded by men who trust her, willing to guard her after his deeds, though part of him still yearns for the chance at conversation. ]

[He's been staring at his device for awhile now. When you're used to sitting alone in your four-walled cage for long periods of time, one can't help but get used to hearing only their own thoughts. After awhile, the sound of your voice becomes your anchor to sanity.

[Sometimes, Murphy forgets that he can simply walk out whenever he pleased. Or pick up that communicator and just listen to the sound of someone else's voice instead of his own...

[It's with that in mind that Murphy breaks the habit that he's become so accustomed to. Jaw clenched, mouth dry, he reaches out to the familiar line in hopes of an eventual answer, tearing the loudness of his mind's chatter:]

Alayne...? [He pauses. Swallows.] You, uh. Got a minute?

[Of course, he can wait, if she doesn't. Murphy has all the time in the world.

[But if recent events have told him anything, it was that most people did not have the same kind of time to kill. It would only kill them instead. In some ways, Murphy was okay with that -- but for Alayne, he wasn't. Stories like these never ended well, no matter how much he hoped for the best...]

Dearest Lady Alayne,

May I ask you a question?
(don't tell me that I already have, I know I asked a question when I was asking if I could ask a question)
(actually you can say it if you like I wouldnt mind it from you)

Yours always
& deepest thanks in advance for any answer,
S. BLACK

[ It takes Tony a very long time to even decide that telling Alayne (no, Sansa) that he had noticed the comment (the poorly encrypted comment, so poorly encrypted comment) about Jon being her brother. It's what forced him to lock the majority of the conversation to just the three of them. No one needs to know that Alayne is Sansa, there's a reason she hides her identity just like he hides his weakness (take it out and I'm as good as dead). But she needs a warning just this once. ]

You should be more careful.

[He knocks because it's polite, because that's what you do when entering the room of a lady - any lady, even a sister, or maybe especially a sister.

The night's been odd, different, bringing on them all conversations that they would normally not have, and Jon wants to follow the course of that, to see where it leads them. To mend the relationships that never were, like two pieces of steel joining together for the first time to close a link to a chain that was otherwise left open.]

Alayne, it's Jon Snow.

i have some stuff for you from the outpost
books and jewelry and clothes and hair stuff
should i come there or do you want to come to my room?

[It's been a while since he's thought to approach her, this one remains more a whim than a piece to a puzzle. Maybe it's his recent loss that has him indulging again.

Under her door a piece of paper is slipped. It's a sketch in charcoal - a face of a girl on one half and the face of a wolf on the other.

There's no signature or any words on the paper.]

Edited (replaced the image, pretend it looks slightly more finished 8() 2012-08-25 10:12 (UTC)

[Topher wouldn't do this kind of thing for just anyone and he's not sure which of his two friends he's more concerned about, but here he is. There's a casual link to this now infamous post for reference.]

I... apologize for him. He's not used to dealing with human... anything, and he's probably gonna either say something really offensive or refuse to shut up and see reason. I'll try to reign him in.

[Well, that's a fool's errand, but the point is he said TRY.]

hey alayne should be careful about your birds

They have cake in your world, right? I know this is probably a dumb question, but humor me.

[This comes to her room handwritten on paper. By the complete lack of marks of hesitation, it is not the first draft.]

Lady Alayne,

I write you this not because I wish you to regret your words; I write you this because I beg you to reconsider your prior position. Please do not share this letter or what I have said herein with anyone, because it's not something I want anyone to know.

What you hoped would not come to pass already did so long ago. My father was murdered before me, and the guilty party walked free because there was insufficient evidence. I was a child and therefore an incompetent witness, and the murderer's defense attorney was immoral and scheming, so he was free to continue his life when everyone else's life came to a stop. To this day I detest him, and I detest all criminals who would harm the innocent, like those who hurt my father, and like those who hurt you.

I therefore also detest this woman, without ever having known her or spoken with her. But here more than anywhere else, we cannot act from hatred. If Robb Stark takes his justice out on her without due process, then perhaps Jaime Lannister will take his justice out on Robb, or on you. If we don't bow to one authority, then we will begin to feud at best, war at worst. Our authority must be separate from any individual on board; it must be the rule of the law.

I cannot stress to you how much I would like to see punishment meted out. Indeed, at times my hands ache with the desire to take the lives of those who would do people like you harm. I eagerly anticipate the day when she suffers for what she has done. But that day cannot be today, lest blood be spilled.

