A quarian in Westeros

[Showing up in this place had been more of a shock than the City itself. There were buildings there made out of steel and alloy, things that showed a civilization to be advanced. This place -- it had been mud and brick, straw and hay. She was just thankful she'd been given her human face...even if she was less grateful for having the human sense of smell. It turned out that manure was just as foul as she'd always been told it was.

Hiding her pistol had been simple enough once she'd found a cloth bag to stash the thing in ... but hiding herself had been another matter entirely. She'd walked to a town where she'd managed to charm a few men into buying her a drink (and then having to awkwardly let them pass out on her before sneaking away) and from there she'd sat and watched for a few days, trying to figure out her best option.

In the end, it was to do what she was best at: fixing things. Hair pulled back and face more or less obscured by a mask that she was laughed at for wearing, it was easy enough to pretend that she was a slender lad. Hard work wasn't something she was unfamiliar with, after all.

It had been a few months, and perhaps word was starting to travel of her work -- the modest hole-in-the-wall shop had become busier, at any rate.]