❪ introlog: #2 ❫ THE CALM. -- the overflow.

[natha]

ORIGINAL POST

You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you’ve made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren’t expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you’d help the planet thrive. Are you ready? Submit any AC eligible thread of participating in this log's prompts for Two (2) Olympia REP points HERE. TRAVEL LIGHT     You're really lucky, new refugee. Because of the efforts of those that came before you, your own descent into El Nysa will be quick and relatively painless. You get to reap the benefits of others' experience. Those that came before you are all well-versed in the art of teleportation now, and descending into El Nysa is simply a concentrated thought away. A teleporter has been placed in the common areas to help the new refugees descend, but for this first time, you're going to need a little guidance. You're going to need to take the hand of someone who has been on El Nysa for a while now and learn the ropes. Hold on tight, Refugee, and don't be afraid when the blinding light hits you. The actual journey will feel like a sudden whiplash— painless, but sudden, and maybe a little nauseating. Keeping your balance may be difficult, and it’s possible you might end up toppling onto your poor partner. Hopefully you’re at least thankful. You have landed in a back alley in the Residential District of Olympia. HOME SWEET HOME     Immediately, you notice that everything you've been told about El Nysa is true. There are people of all races here, and although no one bats an eye at your appearance as you enter the district, a member of the Royal Guard asks for your passport. They have a keen eye, and can tell that although you may be a new refugee to their city, they've never seen you before. Certain rumors of an outside force making preparations to do some major damage has them particularly on edge. It's a good thing the Orbiters made sure you have an Olympian passport ready to go. You present it, and with a small nod, the Guard says nothing more and slaps a patch on your chest; to your surprise, it reads: Hello! My name is ________________! I am in House #___! Are you my housemate? ... No matter how much you try, there's no removing this sticker. "It'll come off tomorrow," says the guardkeep. "Lots of refugees here, limited housing. It's an easy way to get to know the people you're living with. Though, if you ask me, why are we accepting so many foreigners when so many want to watch this city burn? Well, I don’t give the orders." If someone greets you, the message on the patch will magically change: Secretly, I _____, _____, and _____! What are yours? There's no telling how they'd known these things, but it likely has to do with Zasere. AGAIN. It may be a good idea to get situated in your new home and set down some ground rules with your roommates. There is also, of course, much of Olympia to explore. FLONA COVE     Word around the city is that one very cute and enthusiastic Olympian, You Watanabe, has been asking around earnestly for the nearest place to find some coastal fun. It didn't take long before a few locals pointed her in the direction of Flona Cove. Maybe it’s a good idea to check out the area. There are only a few more days left of summer, after all. Even if you're not the beach type, exploring a new area certainly can't hurt your understanding of El Nysa. Flona Cove is just a quick train ride away. BEACH PARTY: Chances are, you've heard about the beach party being organized by You Watanabe, whether it be from her directly or someone who knows her. A lot of careful planning has gone into it, and it looks like a great time, so why not check it out? Full speed ahead towards a great time! There's plenty of food for everyone, and plenty of watermelons that need splitting! 1. Various food vendors from around Flona Cove have agreed to offer free food for the new refugees, and they line the shoreline near the harbor, enthusiastically offering goodies such as seafood kabobs, ice cream, fresh fruit (including whole watermelons!), and hot dogs. You Watanabe herself has a grill where she’s cheerfully serving up her trademark "Niceoodles" yakisoba as well as other Japanese food like takoyaki and rice. What makes her noodles so nice? It’s obviously the cheerful smiley-face sun drawn on the omelette. In exchange, the chefs and vendors only ask that you spread the word, though most of them have buckets for donations if you want to help chip back in. After the party is all done, however, there seem to be plenty of dishes that need doing, all in a big pile. You herself is working on getting through the mountain of dishes, but maybe you could lend a hand? 2. It's just not a beach party without the traditional watermelon splitting! For those of you who don't come from modern Japan on Earth, it might be perplexing at first seeing the literal mountain of watermelons grown with the help of Keyleth, another recent Olympian. If the bat-like sticks and blindfolds next to them don’t explain the purpose, though, you might just sit back and watch as a brave competitor sets a watermelon on the sand, ties a blindfold around their eyes, and has people start yelling at them which way to go. They consider the shouts of the crowd, take a swing... and strike nothing but sand. Perhaps you can do better? There are beach activities galore. Now's the time to build the sandcastle of your dreams or play a game of beach volleyball. Maybe you're brave enough to surf the waves, or you’d just like to enjoy a swim. Mom friends who just