We spoke both in the heat of emotion. I beg you to consider all of this with cold rationality. It is all right if you come to detest me for saying such things; I am accustomed to that, and I am unbothered by sentiments of hatred, as I know well that sometimes feeling such sentiments is deeply satisfying, even comforting. If I might provide that release to you, I'll not feel regret.

I am deeply sorry for any pain I might have caused, because it is not ever my wish to cause pain. My hopes for your happiness and continuing health. My regards also to Sansa Stark; I hope that she will feel safe enough soon to show herself. I hope someday that we can build some sort of society upon this ship that will allow people like her to stand without fear, without defenses, where she can live with joy.

With deepest respect,
M. Edgeworth

[ It is a piece of parchment rolled to a small scroll. added to it is a dried flower. ]

To my kindred spirit, my graceful lady, the one with the sweet smile; to my beloved Alayne,

I write this to you in great haste. I had planned for my first letter to you to be sweeter; but the ship wished it otherwise and so I shall attempt to deliver my message and also my love.

I, like many others, have read the message of your King in the North, of the arrival of she who had caused harm to his family. I know it has caused you much distress, for how can it not when such a woman appears who has delivered harm to those you love.

I write this to you now to assure you that I shall stand by you in these troubling time, as loyal as your Lady. I may not be of your Westeros and yet you must know I love you dearly and have vowed to love you for the rest of our time here. As such, I shall remind you, Alayne la Dolce, that you are graced with a strength that others are not. It is not a strength man have with their weapons and anger, it is your sweet heart, the grace with which you carry yourself and your charm.

Such shall always attract people to you, it is the nature of your very being. As I was captured by you in our first meeting, so charmed that I would drop to my knees and place a kiss upon your hand as a knight does his lady.

For those traits you shall never face a harsh day by yourself. I send you my love and my support, my utmost loyalty and whatever comfort I can offer you. My thoughts have escaped me and fled to you since the moment I have read your King's message and even now as I write this, I think of your smile and frown at the thought that it has left your lips. Promise me that you shall let me try and restore it; it shall break my heart not to.

Your adoring friend, your tender shield, your humble devotee,

Lucrezia Borgia.

[ he turned around and climbed back into the lift three times. each time he pushed the button to return to the seventh floor and each time (just before the doors closed) he caught them, spun out through the crack and faced an empty hall. he has to force himself forward, instead of standing still like a freak of nature (smack dab in the middle of the row of doors) staring down it like it's going to answer him.

eventually, he slides down a wall near to Alayne's room number. he doesn't know that she's actually staying there, only that these numbers coordinate with her device and her tattoo, same as his. ]

can i talk to you?

[ As the fog begins to clear, you find yourself in a dark corridor, with only torches of green flame to light your way. As you continue on, the torches seem to increase, and you can almost feel their heat warming you. Or, perhaps it is the black stone beneath your feet, smelling of sulfur that is providing the warmth. Regardless, your mind may be elsewhere, glancing around at the statues of dragons that adorn the corridor. Some of them almost seem real.

But it is not them that you should fear.

You move on, through a seemingly never-ending labyrinth of corridors and dragons (or perhaps you haven't moved at all), until you come to a set of stairs. For a moment, you stop, contemplating your next move. It is then that you may begin to hear the bells. Cling. Clang. Cling. They warn of the approach of a fool with a checkered face and a crown of antlers.

"The shadows come to dance my Lord..."

He sings his song, just out of full view, and as you catch a glimpse of your shadow moving as it should not out of the corner of your eye, you know full well that it will not do to linger. Yet, should you choose to, a sad little girl might be there to urge you on. "I told him to stop, but he won't. It makes me scared."

"Dance, my Lord..."

"Make him stop." But you know full well that you can't. You try to urge the girl on one of the paths, but she seems to flee, half-terrified of the fool, and half terrified of you. (Or perhaps it is your shadow). Regardless of the reason, you know that you must run. For he is not alone.

"Dance, my Lord..."

The air smells of death and the room seems to grow cooler, as if at its own accord. They will all soon be upon you, and your options are running out. Should you choose the staircase, you will find you pursuit seems to almost vanish. Bit it is hardly over yet as you come to the chamber at the top.

"The shadows come to stay my Lord..."

A knight warns you to not advance any further, out of fear of your own safety. For when you see her, she will judge. You are to be her messiah, the one to save them all from this, but first, she must find you worthy.

By any means necessary.

For the Night is dark and full of terrors. ]

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