MEMORIES | {OPEN}

[Margaery]

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margaery mikaelson-folie

[div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; color: black; line-height: 110%; margin-top: 5px;"]Margaery didn't have much experience with technology. When she was born, the world was still very much in the dark, concepts of the future more like fever dreams than anything else. There was only a vast and unidentifiable unknown that, surprisingly, did little to trouble the people of her village. If anything, they didn't desire stronger, more advanced weapons or armor capable of protecting them from the fiercest of assaults. They had been perfectly content with their crudely made spears and swords, bows and arrows too. She could still see Erlend with her sword, it was one of the finest that her village had produced, befitting of a true warrior- her warrior. Maarit had been so afraid whenever her one love went off to fight, praying to the Mother above that she'd be returned to her. She was always lucky in that regard but, unfortunately, she only prayed that an opposing warrior wouldn't cut down Erlend- she hadn't anticipated her father being the one to finally do it.

It took a few centuries for Margaery to finally pick up a weapon. She preferred fighting with words admittedly, having been molded into the perfect little thing to do it by her father who possessed such high hopes for her. Princess, he called her, Heir of chaos. But one day, her aunt had insisted that she learn to use a dagger just in case. Immortality guarded her from true death, yes, but nobody ever wanted to see Margaery fall at the hands of another. She considered herself well-versed in using a dagger now, but rarely did she ever want to. Years and years of using seduction and charm to lull her victims into a sense of false comfort and then murdering them left her incredibly self reliant on her own teeth and claws. She didn't need a dagger to be successful. She had never needed one.

But when it boiled down to it, daggers weren't truly an advancement in technology. Not like the armor that Washington wore was at least. She had studied it from afar many a time, wondering if it ever ached to constantly lug around something as heavy as it looked. She had contemplated asking him a few times but always found herself thinking against it. Wash didn't strike her as the type that exactly enjoyed trivial inquires that were probably self-explanatory so she instead resigned to extending him a faint smile as she approached. Ah, it appeared as if he was doing a lot better! [color=#b09090]"You're all healed up, love!" Margaery chided pleasantly, [color=#b09090]"How does it feel to be back in action?"

Margaery had sustained a few broken bones here and there herself. Broken legs, especially, were troublesome, troublesome things and she was glad that Wash had made something akin to a speedy recovery. It got to be boring, simply sitting around all day unable to do anything. She spoke from experience in that regard.