want to lounge in the sun and read a book while working on their tan are welcome too, of course. BENEATH THE SURFACE: 1. Diving beneath the waters in Flona Cove yield a whole new world on its own. Rent a scuba suit and take a trip to explore the corals, and you may even be lucky enough to run into a playful school of dolphins. Be careful-- they tend to get carried away and will happily drag swimmers for a wild ride. 2. You might want a boat for this scuba adventure, unless you're a strong swimmer. Venture deeper into the ocean, farther away from the coast, and adventurers will find some interesting stuff. Two miles southwest of the harbor, deep, deep into the watery abyss, lies a shipwreck. Exploring through the various rooms of the ship yields a few knick-knacks here and there-- rusted spare parts, cracked tea sets... a surprisingly well-preserved pin-up painting of Koralle? The real treasure awaits for those who have the courage to swim beneath the ship's hull. Here, covered in algae and debris, lies the skeletal corpse of a winged, fanged, clawed beast. This is only a distant memory of its former glory, as nothing but bones are left, but something— something brilliant, catches your eye. Those hundreds of teeth are not bone, but a material so lustrous and pure, it nearly blinds. It will take some work, but with persistence and strength, it is possible to extract a tooth. Those that work in Simwe Institute or The Sanctuary may find it beneficial to take an extra for their boss— this is definitely something that is of interest to study. 3. Olympians love their luxury. There's nothing more luxurious than a secluded lagoon, the water at just the perfect temperature and pristine. This is one of the most sought-after spots for the natives, but when you come across it, it is completely peaceful and empty. For the tourists? Well, this place simply gets overlooked due to its distance from the main beaches. It's also relatively hidden. Soon you start feeling oddly friendly? Cupid’s Pool is also described by the people of Olympia as the touchy-feely pool. It has an inherent property that makes those who soak in it crave physical affection. Chances are you probably wanted to know this before you decided to take a dip, huh? (Please warn for threads appropriately) EARN SOME SILVER     1. While many of the locals came together to offer their hands to provide a bit of entertainment for the surge in tourism, that isn’t to state that they’re fully staffed. Have a few hours to spare? They're willing to pay for your help. Maybe you’re just the cooking champ they needed? The lifeguard who showed up just in time? Or the star salesman at their humble accessory shop so desired? 2. The man who approaches you is even offering more than most of the vendors down the street. Sure, the guy and his entourage look kind of shady, but money is money, isn't it? If you accept, he’ll shove a strange swimsuit or two your way and lead you to the dressing room. What kind of job is this? Modeling, he says. Hopefully you aren’t camera shy! Hey there, hot stuff. I like your look. Or maybe it's your... aura? Either way, I like what you're working with. How about you flaunt what you've got for some fat silver stacks? He also wants to be able to test your charm, and is willing to pay a whopping 400 silver in exchange. He may even ask you to go "talk" (did you hear him say "hit on"?) to a couple of people, and “sell” yourself. Whatever that means... Incidentally, he says he’ll give you a signal once you get a pass. Feels like forever, doesn’t it? 3. Once night begins to fall and the people gradually begin to clear out, you’ll notice something... odd. There are some shady looking people around, and maybe you’ve been hearing whispers all day about a certain "fight club." Initially, no one will tell you a time or location, but if you are persistent, your efforts will pay off. Perhaps in light of helping a vendor clear out their stall or assisting that one Olympian native in distress, they’re willing to tell you a few things about this exclusive club. They explain to you that it’s been a long-standing tradition of Olympia. Secret fight clubs. A place for people to stretch their wings and their fists. Moreover, the pay off seems to be pretty good! Though, they warn you that there are some aggressive competitors out there this time around. Things have been tough politically for a while now, and there is much unrest among the people. What better way to blow off some steam than to beat someone up and make a bit of bank! Fights are not to the death, simply until a knock out, but accidents (and "accidents") do happen. Finding the crowd of people will take some searching, even with directions. They meet along the northern coast of Flona, by following a path leading underground, well away from any civilization. Once you’re there, why not participate? You may find yourself facing off against a fellow refugee. OOC     An AC-eligible thread for 2 OLYMPIAN REP POINTS may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD HERE by OCTOBER 15 11:59 PM EST. In the event of CAPTCHA, we will be providing an overflow. In the event of a second CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP. 1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR. QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● world ● map ● reputation ● npcs taken ● reserves ● application calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[veneries]

[A hard pull will remove Ramsay's hand from his neck. A struggle will just draw attention Ramsay doesn't need right now.]

