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Arya has always loved running - her bones were restless and her muscles ached for movement even back when she was a child, and rarely did she sit down. (It's possibly one of the reasons behind her outrageous lack of friends. She never settled down long enough to make them.) Running on asphalt is easier than running on wild ground, smoother, that's why she hates it. She spend her teenage years in various clubs and teams, not for the competition but for the liveliness that running in forests gives her. She still won plenty medals, because she ruled. Most of them, she made into complex jewelry, melting the metal and twisting the plastic into dreamlike miniature figurines. Some said she should sell them, but she had worked to earn the medals and she had worked to learn how to turn them into masterpieces, and that was worth more than money. Also, fuck money.
These days, Arya mostly runs to the coffee shop or the laundromat nearby. Moving into a big city was a necessity, she had better possibilities ahead of her in the vastness of Teirm. It still makes her heart bleed, being forced into machines. She's been just fine until now, trusting her feet to carry her wherever and whenever. Machines could fail her; she despises the metro stations both for their crowds and for their trains, feels sick every time she has to get on a bus. She buys a bicycle, but it still feels off. She is supposed to be enough. This time with all its inventions and machines is not made to accommodate but to stifle her. She's finding it harder and harder to find excuses to run.
Then this thing becomes a thing.
If Arya must be honest, she hasn't watched the cartoon much, nor played the game(her mother bought her one of those devices as soon as they were released, but Arya didn't show any interest), but she vaguely remembers a specific Pokemon that looks like bubblegum, so she downloads the game, thinking it wouldn't entice her for long. It turns out, she has to run to catch them. She almost cries.
It's been two weeks. Arya is finding herself in weirder and nicer parts of Teirm than she's ever thought imaginable. Sure, she's been to the seaside before; she went there the first week after settling in the city, deemed it polluted and crowded, and never thought of going there again. It's a wholly different place in midsummer - still crowded, but somehow lively. The sea seems welcoming, and Arya notes to herself to bring her swimsuit and a towel next time she comes here. She does. (It turns out she has to buy a swimsuit. The shop assistant asks her when she arrived and if she's liking the city, and Arya feels embarrassment climb up her spine. Six years she's lived by the sea, and entirely without a swimsuit! Terrific.)
She lays down next to a gym, licks her lips. It's currently taken by the team she likes least, and Arya loves challenge. She giggles when she notices that she has stronger pets than those at the gym. Easy. A curse is uttered right beside her; Arya looks left to find a person clutching their phone, perfectly drawn brows furrowed in frustration. She allows herself a tad louder laugh; they raise their eyes to meet her gaze. She winks. They get up and stride quickly towards her, fists at their waist (the curve of it so delicious it makes her think of temples and forests untainted by man's foot because if she thinks of things less sacred she will burn down), a slight frown on their rich lips. Arya sits up. She isn't sure her knees can be trusted not to shake and the person before her might be worthy of worship but Arya is a daughter of queens and does not kneel.
"Was it you who just took my gym?" playfulness creeping in their voice. Arya smirks. "So?" Their chin is held high, their arms still placed as to express universal ownership. Now that, that's a challenge. They carry themself regally. Arya wants to see them bow.
"So, fuck you," their smile is smug. Arya gestures to the free space on her towel next to her. She is surprised they sit down. "And how exactly would you?" her voice is quiet, she's never needed volume to be heard. The stranger arches an eyebrow. Arya smiles, all teeth. She offers them a hand; they carefully thread their fingers between hers, lean over so their lips are mere breaths from her ear. "Why, I didn't take your team for bravery," they whisper before biting her earlobe. Arya sighs. "Likewise," she looks them in the eyes, then lowers her lips on theirs.
They kiss like it's do or die, but it's not so much desperation as it is claiming, and for once Arya allows it. She wishes she could live forever in this moment, her eyes shut, her hands lightly tugging the hair at the back of their neck. They pull away, their breath urgent and their gaze even more so. "I'm Nasuada," they whisper, a ghost of a smile on their lips. Arya leans to kiss it, then, "Arya Dröttningu. Pleased." "Intrigued," Nasuada doesn't miss a beat. They bite Arya's lower lip, she shivers. Nothing about this feels holy. She wants so much more.
Nasuada lives closer, so they tie their towels around their waists and walk slowly, catching a Pokemon here and there. They argue, about teams and about their favorite seasons and about what should be done about the political situation in the country. Nasuada buys them ice cream, Arya pays the bus. Nasuada uses she/her pronouns, and is delighted at Arya's asking - they both turn out to have friends too fascinating to fit the binary. Their climb up the stairs inside the building is a mess of limbs, moans and laughter; Nasuada's apartment is small and cosy, despite the clash of colors between the warm yellow of the walls and the vampiric purple of the couch. She leads Arya to the kitchen, pours them both lemonade and opens the windows wide, sits by them as she lights a cigarette. Arya refuses to join her. Smoking has never been a habit she could pick up, she needs her lungs strong and her body tuned. Her breath still stops when Nasuada turns to smile at her.
For the first time in her life, Arya doesn't want to run.