For Harlowe. SSWM: 389

Fiachra had traveled enough for a lifetime. Now, she was more than content to sit against a tree above her new home, mending her bag with some spare leather and cord, her icy blue eyes so concentrated, she might have burnt holes through the leather. Her hand's grasp around the leather working needle caused her minor amounts of pain from Naniko's little blood rite, just enough to make her twitch occasionally. She had decided she enjoyed the pain of it, and tried to remember, as she worked, why she had ever disliked pain. It felt natural now, like breathing. She stabbed the leather with the needle a little harder as she realized that she'd not liked it because she'd been flawless. She had never known pain in her soul - how could she like it in her body?

But life had changed her. The monsters had changed her. Now, her soul brimmed with pain, and she sought for her body to follow suit. She leaned closer to her work, her hair falling across her face, and she pushed it aside impatiently. She had lost the strip of leather she'd formerly used to tie it back. She set her work aside and grabbed a scrap piece of leather, using the sharpened edge of her rosary crucifix to slice off a strip. Her hands worked carefully, but not carefully enough. She slipped, scraping her hand, and a muffled sound came from her throat.. something not quite as displeased as it could have been. Blood hit the strip of leather, staining it, but she ignored it. Slowly, she tied her hair back, then licked her hand lightly and picked up her bag again.

It was a while before she completed the mending on her bag. Next, she set to work on her clothing. She didn't have a lot of it, but what she had was worn through from traveling. Piece by piece, she fixed holes and tears, modified pieces too damaged to be restored to their original state, and then folded each piece and put it back in her newly mended bag. Ah, being productive. What a way to spend the last hour before sunset. She might have complained about busy work at one time, but now, she was glad for nothing more important to do. She was glad to be home.

It's fiiiine, love. Setting this after my thread with Scorpius, for the sake of plotness. Hope that's all right. SSWM: 500.

She was making good headway on her mending. Her pile of clothing to mend was getting smaller, and her bag was getting fuller. Each piece, she gave the utmost focus and attention, although not so much as to not pay attention to what was around her, which was nothing and nobody. She would not be caught off guard due to not paying attention to her surroundings. That had happened before, and it was never good. Especially not when it had led to her capture. No, she would not be caught in such a predicament again. Never again.

Fiachra saw the male only moments before his voice touched her ears. She gazed at him, face calm and analyzing, and then smiled vaguely as she re-threaded her needle. "Hello, good sir. How do you do?" she replied casually, stabbing the needle into a pin cushion and rising from her seat against the tree. She took a moment to brush her clothing off, then stepped toward him and offered her hand politely. "Pleasure to meet you. I am Fiachra Gervase - and you are?" Her smile did not fade as she stood in front of him. She was in a fairly pleasant mood, a rare exception to the rule from what she was like before coming here, and it showed.

Of course, her mood was not as good as it could be. Despite being here for a few days, she had only had bits and pieces of conversation with anyone. It didn't help matters that she mostly kept to herself. Friendly though she could be, she was rather socially inept, preferring to keep to the confines of her own mind much of the time rather than deal with others. She could find plenty to think about; finding someone to talk to about her thoughts was a different story. She wasn't even sure that anyone here could keep up with such a conversation - did they have books here? Did they read them? She was unsure. She had a few books on her table at home, removed from her bag when she brought it here to work.

She glanced toward her work, then back at the male, and smiled again. "I was just sitting and doing some mending from the journey here. Would you care to join me?" The offer was not empty; she would welcome company, even if she had to keep the conversation fairly simple. She had yet to try to hold a complex conversation with another here, and she didn't dare attempt it. What if she looked like a know-it-all? Or worse, what if they accused her of trying to become more human, as some from home had? The legends of humans were fearsome, and she didn't appreciate anyone drawing a likeness between such a horrifying creature and herself. No, best to keep quiet for now. Certainly, if there was anything to be discussed, someone else would be willing to bring it up, and thus permit her to speak of it.

SSWM: 468.