I know there are others here from Winterfell. Have they- surely one of them will have told you that you were there. [It would be cruel for them not to have, his tone suggests.

Sansa will know he was there; she remembered him, up on the ship. The fear in her eyes had been what he'd expected. But would she want to discuss her marriage with Theon? What would she do in finding that his memories were different? His bitch of a wife could ruin all his work.]

[reek]

[ Beyond arguing that it was not him who killed Rodrik and Luwin, Theon hasn’t discussed the differences in his memories with anyone. He’s suffered it in silence, merely accepting each new mismatched piece that’s been offered to him, growing more and more confused by the day. Who would believe him by this point? He would be taken as nothing more than a liar or a madman.

Maybe the madman bit wouldn’t be entirely wrong. As he finally frees himself from Ramsay, he laughs, hopeless and lost. ]

The Starks? Do you think the Starks care? After what I’ve done?

[ Robb has refused to kill him, implying that his guilt and suffering was a far better punishment for his crimes. Jon and Sansa, who had always been the most distant of Eddard’s children, have been…strangely kind as of late. It had been odd, Theon hadn’t completely understood it, but they had both played so easily to his emotions and the things he'd always wanted to hear. He wonders now if there isn’t something more sinister behind it all. He doesn’t know who he can trust, or why he should trust them at all. ]

They’ve told me nothing of it.

IMAGINE THAT INSTEAD OF WINTERFELL I SAID WESTEROS IN MY LAST TAG omg

[veneries]

[His hands drop to his lap. Well, his posture suggests, that's not surprising, but it is terrible of them. These people who you thought you could trust.]

You raved about the Starks for months. You nearly cut my throat when I brought you the news that Robb had been killed. Then you-

[He makes sure he has the man's gaze, staring him unflinchingly in the eye.] Can you show me your hands? Have you all your fingers?

I MEAN I CAN IMAGINE IT BUT WE BOTH KNOW WHAT HAPPENED

[reek]

[ He recalls the way he had reacted when Jon told him of Robb’s death. He had laughed, long and loud and hysterical until it felt as though he might collapse with grief and guilt. He should have been there, he should have died alongside him, but instead he had foolishly been elsewhere, betraying the one person who had ever thought of him as a bother. He can see himself nearly cutting someone’s throat in such a fit, but— ]

Months.

[ Again, he lets out a short bark of laughter. More time lost to him, more places he’s supposedly been, more things he can’t recall. He thought he had finally accepted their uneven timelines, but he just can’t, not when so little else lines up for him.

Making eye contact nearly starts another wave of rage in him, but he merely narrows his eyes suspiciously and does as he’s told, holding out shaking hands to show all ten fingers. It’s a strange request, and he doesn’t know why he obeys, but his muddled thoughts find their way back to Asha’s words: You know their sigil. He does, and he saw Ramsay flay those boys—hadn’t he? How much of it was real, and how much of it was just a night terror? He’s been plagued by them for months, ever since killing those boys. They never seem to stop. ]

I never tried to cut your throat.

[ A pitiful attempt at an argument, and one he doesn’t seem to believe himself. His contradictions don’t bring him comfort. They’re merely an attempt (and a failure) to gain some control of the situation. ]

I didn't know Robb had died until I arrived here.

[veneries]

[It's almost a physical insult, seeing all ten digits lined up. He reaches for a hand, to touch them and make sure it isn't some illusion, some magic. (He almost reaches for the shiv, to do again what he'd done, to take the fingers that were his.

He isn't even listening to Reek.]

Last I saw you, you were missing this one- and this- [He indicates the fingers one by one, pinching them between his own or just tapping them at the base if the man won't allow him that much liberty with them.

Then he looks up.]

