Pooping, screaming, bacon-stealing messengers... aye. Maesters train them to take letters all across the world. [Jon squints at the paper.] Any mirror? Stiles, this could be an amazing tactical advantage. [Much better than Mormont's old bird.]
The meaty one, and a "Hawaiian" one. [He brandishes the skin next.] And some wine. [Nobody tell the Court Dad.]
I'd have to have spelled it first, so it's not like I could just poke my head in your room or jump to the Unseelie castle. I was thinking of putting one in my workshop back in Glaem and using it so I can go back and forth there without having to worry about anything getting wrecked here from spell work.
Ooh. Good choices, my man.
[And yes, he actually did peek out his door before closing it. Just in case Court Dad was stalking the halls.]
Can anyone go through once you've spelled them, or is it only you? [Because that might be convenient for helping any more Unseelie friends who appear and can't use Jon's fairy ring.
He grins, either way. Just a little grin.] You can't go amiss with meat. And we don't have these pineapples in Westeros, but they are good. [A little sweet, and a little tart. Jon grabs one of the slices of Hawaiian pizza first.] Excellent, I mean, of course. [He still remembers that conversation, about how "good" was not an enthusiastic enough compliment when relating to pizza.]
Um... huh. I don't know. It doesn't say. Guess we can find out one way or another.
[Okay, he laughed. Jon was picking up on the lingo a bit and his attempt was both kind of endearing and impossible not to react to.]
I think you'd like a lot of the food from my home. Not even things like pizza and nachos. Fruit, for example. You like pineapple? Wait until you have a mango. I'm guessing it's the tropical fruit you don't get much of, so I bet you'd have a blast with that. Coconuts and pineapples and mangoes and papayas. Ooh, we should totally do smoothies.
[During this food rant, Ryia had flown down from her perch, scowling at the raven and giving it the evil eye, but she was curious about this pizza she'd heard Stiles talk about.]
So this is it, then? Doesn't look all that impressive.
[Mangoes and coconuts and papayas, Jon spends a good long moment wondering where Stiles' people even come up with these names.] There's not much fruit at the Wall. [He plucks at a bit of ham on his slice of pizza. Food has been on his mind of late, while outfitting this castle for a siege. He flicks a bit of the meat and the big crow flies off his shoulder finally, chasing after it and then settling on the ground to eat it and quork about nonsense somewhere not directly next to Jon's ear.] There wasn't much food at all, on the Wall. Not enough to last a full winter.
[Not one of Westeros' crazy long winters, in any event. He blinks, pulled out of his moping by Ryia's appearance suddenly at their sides.] It's better than it looks, my lady. [Can gargoyles be ladies? No, likely not, but Jon usually does make an effort to be polite to people who aren't Stiles.]
[Seems that Jon can charm pretty much anything. Leathery wings unfurled, then curled back over her as she settled next to a pizza, giving him an almost coy look -- and Stiles groaned. Goddammit, Jon.]
Is it? I suppose I'll have to try some. This one goes on about it enough that you'd think it was the meaning to life.
[Stiles scoffed and came over to claim a piece for himself.]
Um, yeah. That's because it is. Some people have taste buds. But foodwise, I think we'll last, Jon. We have the Seelie ring and I can always pop over to the castle and spell a mirror there, make it so we have an escape route if nothing else -- as long as we can all use it. If not, at least I can get food through it. We should be fine.
[Jon scoots over so that Ryia might have clearer access to the pizza. He does smile at her, briefly, though he addresses Stiles.]
Food will cost, though. Food and guards, walls and war machines: it'll all cost. [But even he doesn't sound too gloomy about it so it can't be all bad.] You know, when I was a boy I once tried to convince Maester Luwin that teaching bookeeping and balances was wasted on a bastard who would never inherit. [His lips twitch in memory. Maester Luwin is dead now, like as not, along with every other man or woman that Jon grew up with in his lord father's house. But he studiously doesn't think about that, like Stiles suggested, back when Jon told him about Bran's fall.] Surprisingly, he was not persuaded by my attempt.
Would it, though? I mean, if it's coming from Caer Glaem and we're all given free... well, everything there, you really think Solais would penny pinch on what we'd have to bring over from there?
[Said that guy that might be maybe an itty bitty bit smitten with the Seelie queen.]
