She was safe, she was warm, and the whole situation was very much like being asleep. And then with an abrupt pop!, Arya Stark was salty and buttery and very much wide awake
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"Hey, you," said Pullo, happily recognizing Wishbone from his own Sorting. "The smart dog! How've you been, pup?"
Arya shied back, mostly out of concern for the dog since she was holding a sword, after all. "You're talking," she said, not sure whether to be confused or not. She seemed to remember that talking animals wasn't as unusual here as they would be anywhere else.
Oh, hey! I haven't seen you in a while. Following his nose, he stopped right near Arya's hand. Oh, you're covered in butter! Can I lick some off, please please please?
"I've been out," Pullo said, shouldering his bag again. "I needed to stretch my legs, see the world. Have you ever heard of a place called 'Las Vegas'?"
Still sitting on the floor, Arya shook her head. "I'd rather you didn't," she said stiffly. It was one thing for a dumb animal to lick food off your arm, and it was another for one that talked to offer to do the same. It was wrong, somehow. "Who are you?"
Though togged out in modern-day casualwear, Octavian still carried himself with the bearing of a togate patrician. At eighteen he was definitely too old to act the fluffy bunny child, and even when he was a child he had been remarkably reserved. All of which was to say he could not, strictly speaking, run up to Pullo for a gigantic hug.
But his face lit up, a genuine smile softening the regal Julius features, and that from Octavian was just about equivalent to a bear hug.
Pullo's face lit up to see Octavian, and while he was indeed the bear hugging type, he couldn't just embrace Octavian Caesar. "Sir!" He reached out one arm. Manly arm-clasping was all right, wasn't it? "Titus Pullo, reporting back from Las Vegas," he said, still smiling. "How've you been, then, eh?"
Manly arm-clasping was entirely proper. Octavian's arm-clasping would in fact have been much less impressive were it not for the tutelage of Pullo. It was a very good thing that Atia had realized her ability to inculcate masculine virtues began and ended with prescribing the occasional dish of fresh goat testicles.
The arm-clasp having been executed in what Octavian felt was the correct manner (though he'd never have Pullo's strength, he could at least stand firm), the young Caesar couldn't quit grinning. "I've been well. I want to hear about Las Vegas. Did you find any Spice Girls, Pullo?"
"I did, actually. Did you know, they aren't really prostitutes at all? They're singers. Arguably. I found a lot of prostitutes, though, real ones. Do you know what they're doing with themselves?" Oh, here went Pullo, off on a rant several months in the making. "Lots of them do something to their breasts now, and it's like unripe fruit in there. They're not doing that here yet, are they?" he asked, almost fearfully. Almost, because Titus Pullo was almost never afraid.
On his way back to the Ravenclaw Bar, Methos paused. "..name's Titus Pullo." He knew that voice! Rounding the corner he came to a halt to see his old friend very much alive, and sporting a wildly colorful shirt. Swearing colorfully in Latin, he strode into the room with a laugh.
Pullo turned his head towards the sound of the voice, which was oddly familiar, though he thought sounded much more familiar while swearing in proper Latin instead of speaking this English cac. "Who--?" And then he grinned widely, recognition dawning. "Methos? Gerrae, what are you doing in this Jupiter-forsaken place?"
Still laughing, Methos reached out to clasp his forearm and hug him with the other. "I could ask you the same thing, old friend. I woke up here myself just a few days ago," he said, indicating the popcorn room. "Gods! How long have you been here?"
Pullo laughed and returned the gesture. "You've been in here the whole time, and I didn't know it? I must be getting soft. I've been here for... maybe two years now, I think. But I can't stay tied down to one place, me. You know there's not even a good brothel here? Reminds me, have you ever heard of a place called 'Amsterdam', or 'Nevada'? Some good brothels there, let me tell you."
Brienne had pretty much given up on the idea that any of her charges would ever return, though she still waited patiently, in hopes of being proved wrong. After all, it wouldn't do for her to leave the school (even if she'd wanted to, which she did not), only to find that one or both of the Stark girls had come back.
But today, during her daily patroling of the corridors outside the popcorn room, she saw that a name had been stricken from the list.
Relief surged through her and she came striding into the room, whereupon she promptly ignored the man as a complete nonentity and turned her full attention on Arya.
"My lady," she said, her tone one of abject relief. "You've come back!"
Arya looked up at the woman, confused and gripping Needle tightly. But no, there was one of those memories again. "I know you." She sounded doubtful. "You were at my Sorting."
Brienne had forgotten about popcorn's tendency to give people at least partial amnesia. She backpedaled a bit and nodded. "I was,' she answered. "I had been seeking your sister. Your mother... had wanted to know that you were safe. It's the task I've laid upon myself since being here."
She gave Arya a respectful bow. "I am Brienne of Tarth, my lady," she said, resting a hand on the hilt of Oathkeeper and smiling a little. "I would still offer my sword should you ever need it, but I see that you have a serviceable one of your own."
"Brienne," she said, trying it out and finding it familiar. "I gave you a present once."
