nysalogs | open | your name is on a lot of quotes in this book

Who: Claire Fraser (

nineteenfortyfive) & you
What: May things, lots of moping Claire... forgive me.
When: May
Where: Olympia
Warning(s): General Outlander warnings.

I. THE MARKET

[Her marriage is in an unpleasant place and she doesn't know how to fix it. Percy is in stasis. Ramsay is back. Theon was, for a brief moment, back in stasis as well, but only returned in a worse state than he was. It's been a lot to contend with on top of being so recently tortured (her her hands remain in gloves as her nails grow back, the last of the damage left), and one afternoon as Claire's in the market, standing before a fruit stand, it all catches up to her.

For someone who urges others to confide in someone, anyone, often herself, she doesn't follow her own advice.

She pushes other shoppers out of the way as she suddenly finds it hard to breathe, hard to keep her eyes from welling with tears, and if she slams into anyone there's no apology as she stumbles out and away.

She stops when she comes to a fountain, gasping and sobbing, a hand clutching at her neck as if there's something suffocating her, chest heaving rapidly. No, nothing physical, just an overwhelming sense of sadness. A sadness that turns into more of a frustrated panic as she tries to calm herself, leaning over the water.]

II. THE TRAIN/FLONA COVE

[Percy did have an affinity for water.

Claire knows she can't watch over Theon 24/7. He needs to stand on his own, and he can, and so Claire takes some hours for herself and heads to the beach. She's always enjoyed train rides. Perhaps she's even in the mood for conversation with whoever happens to sit by her.

At the beach, instead of collapsing on the sand and considering letting the waves wash her away, she takes a stroll, skirts tied up over her knees so she can walk in the small waves without getting drenched.

Now and then she stops to pick up a shell. By the end of it, she's got a hefty collection held in her skirt, and dumps her prizes where she's left her shoes.

Well. Now what to do with them?]

III. STASIS

[She spends more time here than she'd ever admit. She makes it sound like her visits are brief. They're not. On leave from the Sanctuary, she's had a lot of time to simply be.

Today, she stands before her daughter's pod. What she'd give to be able to touch her red hair, or at least feel her skin, make sure it's warm. All she can so is press her hands against the glass.]

Sometimes I think you're luckier, in there. Though you'd probably throw a fit at me saying that. I know you'd rather be here, too. I know.

[[ooc: pls choose your flavor of sad mom, or hit me with a wildcard! Oooooor send me a PM if you'd like me to whip up a starter, and I'd be happy to.]]

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[A brief stop home has Claire updating Sansa, talking as she plucks some bottles out of the tiny apothecary she's been growing in the kitchen. She reads the labels, her handwriting on each one, before placing them into her medicine box.]

He's doing as well as can be expected, given the horrors he must have experienced. I believe, in time, he can be much better. Live a decent life. It's just going to take persistence... and no one else getting their bloody hands on him.

[Ramsay. She means Ramsay. The next bottle clinks against the others as she sets it in the box with a little more force than necessary.]

It'd be so much easier if he'd just move back in.

[ she won't admit as much, but she's been anxiously waiting for Claire for any news, good or bad, her nails digging half-moons into her palms. when Claire finally comes back, Sansa clings to her every word, tries to feel some semblance of hope instead of the cold, sharp anger that is slowly frosting over her lungs, her throat.

(but Claire seems to feel some of that, too, judging by her words.) ]

... I remember what he was like, in Winterfell. When I first came there. It wasn't — it wasn't like this, but... it was bad, then, too. It took Myranda trying to kill me for him to start remembering who he was. Is.

[ she sighs. ] But Jon tells me he got better. Not... much, but a little. So there's hope. There has to be.

[ finally, she moves her gaze away from her clenched hands, and looks at Claire. ] It'll be nothing short of a miracle, to get him to agree to that.

[Claire's not fond of talk of anyone trying to murder Sansa, but that's not the point, so all she does is take a deep breath at that. She's heard varying reports on Theon in Westeros, and so far Stannis' is the one that rings true.]

There's hope. Bodies are resilient. They want to survive. The spirit is even stronger. Both of those can be maimed beyond recognition, but he's still Theon. I see him in there. I can get him more comfortable in his skin, fix a lot that's been done to his flesh, but it's the inside that will take the most patience.

[She still remembers approaching him and him flinching away as if she would hurt him. Never. All she's ever done is try and keep him safe.]

