SEMI-CLOSED. i'm a slow learner.

[unprays]

Who: sansa stark (unprays) & various
What: sansa does rounds after the whole kidnapping thing, and also deals with her father going back to stasis.
When: late march, possibly also early april
Where: both olympia and wyver
Warning(s): your standard game of thrones warnings apply, along with all the warnings you could think for the previous event.

( starters in the comments! if you want one, hit me up on plurk @ celen or send me a PM and we can plot something! or just wildcard me, that works too ♥ )

Comments

ROSALIND.

[unprays]

[ dread has been her constant companion after the kidnapped had been rescued — every time she makes a visit she's afraid. afraid of what she'll see, haunted by Theon's face, the Theon she had met in Winterfell, not the one that was awake here (though at times, she thought he seemed even more lost than the one she'd known did). that perhaps she'll have to look at someone she cares about and see them broken to pieces.

Rosalind's home is not far away, and even if it was, it wouldn't matter: she's important enough that Sansa would travel farther than this to see her, if she needed to.

when she's there, rather than knock, she sends Rosalind a message. ]

Rosalind? I'm outside your house, I'm sorry for not telling you I was coming to visit. May I come in? [ this, instead of knocking, so that if Ros needs some time to look put together, she has that. ]

[originallutece]

[She's grateful Sansa sends her a message for precisely that reason. She replies back with a quick text-- I'll be there in a moment-- and takes the time to pin her hair up and find something appropriate to wear. She hates being seen in pajamas, but there's little she can wear right now.

She settles for a loose shirt, something she'd picked up in Wyver, and a skirt. The shirt leaves bandages from her chest and shoulder peeking out, and there's no hiding the bruises around her neck, never mind the burns and cuts, but . . . she's standing. She's stable. There's no missing limbs. It could be far worse.

Darwin is at her ankles, though he worms his way forward to nudge affectionately at Sansa once Rosalind opens the door.]

Hello.

[She steps aside, welcoming her in.]

I'm all right, before you ask. Nothing that shan't heal in time.

[She's a hideous scar on her left forearm, though, and a smaller one at the base of her throat.]

Though I'm flattered you're fond enough of me that you came to visit.

[unprays]

[ she'd be glad in knowing her intuition was correct — and yet, she can feel no happiness when Rosalind opens the door and Sansa can see the state she's in, the bandages and the bruises. she can try to mask her surprise, she's become rather good at that, but she can't help the way her eyes linger just a touch too long, the way her mouth draws into a tight line before she forces herself to smile at Ros. ]

I know enough of wounds, [ she answers quietly, ] enough to know that the ones that heal the slowest are the invisible ones.

[ having had something like that happen to you is far worse than the physical wounds or pain that was inflicted. at least in her mind. she leans down to pat Darwin's head, looking up at Rosalind's words, blinking as though surprised. ]

Of course I do! I'm very fond of you. If I'd had an older sister, I would wish her to have been like you. [ for someone who is capable of such deception and coldness, Sansa can be surprisingly earnest when she puts on no airs, and this is one such moment: she means it all, thinks that she'd have loved to have an older sister, someone to look up to, someone as smart and beautiful and strong as Rosalind. and if she had, perhaps she'd have grown up smarter, too. ]

[originallutece]

[Oh. That's . . . oh, Rosalind thinks, her eyes a little wide as she stares at her. It isn't often someone can take her completely by surprise, but Sansa has managed it in two easy sentences. If I'd had an older sister, I would wish her to have been like you, and it isn't that she's not fond of Sansa, but it's difficult to imagine anyone looking at her with such earnest affection.

After all: what has she given Sansa? Advice on how to kill a man who tormented her. That's a good thing, no doubt, but . . . Rosalind truly doesn't understand where such affection comes from. Surely a girl like Sansa would think less of a woman for offering such advice?

And yet here they are.

She looks an idiot, she realizes, gaping like this; she turns, shaking her head to clear it, and leads her in, where two teacups await them, with a kettle on the stove.]

