( OPEN ) i don't know whether to pity you...

[unprays]

Who: sansa stark (unprays) and YOU! also various others, probably.
What: sansa deals with the yet another untimely death of her husband, is a good wolf owner and takes one step further towards a career in gunslinging. or something.
When: early february
Where: olympia, edrathe ruins, wyver & stasis
Warning(s): your standard game of thrones warnings apply...

i. edrathe ruins — the obligatory direwolf prompt

[ it is lucky for her that Lady is small enough for most people to consider her a larger, domestic dog whenever she is out and about in Wyver — yet a wolf is always a wolf, and so she heads for the ruins where Lady can run around freely, hunt for whatever wildlife she comes across.

( a. ) it's something she never had a chance to do, back home, watching Lady run around and hunt; perhaps then she'd have been horrified by the small game caught and slaughtered in front of her, but now it seems as natural as anything... as long as Lady doesn't try to bring her the food she's caught.

but should anyone happen to try and approach them when Lady has her catch of the day in front of her, they'll be met with growling and a howl — loud enough for Sansa to hear and look up to see what is going on. ]

Lady, stop that! [ she's fairly sure whoever's coming closer is not a threat...

( b. ) but a wolf requires rest, too. they sit together, Sansa on what was once a pillar, now broken and covered in moss, and Lady next to her, curled around her feet. occasionally, she leans down, runs her hand over Lady's head, whispering, ] ... good girl.

ii. wyver — a girl with a gun

[ if someone, anyone had told Sansa she would ever own what she considers a modern version of a bow and would willingly train herself to use it, she'd likely have laughed at them, told them they have mistaken her for her sister. courtesy had ever been her armor, the training she received from Littlefinger her weapon: she had never owned a real one, not in Westeros.

here, though, women were armed as often as men, and no one seemed to find it at all strange. different customs, she supposed, and ones she would have to adjust to — not least because she never again wanted to feel as helpless as she had, back home.

( a. ) she chooses Wyver, for she spends less time there, some ways off from the city, a clearing in the jungle where she can carve an x on a tree and walk to the other side, holding the gun as Ocelot had taught her to, taking aim. the sound of the gunshot is followed by the flap of wings, birds scared off from their places on the treetops.

she walks closer to her target, an unhappy frown on her lips when she sees the bullet hit nowhere near the mark. ]

Not good enough, [ she whispers, turning around, ready to try again.

( b. ) it's not a surprise that the frequent sounds of gunshots echoing in the jungle would draw attention, and yet she is so focused that when she hears the rustle of leaves and bushes, she turns around, already on edge, and calls out, ]

Who's there? [ after the recent events, it's probably not that strange for her to be on high alert, still. ]

iii. stasis unit — a widow's farewell

[ of course she goes to see him. after the body has been hidden, after all the blood has been washed off of her dress and Lady's fur, when enough time has passed — she leaves the surface and goes to the station. her mind won't rest easy until she's sure.

and so one may catch her there, standing in front of the pod of a man with dark hair and a smile on his lips, a smile that makes her feel as uneasy as ever. it isn't the smile of someone who's lost. and yet... the undeniable truth is here for all to see: he is back in his pod, sleeping... for now. hopefully for ever. ]

Sleep well, Lord Bolton. [ when she speaks, it is with the finality of a promise: should he wake, she will be here. waiting. and this time, she'd make sure he never makes it away from the station. ]

iv. wildcard — you know the drill

[ individual starters in comments for murder things; if you want something else that isn't included in the open prompts, feel free to write me something or hit me up on plurk @ celen and i'll write us something! ]

Comments

[unprays]

[ their time together has been a respite — an escape from the constant worry and anxiety and, for the past few days, the exhaustion that followed everything that had happened with Ramsay.

(she hadn't spoken much of it: Byerly had made her realize that the guards had their way of finding out what had happened, and didn't take too kindly to murder, even if it was warranted.she'd taken care of Ramsay to make sure Jon didn't do it: he'd have been too honest, and they'd have caught him, she thinks. she lies better, and no one will suspect a girl like her.)

there are still bruises on her arms, but she doesn't think of them, now; it's nice, sitting here, with Claire braiding her hair. it reminds her of her mother, the time when they would sit and she would brush her hair, after having sent the maid away. her mother always loved brushing her hair, but Sansa thinks she might have loved it even more. ]

It's perfect, [ she is quick to reassure. ] Would you tell me more of her? Brianna.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Smiling, Claire reaches out to place the braid over one of Sansa's shoulders. She doesn't often get to talk about Bree--it's odd when your daughter is closer to the age of most of your friends than you yourself.]

