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@opheliafowler / @dancingshores

MEAN GIRLS (2004) dir. Mark Waters

★

she only theatrically shrugged.

bluntness was a cursed habit of house dayne; all members seemingly having short tongues, their affinity to wrapping it in lace, flowers and silver was what differed from individual to individual - the very opposite of ambiguity, of double meanings, and looking too close into something. it would be a lie to say ruqaiyah dayne was not one to make ambiguous comments in passing with the sole intention of making another feel nervous or insecure about themselves; it was in her early girlhood she realised ambiguity could be a weapon.

"did you ever try to reach out to your childhood friend?" ruqaiyah asked, amethyst hues flickering away from a vivid dark gaze toward the food that was now cold on the plate before her. "perhaps he did not adjust well to your vanishing act."

one she felt now, sitting on the opposite of this damned table, and she found herself doing mental gymnastics attempting to work out what it was devani was truly saying. how she hated it, when she was on the receiving end. hypocritical to her very core; her hand remained beneath her chin as she merely looked upon the woman opposite her with a torn look. one of scathing judgement, as though she were vermin beneath her shoe; and the other side being one rooted in fractured insecurity.

"then again, why would you? that would require you to be able to admit when you've done wrong, and both of us do not have the time to unwind the length of that scroll."

dying for answers of questions she had always buried deep within her for years, though was never able to ask them - for she never had an address of where to write. the letters never came with any confirmation of identity, never came with any inclination of where she could write anything back: even across the narrow sea, devani toland had some control over her ability to open her mouth and say anything.

her gaze narrowed when she mentioned baashir; baashir did not get angry. he was the perfect knight, and he was doing his duty. so he beat a man to a pulp, who gave a shit when the man was a traitor? his life meant nothing anyway. "well, some of us have brothers who actually protect their families. you know baashir, devani - considering you stayed some time with us." to be away from whatever hell hole ghost hill was.

how it had taken time for ruqaiyah to be willing to open her mouth and speak on the truth of who she was: how she was ready to tell devani she would sit both of her parents down and speak the truth to them - that she did not wish to marry, that she did wish to set foot in a sept she did not believe in. that devani toland would not be a secret. and with a gust of wind over sails, that came to a sudden, screeching end. instantly, the rose hue faded to black and white, and the bubble burst: it had all been in her own head.

a foolish, naive girl believing none other compared, that she stood alone. "are you intending on staying, lady toland?"

she wasn't sure why she hadn't anticipated this, why it had taken her so by surprised when the subject of dante was broached. she had been lucky, thus far, that nobody else had approached her so pointedly. conversations about dante had been few and far between, usually accompanied by offers of condolences from them, and assurances from devani that she had no idea what her friend had been up to. that wasn't a lie. dante had kept her in the dark - and she was eternally grateful that he had.

but if devani had forgotten the depths to which ruqaiyah could stoop, she had forgotten how resilient devani could be. was she not the girl who had left dorne with nothing, who had flitted from place to place, building a new life for herself each time? the silence was a sign of her displeasure, but she would not remain quiet.

"i do not know what curse gripped dante uller's heart in my absence," the words were more for the benefit of anybody still listening to the conversation than ruqaiyah, a simple statement that washed her hands of any guilt, and addressed the lady of starfall's words without ambiguity, without shame. devani toland would not be cowed.

"but i mourn the friend i've known since my childhood." and there, she moved back into ambiguity, because those words could apply to dante uller - but they could just as easily be affixed to ruqaiyah dayne, because devani had mourned her, and thought of her, and wanted her. even when she hated her.

"yes, i hear your lord brother's fury was a sight to behold. tell me, does he often lose control of himself like that?" it was a dangerous hand to play, and yet, devani chose to throw that card on the table regardless, a reminder that the daynes of starfall were not as perfect, as infallible, as ruqaiyah was painting them to be. "let us all be thankful that we have our first minister to dispense justice upon the wicked, hmm?" and there, she retreated back into what was safe, a place where nobody could twist her words and paint them as a slight on baashir dayne. they were blessed to have him, a shining star of the dornish court.

devani hated this game.

