prismatica | text | un: killerlegs

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?

I assume he gets bigger.

[... Don't make another dick joke, Merc, one was enough.]

I'd take that over you burning me alive, I think. Could be fun.

He was bigger. (Much bigger. Daenerys crosses her arms over her chest, breathing in slowly.) I think you need to wear less clothes.

[He peers at her with a smirk (like he isn't always wearing one), leaning a hair closer into her space.]

Is that a suggestion, or a request?

(She arches a brow and gives him a cool smile in return.)

You wouldn't take it well if I said it was an order, would you?

[Well, if there's a time to take his shot he figures it's now. He steps closer still, and if she allows it she'll find herself with her back to the kitchen counter and Mercury pinning her against it, his hands on the countertop on either side of her waist.]

Who knows? Maybe you can make a follower out of me still.

(Well! Daenerys leans back as far as she can manage, but she looks curious instead of cross. He has been blessed with a handsome face, hasn't he.)

That is a given. In time, you will follow me.

(So there. The ~~princess~~ ~~queen~~woman has spoken.)

[Oh, yeah. She's giving off some major Cinder vines. Not as annoyingly mysterious, but similar in her worldview that submission is inevitable.

But mercury is a liquid metal - good luck keeping it in one shape.]

Don't count on it.

[He's absurdly close - but then he's leaning back suddenly, pushing off the counter... holding her drink now, which he'd snatched while sneer she was focused on his face, to take a sip.]

You wouldn't be the first to try.

(She likes challenges - she seeks them naturally - and he is but another on a long list. Granted, he is a fun challenge whereas the others are more about surviving with her sanity intact.)

Can you taste me? (Daenerys taps the can for emphasis, leaning towards him impishly.)

I don't need to count on anything. You will fall under my rule.

(Brushing against him, she moves away from the counter, reaching up to tighten one of her braids.)

[He smacks his lips at her question, rolling his eyes thoughtfully as if trying to isolate the taste of her on the rim of the can.]

Mm! Tastes like...

[One of his hands falls to his side as she passes - did his fingertips graze along her hip on accident, or was that intentional?]

... overconfidence, with a hint of a smoky aftertaste.

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