prismatica | text | un: killerlegs

And you're not?

(It is one of his better traits in her opinion. He also doesn't seem like a total lost cause. Rather, strangely, he acts like someone who used to be restricted...or chained...in his past. She knows all about that.)

Soda? (What. She rises to see what soda could be.)

Edited 2019-09-28 04:00 (UTC)

Never said it was a bad thing.

[He's not altogether lost, though he's come to see himself as being pretty set in his ways. Just someone with a lot - a LOT - of issues to work through. Comes with the territory.

At her confusion he spares a glance back in her direction, blinking once.]

First "doctor", now "soda"... you're going to have to pay for these lessons in modern-day things eventually, you realize.

[He pulls a can of some generic-brand cola from the fridge - he considers tossing it to her, but with his luck she'd see that as an attack and go for his throat while her dragin nibbled at his ankles, so instead he holds it out for her to take whenever she comes over to get it.]

Easier to learn what it is by drinking it than trying to have me talk you through it.

What do you accept as payment? (She examines the can before carefully, gingerly, taking it. The strange smooth and cold texture makes her put it down on the counter rapidly. Since she has no idea about tabs, either, she gives him a look of confusion.)

How do I open it? (This is a woman who has lived off of horse milk, water and sometimes, rarely, fruit juice and wine.)

Don't worry about it - I'll put it on your tab for now. We'll iron out the details once I decide you're due.

[It's not really an arrangement he's taking seriously - but it's still fun to tease at every opportunity, and so that's what he'll do.

... He probably should have figured that the can would be an issue, though. Seems obvious in hindsight, though the way she seems to have such a confused reaction to the temperature of the can makes him laugh a little.]

Follow my lead. [After pulling a second can from the fridge he (overdramatically) holds it up to grip the tab between his fingertips, demonstrating how to pull on it so the can pops open with the usual accompanying hiss of carbon dioxide.]

Don't joke or I won't ever take you seriously.

(Is she being serious? Who knows. However he gets some small revenge when she jumps at the hiss issuing from his can. That sounds exactly like something you shouldn't drink.

But she is a Dragon. Brow furrowing, she grips the tab on her can and pulls it until she hears a similar hiss. Lowering her face to the small opening, she sniffs the brew. The small bubbles tickle her nose and the scent is unlike anything she has encountered.

If he had more interest in her, she might think he was poisoning her.)

I promise you, if this takes my life, I will return and haunt your days.

You wouldn't be the first.

[In other words no, the jokes start coming and they don't stop coming.

Her overly cautious attitude towards the soda is somewhere between hilarious and adorable, though he'd never be one to admit to the latter, and at her visible apprehension he raises his own can to touch it to his lips.]

Might not be so bad. My nightmares are usually made of uglier stuff, anyway. You'd be a pleasant change of pace.

[A shrug, before he takes a sip - see? If he's drinking it, it shouldn't be poison, right?]

Is it comfortable living that way?

(Never believed; always brushed off as if what you say holds no weight or value. Being a woman has ensured she is treated that way in some cultures.

When he sips from his can, she considers the possibilities. One, he could be right and it isn't poison. Two, it could be poison and he is immune. Or three, poison could be in her can and not his.

Two out of the three are not pleasant, but she isn't a coward. Picking up the can, she takes a sip and blinks in surprise as the beverage tingles on her tongue.) It's...sweet?

Makes it fun when people learn they were wrong to underestimate me.

[The look on their face when they realize just how bad they fucked up? Priceless. Ten out of ten, every time.

He leans his hip against the counter, watching as she finally tries the drink - it was really, really hard to not lie and make up a quip about how now she was going to die in five minutes, but it's fine. They're probably going to be stuck in this world for a good while, anyway.

There'll be plenty of chances to mess with her.]

It is! Congratulations. You're a master of observation.

[... Doesn't mean he won't still be kind of a shit, though.]

What then? Do you laugh and leave them behind?

(It all seems lonely to her. Yes, there is an adrenaline rush in being proven right, but it doesn't last years.

Whereas friendships can and do.

She pulls a face at his teasing and takes a longer drink, realizing she is thirsty.)

I'm not sure about it. I've definitely had worse. Curdled horse's milk is sour enough to make your eyes water and I did eat a horse's heart once.

If they're even still standing, yeah.

[He has one friend who accepts him for who he is. Sure, they fight sometimes - they might be in the middle of one right now, even - but he knows she has his back and at the end of the day he has hers. One's enough. ]

Still probably better than my dad's cooking was. The man could spoil a glass of water, I swear.

[... not that it was usually water his dad was drinking.]

I have a theory...

(She sets the can down, running her fingers over it. The smooth chill of the...metal?...is fascinating.)

