If you'd like to apply to Snowblind and would like to test the waters first or get a sample set up for your application, this meme is for you! We've even provided some prompts for you to use if you want (but feel free to make up your own). Here's how it works.
✭ Reply to this entry with a character you're considering apping into the game. You can include the name of your character and the fandom in your subject line. ✭ Comment around to others on the meme, whether you're in the game already or not. ✭ Now you have a sample ready for your application! ✭ So go reserve and apply when reservations and applications are open. ✭ Seriously, do it.
Network Prompts
ONE: IT WON'T BE LONG NOW... Well, you made a mistake. You spent too long searching around, or you ran outside near the end of the day for just one more thing, and now you've been locked out. You can search around all you want, but the best shelter you can hope for is pressing against the side of a sealed up building. You do still have your tablet, though. Maybe someone on the network can give you some advice, or at least some comfort while you wait for hypothermia to set in.
TWO: CABIN FEVER Maybe you didn't want that mistake of getting caught outside to happen again, but now you've ended up staying too long in one location, and cabin fever has set in. Maybe you're taking to the network to try and ignore the hallucinations. Maybe you want to tell everyone that you've figured out they're all in on your kidnapping. Maybe you ended up wandering off and now you'd really like to know if anyone can check back in the place you were at for your pants.
Action Prompts
THREE: AN UNEXPECTED MEETING You're going about your business searching what seems like it might be an especially promising house--it's fully intact and there's even a working fireplace with some wood! It looks like someone else has the same idea, though, and you've run into them in the middle of your search. Do you share the potential wealth or try to kick them out? On the other hand, maybe you know who this is, or maybe you're just glad to actually see another person for the first time in ages.
FOUR: GOOD MORGUE-NING You've just woken up in a morgue after dying in one unfortunate way or another. You have no idea where you are beyond that, but your tablet is insisting you can't stay here, so you should probably get out of here pretty quickly. Of course, bringing people back from the dead isn't a perfect science, so you're missing something important to you. Maybe you've lost your voice, maybe you can't remember where you're from, maybe you can't remember where you are right now. It looks like someone else is nearby, though. Maybe they can help you out?
[It would be easy to not notice him, some sort of damaged creature, a vagrant mayhaps. Most of them flocked to nobility when walking in King's Landing, if one ever left the Keep. But Alayne has been taught to notice everything, to look and hear before she acts.
He is kind, though she is wary of him. He is disfigured and skittish, but she watches him even more closely for it. There is something else there, a familiarity.
'My-- m'lady, he says. He isn't lowborn, or if he is he's been taught well. Her eyes search him before she speaks.]
I'm no lady, but your offer is kind. [Even as the Lord Protector's daughter, Alayne is still baseborn. She takes his kindness though, slipping into the door frame for the warmth. It is too cold to stand there staring at one another.]
[ her words are confusing, to say the least. she's a lady, trueborn and noble. everyone knows that, even reek. he doesn't question her, though. he daren't. sansa stark is no bolton, that's true, yet he fears losing his tongue all the same. reek, reek, it rhymes with meek. ]
[ when she slips through the door frame, reek's gaze darts to the door. it's cold outside, fucking freezing, far chillier than the north. with naught but rags damp from the trek to the cottage and a coat and backpack that do not belong to him (items he fears to make use of, in case lord ramsay should arrive) he would not last long. would perish in no time at all. and yet he considers leaving all the same, hobbling back out into a world of white under some pretence or another to avoid remembering, what will happen if sansa sees past the greyish skin, missing teeth, and ghastly white hair. ]
[ he can't just up and run, though. that would raise suspicion, questions, might cause her to chase after him. thinking of that makes him realize that, for now, he has no choice but to stay, to endure. head down, eyes low, reek turns his body towards the fire he made, gesturing at it with an arm. it isn't very bright or very big, but it's better than nothing. ]
To keep warm, [ he mumbles, as if it wasn't obvious. ]
[A chill goes up her spine when he speaks. It is familiar, but distant, and she cannot quite place it, yet. Perhaps it is the cold playing with her mind. After all not everyone from this town is from Westeros. She dips her head in thanks before shutting the door behind her. She would not want to warmth to escape.
Her eyes are cautiously on him as she steps closer to the fire he's created. She does not know what to say, and something nags in the pit of her stomach. Trust doesn't come easy, but there's something else. Something she can't quite place. So she quietly heads toward the hearth, pulling off her gloves.]
My apologies if I have bothered you. Are you alone here?