Well. She has red hair like yours, like Jamie's. She looks a lot like him. Her mannerisms, too. But after talking to your father it sounds like she and Arya came from the same stock. Proud, stubborn, strong... independent to a fault.

She likes reading, and history. And being outside in the sun.

[Not sleeping her life away in a pod.]

[unprays]

[ she listens attentively, breathing out a soft laugh as Claire pauses in the description of her daughter. ]

That does sound like Arya. She always did whatever she wanted. [ and back then, when they were still children, it always annoyed her — why couldn't she do what she was told to do? why did Father never reprimand her for it?

now, she smiles, thinking of it. after having reunited with her sister, here... she's sure she survived because of it. ]

... I hope I get to meet her, one day.

[nineteenfortyfive]

Nothing would make me happier. [Aside from Bree being able to meet Jamie, but given Claire's luck? She's not going to hold her breath. She misses her family terribly. It's been difficult--but she has Sansa, and others, and so it's been easier than it could have been.

But it does remind her of other things (as if she could truly forget), and she reaches a hand out to cover one of Sansa's.]

How are you doing, darling?

[unprays]

[ she understands it well — the longing for your own family. for so long she had only looked at what she wanted, and never at what she had... until she no longer had it. here, she is lucky beyond belief, and never again wants to take it for granted.

she breathes out softly as Claire's hand covers her own. ]

I'm alright, [ she responds, as if she could think of any other response. but then, after a pause, ] I went to the stasis. To make sure. And he's there.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Claire nods. She doesn't like the thought of Ramsay getting the mercy of stasis--better he nowhere at all--but as long as he sleeps.]

That will never happen again. [That being Ramsay, being married to such a man. It's not Claire's place, but she's making it so, because she sees Sansa as her responsibility.] He wasn't a husband. You're never going to have to deal with a monster like that. I promise.

[unprays]

I'd rather die than let someone marry me off again.

[ a dramatic declaration, but she still vividly remembers how she felt, in Winterfell: that it would have been better to die while she still felt like herself, even a little. and if it ever came down to it, someone forcing her to marry against her will... no. she wouldn't do it. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Claire knows that she and Jamie are lucky. A forced marriage, but one that brought together two halves of a single soul. Not all are so fortunate.]

It won't come to that. You're never going to be forced to marry. I won't allow it. God have mercy on anyone that tries.

[unprays]

Claire...

[ her voice wavers — she knows it's a similar sentiment that Jon shared, but it was somehow different when it wasn't her brother, when it was someone like a mother. when she could know and trust that she truly meant it.

she bites down on her lip to stop herself from crying as she leans over and throws her arms around Claire, presses her head on her shoulder. ] Thank you.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Instinctively, Claire wraps her arms around Sansa's slender form. This poor girl--and Claire doesn't even know the half of it.]

It's all right. [All right to cry--God knows how often she does it herself. She rubs her back for a moment before holding her tighter. Sometimes, it just feels better to let it out.]

[unprays]

[ finally, she breathes out and lets the tears flow — she's been holding back all this time, trying to be as strong as she could, as strong as Robb had always been. but she wasn't Robb, she wasn't her mother. she could only take so much. ]

I — I was so scared, I thought... he found me to kill me, I'm sure of it. And if it hadn't been for Lady, I don't know if I... if I could have...

[nineteenfortyfive]

[She's a young girl forced to grow up far too quickly. She's more than entitled to her tears, and Claire holds her close, pressing a kiss to her hair.]

You'll never be put in that position again. You're a remarkable young lady, Sansa, but you never should have endured all that you have.

[Claire will have to do her best to make sure she's safe.]

Everything is all right now.

[unprays]

( sorry for the crazy delay in responding, i had to call a hiatus in late february due to health and work reasons, and i'm only just coming back from it! if this is too old to continue, i totally understand, and if you'd rather handwave the rest, let me know if you want to hash out what goes on by pm-ing me or contacting me on plurk @ ~celen! thanks for understanding ♡ )

[ she nods, shakily, while continuing to cling on to her — she wants to believe her, more than anything. to think that everything is truly fine, that she will be alright, that nothing will ever again threaten her or her family.

it's too bad she learned that trusting that anyone could protect her... is a faint, foolish hope. trusting in that will only ever cause pain, either to her or to those she trusts. ]