(closed) been around the wind, silently blown about

[kindlings]

Characters: Ygritte and Bard
Location House 6 in L1
Date: Day 002 (evening)
Summary: Two wildlings archers meeting up = shenanigans.
Warnings: A fight for a steak knife may possibly ensue.



After the first night where she'd made sure she was inside before the beeped warning that the doors were to lock, Ygritte is more determined than ever to set about finding tools she might need, as well as a way out of this place.

Mance was advancing on the Wall, when she'd left, after all; she has things to get back to.

She trudges out on her second day in the opposite direction she'd gone on the first, and when she encounters the house a feeling of relief sweeps over her. Another shelter means more protection from the cold overnight, and possibly more to pilfer from.

That is, until she gets inside; there's not as much here to plunder, and the floors are nearly all covered with a broken kind of stone that she's not seen before. Smashed pieces of whatever they used to be cover nearly the entire house, and she hisses loudly as her sheepskin leather boot steps down on a particularly sharp, jagged-edged chunk of one even though it doesn't pierce the animal hide.

"– Shit."

Comments

[pointnshoot]

It's been a long, miserable day for Bard. He's walked east all day, the jagged end of a thick broken board sticking out of the pack he was reasonably certain had been provided for his benefit and to which he had also firmly tied a stuffed bear as big as a small child. (He thought, maybe, that they might all get out of here soon, and that when they did he could go home and give the bear to Tilda as an apology for getting snatched away at such a desperate time.) He came across a house earlier, but even were he not following the wall, he doesn't think he could've stayed there: everything looked normal if empty in the upper floors, the home of a little family with a child of their own, but when he went down into the basement there were three nooses hung neat as you please.

This second house has been a little better. There's shattered clay things all over the floor--he remembers seeing it a few times as a boy, though never in such delicate shapes or so completely and methodically destroyed--and there's an actual knife in the kitchen, its serrated edges marking it as a painful thing to be on the wrong end of. Bard takes it immediately, thinking to stash it in his pack before settling in for the night, but then he hears a voice cursing back in the main room.

So, it would seem there really are other people here. Or it could be someone else entirely, perhaps connected to whoever brought him here; for that possibility, he keeps the knife out as he leaves the kitchen, tucked a little behind him so as not to betray the otherwise casual posture he adopts. Not a threat at all, see?

There's a young woman standing amidst the shattered clay, red of hair and wearing so many furs that Bard can only assume she's either a hunter or closely related to one. He still can't tell whether she's friend or foe, however, and so rather than take the small advantage afforded by her distraction and his experience, Bard makes his presence known.

"You should be careful where you step in here, miss."

[kindlings]

Right, then. She's so shocked to see another person here, the first she's encountered, that she nearly drops her pack in surprise but catches herself in time. She whirls to face him — he's an older man with hints of silver in his hair, dressed in a long blue coat and what looks like some kind of metal shirt underneath, his clothing not worn and shabby but definitely looking as though it's seen better days. (It's not as though someone in animal furs has any say on fashionable attire, though.)

He doesn't look menacing, and his voice has a note of concern for her welfare, but she very quickly realizes he's concealing something behind his back and her blue-grey eyes narrow in suspicion.

"I'll step where I want t' step," she shoots back acerbically, and tips her head at him. "This your dwelling, or you're not the one who'd smashed this stuff?"

[pointnshoot]

"I've only just set foot in here a little before you." Bard can spot a suspicious look a mile off, though, so he smoothly shifts his grip on the knife to a less aggressive one before letting his hand fall naturally to his side. Yes, he's armed, but he was only being cautious, aye? Not a threat at all. (And, since he really thinks they all ought to look after each other here, he actually isn't a threat as long as she plays nice.) "If you're planning to head west after this, you'll want to wait until morning. I came from that direction, and the nearest house is distant enough that you'll be pushing your luck if the doors lock again."

[kindlings]

Her eyes drop quite noticeably to the knife when it materializes from behind his back, despite the attempted casual way he holds it — there's no real casual way for one to hold a knife, after all, especially one meant for self defense. Her gaze then flicks back to meet his as he speaks again; hearing that she'll have to spend the night doesn't sit well with her. She hadn't counted on not being alone.

"Mayhaps I should push my luck," she says slowly, "rather than risk gettin' my throat cut in th' night."

[pointnshoot]

She's not a trusting one, which Bard can appreciate even as it frustrates him. He'd rather not be the death of anyone here even inadvertently, however, so he'll have to find it within himself to convince her he isn't dangerous.

