.

"sure. i get that." and he does. he's fortunate enough to have people around who want the best from him, but that doesn't mean they aren't placing expectations on him nonetheless. and he tries not to make others' decisions for them, but that doesn't mean he succeeds. "that's just people, though. we're all looking for things we need in each other. or things we think we need." people are really good at thinking they know what they need, he's found. probably just makes the expectations worse. "you have time to figure out what to do."

despite himself, the wolf bares smiling teeth. "still a role." he likes to turn circles on himself when he feels he's right, snatch at his own tail no matter how out of reach it is. "even if i got time to figure out how to play it. still got given one 'fore i could ask." maybe the real answer is somewhere between, or the answer isn't real at all. everything here needs to come with some sort of seal of approval, tucked neat into an envelope or sliced through a layer of an iceberg. talking to mark is far more open for interpretation. "go 'head, turner. what do you think you need from me?"

i log on. i see a blog with m/argaret t/hatcher in their graphics. i log off

if anything this just means i'm going to create more northern ocs. i cant let this stand

he's really gone and done it now. even when dan's tales are true, they're tall, and when wonderment is the goal vicki will always charge in headfirst. "blimey," he squeaks, an under-his-breath sort of thing - he can't well tell her that this is the most he's been thrown around since the time machine in north london, can he? - and steadies them both before they tumble like imps through the grass. "rest easy, miss! i wasn't trying to keep it from you, swear it. i don't have the scales on me, that's all, and you need them to get the thing done." he could take her to his mausoleum, he supposes, though the questions he'd have to field would be a right nightmare. "i'll bring them next time, eh?"

"there are worse people to be full of." jaime has no interest in flattering her - if it's a willing cock she's after, he'll find tyrion and whatever gaggle of misfits he's stolen away with and offer her up to join the fun. the golden son is more suited to sulking, he finds, looking down a sober nose at the rest of the room and smiling coy when he hears them spit at his feet. "spare yourself the gold and the breath. you want to prove yourself generous, i'm sure there are beggars and whores that are far more worthy recipients of both."

"oh, heck," dan hums, mostly amusement for amusement's sake. vicki is a sweet creature, all over an untouched sort of beauty. he's less ragged than he once was, more worthy now of being sir dan than when he'd first risen, and just brainy enough to keep the stories of his misadventures breathable. "they do an awful lot of sleeping, mostly. at least, this one did, when he wasn't rabbiting on." dragons are an easier pill to swallow than rotting corpses and cruel sorcerers, though he has no doubts he could dress zarok up as something fanciful for her, if she ever asked. "sometimes they'll give you scales, if you're very lucky. wore a good few as armour for a bit." he grins, leans close as if to share a secret, "and breathed fire with it. hurt my tongue a bit, but it was a nice kind of party trick."

"'course there was, love." the mean old dragon that lived west of gallowmere is long dead, it's true, but sir dan remembers him well - remembers killing the bleeder, that is, all the dancing around and chucking hammers at cracks in the ceiling. served him right for trying to cook dan in his boots. even he senses that telling the little beauty the truth of his adventure would be a bit much for her, and lying's always been more fun, anyway. "i once- ah, i heard a story." he looks less dead than he did, once, the bleach-white of his bone tucked once again behind waxy skin, his missing eye hidden beneath a thick thatch of hair he'd delighted in regrowing, but his mouth threatens to give him away half the time. "of a dragon with terrible nerves when it came to leaving his cave. a talker, he was, despite it all."