[ Kaneki only celebrates New Years, so that's the day he'll be dropping off gifts. For Danny, he will leave home-made Osechi Ryori aka super fancy sort of bento box, along with it there is incense, home-made mochi (rice cakes) - as well a note ]
Khaleesi, I will still gladly cook for you this new year to come.
[ Daenerys celebrates none of these holidays at all -- but she can recognise gift giving for what it is, which is why she delivers something in return. It's a weighty glass paperweight which is clear save for the 3D depiction of a black and white heron in mid-swoop at its centre.
Not in the habit of giving gifts or, indeed, shopping, it's something selected for the look of it. ]
Haise, As ever, you honour me. I will be sure to provide the wine. My best for the new year.
[ Tyrion clears his throat, still unused to using these for messages, especially with others from his own world. The camera is a little out of focus — no selfie master he — but the audio is clear enough. ]
I have a very small favor to ask of you.
[ In the sheepish tone that says it isn't going to be that small at all, and he knows it. ]
[ It's been A Week, and it wears itself not as fatigue but as a sort of knowingness present behind Daenerys' expression when she answers Tyrion's call.
And if she's wrong about her suspicions, then she has something to share too. ]
[He's put this off a bit too long. Sansa and Lady Catelyn's arrival managed to distract him from the thoroughly unpleasant presence of the Kingslayer. He should have informed Daenerys the moment he saw the man, given his warning to Jamie that she was here as well.
Better late than never. Perhaps she had already dealt with the man and spared Jon from fighting his temper and instinct.]
Your grace.
[Pleasantries, always a safe starting point with her.]
Have you been made aware of the presence of the Kingslayer?
[ She is a slightly different woman than the one maintaining scores of conversations on the public network, all wry humour and thoughtful questions and sympathy. The state of the board has changed dramatically, as has her place in it.
Weary, but not vulnerable. ]
Do you know what happens when people die, here, Lord Commander?
Hello, it's Gwenaëlle - I have a new job with a very generous employer, and I can't think of a better way to celebrate getting money than spending it. Do you want to come help me make regrettable decisions with my disposable income?
[ It doesn't take long for Daenerys to get a minute, or have one forged especially for her. When she replies, she's back in her apartment, her hair let down and a little damp, made greyer for it, and dressed in an appropriately fluffy robe. ]
Gwenaëlle?
[ Her concern is mild treatment, more curious than worried, but there. ] Is everything alright?
( They have not been introduced; and indeed, she has no idea that the lady knows much of her at all. Of the Dornish alliance gone awry, or her death. In the end, it matters little. She appears as a younger, gentler incarnation of her mother, hair falling in loose curls, green gaze soft and sombre rather than sharp or calculating.
She dips her head, not quite able to smile. But her expression is pleasant, if cool. It hides her wariness well. )
Your Grace. ( Her brother is king, but this lady is queen of a city in her own right. She has no hesitation in using the title. ) Please forgive me for being remiss and not introducing myself sooner.
[ The soft girls of her sworn enemies, gathering in spite of the multiplicity of the universe and, in Myrcella's case, death. She sees, a little, the same near-invisible wall behind this one's eyes as there had been in Sansa's.
Daenerys' own countenance is neither cold nor incensed. A hint of rue to her study, an acknowledgement of strange circumstance, a slightly too knowing glint in her eye.
Her mouth pinched at the corners, before she speaks. ]
Lady Myrcella, [ she says. ] I wouldn't expect everyone of our world to declare themselves to me, eventually or otherwise.
[ She adds, a hint wry; ]
That, and you've no doubt been occupied with the election.
[He's given her space since their last meeting, careful not to offend or cross that precarious line that he was already toying. After several weeks, he decided to risk her anger and hold out an olive branch.
[ There is a knowingness in her eyes, expecting that this is some kind of rekindling as opposed to hasty summons. Last they spoke, she'd left the conversation still jagged and raw, rather than healed. ]
You've settled on your form of address, then, or shall I anticipate another title when next we speak? I have many you might choose from.
You're friendly with Ambassador Merlotte, right? How do you feel about anonymous donors who'd like to help turn around his press at the minute and support your causes? The catch is that they're very attached to their anonymity, but it'd be a completely legitimate offer.
hey i know we've never met before and messaging you out of the blue is super weird but according to the news you're drogons owner/carer/friend? my porter power is focused on healing animals. if he still needs or if he needs help in the future i'd be happy to do what i can. the way he was used as a scapegoat was horrible. i'm sorry he got hurt at all.
Yes, I am all of those, and mother. Thank you. It was to be expected, but no less frustrating.
Does your skill work against injury of a more magical/spiritual nature? I don't know if that is what ails him, but there aren't any visible injuries I can see.
one of the things about dragons where i'm from is they're conscious like people are, so what gets said about 'em sometimes is that the only use they have for humans is making things they can't like alcohol. every little boy and girl knows dragons love mead
following that, the way you meet a dragon is to thusly: dig a giant hole in a field fill it with mead hide then the dragon shows up, and drinks, and you wait until the dragon's a bit pissed, then go say hello, and the dragon'll be in an alright mood 'cause of the mead.
and what do my lovely countrymen do with this tale? they finish it with
"you can talk to the dragon now he's in good spirits"
Edited (notices a typo an hr later ) 2017-12-02 06:23 (UTC)
[ She looks at her device only once she's ordered a car to take her back home, Drogon curled on her lap like a cat, bracing herself for -- what she in her vanity presumes will be -- a torrent of unanswered messages.
