[ It is overwhelming, and Theon isn't used to the concept of being so close to the stars, or staring into the black void of space. But he also doesn't like being perceived as weak, so... ]
[True to her word, Claire is sitting in the observatory alone, with the pack of gum on her lap. The sandals? Hideous. The underwear? Maybe useful. This? Silly. And Theon could use some silly, she thinks.]
[ Theon isn’t so certain he trusts Claire just yet. He doesn’t understand her motives, or what she gets out of being kind to him. Does she want to help him? If so, why? Harm him? That one seems more likely. He would ordinarily not be so easily reeled in, but when there’s the promise of chewing gum that gives you a ridiculous accent, even Theon can’t reject it. So he arrives, trademark smirk on his face, doing his best to not look out into the overwhelming vastness of space. ]
I'm not sure I could handle more than one foam woman.
[ And to be fair, he doesn't have anything better to do. All his favorite hobbies are barred to him here. His eyebrows knit together as he studies the packaging. ]
[ He can be cheerful and musical! Haven’t you seen his constant smiling? He is the most exuberant person on the whole ship.
And this is—what do I do with it?
[ He’s gestures to the package, but is obviously loath to ask. He doesn’t know what chewing gum is. Obviously you chew it, but is it closer tobacco or food? He doesn’t want to swallow something he isn’t meant to. ]
[ Theon hates admitting he doesn’t know things. He knows he’s at a disadvantage due to where he comes from, but his pride is really taking a beating because of it. ]
Your accent doesn’t sound far off from mine. Where do you come from?
[ As he speaks, he helps himself to a piece of the chewing gum, observing it scrutinizingly before popping it into his mouth. He fully intends to swallow it eventually because he’s basically a child and the "gum never fully digests" thing means nothing to him. ]
England. I'm assuming you've never heard of it, either.
[Like the Irish and Ireland. Claire meant to maybe tell him to try half a piece, see if that doesn't tone down the accent, but there's no harm in a absurdly strong Irish accent aside from the fact no one might be able to figure out what he's saying.]
[ He pauses, furrows his eyebrows. His new accent sounds strange, and not really much like words at all. He's not sure he even has a real comparison for it. That wildling woman, Osha, is perhaps the closest he can think of. Even then, she wasn't particularly difficult to understand. ]
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Where and when?
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[It can be... overwhelming, the vastness of space.]
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That will do.
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[True to her word, Claire is sitting in the observatory alone, with the pack of gum on her lap. The sandals? Hideous. The underwear? Maybe useful. This? Silly. And Theon could use some silly, she thinks.]
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Now, how did you obtain something like this?
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The commissary. It has more than foam wives. I decided to see what random item it would give me.
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[ And to be fair, he doesn't have anything better to do. All his favorite hobbies are barred to him here. His eyebrows knit together as he studies the packaging. ]
Where are the Cliffs of Mohar?
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In Ireland. Where the Irish live. And they have Irish accents. It's very... musical, I think. Cheerful.
[Everything Theon is not.]
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And this is—what do I do with it?
[ He’s gestures to the package, but is obviously loath to ask. He doesn’t know what chewing gum is. Obviously you chew it, but is it closer tobacco or food? He doesn’t want to swallow something he isn’t meant to. ]
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It's just to chew on. It's not food. Typically, it doesn't temporarily change your accent.
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Your accent doesn’t sound far off from mine. Where do you come from?
[ As he speaks, he helps himself to a piece of the chewing gum, observing it scrutinizingly before popping it into his mouth. He fully intends to swallow it eventually because he’s basically a child and the "gum never fully digests" thing means nothing to him. ]
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[Like the Irish and Ireland. Claire meant to maybe tell him to try half a piece, see if that doesn't tone down the accent, but there's no harm in a absurdly strong Irish accent aside from the fact no one might be able to figure out what he's saying.]
But we do sound alike. Strange, that.
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[ He pauses, furrows his eyebrows. His new accent sounds strange, and not really much like words at all. He's not sure he even has a real comparison for it. That wildling woman, Osha, is perhaps the closest he can think of. Even then, she wasn't particularly difficult to understand. ]
That is awful.