Meals are one thing, Stiles. Food stores to sustain a populous of a city that will not fight for her, where the soldiers of her enemy are welcomed to live? [Jon shakes his head, chewing.] Might be we will not even be able to look to her for such things: it would not surprise me if she tells us to find such elsewhere. She has her own people to feed, and winter is coming.
[You people was clearly 'you and Sansa and your weird words'.]
Winter always comes, but I'm pretty sure this place doesn't have the whole ten year winter thing like your world does. Most worlds, mine included, just have winter for a few months. Every year. Then there's three other seasons. This place has been following along with that pace pretty closely.
But... you're right about the other part. So... maybe we'll just take it anyway. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?
Aye, but Winter's not the only thing we must ward against, even if it is queerly short. A siege is what worries me.
[Oh my gods Stiles no.] It's not my experience that monarchs are especially forgiving. Asking permission is more like to keep your head on your shoulders than the other way around.
[Okay Jon would not necessarily be opposed to kissing the royal ass because wow BUT STILL.] We should absolutely not do that. [POINTING HIS PIZZA AT RYIA.] Tell him we should not do that. [His gargoyle seems far more reasonable than he does tbh!]
[The gargoyle in question looked crosseyed at the pizza suddenly pointed at her, mouth bulging and a string of cheese leading from it to the piece in her hands (which, by the way, was bigger than her).]
Ffllooogmanllongleh.
[Stiles tried not to laugh, watching as the little feline face gave a satisfied nod, as if what she'd said had been understandable, then a small clawed hand shoved a piece of pineapple into her already full mouth and the squelching sounds of open-mouthed chewing began.]
[Jon keeps a relatively straight face... until the pineapple. Then he loses it with a snort and, not laughter precisely, but a slight shake to his shoulders that probably gives him away anyway.]
She intended to scold you, I'm sure. [Don't break his heart, Ryia!] Besides, I don't think you can carry enough supplies for the whole of Cothromach in those skinny arms of yours.
Oh ye of little fa-- hey, my arms aren't that skinny. Just because I don't have over-muscled arms of ridiculousness doesn't mean I can't be useful. That's what the carpet's for. Duh.
[So rude, Jon. He was hurt. Wounded. Offended. He was going to join Ryia in face-shoving and take a huge bite of his pizza. The pair of them looked just like a master and familiar should; both with bulging cheeks and grease-smeared lips and look of utter cheese-filled contentment as they chewed.]
[Jon sighs and plants his elbow on the table and his chin on that hand, watching the two dorks go to town on their pizza. Even Mormont's old bird is being fairly reasonable off in the corner. He missed.... bro-time, while he's been busy with trying to organize and prepare Cothromach's guard.]
Can you get that thing through the mirrors with you? And it seems to me you might rouse suspicion if you go gallivanting through the larder with a carpet piled high with food.
[Come to Stiles for all your bro-time needs, Jon. That's what he's here for. Well, that and the fact that he's a kick ass mage now. You know you love it.]
Um, yeah. I just need a big mirror. Maybe. I don't know. I still have to figure out how this port spell works. Maybe I just touch it and BAM, I'm where the other mirror is. Or I have to walk through it. Either way, it folds up, dude.
As for the piled high carpet... I'll just cover it with a blanket.
It's science stuff. Not magic or anything. When we can actually get to the Station and this whole... siege thing is over, I'll show you about germs and biology. It's actually pretty handy and probably something you should know.
[He knows that look, Jon. He gets it from everyone.]
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[He moved over to pick up the piece of paper, showing Jon the spell written on it and shrugging.]
I asked for another warded room or a way to get to my old one and seems I got a new trick up my sleeve. Hey, what kind of pizzas did you bring?
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The meaty one, and a "Hawaiian" one. [He brandishes the skin next.] And some wine. [Nobody tell the Court Dad.]
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Ooh. Good choices, my man.
[And yes, he actually did peek out his door before closing it. Just in case Court Dad was stalking the halls.]
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He grins, either way. Just a little grin.] You can't go amiss with meat. And we don't have these pineapples in Westeros, but they are good. [A little sweet, and a little tart. Jon grabs one of the slices of Hawaiian pizza first.] Excellent, I mean, of course. [He still remembers that conversation, about how "good" was not an enthusiastic enough compliment when relating to pizza.]
