[Bran's smile is only a little wan--and that is only because he is distracted, because Summer is distracted. The great direwolf is sitting at his feet, but Summer has grown large enough that he is still visible in the video feed. Something is ailing the direwolf, making him skittish. He huffs a whine as the video begins, and Bran looks down at him, and lays a hand atop Summer's head.]

Be still.

[Summer's ears flick, nervously; he blinks, and whines again. Bran looks to his device, his hand still resting atop his direwolf's head.]

I am looking for paper--perhaps twenty or thirty sheets of paper, that is not being used. Most things on this ship are written by typing, but there must be some paper somewhere. I can make a trade for it, if it is necessary. And I will need tape-- [That is a new word, but he says it smoothly.] --and scissors, with which to cut. They must be able to do fine work, I think.

[Restlessly, Summer raises his head. The video jars a little, and Bran quickly reaches to steady it, as he gives his direwolf a slightly anxious look.]

In Westeros, great tourneys are often held, where knights prove their merit in the lists. That means a joust, though there is sometimes melee fighting as well. I have never seen a tourney, only heard tales of them--and we have very few knights here. So we are going to let our direwolves race instead, and have a feast, just as if it were a true tourney. [Summer whines again, more plantively. He shrugs out from beneath Bran's hand, turning in a tight circle.] Summer, quiet. It is only a shadow.

There must be a prize, at the end, and I have been trying to think of something good. I have ideas, but they aren't very good, so I thought--

[But what he thought is never realized, because Summer moves quite sharply then, twisting away from Bran and the video with a sharp growl. Bran's face pinches in worry, and he grabs hastily for his device, to steady it again, before he shuts it off. It is an ungainly end to the message, but his concern trumps his good manners.]

[ when arya stark faces the camera, it is with all the solemnity of her last video post.

this is not about the fluctuating temperatures, however. ]

I need blankets, [ she begins without preamble, ] and pillows. I would prefer them with color, but any spares you have will be enough.

[ she prefers the ones people receive than the standard issue, but arya has no problems stripping unoccupied rooms if she must. blanket forts are serious business and it is very hot and humid in the gardens. the struggle is real. ]

I also need—hey!

[ the tension breaks with the sudden and utterly unexpected appearance of one (1) shirtless and sweaty gendry. who unceremoniously shoves face and shoulders into the frame. ]

Who are you talking to?

Get out! [ arya shoves her hand at his face to push him out of the shot. the image shakes as she fumbles with the comm and with gendry. ] Don't be rude!

[ the joys of teenagers and almost-teenagers in space. ]

[That he's tired goes without saying: everyone's tired these days, or at least it seems that way between network posts and the worn-down faces passed in hallways. So Garrus skips discussing it when he snaps on the feed, managing to set his communicator down for a decent view of himself settled near the ship's pools. The lighting's too dim for it but really, try asking if he cares.] 

Considering the fact that I've spent my life going from point A to point B between star systems, I think it's fairly safe to assume that just about every culture out there has their customs. And no, I'm not about to ask you to give me an in-depth lecture on what yours are or where they came from, so don't feel obligated to-- or at least try not to be offended when I fall asleep just before you get to 'the good part'. It's been a long week.

But I do need help. 

See, for turians, being barefaced like this isn't exactly a plus. Usually we wear tattoos representing the place where we were born, but at this point I'll take just about anything you've got that'll leave a mark on human skin as a substitute. Preferably in bulk.

[here's the thing with han; han doesn't like it when he tells people to do things and then they do the exact opposite. so while padmé IS DOING SOMETHING PADME ISH, han is just staring at her with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.]

What? [Compared to her usual, polite countenance it's a lot more direct- flat out impatient, a combination of exhaustion and present circumstances both. The things she's currently concerning herself with, happen to be fiddling with the feed device, and shifting the sleeping young preteen higher up on her hip, into a far more comfortable position. It's clear that despite her asking, she doesn't really care for the answer]

I'm not saying anything. Because if I had said something, then it would mean that it was perfectly normal for you to get lost in a ship.

[Not that he’s being extremely passive aggressive about this at all.]

You didn't have to. You were staring. [She's not even going to address the last part of this, because she's tired enough to stoop to his level in her own way] The way out, Mr. Solo?

Follow me, your Grace.

Don't call me that. [It's automatic. She’s gotten used to correcting him- And she's fast approaching the point she feels she should just start ignoring him. She will however, follow after him and direct her attention to the feed, you know- the whole reason she turned it on] Cat wandered into the ship, and- we got a little lost. My- [A pause, and she side eyes Han. Flatly] friend here, is going to get us to the main part of the ship. Whoever is responsible for her- If you would meet us there, I would be happy to return her to you.

Seriously, come pick up your kid.

Shut up! [A small, tired voice enters the picture, raising her head briefly off of Padmé's shoulder to address them both, before lowering it again, hand curled stubbornly around the woman's braid. A small trickle of blood appears over the curve of Arya's ear]

[The screen shakes for a moment before steadying. Cat looks slightly uncomfortable, not because of the fact that she's addressing the entire network, but because she is so utterly unused to this form of communication. Even the people are foreign, and she has already seen how different their beliefs and practices are.]

Firstly, I plead you bear with me as I learn the ways of this ship, for they vary greatly from Westerosi customs. I will not be offended if I am informed of any missteps I may commit. [She's not going to threaten to behead any people, she means. But she's not above having them hanged.]

[And now, onto business.] My son has already announced my presence on this ship, but I would introduce myself. I am Lady Catelyn Stark, mother to Robb, Arya, and Bran. My children have been here far longer than I have, and I thank the residents of the Tranquility for ensuring that they are safe and well-cared for. House Stark owes you its gratitude.

[She pauses for a moment, carefully constructing her next words.] I understand there are those here loyal to my House, and friends besides. I would have you introduce yourselves, if it please you. If we are to live together amongst the stars, then it is best we are familiar with each other.

[ stressed is robb's default these days, but normally when addressing the network he's made an effort to appear less so. not today. today he's solemn, as serious as he was when levying threats all those months ago. ]

There more pressing things to attend to aboard this ship, so I'll keep my address brief. My lady mother came aboard during the last jump. Her name is Catelyn Stark, and I ask your kindness in treatment of her.

[ at his side, grey wind moves restlessly, ears set back. robb's expression doesn't flicker. ]

And to bear in mind that she, like all of my family, is afforded the same protection as anyone else taken in by my House.

[ or basically, touch my momma and i'll knock you out, in westerosi speak. ]

And I thank you for your indulgence, and for you kindness. Our House will not forget such favors.

[ the north remembers. grey wind rises, giving himself a shake, and a brief smile flickers across robb's face as he cuts the feed. ]