"i suppose we do," devani's eyes burned as they met ruqaiyah's once more. try again. her lips twisted into a mirthless smirk. "there is nothing sadder than someone who holds on to hate for things they can't control, is there?"

SABRINA CARPENTER Espresso (Behind the Scenes)

★

ruqaiyah leaned back against the stone wall of the balcony, the familiar scent of her cigarette filling the air. the weight of the conversation was heavy, but she was careful to maintain her composure. her eyes, though, were sharp—sharper than they had ever been, especially as she listened to safeerah's words. justice, safeerah said. revenge, she hadn’t said, but it was there, lurking just beneath the surface. ruqaiyah knew that. they both knew it.

"justice," ruqaiyah echoed, her voice lightly tinged with disbelief. "and you think that will ease everything? what exactly are you going to tell the people of dorne, safeerah? that your house took down a man—aditya toland of all people—and that the rest of the world would bow to you for it?" ruqaiyah took another drag, blowing the smoke out slowly, her gaze shifting across the horizon. se was unaware if she sounded dismissive, or scathing.

"you’re too soft for that, you know. there’s no honor in waiting for a tribunal, not when you've got the power to settle things yourself."

her tone was sharp, more than it should have been, but it was the truth to ruqaiyah dayne. they both knew it. it was easy for safeerah to say she wanted justice the right way, but ruqaiyah couldn't help but wonder if that was just a way to cling to some illusion of fairness. in the real world, fairness was often a luxury. it was a commodity to be traded, not a virtue. "yousound just like savita," ruqaiyah continued, her voice lowering slightly. "moping about in all of this. it's not who we are, safeerah. we're stronger than that. wear your power. use it. that's the only thing that matters. a lady of an entire yourself, you lucky thing."

ruqaiyah paused, letting her words sink in. she could see the flash of pain in safeerah's eyes, but she wasn’t sure if it was from her words or from the constant pressure that came with being the leader of the tor now. she hated that it was safeerah’s burden, but someone had to carry it. "you don’t need to be this... soft, safeerah. i know you have it in you to lead. but stop pretending you're only seeking justice. what you want is revenge. and that’s okay. you deserve to be able to come down on it all." ruqaiyah’s gaze flickered to the other side of the balcony, a part of her always alert, always calculating. "and bash can do to aditya toland what he done to dante uller." the landscape stretched out before them, a reminder of just how much power safeerah could wield, if only she'd stop questioning it.

she took another slow drag from her cigarette, eyeing her cousin more closely. "and speaking of things you want, what’s this about love? i still don’t get it. what do you see in a man, safeerah? someone who can make you swoon like that myrish dancer?" ruqaiyah let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "you can’t be serious. you want someone with passion? fine, but you also need someone who understands the world. not some fool who will get you into trouble with his ‘artistic heart.’ artists are living from payment to payment, and are pretty much without income."

she flicked the ash from her cigarette, her face hardening, as if she’d already made her judgment. "you want power. you want security. you want someone who gets it. not some fool who’ll spend all his time serenading you. trust me, i know." ruqaiyah’s eyes darkened, remembering her own situation with ravi. it was an alliance, not love, and she had learned the hard way that it was better that way. "and then there's me," ruqaiyah added with a sharp smile. "i'll find someone for you, once you've handled your little jester problem. a man who knows what it means to rule. someone who'll keep you safe, while you make your mark on the tor." she paused, glancing at safeerah. "just don’t get lost in your fantasies, cousin. the world isn’t that simple."

ruqaiyah’s eyes softened for a moment, the smoke from her cigarette rising and vanishing into the night air. there was so much more she wanted to say, but she kept her thoughts to herself. safeerah needed to think, needed to decide what kind of woman she wanted to be. but in the end, they both knew what needed to be done. "armaan yronwood."