As the male introduced himself, Fiachra laughed softly. She held herself firm as he tried to shake her hand, then realized that she was, rudely enough, still laughing. She shot him an apologetic glance and explained, "I don't mean to laugh, but.. I met a young boy earlier, looking for you. Your brother, Scorpius. He seemed very eager to find you, but alas. If he knew I had found you, he might just be jealous." She didn't mention Naniko in this - too awkward. How would one say to a new acquaintance, 'by the way, I'm obsessed with your mother'? Better to leave that one alone. She laughed again, settling down and picking her mending back up off of the ground. There was still more than enough to be done, and she could socialize just as well with a needle and thread at work in hand as she could without. Best to get things done.

She answered questions as she jabbed the needle neatly through torn fabric. "I'm well, thank you," she said first. Then she added, "Still settling in. Meeting people. It's rather interesting - where I came from, everyone already knew me." Of course they had known her. She had been heir to the throne. But they'd never really known her, deep inside.. and they might not even recognize her anymore. The scars on her body didn't show through her fur, but the ice in her eyes was a clear marker of how much her experiences had hardened the once-soft princess. She leaned back against the tree as she folded another finished piece and fitted it into her bag. The memories were trying to flood back. She pushed them off, closing her eyes and, with them, her mind. Just for a moment, to clear it.

When she opened her eyes, another question awaited her. She began mending a shirt. "Yes, I am new," she replied simply. It occurred to her that she was being unsociable, so she began to speak again. "I came from the other side of the burnt lands. It was very far away, a long journey. I came here to start fresh." She omitted the part about being kidnapped, taken hostage and held captive by cruel, abusive males who scarred her body and mind. He didn't need to know that. "My home was very different from yours. Did you know, I have not seen a single book except for my own here?" She made a face of overly dramatized disbelief, then stopped short and glanced at him nervously. "Mm, I'm sorry," she said. "Do you know what a book is? I don't know if they exist here..." She hoped she'd not made a fool of herself. Then, if he hadn't seen a book before, she might have someone to share hers with. Wonderful!

SSWM: 548.

Fiachra could sense the annoyance in her companion without the glance she cast at him. She was trying hard not to stare; her way of getting to know people was occasionally unnerving. She chose instead to listen, to keep her eyes on her work, to sense what she needed to know about Harlowe. Naniko was his mother; that was awkward enough. Her mind kept wandering back to her snow white queen as it was. She refocused, went over what else she knew. Scorpius was his brother; a younger brother, clearly enough. She could see where being followed everywhere would be annoying; it had been annoying when Fedora had done it, and they were even the same age. She couldn't imagine what it's be like if the age gap had been larger. She might have gone completely batshit insane.

She pondered his next words, then nodded slowly. It was nice to be somewhere new, somewhere fresh and clean and without the taint of history. "I think, it's more that I'm glad for nobody to know me," she said softly, with meaning. She was afraid to be known truly by anyone. God forbid that anyone see her scars, either physical or mental. She was glad nobody here had known her before, particularly - then they would see the change, the change that she felt so deep within her. She wanted nobody to know the foolish, naive little girl she had once been. That girl had gotten herself into trouble; that girl had brought this pain and suffering upon herself. Now, when Fiachra closed her eyes, the only thing that could bleach the memories was Naniko. White for bleach, white for purity, white for everything good in the world, if there was still good in the world to be had.

The response about his pack history surprised her. "But.. this is your mother's pack.." She blinked, feeling confused, then swallowed hard, guilt at her prying settling in. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be critical. I come from a different place. I lived in my parents' pack until the day... eh, until the day I left home. I had the Itch, my mother said. I.. I ended up here." She cringed, she'd nearly opened up. She felt she needed to quiet down, not keep on this subject. She would only get herself into trouble again. Harlowe might be Naniko's son, but that didn't make him trustworthy.

The news that he could read made her grin. "Oh, I love books!" she exclaimed, her excitement apparent. She set her work aside and turned, looking straight at him with a grin across her face. "My parents taught me to read, too," she told him, tapping her fingers on her legs to expend the massive amount of energy that she had just built up. "My favourites are dystopian books, like Animal Farm.. have you read that? George Orwell is so good! And I liked Of Mice and Men too - I have both of those books at my den. If you haven't, you should read them. What do you like to read?" She knew she was rambling, but this was the first shot she'd had at a good conversation, and she was rather attached to the idea of getting as much in as she could.