open. i have ridden in your cart, driver,

[trouvaille]

Who: Gwenaëlle Wynne-York + OTHERS, YOU?
When: Early Iuneril
Where: Aefenglom, the river, Daenerys's farm.
What: Local merrow goes walkabout mostly without feet.
Warnings: Nudity.


Having been invited by Jorah to spend a couple of days with her dog at the farm, it takes a little while to actually find a few free days in her schedule of mostly work and moping; when she does, it is mainly as an afterthought that she leaves a note with the perishables in the upstairs kitchen for Viren:

Yᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ᴘʀᴏʙᴀʙʟʏ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄᴏᴜᴘʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʏs. Aᴍ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄɪᴛʏ, ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀʀʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ, ʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴀʙʟᴇ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. Hᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ Pᴜᴛɪɴᴋᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴍʏ ʙᴀsᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ. G.

That accomplished, it's mainly a matter of ensuring that what she does need to take with her can be neatly and not-too-heavily packed into the saddlebags she's made an addition of to Putinka's leather vest, tying a pair of shoes in between with their laces, and holding Putin's enormous head between her hands and assuring him that he is an extremely good boy who is going to get a treat at the other end. (Nature of treat unclear. Might have just created work for Jorah.)

In this weather, it's a relief to strip off the sun-dress at the side of the river that she'd worn this far, stuffing it into one side of Putin's burden and leading him close enough to the edge that, if absolutely necessary, she could reach him with her tentacles. Which she has, a moment after diving into the blessedly cool and cleaner water, just one merrow among a variety of them, the gleam of her jeweled waist-chain sparkling enough to make her easy to track if, somehow, the rainbow-shine of her milky skin and additional limbs somehow wasn't enough.

She isn't in a rush. They have time. This is the most relaxing thing she's done in at least six months; she floats on her back, prism-slit pupils narrow with ease, half of her tentacles clutching and dragging along the side of the river as Putin variously sits nearby or trots alongside.

They follow the river out of the city, which is slightly less relaxing, and Putin has grown accustomed to the periodic investigation of one long, damp tentacle ensuring he is still there, or the way she circles him protectively when he drinks from the river, or that her investigative checking on him tends to result in water dripped on his head. Probably, if he were not carrying things she needs to keep dry, there would be splashing involved; that may come later.

Arriving at the farm, Gwen—

doesn't have a towel. She walks the last distance to what must be the farmstead alongside her enormous dog (arguably, large enough to obscure her present state of undress from some angles), water streaming from her hair down her back and beginning to dry in the air. Probably, she figures, she can borrow one and dry off enough to put some clothes on.

Comments

at the river

[plasticasshole]

[Connor doesn't often swim in the river, but it's nice to do so today with all the other Merrows. He's feeling playful leading up to the full moons, and fellow Merrows are so willing to indulge that. He spots Gwen as he circles another Merrow, then bumps her gently as he glides past.

Unlike Gwen, the small bag around his hips is simply decorated with shells and netting. It's a nice thick fabric that won't tear easily, and he keeps trinkets that he finds inside it.]

It's a nice day, isn't it?

[trouvaille]

( the river is most of where gwen spends her time in the water; she deigns to dip into the sea for particular occasions, for the peak of the moons, but in her heart she's still the same troublesome river-thing that koschei hauled out by her arm and she has had room in that heart for the arno and the rhine and the thames and in the absence of any of them she is warming to the temese. and to the other merrow in it, a little despite herself, unbending from some of the aloof moodiness she's prone to.

connor gets followed by several tentacles for his trouble, circling without touching his tail and then smacking him sharply and without much sting, a tease and a greeting— )

It's too hot, ( she complains, without much heat. the water is cold and she's had worse days than this. )

[plasticasshole]

It'll only get hotter, I'm sure. Unless it snows again in July.

[He makes a face. He wasn't a fan of it.]

At least the water here is cool.

[Turning around, he lazily swims alongside her.]

I don't often swim here. It's nice, if not a little crowded.

[trouvaille]

I wouldn't mind it snowing again.

( cold-thing that she is; a bloodline that's all german and slavic winters, her noted tendency to do barely-dressed yoga on the riverside on the coldest days of the coldest months. it's her element—even now, the beating heat only warms her superficially, chill to the touch. )

But it isn't usually this crowded.

[plasticasshole]

I might mind... my pool gets frozen over, and I like warmer water.

[He got used to the snow back in Detroit, and during the snowy months here. But he's also had a taste of summer now, and the sunshine seems to suit him better. He always did like the Zen Garden better when the sun was shining, too.]