The corner of her mouth twitched in what was almost a smile, a nearly alien sensation after such a long time. She could remember some of her last few months at Hogwarts, and what she most remembered was loneliness and anger--neither conducive to smiling. "I'm going to be a water dancer," she told Brienne. "Are you a knight?"
Amaranth, too, had been wandering the castle in search of someone who wasn't a house elf to help her keep her fields fertile. As she neared the popcorn room, she noticed Brienne running full tilt into the room. Curiosity piqued, she followed at a more sedate pace.
Brienne's focus appeared to be on a little girl carrying a sword, and obviously covered in butter, but Amaranth had noticed the room's other occupant. Really, she didn't understand how a person could just ignore such a fine specimen of manhood as if they weren't even there at all.
So Amaranth strode over to Pullo, a friendly smile on her face, and wearing her usual ensemble, which consisted of an S.P.E.W. badge pinned to her breast and very little else.
"Hi!" she said brightly. "I take it you just got back? I don't recognize you. I'm Amaranth, by the way."
"Hi yourself," he said, turning up the charm to eleven. "Are you the welcoming committee, then? If you are, I'll have to go away and come back more often."
Amaranth grinned. "I can be the welcoming committee for you anytime you want," she said. "But in the meantime I can think of several interesting ways to pass the time so you won't get bored and feel the need to take off so quickly." Gods, but Amaranth loved it when they were eager, and not horribly repressed!
Comments 56
Then again, he might be camping.
Seeing two people in the room, he began sniffing to see which one was all butterfied.
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Arya shied back, mostly out of concern for the dog since she was holding a sword, after all. "You're talking," she said, not sure whether to be confused or not. She seemed to remember that talking animals wasn't as unusual here as they would be anywhere else.
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Still sitting on the floor, Arya shook her head. "I'd rather you didn't," she said stiffly. It was one thing for a dumb animal to lick food off your arm, and it was another for one that talked to offer to do the same. It was wrong, somehow. "Who are you?"
Reply
Though togged out in modern-day casualwear, Octavian still carried himself with the bearing of a togate patrician. At eighteen he was definitely too old to act the fluffy bunny child, and even when he was a child he had been remarkably reserved. All of which was to say he could not, strictly speaking, run up to Pullo for a gigantic hug.
But his face lit up, a genuine smile softening the regal Julius features, and that from Octavian was just about equivalent to a bear hug.
"Ave, Pullo!"
Reply
Pullo's face lit up to see Octavian, and while he was indeed the bear hugging type, he couldn't just embrace Octavian Caesar. "Sir!" He reached out one arm. Manly arm-clasping was all right, wasn't it? "Titus Pullo, reporting back from Las Vegas," he said, still smiling. "How've you been, then, eh?"
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The arm-clasp having been executed in what Octavian felt was the correct manner (though he'd never have Pullo's strength, he could at least stand firm), the young Caesar couldn't quit grinning. "I've been well. I want to hear about Las Vegas. Did you find any Spice Girls, Pullo?"
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"..name's Titus Pullo."
He knew that voice! Rounding the corner he came to a halt to see his old friend very much alive, and sporting a wildly colorful shirt. Swearing colorfully in Latin, he strode into the room with a laugh.
"Titus Pullo, I'll be damned!"
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"I could ask you the same thing, old friend. I woke up here myself just a few days ago," he said, indicating the popcorn room. "Gods! How long have you been here?"
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But today, during her daily patroling of the corridors outside the popcorn room, she saw that a name had been stricken from the list.
Relief surged through her and she came striding into the room, whereupon she promptly ignored the man as a complete nonentity and turned her full attention on Arya.
"My lady," she said, her tone one of abject relief. "You've come back!"
Reply
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She gave Arya a respectful bow. "I am Brienne of Tarth, my lady," she said, resting a hand on the hilt of Oathkeeper and smiling a little. "I would still offer my sword should you ever need it, but I see that you have a serviceable one of your own."
Reply
The corner of her mouth twitched in what was almost a smile, a nearly alien sensation after such a long time. She could remember some of her last few months at Hogwarts, and what she most remembered was loneliness and anger--neither conducive to smiling. "I'm going to be a water dancer," she told Brienne. "Are you a knight?"
Reply
Brienne's focus appeared to be on a little girl carrying a sword, and obviously covered in butter, but Amaranth had noticed the room's other occupant. Really, she didn't understand how a person could just ignore such a fine specimen of manhood as if they weren't even there at all.
So Amaranth strode over to Pullo, a friendly smile on her face, and wearing her usual ensemble, which consisted of an S.P.E.W. badge pinned to her breast and very little else.
"Hi!" she said brightly. "I take it you just got back? I don't recognize you. I'm Amaranth, by the way."
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"Hi yourself," he said, turning up the charm to eleven. "Are you the welcoming committee, then? If you are, I'll have to go away and come back more often."
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"My dove, nothing would make this old soldier happier than to be welcomed by you in any way you wish."
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