#takenwings

// @starkmatriarch + @takenwings  + @matriarcarivera

Edmure wasn't sure how it happened or where he was but this was not London how he knew. This was... it almost looked like he'd been thrown back into a video game and suddenly everything was drastically different and he wasn't given any sort of item to help him figure out what was going on. As he walked about cautiously, he felt eyes on him, mutterings. He was dressed differently, they were all dressed differently than him. Instead of staying in the light, he quickly slipped off to a side alley where he figured less people would be able to find or look at him. As he moved from alley to alley, there was one where he heard voices and one stuck out among the rest of them. He'd heard that voice before.

Following the voice back to its owner, Edmure recognized her hair, recognized the way she walked and he knew he would recognize her body if all the clothes were off and it was just the two of them in a bedroom. Granted he knew that wasn't going to happen but he knew his wife. "Mona." Edmure called out to hear, more half running instead of walking at this point. If he knew any better, he'd say that she'd have all the answers for him. He grabbed her arm, needing to feel that anchoring feeling at this moment. "Why are you wearing that? What's going on?"

     There was something different about the woman. Mimic couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Something that wasn’t normal, but not bad. Of all the people who had come and gone down this street today, she was by far the most interesting. It wasn’t so much her appearance--she didn’t seem flashy, not like some of the people with their wild clothes or multi-colored hair. It was more a feeling, a knowing.

     She chewed her bottom lip, wondering who she was, where she had come from, where she was going. And as she continued on her way, Mimic couldn’t help but feel drawn to follow. She stayed close to the buildings and shops as she walked, as she followed.

“Excuse me, have you seen this man?” She knew the likely outcomes of finding him this way, especially if people continued ignoring her plea to simply look at the photo she carried with her. Often, her words fell on deaf ears. She knew, even if passers-by did decide to help, that there were scarce chances of finding Connor, and yet Beth could not take it upon herself to give up on the greatest friend she had ever known. It wasn’t an option, not until one of two things happened. One: she found him alive. Two: she found him dead. There was still a promise she was to keep, even tragically it ended with the latter.

@takenwings

It had finally happened. He’d been dreading and wishing for it since he’d been ten years old and his father had taken a turn after his mother’s death. Greg Roth had finally drank his liver out of commission and kicked the bucket. The last months had been spend in hospice, his drinking stopped. Too little, too late. 

The funeral was small. Pitifully so. His dad had run off all the family. And barflies didn’t like to come and see their eventual end, as a rule. It was him, Gretchen, Dale. And near the end, a woman had come. She looked too classy to be one of dad’s barroom conquests from before he’d been sick. And not like any of the family they had left. She was off to the side, a little back from the green that covered the bare dirt around the plot. They didn’t put him by their mom. He had stopped being a husband around when he stopped being a dad. 

A minister that Mike knew did the service. Trite and vague, since no one knew Greg except the children he had neglected and the people he had drank with. Dale didn’t stay til the end. His tires squealed down the street, loud, and saying more than his words could. Dale had never known his mother, or father. His parents had been his ten and eight year old brother and sister from the moment he had been born.

Gretchen and Mike held hands, dry-eyed, as their father was lowered into the ground. And turned to stop watching before they began to shove dirt onto the plain pine casket they had put him in. 

“How did you know our dad?” Gretchen questioned, ever the blunt one. 

When word had been brought that his brother-by-marriage was spending a few days in Winterfell with them, Ned had a room prepared for just Edmure. It wasn’t until the day that Edmure was arriving that he learned a second room also needed to be prepared. He had heard of the girl, Mona, from Catelyn as it seemed that Edmure had told her. Or rather, Catelyn had noticed a scent difference on her brother. Making with what time they had, Ned had a room prepared for Mona so she would not be sleeping on the couch that night and once they reached Winterfell, she would be able to have access to the room.

“I hope everything was in order in your room for you.” Ned greeted Mona. “If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ve heard a great deal about you.” A slight lie, he had only heard what Catelyn knew, which wasn’t much. “I hear that you came from the Vale? What area?”

She loathed coming to the human world. All its technology, all its modernity. It shoved reminder after reminder in her face that she was four hundred years old. More. And all that time had passed her. But Lucifer had a job for her up here, and she was his to command just as much as she was Massu’s now. At least, util she got the name of the Demon that owned her soul.