You're too kind.

[It isn't just a statement.]

[unprays]

[ it's always been a quality of hers, to latch on to those who are kind to her, who she admires for one reason or another; she had become fast friends with Margaery for no other reason than that she was in desperate need of another girl's company, someone who seemed to understand her and want to spend time with her. nothing has changed, in that regard: she had seen Rosalind, smart and self-sufficient and clever with her words, and thought, oh, I wish I could be like her.

but she couldn't, and so she settled for admiring her, enjoying the time they spent together, took the not-quite-maternal advice Rosalind had given her and wondered whether, if her parents had had another daughter, one older than her... if they'd had a relationship like this, too.

it's only now that she realizes her thoughts have hardly been obvious, and she bites her lip, eyes widening in alarm. ]

I'm sorry, that wasn't... I didn't mean to sound too presuming. I just — growing up, Arya and I were the only girls, and we never got along, we were too different, and I always thought if only I could have a sister who was a true lady, kind but strong and smart, someone I could look up to instead of be ashamed of.

[ she's babbling, she knows, but she can't seem to stop. ] I'm not ashamed of Arya anymore, she's incredible, the strongest person I know. I was such a foolish girl. [ a sigh. ] It seems I still am. [ she just hopes her foolishness didn't make Rosalind uncomfortable. ]

[originallutece]

No, you don't--

[She begins that, hating how clumsy she'd just sounded, and bites her tongue as Sansa continues. She feels a desperate sort of urge to take back the last few seconds, because it isn't that she was displeased by the compliment-- just the opposite, point in fact.

But there's no need to be foolish. She can't take back what she said, but she can get a grip. By the time Sansa finishes, Rosalind has taken a deep breath, settling herself down once more.]

I've never been anyone's sibling before.

[She says it softly.]

So it took me by surprise. But I'd be the foolish one to refuse it, wouldn't I? I'm flattered, Sansa. I truly am. Especially when the sentiment comes from you. It's not presuming too much, believe me.

[A beat, and then she offers her a slight smile, faint but genuine.]

Though I admit, there are some areas I lack. I can't help you with cosmetics or much fashion.

[unprays]

[ when the tone that comes isn't sharp or reprimanding, but rather soft and quiet, some of the weight that had settled on her shoulders seems to dissipate at once — and the longer Rosalind speaks, the lighter Sansa feels.

she's smiling before she even realizes it, bright and happy as she shakes her head to stop Rosalind from thinking she's lacking in any way, at all... because in her eyes, she doesn't. ]

That's alright, I had one sister and four brothers, so we are balanced. [ her having so many siblings, and Rosalind having none... well. having had none. ]

And you don't have to be anything else than what you already are. There are more important things than cosmetics and fashion. [ there had been a time she'd carefully imitated the styles of King's Landing, Cersei's hair and the dresses they wore in the South, but no longer. and face paint had never been something she much cared for. ]

[originallutece]

[Good lord, five siblings . . . she can't imagine. She knows half of them, and the other half she's at least heard of, but still the number of people in one household is dizzying.

But that's not the point here. Rosalind finally settles back in her seat, reaching for the kettle to pour them both tea. She can still do that without effort, thank god, and there's a moment of quiet resentment that her standards are so low.]

Indeed. Though they can be useful in certain situations, I suppose . . . I used to have to tailor my appearance meticulously when I was your age. But that's hardly relevant in this world, is it?

Actually . . . if ever you wanted to learn more about . . . well, most anything scientific or knowledgeable, I'd be happy to teach you.

[unprays]

Very few things that were relevant before seem to be so, here.

[ most things that mattered to her back home — her home, her title, her people, the war — were of little importance, now. but at Rosalind's offer, her downcast expression once again turns into something brighter, warmer. ]

I'd love that, [ she says quietly. ] The maesters only taught men, back home. We were taught to write, my sister and I, but... nothing else. But you're more knowledgeable than any of the maesters.