( 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]

[ she wants to shout at him in return, but she lets him speak his piece, lets him get it all out, everything that he believes — he calls Jon a liar, and Sansa squeezes her hand into a fist so tight that her fingernails dig into her palm. how stupid; Jon is many things,and there are many decisions of his she might critique... but a liar? no. he's the farthest from a liar as can be. and if Theon can't even see that, just how badly has his mind twisted? how much damage has all of this done?

her lips press together into a tight line as she looks at his bandaged finger. so in the end... she hadn't been able to protect him from Ramsay. maybe it had been arrogance, to think she could, when she'd only barely been able to protect herself.

but he speaks of killing, then, and finally her restraint snaps. ]

Killed him? Theon, do you hear yourself? Killed Ramsay, you? You couldn't do it before, you couldn't do it now! None of you could. Not you, not Jon, not Stannis. All of you underestimated him. You're an idiot if you think he didn't have a hold on you — can't you see that he still has? By making you believe he was telling the truth! Even now you defend him, defend your own choices! If you could have killed him, you should have. And you didn't.

[ she breathes in through her nose, breathes out. ] I fed him to his own dogs, did you know? He hadn't fed them for a week. I left him there, gave him no burial. He deserved none then, he deserves none now.

[reek]

[ He doesn’t know what she finds so difficult to believe about his ability to kill Ramsay, but his words are far bolder than his actions regarding the Bastard of Bolton ever were. There’s already so much blood on Theon’s hands that adding Ramsay’s to it shouldn’t have been difficult, but he had hesitated. Ramsay had seen that weakness and doubt immediately, and he twisted it. ]

I'm not defending anyone. I'm--

[ Ramsay had only said that Sansa and Jon had managed to raise the North against him. He said nothing about having died. Though, if Theon could manage to say his thoughts for just a moment, he would realize how much sense it makes. Ramsay is careless and erratic. He had, after all, dropped the pretense of Willem without worrying what it might mean for him.

Unfortunately, Theon’s mind is racing too quickly to allow him this logical train of thought. Instead, he laughs once more. ]

You’re lying. Just like everyone else, you're lying.

[unprays]

[ not defending anyone? she wants to laugh, for if he isn't defending Ramsay, then surely he is defending himself in all this. by arguing with her about this, what else could it be but in his own defense?

but when he accuses her of being a liar, she falls silent for a moment, so still she might be in one of the pods, sleeping, were it not for the fact her eyes are open and fixed on him. ]

You're the only one that's lying here. Lying to yourself. What reason would I have to make up a story like that?

[ though immediately after, she shakes her head. ] Don't answer. I don't want to know what kind of twisted view you must have of me. I'm your friend, Theon, or I was. But clearly you don't want me to be.

[ with a sigh, she turns to move away from him — arguing like this is getting them nowhere, and she doesn't want to yell any more and risk attracting others here and witness the whole scene. ] Maybe if Ramsay wakes up again, you can ask him what happened. If he's man enough to tell the truth, he'll tell you what I told you. But we'll have to wait for that, won't we? You'll only trust the word of a monster over that of someone you grew up with.

[reek]

[ He glares, suddenly feeling every ounce of the hatred he ever felt in Winterfell. He never knew any of Lord Eddard’s children to be liars or cunning manipulators, but that was before. That was when Theon was nothing to them. That was when Theon was merely the Greyjoy captive who shared their home, not the man who took their home. ]

Robb was the only one of you I ever grew up with.

[ It’s awful to say, now that home is gone and their small group of Westerosi is all they have, but it explodes from his chest like dragonfire. He was there to see every one of the Stark children grow up, but it still feels as though the only one of them who paid him any mind was Robb. ]

The rest of you just endured me and waited for the day when your father would take my head and you would be rid of me. Of course we’re not friends. Of course I don’t trust you.

[ And of course, this was never about Lord Eddard at all, but Theon is so blind with rage, his anger has become misdirected. He can’t help but pull out anything that might help him to win this argument in one form or another. ]

[unprays]

[ what determination she has in walking away shatters; she whirls toward him once again, and where his eyes are fierce and his words alight with fire, there is only ice in her eyes, her heart. better to freeze than to burn — it hurts less. ]

Fine! You continue to speak of old hurts, if you want to be chained by the past, I won't stop you! But you may remember I was awful to Jon, too, when we were children, and yet now I know better. He is as much my brother as Robb or Bran or Rickon, and I love him just as I love them. I may not have been kind to you, or cared much of you before, but things change, Theon. People change. I would have cared of you, now, if you'd let me.

[ but despite the words, there is no warmth in her voice. ]

But have it your way. We're not friends, as you wish. Now that Robb isn't here to argue with and make you feel like you matter, and Ramsay's dead and not here to tell you what to do and how to feel... I hope you enjoy being alone, Theon, since that's what you seem to want.

[ she tried, oh, she did... but his anger is catching, and she's always had a temper, one that flares all the worse when she's hurt. ]

[reek]

[ Her words are the coldest he’s heard yet, like a knife plunged into the back of his neck. Everything she says is true. Robb’s mere existence did make him feel like he mattered, and Ramsay’s commands helped him to feel useful and whole. It’s sick that he relies so much on others to give him an identity, but he can’t see it enough to realize that it’s a problem.

For a moment, it seems as though he’s been stunned into silence, hurt in his eyes. It only lasts for a moment before he explodes with rage once more. ]

Fine!

[ He snarls, shaking with anger. ]

Fuck your house and fuck your family! Fuck Winterfell! Fuck all of it!

[ It’s petulant, it’s childish, it’s wrong to push her away. He’ll regret it later. Being alone is not what he wants, but it’s what’s easiest for him to handle, so he whirls around and takes off in the opposite direction, leaving her behind. ]