[ she pulls off her gloves but he daren't peel of his, for his hands, like his feet, are an awful sight, all mangled and maimed and ruined beyond repair. the right isn't as grotesque as the left, but he would look silly removing just one glove, and then he would have no choice but to explain his missing pinkie as he held his hands to the flames. resolving to be monosyllabic to avoid conversation, falling back into the safety of speaking only when spoken to, reek keeps his distance, shivering in his soiled and damp rags as he follows behind sansa with an awkward gait. ]
I am.
[ he wonders if that frightens her. he is, after all, a terrible sight, more dead than living and more monstrosity than man. ]
[She's no weapons on her, nothing that could defend her if he tries anything. Sansa is made all the warier at his answer, but she merely rubs her numbed hands together, letting the fire give them warmth. When they seem to be able to move again, she lowers her hood and slips off the drenched cloak. It is better to hold it in her hands, letting it dry from the heat as well. She may not know if she needs to make a run for it.
But she tries not to be rude. He has let her in after all. She keeps her head bent before looking at him.]
I was with some men before they separated. [A well crafted lie, to keep him at bay.] They may come looking for me.
[No one will. No one here knows her name, Alayne nor Sansa. Her eyes flicker back to his, holding her wet cloak out.]
What is your name?
[Mayhaps it will bring clarity to the pit in her stomach.]
[ she lies well, the mention of men setting him on edge. he tries not to let it show, but the ruin of a man formerly known as theon greyjoy trembles like a leaf despite himself, his fear shining bright in his eyes as they drift towards the windows and doors. in the back of his mind, he knows there's no way in seven hells the men she speaks of could be lord ramsay and his boys. yet he expects them all the same, his lordship wet-lipped and smiling, ben bones and the bastard's girls, damon dance-for-me with his long, greased whip, luton and grunt, and the rest. ]
[ it's enough to make him come close to pissing his breeches. twitching, reek's gaze rises and falls from sansa's face. ]
[She nearly feels bad for his reaction, watching with wide eyes. It isn't as if they are looking for him, if they were real at all. It only has her shy closer to the fire. But the possibility that someone is looking for him or something has happened to him...
It's hard not to notice the way he looks, more than just deformed. Sansa swallows hard as she takes his name in. It isn't one she knows, so she just nods back at him.]
Alayne. [It is safer to be the Lord Protector's daughter. It is safer to be unknown, she thinks.]
[ the first thing he thinks and almost says when she says her name is alayne is, "no, your name is sansa. lady sansa, of house stark." the second thing is, perhaps he's mistaken. perhaps she isn't sansa stark after all. might be she just looks like her … except, no … no, that can't be right. the resemblance to lady catelyn is too striking. it's the high cheek bones, those bright blue eyes. her hair is different, darker and no longer tully red, and there's no denying that she's aged, but she's still the same girl that other man once knew. the third and final thing he thinks is how alayne, like jeyne, rhymes with pain. is that why you give me a false name? he wonders, forgetting his own as he hobbles closer, struggling to his knees to toss a few more pieces of wood into the flames. ]
The men you were with … were they Dr—Dreadfort men? [ he asks, keeping his eyes down as he speaks. ]
The Dreadfort? [She repeats, curiosity in her tone. So he is from Westeros then. Her brows knit together. She doesn't know the members of House Bolton, but she can understand his fear of them. Roose Bolton had murdered her brother. The mention of his home turns her blood to ice in her veins.]
No. They were men of the Vale.
[At least to ease his mind. She pities him, and she cannot help it. But now it has her looking at him harder. Is he Northern? But then surely if he was she would know him. She would know a creature that looked like that. She tried to picture him younger, without the white hair.
And then his scars started to fade, and his voice sounded so much more familiar. It was then recognition crossed her face followed by pure horror. Her hand covers her mouth for a second and all she can do is whisper his name.]
[ the vale of arryn is a place of noble men, lords and knights honorable to a fault. he should not fear them. or rather, he should fear them less than the men of the dreadfort, but the valemen had love for the starks, the royces especially, and should they recognise him, well, they would call for his head the same as the northmen, for what he did at winterfell and his betrayal of robb stark (the man who named him brother and friend) can never be forgiven. no, the tarred, headless corpses decorating winterfell's gates were never bran and rickon, but that hardly excuses everything else that came from making himself prince of winterfell. mercy, he thinks, hoping once again for a swift end, to die a man's death. ]
[ he moves to stand again. his stench is a foul thing. but then he sees sansa, or alayne, or whatever name she would have him call her by, looking at him, really looking at him, and suddenly, he cannot move. can only kneel there, staring, his body as still as the stone statues in winterfell's crypts, missing parts twitching madly as he watches recognition pass over her face. then his name, his other name, falls off her tongue and his head starts to shake in denial. ]
No, [ he spits out, more frightened than ever. it's too late, though. sansa stark knows him too well. and yet he has no choice but to tell her that she's wrong, that he isn't theon greyjoy. because he isn't, not entirely, not anymore. the bastard of bolton saw to that by stripping him of his identity bit by bit, finger by finger, toe by toe. the memories of the various methods of torture that transformed him from theon to reek are unpleasant, and that's putting it mildly, but they help him remember what he is and what he's not. ]
M'lady is mis—mistaken. I'm not him, I'm not the turncloak, he died at Winterfell. I know my name. I do, I swear it. You have to know your name, [ he tells her whilst counting his fingers, reminding himself of the cost, what will happen if he forgets. ]
[She looks too taken aback, sure of who he is now, and why he felt so unfamiliar. It is a strange thing to see, despite how much hate resides in her for him-- for what he's done to her little brothers. But there he stands, and when he does, she must place her hand in front of her face to try and block the smell.