I don't want to push him just yet, but... I'm hoping that once he's a little more at ease, he'll at least consider it.

[Claire hasn't often brought up Theon with Sansa, never wanting to upset her, but now it's all they can talk about.]

I'm sure you understand that the best place he could be is with us.

I —

[ she breathes in, in, out. stares into nothing, or perhaps something only she can see. ] He saved me, back home. He stopped following Ramsay's orders and escaped with me. He lied to Ramsay's men to try and save my life. I know —

I know he can get better. I know it.

[ it's all she'll allow herself to know. there's no option of failure, of Theon falling back to the persona of Reek. ]

Will you try and convince him? I... I don't think he'll listen to me.

[Sansa shouldn't think of Ramsay. The bastard is too foul to occupy any of her thoughts, but unfortunately with his return and Theon's state, it's inevitable. The next item Claire needs is (conveniently) near Sansa, and she gently puts a hand on her shoulder as she passes.

Claire sighs. Theon has been patient with her, but--]

I don't want to force him into anything. He has choices, now. That's... important. [Ramsay had taken his name, he said, but Claire also knows he took away Theon's choices. Having a finger flayed or a finger chosen isn't a choice.] I'll remind him it's an option. Maybe if he'd just like to spend the night, or... have a meal, here.

[ the brief touch is enough to ground her, to make the panic she can feel swelling inside her quiet into something more manageable. ]

Yes... that's true.

[ choices. he never had those, in Winterfell, not until he made the choice to run away. to save her... to save Jeyne. she knows the two Ramsays are different, but in the end, the situation had been similar enough for her to understand. ]

That would be a start. I hope... I hope he accepts. [ she pauses. ] Did — Ramsay hasn't... bothered you, has he?

And just because he says no now doesn't mean his mind might not change down the road. He--well, you know it. I know as well, how conflicted he's been about... home. Family. Both of which are now under this roof.

[He just needs to accept that. Maybe he has. Mention of Ramsay has Claire giving her neck a brief rub, choosing her words carefully.]

Not in any way I can't handle.

I know.

[ she still remembers the conversation she had with Theon before he went to stasis, speaking of who they were, who they wanted to be. who they should have been. and for all that she felt like she wasn't who she was supposed to be, she knows he feels it all the more acutely.

she looks sharply at Claire, a frown between her brows. ]

You shouldn't have to handle him at all.

Nor should you. [Or anyone. He should be dead, taken by the Storm. Not ever given another chance in the stasis pods. Claire steps closer, close enough to cup Sansa's face in her hands.]

But this is how it is. If the price of being involved with this family is having to handle that piece of shit, then I would pay it a hundred times over. I love you very much, Sansa Stark. [Jon and Theon, too, but Sansa's always had a special place in her heart from day one. More and more as time goes by, and Claire sees how strong she is.]

No, but —

[ whatever protest she has to say dies a very quick, painless death as Claire cups her face and keeps speaking and Sansa falls abruptly silent again, biting down on her lip so hard it hurts because she's not used to this, not even after all these months.

she doesn't dare to speak, for fear that all that comes out is unintelligible blubbering, because that is how she feels — a child, unable to find the words, overcome with the urge to stop blinking her eyes so furiously and let the moisture that's gathering there fall. instead, she leans forward, hugging Claire, leaning her head so that Claire's chin rests on the top of her head. ]

... you know that I do, too? [ she can't remember if she's ever said as much, and it feels terribly important that she does — she feels safe, and loved, something she'd almost forgotten about. something she's not felt since she was thirteen and in Winterfell, her mother brushing her long hair and telling her what a beautiful lady she would grow up to be. ]

I love you too, Mom. Very much. [ it doesn't register with her, not immediately, what she says. ]

[Easily, instinctually, Claire wraps her arms around Sansa's slender frame. A mother's ear is attuned to that call, even if it's been so long since she heard her own child say it. Mama, from Bree, until she thought she became too old for it and hardly addressed her at all. Not until the end, when the truth was laid out on the table. It had meant a lot to be her mama once again.

She doubts Sansa realizes her slip. Jon longed for a mother he never had, but Sansa did have one, once, and she imagines that ache is a deeper one. So, all she does is swallow the painful lump in her throat, a kiss lost somewhere in Sansa's hair.]

I know, my sweet girl. I know you do.

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