I guess everyone had the same idea. I don't mind the people, but I'm glad I have a pool of my own to retreat to, as well.

text

[bloodwit]

[ probably a day after, now - ]

How long will you be gone?

[trouvaille]

Maybe another day or two.

[bloodwit]

Business trip? Vacation?

[trouvaille]

A friend invited me to stay. Everything gives me a headache, lately, I thought it'd be nice to be out of the city.

[bloodwit]

Even the house.

Will you need anything? For when you get back?

farms

[freeing]

[ Over the river and through the woods – Daenerys had become use to bringing small trinkets to an old oak tree that Lady Edre, the farmland's original owner, has asked her to visit. It was a symbol of love for her and her deceased husband and as age carries on, her tired bones can not make the trek.

She had become use to crossing more carefully across the river – but nothing could prepare her from seeing... well –

a naked Gwen?

Look, after the amount of times she's come out the flames naked, she can't judge. The large dog and the naked woman just make her stop in her tracks at the bed of the river – calling out to the woman who was heading towards their farm. ]

I... didn't... think many would find the weather suitable for ...

[ Naked swimming??? ]

[trouvaille]

( she is rather confronting—the tiara that allows her to look more human is carried in putin's packs, but she sort of thinks for most people who nudity is a little more alarming it's somehow less so on a body that's less familiar to them. a naked nymph is sort of how one expects nymphs to be; a naked human strolling around with her dog, that's a different vibe.

but she may be overestimating the difference it makes, all things being equal. still: she swerves slightly (and putin, a moment after her) to head towards daenerys, particularly, smiling, and there's nothing in her manner that suggests she thinks walking around wearing nothing but a friendly expression and a bit of sparkle is any more remarkable than if she were fully clothed. )

Hey, ( amiably. ) Jorah invited me to visit you out here, so—it's the most efficient way to travel.

( a beat. )

Well, for me, you know.

( all weather is naked swimming weather when you're gwen. )

[freeing]

[ Dany is the last person to judge!!! Don't worry. She's still trying to keep her eyes focused, no awkward glance around in concern or vulnerability. ]

I ... see. I was expecting horseback or carriage, but... [ Most visitors actually walk by the fields, but that's neither here nor there. ] If it works for you, you'll... hear nothing from me. When Drogon was older, he would allow me to mount his back like a steed.

[ Planet Fitness: Judgment Free Zone over here. ]

Never the less, do you... require anything...?

[trouvaille]

( probably if there'd been someone else traveling with her (besides putin) or if she'd been intending to come for a longer visit and with more luggage than could easily be stowed on a dog, she'd have seen fit to eat the cost of a carriage hire—but it's not just that, either. she misses being able to dive so deep that the water becomes the River, and to flow where she pleases with it. a little touch of home, to travel like this. )

I wouldn't say no to a towel, ( she says, grinning. ) I do have clothes, I promised. I just need to dry off and get dressed again.

I haven't really been out of the city for any real stretch of time since I arrived, so...it seemed nice. Like a nice idea.

[freeing]

Of course.

[ There's almost a sheepish realization – of course, a towel or covering. Daenerys rushes ahead of her, feet quick until she gets to the clothes line to the side of the home. Fortunately, she'll have a bedsheet to use as an impromptu towel? Enjoy the threadcount. ]

I would have had something at the riverbank if I knew you ... take such unique traveling efforts. [ She isn't snarky or rude, but there's almost a lowkey judgment forced past her. Teasing... actually. Dany can tease, when she wants to. Handing out the sheet, she looks off. ] There are many wonderful things in this world, but the threat of the Shades keep travelers at bay. The city is safer... but there's something freeing about these lands. Once you're collected, I can show you around.

Out of the City

[newtralize]

[Newt isn't much of a city folk and never had been despite his living arrangements. The city didn't call to him like the wild did and Aefenglom was no exception to the rule. He makes plenty of excursions outside the city walls and has definitely spent days out in the wild before returning to the Barracks. Wanderlust and the incapability of staying rooted to one spot.

He's dressed down to just his shirt, slacks, and suspenders with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The weather becoming far less pleasant to his usual attire that he had abandoned his coats and even waistcoats. It still isn't the worst he has endured, having traveled in the humid jungles of Asia.

The weather certainly doesn't stop him regardless of his preference to the foggy and chilly London mornings he hasn't seen in awhile.

Newt notices Putin first, which is honestly no surprise to anyone that knows the magizoologist. He's alone at the moment having let Greg run off to expend some energy. She always comes back to him and he can whistle for her if he needs.] Well, hullo. Taking a walk? [He doesn't mean to ignore Gwen, but he is just currently enraptured by her large, friendly companion as he kneels down and holds a hand out for Putin to sniff.]