What has happened to him? Whatever it is, it is hard not to think it is what he deserves for what he did in Winterfell, for turning on the home he held, on the family who kept him, the king who considered him a brother.]
I know who you are, Theon Greyjoy. [Though she is aware of the irony. Alayne does not know Theon Greyjoy, save for as the son of Balon Greyjoy of Pike, like a name on paper-- not as the boy who grew up beside her in the halls of Winterfell. Her jaw tightens. Already she can feel Alayne disintegrating in her hands. Someone here knows her, and she knows him.]
[ he shakes his head again and again and again, until he feels dizzy and nauseous, then he stops, the ruins of his missing teeth clacking together as he huddles in on himself, head hanging low. ]
I—I'll leave. I will, I swear it, just … just please don't say that name. I'm Reek. It rhymes with squeak.
[ but it isn't reek who is too ashamed to look sansa in the eye, it's theon. ]
[Watching him leaves her almost confused. This is not the man who proudly stood in the courtyard, practicing with her brothers. She would never think to see Theon like this, it taking more time than expected to even recognize him. Watching him now makes her want to ask what had happened to him, but whoever has done this, she should thank.
It is a bitter thought to think, and she immediately regrets it. Even if Theon killed Bran and Rickon, this is even too much to handle. He is nothing of the man he was.]
Don't leave. You're sure to freeze to death. [And somehow there's still compassion left in her. If not because she knows what it is like to be the plaything of someone cruel. So she swallows and tries to reconcile this with herself.]
I'm sure we can find you better clothes... Reek. [It takes a moment to say the name, but they are no longer Theon and Sansa. They are Reek and Alayne.]
[ she shows him compassion and suddenly his sunken cheeks are wet with tears. she deserves an apology, the truth, for this might be his only chance, but his fear of ramsay, what the bastard of the dreadfort will do to him should he forget himself, is stronger than his desire to repent for his crimes and voice the truth about what really happened at winterfell. who knows, though, maybe in time that will change, but for now (sadly) he remains more reek than theon, a shade of the person she once knew. reek, reek, it rhymes with bleak. ]
Thank you, my—m'lady.
[ quietly, his body stilling until she mentions his tattered rags. slowly, reek raises his head, stiff fingers clutching at his soiled tunic, the missing three made obvious by the way the wool stuffing causes them to remain straight. it's a queer sight, to be sure, especially when his faux fingers start to bend awkwardly as if broken. ]
No, [ he says, shrilly. ] Lord Ramsay gave me these clothes, he … he said that I was never to take them off, save at his command.
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snowblindmemes2015-05-12 07:10 am
no subject
He is kind, though she is wary of him. He is disfigured and skittish, but she watches him even more closely for it. There is something else there, a familiarity.
'My-- m'lady, he says. He isn't lowborn, or if he is he's been taught well. Her eyes search him before she speaks.]
I'm no lady, but your offer is kind. [Even as the Lord Protector's daughter, Alayne is still baseborn. She takes his kindness though, slipping into the door frame for the warmth. It is too cold to stand there staring at one another.]
no subject
[ when she slips through the door frame, reek's gaze darts to the door. it's cold outside, fucking freezing, far chillier than the north. with naught but rags damp from the trek to the cottage and a coat and backpack that do not belong to him (items he fears to make use of, in case lord ramsay should arrive) he would not last long. would perish in no time at all. and yet he considers leaving all the same, hobbling back out into a world of white under some pretence or another to avoid remembering, what will happen if sansa sees past the greyish skin, missing teeth, and ghastly white hair. ]
[ he can't just up and run, though. that would raise suspicion, questions, might cause her to chase after him. thinking of that makes him realize that, for now, he has no choice but to stay, to endure. head down, eyes low, reek turns his body towards the fire he made, gesturing at it with an arm. it isn't very bright or very big, but it's better than nothing. ]
To keep warm, [ he mumbles, as if it wasn't obvious. ]
no subject
Her eyes are cautiously on him as she steps closer to the fire he's created. She does not know what to say, and something nags in the pit of her stomach. Trust doesn't come easy, but there's something else. Something she can't quite place. So she quietly heads toward the hearth, pulling off her gloves.]