safeerah studied her friend curiously, unsure if ruqaiyah could really have done such a thing if her old flame had showed up at her doorstep, but there was no point in digging. the jordayne knew the other well enough to know that if she wanted her to know something, she'd say it. she did not want to think about devani, about the tolands. the subject only fuelled the unfamiliar anger inside her. but she did note of ruqayiah's words about not trusting devani. yet it was not so simple. ghost hill would remain even after aditya lost his head, the tor, and ghost hill would still share a border. sometimes, often in the darkest hours of the night, she thought about erasing the border altogether. if she was ready for war, she could double her lands in size, remove the threat of the tolands forever. but at what cost? she could not bear the thought of seeing men slaughtered, families broken, all because of her own anger. and there was still the matter of the volantis to be dealt with. she did not plan to let them escape without ensuring justice for rashid either, although that matter was much more complicated. “i will keep it in mind. you know i'd rather not have to trust a toland ever again.” saf could promise her oldest friend that, but she could promise more than that. she had to walk whatever path showed itself.

she had to agree with her cousin. she hated to see her mother hurt, to hear her weep for the son lost, for the daughter traumatised. safeerah remembered the look on her mother's face when she had told her eldest daughter that the future of their house was her responsibility now, that she was sorry she had to carry it. and saf had wept then and begged the gods to send rashid back to them. “because bad people still exist.” their ill fortune had been the direct consequence of the decisions of people who had no love in their hearts. then qaiyah spoke of bash just ending aditya's life, but saf quickly shook her head. “no, i want justice the right way. i want him to be condemned by his peers. i want everyone to hear what kind of man he is.” not just in dorne, but beyond their borders as well. safeerah could claim she was purely after justice, but she also knew deep in her heart that was not true. she said none of this to ruqiayah though, but she seemed to already know that justice and revenge had started to overlap for saf.

a dark cloud had fallen on her as she spoke of the tolands, but she let out a weak laugh, allowing herself to be distracted. “have mercy on them, qaiyah, halima might be worse than the most fearsome guard dog.” she smiled then, her eyes as soft as her words. if there was one thing safeerah knew she did well, it was filling her friend with confidence. perhaps ru had no need for it, but that had never stopped her from doing it before. “why would he want anyone else when he has you? there are none in dorne, or even in westeros, who can outshine you.” the words were easy for her to say, and she did also believe them, but she knew that the heart worked in mysterious ways. even saf was pressed to admit that being with one person for the rest of life seemed a difficult task. she had plenty of love in her heart, more than one person would ever need. she also knew ru's impending wedding was not one of love, it was a deal, an alliance, and that made it easier for either of them to stray.

speaking of marriage, she cast aside the gloom and grinned while she pretended to think about it. “alright, fine, but you better find me someone handsome.” safeerah knew that she'd had to marry soon. she was not against the idea at all. she did crave a partner, an equal, someone to share the burden of ruling the tor with. but she hoped that there was room for love in her marriage, and she also hoped her future husband would accept certain freedoms in their marriage. “do you remember that dancer from myr? with the scar across his eye? someone like him. he had so many talents.” safeerah smirked before letting out a bright laugh. it was no secret among those closest to her that she had taken him to her bed after his performances. he travelled with her to the tor, and extended his stay multiple times, before continuing on his tour. “i want someone who has a passion that drives them, someone who devotes themselves to their call in life.”

who: @halimayronwood what: semi-flashback thread set before the dornish court depart for casterly rock when and where: sunspear, the first time halima and ruqaiyah cross paths since ruqaiyah arrives with baashir from starfall.

ruqaiyah of house dayne did not think about the death rattle anymore; that which had come from human lips rather than the ominous sound that came from the most fearful of serpents - she did not think about the facial expressions that crossed over each of the gargalens upon hearing the news that there had been a body found some leagues away. she only remembered her own body becoming very still that moment, her gaze daring not to meet the gaze she knew would not be looking in her direction.

the indifference was numbing, and it came not from a place of desperate guilt and repression, but rather an avoidance and refusal to take even a hint of responsibility for her actions. ruqaiyah dayne did not think of the blood of farah gargalen upon her hands, because she did not think the blood was ever upon her hands. rather the skirts of her dress at the hands of the girl's own foolishness, how they had called for her to remain in the carriage - how she had reminded her that the terrain this far from the tor was rocky.

