( 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]

( 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 ♡ )

[ a frown rests on her face, though it is not because of the talk of virtual reality — against all odds, those she has seen on Thesa, actually tried, and seen how it all works. instead, it is something else that seems to puzzle her. ]

You... weren't allowed? [ yes, that's what's sticking with her. ] Who didn't allow you to drive? [ rather than ask why, she seems almost quietly angry on his behalf, at this mystery person who stopped him from doing something that he seemed to think was fun. (is she projecting? perhaps. she knows all too well the feeling of not being allowed to do something you want, anything you want.) ]

[hedonistic]

[no worries!! i'm all good for continuing <33]

There's not really a who.

[Ah. He hadn't actually meant to get into this; it's not that it's anything he's ashamed of, but he doesn't want to invite pity into a conversation where he's having a good time.]

More like a society thing, I guess. I dunno, it's kind of a long-ass story.

[unprays]

[ instead of pity, though, he finds something like sympathy in her gaze as her mouth twists into a grimace. ]

I understand, [ she says, and the funny thing is, she does. ] Sometimes it's just about who you are.

[ who, and where, and what your name or past means. and because she understands, she doesn't really pry for anything more — if it's anything like her time in Westeros, it's not exactly fun to talk about. ]

[hedonistic]

[Sometimes it's just about who you are. There's an odd twist in his stomach at that, because it's not an inaccurate description. It was about what he was, more precisely; someone whose brain didn't match the standards of polite society, someone who could not be afforded even a chance at a future because he was simply too dangerous.

His jaw clenches, and he glances off to the side. It doesn't matter anymore, but he's still angry, as much as he tells himself he doesn't care.]

Something like that, yeah.

[One hand curls into a fist in his pocket, and he forces himself to look up at her again, forcing his mouth into a bit of a crooked grin.]

But screw 'em. We're here, right? So we get the last laugh.

[We, because he'd caught that implication of understanding in her voice, and though he can't imagine how she could, when her world was so ancient (far too ancient for cymatic scans), he's not so focused on his own misery that he can't understand that she's suffered too.]

This life is better, anyway. I get to meet a lot more cute girls~

[That one was a little forced, too. But he still winks obnoxiously, and that helps him sell it a bit more.]

[unprays]

[ it's all too easy to spot the brief sign of anger in him, because it's how she feels, too: angry at the Lannisters, angry at Littlefinger, angry at the Boltons, angry at herself. if she hadn't been so stupid, so naive...

but it doesn't matter, anymore. it shouldn't matter.

we're here, he says, and suddenly she feels a kind of kinship with him, despite their wildly differing worlds. she offers him a small smile. ] Yes... we are.

[ that smile turns into a quiet laugh after his wink — it's painfully obvious he's trying to lighten the mood, but she has no objections to that. sometimes forcing yourself to feel better is the only way to feel better. but instead of looking at him, she turns to Lady. ]

Did you hear that, Lady? He called you a cute girl!