And there are, more or less. From text messages from personal assistants, to contacts at the fashion house, media follow up queries asking for her whereabouts, but only one imPort.
This isn't something to feel resentment for. In the past, she's known those who have gone missing for a day, and sometimes she'd noticed, sometimes she hadn't. In the event of extended disappearances, she knows she might do something like this -- in the hopes it would be seen one day, and better yet, replied to -- and maybe that's why she recognises it for what it is. Her heart, which had been still, gives a twinge.
She begins to thumb out a message in reply, and then deletes it, and presses the call button.
When Arthur picks up; ]
And here I was beginning to think your little fairytale was going to drag... on.
Delivery [ Forwarded to the 31st ]
Khaleesi,
I will still gladly cook for you this new year to come.
- Haise Sasaki / Kaneki Ken
delivery.
Not in the habit of giving gifts or, indeed, shopping, it's something selected for the look of it. ]
Haise,
As ever, you honour me. I will be sure to provide the wine.
My best for the new year.
Daenerys
video.
I have a very small favor to ask of you.
[ In the sheepish tone that says it isn't going to be that small at all, and he knows it. ]
video.
And if she's wrong about her suspicions, then she has something to share too. ]
Go on.
video.
video.
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video;
Better late than never. Perhaps she had already dealt with the man and spared Jon from fighting his temper and instinct.]
Your grace.
[Pleasantries, always a safe starting point with her.]
Have you been made aware of the presence of the Kingslayer?
video;
[ She is a slightly different woman than the one maintaining scores of conversations on the public network, all wry humour and thoughtful questions and sympathy. The state of the board has changed dramatically, as has her place in it.
Weary, but not vulnerable. ]
Do you know what happens when people die, here, Lord Commander?
video;
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voicemail.
Let me know! Ciao.
voice.
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Gwenaëlle?
[ Her concern is mild treatment, more curious than worried, but there. ] Is everything alright?
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video → action.
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Text
Meet me at the forest preserve in De Chima. I'll be there this evening, shortly after 5.
» video
She dips her head, not quite able to smile. But her expression is pleasant, if cool. It hides her wariness well. )
Your Grace. ( Her brother is king, but this lady is queen of a city in her own right. She has no hesitation in using the title. ) Please forgive me for being remiss and not introducing myself sooner.
My name is Myrcella of House Baratheon.
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Daenerys' own countenance is neither cold nor incensed. A hint of rue to her study, an acknowledgement of strange circumstance, a slightly too knowing glint in her eye.
Her mouth pinched at the corners, before she speaks. ]
Lady Myrcella, [ she says. ] I wouldn't expect everyone of our world to declare themselves to me, eventually or otherwise.
[ She adds, a hint wry; ]
That, and you've no doubt been occupied with the election.
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video;
Or a frappuccino, as it were.]
Your grace?
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[ There is a knowingness in her eyes, expecting that this is some kind of rekindling as opposed to hasty summons. Last they spoke, she'd left the conversation still jagged and raw, rather than healed. ]
You've settled on your form of address, then, or shall I anticipate another title when next we speak? I have many you might choose from.
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time is a meaningless construct
and a flat circle
You made it away safely?
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I've got a weird request.
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Is everything alright?
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[text]
We need to meet, as soon as you're able. You're not in danger.
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Where are you?
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voicemail.
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[ --is how she opens this conversation, lightly amused. ]
You can just say 'friends with'. And by press, do you mean...
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video;
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So she just answers his question; ]
Sailing for Westeros.
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text; dh4z3 - backdated to wee hours of morning nov 1
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[ Is that appropriate, did Darlene ask a question, sometimes the lingo is hard to remember when it is 2 am. ]
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text - backdated to whenever
according to the news you're drogons owner/carer/friend?
my porter power is focused on healing animals. if he still needs or if he needs help in the future i'd be happy to do what i can.
the way he was used as a scapegoat was horrible. i'm sorry he got hurt at all.
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Thank you. It was to be expected, but no less frustrating.
Does your skill work against injury of a more magical/spiritual nature? I don't know if that is what ails him, but there aren't any visible injuries I can see.
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> action?
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left while daenerys was porterafk.
like alcohol. every little boy and girl knows dragons love mead
following that, the way you meet a dragon is to thusly:
dig a giant hole in a field
fill it with mead
hide
then the dragon shows up, and drinks, and you wait until the dragon's a bit pissed, then go say hello, and the dragon'll be in an alright mood 'cause of the mead.
and what do my lovely countrymen do with this tale? they finish it with
"you can talk to the dragon now he's in good spirits"
→ audio.
And there are, more or less. From text messages from personal assistants, to contacts at the fashion house, media follow up queries asking for her whereabouts, but only one imPort.
This isn't something to feel resentment for. In the past, she's known those who have gone missing for a day, and sometimes she'd noticed, sometimes she hadn't. In the event of extended disappearances, she knows she might do something like this -- in the hopes it would be seen one day, and better yet, replied to -- and maybe that's why she recognises it for what it is. Her heart, which had been still, gives a twinge.
She begins to thumb out a message in reply, and then deletes it, and presses the call button.
When Arthur picks up; ]
And here I was beginning to think your little fairytale was going to drag... on.
[ :D? ]
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moar thrades. circa powerscrewy plot.
i've got to go collect excalibur from a bloody sidewalk apparently
have i missed anything?