[trouvaille]

( it isn't difficult to miss gwen, at certain points of their journey; she is in the river, often below the water, and to some people it's probably less remarkable to see tentacles emerging from it than a dog trotting happily along the riverbank looking for all the world when she isn't hovering a limb nearby him that he might simply be happily trotting along by himself.

frankly, the semi-lonesome look of his walk and the fact of his armor and saddlebags are not doing a lot to convince people he isn't a turnskin. but he isn't, and what he is, still, is a well-trained guard dog—

which is to say, rather than sniffing newt's hand, he sits down on his haunches, regarding newt with affable caution. not nervous, not aggressive: patiently observing a new variable in his day, assessing its probable threat level (low) and waiting for a cue from his mistress as to how she wants to respond. it means when gwen's tentacles next emerge from the waters beside them, she is expecting putin to be further along the riverbank than he actually is,

and she's hard to miss when she surges to the surface of the river, a full half of her lower extremities dragging her up onto the bank to encircle putin from behind, the rest still in the river, the shimmering, translucent mantle that covers her tentacles like the skirts of a ballgown spreading out over the grass and mud, gleaming.

oh, her face seems to say, a moment later, it's just Some Guy. when she relaxes, so too does putin (who had risen to his feet, unbothered by the slippery limbs establishing perimeter around him). )

He's a guard dog, ( she says, folding her arms over her bare breasts. ) He waits for me to say if people are allowed to touch him or not. You can go ahead.

[newtralize]

[He watches Putin with considerable interest. Newt has carefully observed enough Turnskins to know that Putin isn't one, though obscured by the dog's fittings. Perhaps an untrained eye wouldn't see the differences, but he'd be a rather lousy magizoologist if he couldn't pick out all the particulars.

It does make him curious as to who they belonged to. The bags and attitude would imply they're trained (and very well).

He hears the sound of water that sounds less like the usual flow of it and more as though something disrupting that flow. He turns his attention away from Putin and turns it to where he hears the noise and-

He immediately turns away and keeps his eyes concentrated on the grass to the side of her.] Oh I-

[What was he actually expecting? The dog is obviously well loved and trained and had to have an owner. Maybe someone more...dressed? He would be more interested in taking in her appearance but that would be rude. It would most certainly be rude. He is NOT gonna do that.] I didn't mean to disturb him- and you! I was just- He caught my attention and I never seen them around before.

[And while Newt is all for giving creatures affection...] That is. Is he fond of it? I wouldn't want to touch him if it isn't something he seeks? [And he lingers to know what the dog's name is except he doesn't even know her name.

...

He hasn't introduced himself.] Right! Newt Scamander. Terribly sorry, but I really should be introducing myself before asking for your name and his much less seeking admittance to touch him.

[trouvaille]

( people get so worked up about bodies. gwen has never really understood it, though she's grown up with it long enough to be accustomed to making allowances, which in this case mostly means 'acting like this is normal'. she won't lampshade that he is studiously not looking at her, but mostly because she is pretty sure—even more sure after he gives her his name—that he's flustered by her breasts more than her sharp teeth, unusual eyes or surfeit of limbs. )

Gwenaëlle Wynne-York, ( she says, not quite disguising the amusement in her voice, ) and he is Putin Onaritz.

( which, if only newt weren't a wizard, is a pun that's actually contemporary to him even if he's still decades away from vladimir putin making it, you know, a godawful thing to name a dog. no one stopped her.

no one has ever been particularly successful at stopping gwen. )

Are you related to Theseus? And he's fine, he's friendly. Putin, I mean, not Theseus. I mean, he's probably fine, too, I don't know.

river tiiiiime (and the livin is easy) out of the city

[gehennawind]

[ Fish are less than thrilled with all this fuss. First a young lady in a chemise and bloomers keeps spooking them away from their favorite rock piles, and now, from another direction, a pale and iridescent merrow sees fit to frighten them into escaping further out than they'd prefer. Their retreat becomes a whirl of squirming, shimmery flashes of fin and scale.