That is a talent. Water is already so plain! How does he manage to spoil it?

(Daenerys moves around his kitchen, finding, at last, the running water. She runs her hands under it and then proceeds to wash her face. The sensation is infinitely comforting. She has felt like she is covered in ash since King's Landing fell.)

Feel like sharing that theory? Or is that just one of those things people say when they want to sound smart?

[He watches as she starts to wash her face, which is... a weird thing to do, right? To come over, have a drink, and wash your face in someone's kitchen sink? That's weird. She's weird.

Then again she also seems very out of touch with modern conveniences, so it kind of makes sense.]

Probably because he never washed his glasses. Water with the aftertaste of cheap booze isn't a good time.

I think you are kinder than you allow others to see. I think someone used you once - cruelly - and you are determined that it should never happen again.

(See? She isn't trying to sound smart. Also the water feels so nice that she doesn't care what he thinks of her. He can try living in a desert or a winter wasteland and then they can talk.)

He doesn't sound... (Like a decent father. But can she really talk? Not one bit.) I'm not fond of alcohol. I have a glass of wine now and then, but never enough to impair my judgement.

I think you're delusional and seeing what you want to see.

[... She's not completely wrong, and he knows it. He was definitely used cruelly (though arguably more than once), and now that he's off the leash he never wants to be on it again. But kind? Him? What a joke.]

He was a piece of shit who never put the bottle down. That's all there is to it.

Really. (She moves away from the sink after drying off her face and hands. Pale wet strands cling to her cheeks and begin to curl.)

You learned to be different. I guess that is the one good point about having abusive parents.

[He regards her silently for a second - no, he's not captivated by her beauty (she's a looker though, he'll give her that), but rather what she's said makes him think. Yeah... yeah, he was different than his old man. Sure, violence was still what he was best at. Sure, he took pleasure in other people's pain. Sure, he had a temper. Sure, he enjoyed a drink now and then.

But he was different.

Right?

He prefers not to think about it any further, so he does another thing he's good at - he deflects.]

Speak from experience? No love from the Mad King?

(They have both tried to put distance between themselves and their parents. Well, parent. Not plural. Daenerys's mother had been a wonderful and very abused woman.

His question makes her expression harden.)

I never knew him and he never knew me. He knew my mother was pregnant, of course, but he was dead by the time I was born.

[ His mother had been... well, she existed, anyway. He doesn't remember anything about her, couldn't pick her out of a lineup if he wanted to. Doesn't really care, either. If she's dead she's dead, if she's alive then she left him to suffer with his father and thus is dead to him anyway.

Fuck 'em. ]

Maybe you lucked out, then.

...perhaps. (Lucky in one respect, though she never knew her mother or eldest brother. Her second brother went mad and tormented her, selling her off to so-called savages to be raped in exchange for an army. Then she lost the husband she came to love and the son in her womb. And after somehow crossing the East and amassing an army (several) to her cause, she lost two of her Dragons, her dearest friends and councilors and the man she thought she loved more than her life.

Lucky isn't the right word.) I wonder if I look like her - my mother.

Edited 2019-10-06 03:40 (UTC)

[There are people who one can talk about these things to. People who are patient, understanding, virtuous. Mercury isn't one of those people. Mercury's method of solving emotional problems is the old-fashioned bottling method, which works great until the bottle blows its top.

But it's not full yet.

So rather than give an answer in earnest, he--]

Depends on how hot your mom was, I guess.

[... yeah. That.]

(She gives him a sharp glare, taking offense, yet what did she expect from him? Daenerys walks closer to him, peering into his eyes intensely.)

All Targaryens are attractive. (If you like golden or silver hair and skin that tends to be paler than most. She had tanned in the East, but that is gone now.) The outside doesn't always match the inside. That is where the monster lies.

[Who's he to talk about pale skin and silver hair? He's sporting both of those himself (though his hair is perhaps closer to a steel gray than true silver). He doesn't shrink away at her approach, instead squaring up to face her directly, grin ever-crooked.]

We'll have to compare monsters sometime. Really get to know each other.

I don't think of monsters as evil. (She knows that flies in the face of normalcy, but her reasoning isn't unsound.) I am the mother of three so-called monsters. That makes me one too.

(And after King's Landing, she has another reason to hold that title. Though that one brings less pride.)

Why are you one?

[It's really... really tempting to make some crude remark about his dick right then, but surely he's better than that.]

You ever decide to sic your pet dragon on me, maybe you'll find out.

[Whew! He's better than that.]

Or sic yourself on me. Might find out in a totally different way.

[god damnit merc]

He's too small for battle. (Or sparring. Daenerys is a better mother than that.)

Really? Are you suggesting I bite and claw you?

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