there's been some confusion over rooming here

[cigarbribery]

WHO: Foggy Nelson, Tefé Holland, and Theon Greyjoy
WHERE: Maurtia Falls #8
WHEN: idk idk right now, September 4 or 5, timezones are funny
WHAT: the start of some wonderful friendships. or the making of a horrifying sitcom featuring a lawyer, a plant teen, and a guy from the Middle Ages. most likely the latter.
WARNINGS: uh none probably???

[After the relative peace of Heropa, setting foot in Maurtia Falls is a little like coming back home to Hell's Kitchen, in all its gritty, grimy, crime-ridden glory. More than once Foggy finds himself glancing up to the rooftops, almost expecting to see a horned silhouette, before he shakes his head and has to remind himself that Matt isn't here.

Anyway—it's getting a little late when Foggy finally finds where he's supposed to live, having been sidetracked along the way by ice cream and then some preliminary research on this world's history at a local library. There's a book or two on law already peeking out of his bag, and his keys jingle as he fumbles with them, looking for the right one.

He steps inside and calls,] Hey, anyone home? I'm Foggy Nelson, I'm the new roommate. [The door clicks shut behind him. Why does it sound so ominous, he wonders.] Uh, hello?

Comments

[reek]

He comes from the same world as I do.

[ There's quite the reveal, but all the same, Theon knows little of Petyr Baelish. He knows his name, knows what position he held on Robert's small council, and...little else. They met once, when Theon was in the middle of a Robbwind-induced breakdown, but he can recall little of it. What did they speak of? He was in a panic, too frightened by the creature who was almost pulled straight from him own nightmares. All words spoken to him slipped in one ear and out the other.

He decides that bit might be best kept private. ]

Back home, he served as master of coin to the King, before the King was killed by a pig.

[ There’s that smirk again, though more amused this time. It really was a way to go. ]

But no, we’ve not met.

[cigarbribery]

[Well, there's a surprise, but Foggy's gotten good at rolling with the punches. Or at least he's pretending to be, anyway, it might just be that the shock hasn't quite worn off yet and the panic will set in later, just as soon as he's not busy putting together a picture of how this new world works and how he's supposed to go from here.]

Master of coin—oh, so he was Treasury Secretary? [It's the closest analogy he has, anyway, and it's not an inaccurate one, either. And hey! At least the guy seems like he's got some experience in government. Foggy makes a note of that in his notebook.

He whistles, lowly.] And here I thought getting your melon chopped off was bad. That sounds so much worse. [Killed by a pig. Yeesh, what a terrible way to go for anyone. He sets the notebook aside, tucks his hands into his pockets.]

So if this Baelish guy used to be "master of coin", what about you? What did you do before you got dragged here?

[reek]

A financial adviser. If he did his job correctly, he kept accounts, reports, borrowed money and helped to keep the king out of debt, I would suppose.

[ He does seem to flinch slightly at the mention of beheading—bemeloning? The only King he ever truly supported lost his head, and he wasn’t there when he should have been. He can laugh at Robert’s death, but his smirk fades when he thinks of Robb.]

I was heir to the Iron Islands.

[ Ordinarily, he would choose his words more carefully. He would insist that regardless of his father’s own uncertainty of who his heir may be, Theon was and still is the heir to the Iron Islands, as he will still be when he returns home. But telling the truth to Robb did little to relieve him of his guilt. His heart is still heavy with grief, and he doesn’t know how to undo it. If he goes home, he knows what’s waiting for him. In hindsight, his title and the Iron Islands don’t mean quite as much anymore. ]

My father lords over them now. I’m his last remaining son.

[cigarbribery]

Yeah, definitely Treasury Secretary.

[That's essentially how it works, where he's from. He catches the slight flinch, but keeps quiet on that because—well, he can't just ask a guy on the first meeting if he ever saw someone get their head chopped off, can he? Even if it's probably a thing where Theon's from, considering wherever he's from still runs under a monarchy.]

Was? [The past tense is odd, especially when Theon talks about his father in the present tense. Was—there's a story there.] Can I ask what happened?

[reek]

[ There’s a story there, but Theon is an excellent liar. He fixes Foggy with a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes. ]

Nothing's happened. [ Yet. ] You asked what I did. Not what I am.

[ Okay, so Theon is basically a lil shit with a list of issues a mile long... ]

[cigarbribery]

[Wow, this guy's a little shit with enough issues to give National Geographic a run for its money. Now who does that remind him of.

Foggy shrugs.]

Fair point. [Somewhat wistfully:] Man, my old professor would've liked you. [And back to cheery:] And what do you do now? Or—what are you now, since you've made the distinction so clear?

[reek]

[ Without a word, Theon disappears back into his bedroom and reemerges a moment later carrying a black t-shirt emblazoned with the sigil of his house: a fearsome golden kraken, all thanks to his very useless ability. It doesn’t make him happy (so few things do), but he’s made enough bank on it to live comfortably. ]

You will find merchandise carrying this image being sold across the porter cities. It's my doing. Whatever you may call that, that is what I am now.

[cigarbribery]

...so you make T-shirts with a squid on them? Is that it? [Okay, he's just going to take that and look it over. It's pretty distinctive and would probably strike fear into the hearts of evildoers everywhere, if someone took it up as their superhero symbol.

Or the hearts of do-gooders everywhere if someone went down the opposite road.]

And there's no one copying this? 'Cause someone with a few black shirts and enough money could seriously cut into your profit.

let me know if this is not okay pls i can edit

[reek]

[ Theon’s expression hardens. He has no real love for this ability. At times, he sees others and wonders why he’s been saddled with something so useless and irritating, but his pride is too easily wounded and won’t hear the kraken of house Greyjoy mocked.

With blazing eyes, he strides forward and slaps a hand to Foggy’s chest, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, leaving behind that same golden kraken. ]

It is a kraken, and there is no copying it.

[ Yeah, well…enjoy that, Foggy. I hope you didn’t like that suit too much. ]

IT OKAY

[cigarbribery]

[Holy shit dude. Foggy actually stumbles back a little, because wow, he hadn't expected to get such a reaction out of his roommate to helpful advice, but he rallies relatively quickly.]

A—kraken, okay. You stick krakens onto T-shirts. [He looks down at his suit, and makes a face.] And suits too, apparently, thanks for that. [Not. This is his only suit, man.]

Yeah, I guess there's no copying the method, but—you've got this trademarked, right?

[reek]

I have taken the necessary steps.

[ He signed a lot of paperwork, mostly stuff he didn’t quite understand with the help of people who knew frustratingly more than he had. He assumes it’s all taken care of, but he doesn’t really know for certain. Sometimes he has to sign more paperwork, but it’s all worked out fairly well for him. He doesn’t make a lot, but his pockets aren’t suffering.

He seems angry now, though, far more high strung than he was before—and he was certainly high strung before. Thanks, Foggy. ]

What more do you wish to pester me about?