My apologies if I have bothered you. Are you alone here?
no subject
I am.
[ he wonders if that frightens her. he is, after all, a terrible sight, more dead than living and more monstrosity than man. ]
no subject
But she tries not to be rude. He has let her in after all. She keeps her head bent before looking at him.]
I was with some men before they separated. [A well crafted lie, to keep him at bay.] They may come looking for me.
[No one will. No one here knows her name, Alayne nor Sansa. Her eyes flicker back to his, holding her wet cloak out.]
What is your name?
[Mayhaps it will bring clarity to the pit in her stomach.]
no subject
[ it's enough to make him come close to pissing his breeches. twitching, reek's gaze rises and falls from sansa's face. ]
Reek. I'm Reek.
no subject
It's hard not to notice the way he looks, more than just deformed. Sansa swallows hard as she takes his name in. It isn't one she knows, so she just nods back at him.]
Alayne. [It is safer to be the Lord Protector's daughter. It is safer to be unknown, she thinks.]
no subject
The men you were with … were they Dr—Dreadfort men? [ he asks, keeping his eyes down as he speaks. ]
no subject
No. They were men of the Vale.
[At least to ease his mind. She pities him, and she cannot help it. But now it has her looking at him harder. Is he Northern? But then surely if he was she would know him. She would know a creature that looked like that. She tried to picture him younger, without the white hair.
And then his scars started to fade, and his voice sounded so much more familiar. It was then recognition crossed her face followed by pure horror. Her hand covers her mouth for a second and all she can do is whisper his name.]
Theon.
no subject
[ he moves to stand again. his stench is a foul thing. but then he sees sansa, or alayne, or whatever name she would have him call her by, looking at him, really looking at him, and suddenly, he cannot move. can only kneel there, staring, his body as still as the stone statues in winterfell's crypts, missing parts twitching madly as he watches recognition pass over her face. then his name, his other name, falls off her tongue and his head starts to shake in denial. ]
No, [ he spits out, more frightened than ever. it's too late, though. sansa stark knows him too well. and yet he has no choice but to tell her that she's wrong, that he isn't theon greyjoy. because he isn't, not entirely, not anymore. the bastard of bolton saw to that by stripping him of his identity bit by bit, finger by finger, toe by toe. the memories of the various methods of torture that transformed him from theon to reek are unpleasant, and that's putting it mildly, but they help him remember what he is and what he's not. ]
M'lady is mis—mistaken. I'm not him, I'm not the turncloak, he died at Winterfell. I know my name. I do, I swear it. You have to know your name, [ he tells her whilst counting his fingers, reminding himself of the cost, what will happen if he forgets. ]
no subject
What has happened to him? Whatever it is, it is hard not to think it is what he deserves for what he did in Winterfell, for turning on the home he held, on the family who kept him, the king who considered him a brother.]
I know who you are, Theon Greyjoy. [Though she is aware of the irony. Alayne does not know Theon Greyjoy, save for as the son of Balon Greyjoy of Pike, like a name on paper-- not as the boy who grew up beside her in the halls of Winterfell. Her jaw tightens. Already she can feel Alayne disintegrating in her hands. Someone here knows her, and she knows him.]
no subject
I—I'll leave. I will, I swear it, just … just please don't say that name. I'm Reek. It rhymes with squeak.
[ but it isn't reek who is too ashamed to look sansa in the eye, it's theon. ]
no subject
It is a bitter thought to think, and she immediately regrets it. Even if Theon killed Bran and Rickon, this is even too much to handle. He is nothing of the man he was.]
Don't leave. You're sure to freeze to death. [And somehow there's still compassion left in her. If not because she knows what it is like to be the plaything of someone cruel. So she swallows and tries to reconcile this with herself.]
I'm sure we can find you better clothes... Reek. [It takes a moment to say the name, but they are no longer Theon and Sansa. They are Reek and Alayne.]
no subject
Thank you, my—m'lady.
[ quietly, his body stilling until she mentions his tattered rags. slowly, reek raises his head, stiff fingers clutching at his soiled tunic, the missing three made obvious by the way the wool stuffing causes them to remain straight. it's a queer sight, to be sure, especially when his faux fingers start to bend awkwardly as if broken. ]
No, [ he says, shrilly. ] Lord Ramsay gave me these clothes, he … he said that I was never to take them off, save at his command.