littlelannisterHe now knew from his cellmate that other realms existed, and the basic assumption was that he was as far from Westeros as one could possibly travel. However, what struck Tyrion most about the station was not the novelty, but the familiarity. Not the stars suspended in the space beyond the enormous glass windows, but the careful way couches were arranged about those windows, allowing best angles for appreciating the views. In many ways, the place felt like a proper city. An abandoned city, true. Probably one ravaged by plague, if the message was to be believed. And that, unfortunately, also felt distressingly familiar.
He took to exploring for there was little else to do. He did have a goal in mind. Every proper city had a repository for knowledge, and he hoped this place was no different. But his attempt to find a library proved fruitless. There were too many locked doors and no simple way to pick them. He found other spaces, though. A room large enough for full-grown dragons to stretch their wings. A room with half-rings of fixed seats all facing the same way, most likely for some sort of entertainment. Reminded of Meereen's slave fighting pits, he swiftly left that room behind.
The merchant stalls caught his attention, for what else could these possibly be? Walls lined with shelves to proudly display wares, and counters upon which a trader might tally out his coins. But what could they have sold? Spotting some dusty thing laying upon a glass shelf above his head, he reached for it, but his aim was clumsy. The shelf shuddered off its anchor, tumbling to the floor and shattering to pieces.
What a clamor! Fool! I'll have the whole of the station setting upon me at any moment.
But perhaps he could escape before being detected.