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[Okay, he laughed. Jon was picking up on the lingo a bit and his attempt was both kind of endearing and impossible not to react to.]
I think you'd like a lot of the food from my home. Not even things like pizza and nachos. Fruit, for example. You like pineapple? Wait until you have a mango. I'm guessing it's the tropical fruit you don't get much of, so I bet you'd have a blast with that. Coconuts and pineapples and mangoes and papayas. Ooh, we should totally do smoothies.
[During this food rant, Ryia had flown down from her perch, scowling at the raven and giving it the evil eye, but she was curious about this pizza she'd heard Stiles talk about.]
So this is it, then? Doesn't look all that impressive.
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[Not one of Westeros' crazy long winters, in any event. He blinks, pulled out of his moping by Ryia's appearance suddenly at their sides.] It's better than it looks, my lady. [Can gargoyles be ladies? No, likely not, but Jon usually does make an effort to be polite to people who aren't Stiles.]
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Is it? I suppose I'll have to try some. This one goes on about it enough that you'd think it was the meaning to life.
[Stiles scoffed and came over to claim a piece for himself.]
Um, yeah. That's because it is. Some people have taste buds. But foodwise, I think we'll last, Jon. We have the Seelie ring and I can always pop over to the castle and spell a mirror there, make it so we have an escape route if nothing else -- as long as we can all use it. If not, at least I can get food through it. We should be fine.
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Food will cost, though. Food and guards, walls and war machines: it'll all cost. [But even he doesn't sound too gloomy about it so it can't be all bad.] You know, when I was a boy I once tried to convince Maester Luwin that teaching bookeeping and balances was wasted on a bastard who would never inherit. [His lips twitch in memory. Maester Luwin is dead now, like as not, along with every other man or woman that Jon grew up with in his lord father's house. But he studiously doesn't think about that, like Stiles suggested, back when Jon told him about Bran's fall.] Surprisingly, he was not persuaded by my attempt.
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[Said that guy that might be maybe an itty bitty bit smitten with the Seelie queen.]
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[You people was clearly 'you and Sansa and your weird words'.]
Winter always comes, but I'm pretty sure this place doesn't have the whole ten year winter thing like your world does. Most worlds, mine included, just have winter for a few months. Every year. Then there's three other seasons. This place has been following along with that pace pretty closely.
But... you're right about the other part. So... maybe we'll just take it anyway. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?
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[Oh my gods Stiles no.] It's not my experience that monarchs are especially forgiving. Asking permission is more like to keep your head on your shoulders than the other way around.
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[Yes, Jon. Join him on the dark side...]
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Ffllooogmanllongleh.
[Stiles tried not to laugh, watching as the little feline face gave a satisfied nod, as if what she'd said had been understandable, then a small clawed hand shoved a piece of pineapple into her already full mouth and the squelching sounds of open-mouthed chewing began.]
You heard her, Jon. Fllogmanlongleh.
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She intended to scold you, I'm sure. [Don't break his heart, Ryia!] Besides, I don't think you can carry enough supplies for the whole of Cothromach in those skinny arms of yours.
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[So rude, Jon. He was hurt. Wounded. Offended. He was going to join Ryia in face-shoving and take a huge bite of his pizza. The pair of them looked just like a master and familiar should; both with bulging cheeks and grease-smeared lips and look of utter cheese-filled contentment as they chewed.]
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Can you get that thing through the mirrors with you? And it seems to me you might rouse suspicion if you go gallivanting through the larder with a carpet piled high with food.
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Um, yeah. I just need a big mirror. Maybe. I don't know. I still have to figure out how this port spell works. Maybe I just touch it and BAM, I'm where the other mirror is. Or I have to walk through it. Either way, it folds up, dude.
As for the piled high carpet... I'll just cover it with a blanket.
[Because that wasn't suspicious at all, amirite?]
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That might look even worse.
Somehow.
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[Oops. Someone needed a napkin. He put his pizza down and looked over for... ooh, wine.]
Hey, you mind sharing germs or should I find cups?
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[Wiping his mouth, because rude, he took a sip and put the stopper back in, nose wrinkling at the bite of the wine.]
Germs are like... tiny microscopic things that get you sick. It's why we have antibiotics and-- you probably have no idea what I'm talking about.
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[He knows that look, Jon. He gets it from everyone.]
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