Squarely in the middle of the river and her intended path, Gwen's vampiric headache is upside down and picking over the bottom's smattering of fist-sized, multi-colored stones. Float closely enough and though there are flickers of pleasure in her face that pair with teeny, teeny smiles, these fade fast as if she's already forgotten to be happy with a find. ]

[trouvaille]

( hm.

this bitch again.

what she notices most of all is the clothing, which just seems absurd; she is prepared to go as far as accepting a swimsuit, because she is fond of a bikini here and there, and even a particularly well-designed one-piece, but a slip and fucking pantaloons is downright comical.

it is unnecessary for her path to take her near paloma. she could, easily, swim above and past her and move on with her life; she has places to be, people to see who annoy her less. jokes about t-rex masturbation to try and force jorah to explain. and maybe if the first time they'd talked had been the only time they'd talked, she would,

which arguably reinforces that it is actually better to be less noticed by this pain in the ass,

because what happens instead is that she surges at great speed directly in front of paloma, the swirl of her tentacles propelling her and churning the water, the sediment, the rocks as she catches the tail-fin of one fish between her sharp teeth and

you know. you've seen nature programs. that fish is fucked. )

ofc the guy that invites her takes the longest to respond

[heartsbane]

[ it's only fitting that the sight of Putin catches Jorah's eye long before the one of a very naked Gwen cast away in the river. not that it isn't equally eye-catching, mind you, but only because familiarity tugs at his mind's strings at the very first glance of the large canine.

luckily for everyone, Jorah was often dormant at the riverbank in some capacity, usually fishing or foraging nearby for berries and leaves for various needs. he'd be there for hours on end, so fate would ensure it wasn't difficult to let the trio reunite like this. maybe it's Putin's happy yip or bark that grabs attention, but he's quickly found with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips upon seeing him.

sorry, Gwen. you're kind of being cuck'd by a dog right now. Jorah was happily marching over to the goodest of boys, quickly getting down to one knee so he could place both of his calloused hands on the top of his head, ruffling his ears and giving his snout a good pat. ]

It's good to see you too, boy. And your—

[ he turns towards the water. ah. there she is, as naked as promised. he clicks his teeth against his teeth. should he be shamed in watching her if she was so carefree? Jorah doubts she cares. besides, he has to talk to her at some point: ]

Clearly you were in no rush to come visit, but you could have given me a warning.

fashionably late babey

[trouvaille]

( in the presence of strangers, putin is typically a pleasantly stoic presence; he takes his cues from gwen about how they interact with different people, how friendly they're feeling. his focus is on her comfort, and her safety, herding her when necessary and generally keeping a certain big animal reserve about himself. jorah, however, is not a stranger: putin feels totally comfortable shoving his entire massive boulder head into his crotch by way of a friendly greeting.

it speaks to gwen's own fondness that she doesn't do a damn thing to stop that from happening. friendship!!! )

Yeah, but where's the fun in that?

( —breezily delivered, strolling up at a more sedate pace, picking her way through the grass. if he's very aware that she's naked but for a delicate chain around her hips, she carries herself as if she's never in her life encountered somewhere she didn't somehow belong. what she's wearing or not wearing hardly seems to enter into it (or her head) at all. )

It's not a bad time, right?

tmw when you re-read your tag and see blatant typos. for SHAME

[heartsbane]

[ it wasn't very long ago that he was a stranger, but it feels like he's known Gwen and her canine partner for a considerable amount of time. he can thank the lasting, yet blurred memories of him meeting them as a giant bear. it's nice to find them at a river again, except this time in his own body and fully cognizant of his surroundings. there won't be any throwing fishes at one another, but there's plenty of wrestling between a bear and a dog.

... or at the very least, a head between his legs that he very much didn't need in his life. goodness, Putin, dial it down a little. ]

What is so fun about dropping in on me, bare as the day you were born? [ he says this as he actively nudges the dog away, lest he get shoved down into the ground and promptly trampled or covered in spit. ] You're lucky the farm isn't much farther. I am afraid I do not have much on me to help you dry. —Unless you want my shirt, that is.

[ he doesn't answer her question directly. there's no real "bad time" here at the farm. Jorah can quickly put Gwen and/or Putin to work if need be, and there's enough food in stock for her to be made a proper guest. just... one with more clothes, maybe. that's a work in progress. ]

[trouvaille]

( she seems content enough to accept the lack of objection as an absence of objections; swinging up on the balls of her feet in casual excitability, rising on her toes to squint around at the scenery. part of this world she's not deigned to acquaint herself with before, and which would be thoroughly uninteresting if not for being associated with people she is generally interested by—but it is, so it is. what sort of home have jorah and daenerys forged around themselves? what does it say about them?

gwen prefers not to think too hard about what hers says about her, which is probably why the only guest she's had has been trevor on a mission to get too drunk for the surroundings to matter. in any event: she shoots jorah a slyly amused look, )

I don't think we're that kind of friends.

( she may never have got the hang of modesty, but the language of clothing is not something that gwen struggles with. of course not, when she views it as something to be engaged with as a vice or not at all.

when she's naked, she's just naked. if she's wearing a man's shirt, she is communicating something to that man she is at least seventy-five percent sure isn't what jorah invited her here for. )

Do you want me to look human as well? Because I brought my thing. Putin's got it with the rest of my stuff.