"You must think highly of yourself if you believe I'd dull my brand new knife on your stiff neck." Which perhaps isn't the most diplomatic thing he might've said, but really. He still has days of food and the hope of finding more, and he sincerely doubts she has anything else on her a more heartless man might consider killing for.

[kindlings]

That response isn't quite what she'd expected, but it's not an unwelcome one; Ygritte stares at him for a brief moment before a smirk slowly slides across her tightly-closed lips. If anything, he at least shows he's got a sense of humor about the situation.

As does she. She tips her head, tries to hide her reaction from him, but it's not very effective — the smirk is still faintly there. "Many a man'd like t' put a knife to a spearwife's neck, where I come from."

She looks him over more carefully now, head to foot, not disguising the path of her eyes; he's older, yes, with more lines on his face than the baby-faced crow-come-over Jon Snow, but he's not an unattractive man by any means. He's tall, with a rough and rugged look about him — he's most likely strong. Perhaps a hardened warrior in his own right.

Her voice turns with a slightly coy lilt. "An' not just t' try to kill her — but t' steal her."

Best to try to feel out any intentions he might be harboring, she thinks, in more ways than one.

[pointnshoot]

Ah, so it is that she thinks highly of herself, and it would seem in more ways than one. Bard only just manages to avoid rolling his eyes. Though he's not familiar with the term "spearwife", the implication is obvious enough: she can fight if she's of a mind to, which is another thing he'd rather not be involved with--though allowances will be made as necessary.

"Rest assured, you have no need to fear either from me," he says, hoping to put a stop to that look she's giving him before things get awkward, "so you may as well share a fire for the night instead of running off to be as alone as when we all arrived." Because she really is the first person he's properly seen in two days, and even a foolhardy young troublemaker is better company than none at all.

[kindlings]

"Oh?" He has a point, she realizes; he's the first person she's encountered in this strange place, after all, and she could at least stick around for the night and take shelter. Perhaps take stock of his belongings as well, while she's at it, to see if he has something - besides that knife - that she might want to pilfer.

She turns toward him slightly as she approaches. "Your cock no longer works?" A smirk. "Or y' don't like girls?"

[pointnshoot]

"I don't like infants," he corrects; when she begins to come closer, he steps out of the kitchen doorway and reaches a hand out to ruffle her hair even as he eyes the piles of broken porcelain. If she's sufficiently insulted, he hopes, maybe she won't get in the way while he's trying to improvise a flint and steel so they can actually have that fire.

[kindlings]

There's an indignant gasp at his words, and then Ygritte flinches when he moves closer — she's not sure what his aim is, but he has her on her guard, and despite not having any weapons she'll at least attempt to break his arm.

Then he ruffles her already wild and unkempt red hair, almost affectionately as he would a child, and all she can do is stare at him in shocked disbelief.

She tears away from his touch, her blue-grey eyes fierce and angry. "Call me that 'gain, and I'll shove a spear up your ass."

...When she actually finds one, that is.

[pointnshoot]

"Break up a couple of those chairs for wood and kindling and I'll consider your request." He gestures back at the dining room as if this sort of reaction is perfectly normal, and really it sort of is; he's just more used to it from people he actually considers adults, who can back their threats up while issuing them.

Stepping to the side, Bard begins to move past the girl, having spotted a few promising-looking clay shards. From this angle, at least one of the legs of the knitted stuffed bear tied to his pack between it and his back should now be visible, as well as the broken end of the 2x4 in his pack. He's just got all sorts of stuff.

[kindlings]

She falls quiet as he moves around, rummaging through the shattered stone that lies all around them for something, and it's then that she spies all the...junk strapped to him.

Ygritte barks out a laugh at the bear. "What is that?"

She really shouldn't judge, carrying around as much stuff as she is, but she can't really help herself at this point. The man's already insulted her, after all, as well as spurned any potential advances she might've made, if she found him the least bit attractive. "Confused it for something t' hunt, did you?"

[pointnshoot]

"It is a gift for my youngest child." He is at least only matter-of-fact about it rather than insulting; this girl seems increasingly like the sort who lives to be contrary, and Bard hasn't the energy or the patience for that. Instead he continues over to one of the piles he was aiming for and squats to pick up a piece of broken clay that he'd been eyeing. On closer inspection it seems just a little too soft for his intended purpose, but the soft rattle of mail against the floor has reminded him that he is, in fact, wearing a great deal of steel, which should be sufficient for his fire-starting needs.

Provided they can settle on something for the fuel, anyway.