"how is having your own space away from armaan?" ruqaiyah asked, a goblet of wine upon her lips as she sat across from the lady halima of house yronwood; if one was the crack, the other was the whip. an endless, vicious cycle of narcissism that continued to swirl, even as they sat across from one another. she were referring to the regency of kingsgrave the lady across from her now held, in the name of two sons of house yronwood - ishaan and kabir.

"a household of your own made up of manwoodys and servants…the same thing, in reality."

"your subjects seem keen to try and listen to our conversation." her tone was louder now, loud enough to ensure the manwoody party and their associates would hear her - calling them subjects, equating halima to their sovereign. it only made her smile more, a callous, immature one. "it is a good thing the heirs of kingsgrave look to a yronwood for their regent. that way, kingsgrave will never be sacked by a vulture king again." and she raised a toast. gods knew joy manwoody only spoke of all the work she needed to do to fix the lands that had been pillaged.

"is it as awful as she made it out to be?"

♛ → DORNE present(s) RUQAIYAH DAYNE, the LADY of STARFALL. when the dragons danced in the sky they hoped ALL would still die. the TWENTY NINE year old CISFEMALE who was RELIABLE & MATURE before they saw the first of the flames, is now CONTROLLING & EGOTISTICAL after seeing the last. they’re often associated with the sound of classical dance within the halls of starfall, the sight of a shooting star, and the rigid adherence to ancient dornish customs - both good, and bad. bio / pinterest / spotify

ruqaiyah or qaiyah (known strictly by her friends and family) is the secondborn child of house dayne - the perfect child, the one who has never made a mistake. her entire life has revolved around the will of her father and mother, dornish society, and the betterment of her family.

she is the dornish barbie - she is always wearing shades of pink or purple somewhere in her outfit, and is always seen with glossy lips. she is always overdressed, always late, and is never embarrassed about it.

due to the ancestral lineage of house dayne, ruqaiyah truly believes them to better than all the other dornish houses - and this is reflected in the size of her ego, and her head. she will act like servants are not in the room, and is known to go off on them often; she always has had a history of being a bully to girls who came to starfall to learn classical dance.

finds great enjoyment in rejecting men's advances, will embarrass them; if it is in public, that is even better.

does not believe in the concept of equality - some people are simply better than others, and thus, are in the positions they are in. poor people are poor because they do not work hard enough. social mobility? not a thing. stick to your own.

she truly believes she is a princess already in waiting, having already been betrothed to prince ravi of house martell since they were early teenagers. ruqaiyah truly believes she is worthy of such a title, as house martell looking at any other but house dayne would be nothing but a slight. she is already jaded she was not chosen to marry the eldest ruling prince, but considering how that turned out, guesses it was for the best.

due to the conservative nature of house dayne compared to the rest of dorne, ruqaiyah is very private about being a lesbian and being an atheist. she has known for years, though does not speak on such matters: she believes the rest of dorne is hedonistic in ignoring family responsibility such as child bearing, and wrapped up in superstition and ritual.

a serial smoker; though this is something she is hiding from her family. she smokes far too much, and probably needs to stop asap.

hobbies: a custom couture girl, she has a wicked eye for fabrics and designs and is known to design the best dornish outfits. it is canon in dorne that she designs the trendiest outfits, and her style remains very traditional. she enjoys collecting rare jewellery pieces and has a vast collection of her own she is very proud of. she also enjoys singing in a traditional indian style, though is not actually very good at it; she is far better at reciting ancient poetry.

