[It's the voice that sends a chill to her very core. Her eyes adjust to the lack of light and she sees none other than Ramsay. It's not Max. She knows well enough now how it is. Just like with Jack and Frank, the movements, the way the face is held, the emotion in the eyes--it's what tells a man apart. Knowing what she knows about Westeros, it's easy to figure out that the Stark girl is Sansa, and this man must be Ramsay's father. Christ, to have been a part of making such a monster.
It soon becomes evident that the apple doesn't far fall from the tree.
Claire's tempted to up and leave, but it's the expression on Ramsay's face that keeps her still and keeps her unaware of any other observers.
Boys and their fathers. It's always the fathers that set the tone for their lives.
The memory comes to its end and Claire blinks as the world returns. Too much of it, maybe, as she finds herself turning to see Ramsay, in the city, not gone like the rest of that place. She can only stare for a long, tense moment.]
What the hell is this?
[Kind of vague, Claire. She might just mean all of it. Him. The memory. But mostly him.]
no subject
It soon becomes evident that the apple doesn't far fall from the tree.
Claire's tempted to up and leave, but it's the expression on Ramsay's face that keeps her still and keeps her unaware of any other observers.
Boys and their fathers. It's always the fathers that set the tone for their lives.
The memory comes to its end and Claire blinks as the world returns. Too much of it, maybe, as she finds herself turning to see Ramsay, in the city, not gone like the rest of that place. She can only stare for a long, tense moment.]
What the hell is this?
[Kind of vague, Claire. She might just mean all of it. Him. The memory. But mostly him.]