★

ruqaiyah raised a single brow at the audacity of it—calling out to her from the other room like she were some girl summoned from the kitchens, like her heels hadn’t just sung her arrival down the corridor with the clarity of temple bells. she stood perfectly still for a moment longer, letting silence stretch in reply to his voice, her lip twitching with disbelief. you’re early, he’d said. which means i’m technically on time. technically, he was technically a nuisance. he had not come to greet her. not risen, not bowed, not offered even the pretence of preparation. and worse—he dared to mimic her.

and there he was: barefoot, lounging, still in loose garments like he had just woken from a nap rather than risen to receive her. "excuse me, put some shoes on. i hate feet."

if he had been anyone else—anyone less—she would have turned on her heel without so much as a word and left nothing but the memory of her scent clinging to the doorframe. but no. he was ravi. prince ravi. and unfortunately for him, that just saved him. when he called it war paint, ruqaiyah blinked. slowly. deliberately. her head tilted ever so slightly, lips pursed in disbelief as though she hadn’t just spent two hours ensuring every element of her appearance looked effortless. war paint?

“war paint,” she repeated, tone dry as sunstone. “it’s called gloss, actually,” she corrected, setting her small jewelled clutch down with a loud thunk on the nearest marble surface. the sound echoed, sharp and petulant. “hydration, you may have heard of it if you were not here smoking all day.”

she didn’t take his offered hand. not yet. let him stand there a moment longer, reaching—just to remember she was not his to summon like some courtier in need of favour. instead, she let her gaze travel the room as though assessing its worthiness. she was bored, she decided. utterly unimpressed. and she would act as such, even if the flutter in her chest betrayed something more viciously alive.

“i feel you’ve made no effort,” she observed plainly, gesturing vaguely to his tunic with the sweep of her eyes. “unless the brief was ‘freshly roused from a sand nap.’” she turned, just slightly, so the back of her lehenga swished and caught the light again. “do you greet all women like this, or only the ones you’re legally promised to?” she finally moved toward him, slow and disdainful as a cat, stopping just before his hand but not taking it. instead, she raised one perfectly threaded brow again and asked, “what is for dinner? or is that also arriving late, princely style?” she clicked her tongue softly, folding her arms.

ravi heard her before he saw her.

the soft chime of jewelry, the crisp tap of her heels, the imperial hush that followed her into a room. ruqaiyah. he didn't look up from the open book in his lap, not yet. there was a certain joy in letting her simmer, the kind only an eldest daughter of house dayne could manifest with a lift of her brow and the faintest curl of her lip. she expected the world to keep time with her, and so, he made it a point now and then to remind her that he was not the world, he was the sun, too, and suns did not rise early for anyone.

he shifted in his seat, lounging not in the dining room, where a table had, admittedly, only just begun to be set, but in the adjoining room, low on cushions, barefoot, still in a half-loose tunic the color of smoked amber. incense curled lazily toward the ceiling, and a small tray of pomegranate seeds and sugared dates sat beside him, untouched. the air smelled of sandalwood, citrus peel, and something sharper: expectation.

"you’re early," he called out, his voice warm, bemused, and deliberately languid. "which means i’m technically on time."

he rose slowly, with the kind of unhurried grace only a man absolutely certain of himself could wield. he did not come into view immediately, just allowed his voice to roll through the solar like the wind curling through desert canyons.

"tell the prince i am here," he mimicked softly to himself with a grin, crossing into the room at last. and then, louder: "consider him told."

ravi’s gaze swept over her, thoughtful, appreciative, just a little amused, like he was deciphering the difference between invitation and challenge. she was a vision in pink, yes, but also a storm wrapped in silk and fire, and gods, hadn’t he always known she’d arrive like this? not just beautiful, but inevitable.

“you wore war paint for dinner,” he said, mouth tilting into a lazy smile. “should i be flattered… or concerned?”

his bare feet padded over the cool tiles, and he stopped just short of her, not too close, but close enough for her perfume to make him want to forget every plan he'd half-laid for the evening.

then, with the offhanded authority of a prince too used to being obeyed, he glanced toward the archway where two servants lingered at a distance, still, watching. “leave us,” he said quietly.

a bow, a shuffle of sandals on stone, and they were alone.

his voice softened as he turned back to her, now entirely hers. “come,” he offered, reaching a hand out in invitation, fingers adorned in rings, palm open and warm. “they're setting the table, but we can talk here until everything is prepared for us."