I believe you, R- Theon. [He catches himself just in time. Fuck.] I can't understand how, but. It must be that you haven't yet come to the Dreadfort- haven't...

[Will it be enough? Will the expression of belief make the man grateful enough to give him his belief, if not his trust? His role as Willem here depends on it. With Reek at his side as Theon, he'll have access to Robb and the others- Theon will help them believe he's Willem.]

[reek]

Taken by you, no doubt.

[ It’s a sudden hiss of rage as he quickly pulls his hands away, but it reaches nowhere near the venom of his earlier words. That brief fire is snuffed out just as quickly as it’s rekindled, leaving Theon frightened and trembling worse than before, staring at his fingers as though to count them for himself, just to be certain none of them have disappeared.

I believe you.

His head snaps up. It’s the first time in this entire mess that anyone has told him that. Between the accusations and
confusion, it's absolutely staggering to hear those words. ]

What of everything else I remember?

[ Why is he asking for reassurance from this man, of all people? He literally has no idea anymore. He’s falling apart, and he’s trying to grasp at any possible lifeline. ]

[veneries]

[The snatching of those fingers away raises ire in Ramsay too, a frustrated scowl flashing across his face before he can control it. He doesn't rush to defend himself from Reek's accusation either, there'll be time for that later.]

I- wasn't at Winterfell. I can't explain that or how you saw me there. [He meets the man's eyes, shrugging helplessly. How can they explain this? He's just trying to get through to a friend.] But if you thought you saw me there, I believe that's what you think you saw.

I did trick your men to get them to hand you over though. I promised they'd be safe if they gave you up, but I had them all flayed in the end. [It isn't a big deal, this betrayal doesn't need great emotional belabouring. It was war, this was what happened in war, and the truth would likely line up with whatever the man knew of the Boltons.] They were pleased to be rid of you though, they feared what you'd do to them or yourself if you got much worse.

[It's not a stretch to imagine Reek in this state to being fully broken down. He'd done it himself over a few months. There isn't the opportunity for that here, though. He hasn't got the man fully under his control. He'll have to make do.]

[reek]

It was me they feared, so you flayed them?

[ With his hands freed and all fingers accounted for, Theon chuckles and drags his hands down his face, trying to pull himself back into some sense of reality. It does align with everything he knows of the Boltons, and everything he knows of the ironborn. None of those men were truly loyal to him. He hadn’t cared about a single one of them and in his paranoia, he may have had them killed himself if he had been allowed to carry on the way he did. ]

Just like you flayed those boys to fool people into believing they were Bran and Rickon?

[ Thin ice, it’s such thin ice. He’s frightened, but he’s stubborn all the same. He hates Ramsay, but Ramsay is the one person who claims to believe him, the one person who has managed to make even an ounce of sense out of any of this.

If ever there was a walking mess, it’s Theon Greyjoy.]

[veneries]

[Shaking his head with complete sincerity.] The boys I saw had been burned, I only knew they weren't the Stark boys because you raved it to me one night.

[But he allows frustration to creep into his voice, like anyone would if they kept being accused of things they hadn't done.] My maester said that your mind was... sick, too to ever recover. He said I ought to put you down, like a dog. Do you feel that you're yourself?

[reek]

Your maester was wrong. What else would a maester who serves the Dreadfort be expected to say to his lord’s son?

[ He matches Ramsay’s frustration with fury, but the doubt begins to creep back in almost immediately. His memories are all so crisp, so clear…but so are his night terrors. He knows those never happened. He lacks the telltale wounds, but again…he also lacks any lingering marks from the sack of Winterfell. His hand drifts to his cheekbone. That pain had been unbearable, but now there’s nothing, not even a shadow of the pain he felt while Winterfell burned around him. ]

I feel—

[ Theon Greyjoy has never even known who he is. It isn’t a difficult feat to fashion yourself into a smirking, laughing boy from the Iron Islands, but it is significantly harder to grasp your true identity when your life has been an even split, each pulling you in a separate direction. There is no middle ground, not for Theon.

But in the middle of all of this, he almost doesn’t feel real. He feels like something small and pitiful that's been flung to the waves, forced to turn over and over again for all eternity. ]

I feel as though nothing I saw was real. Everything I say is contradicted in some manner. Everyone knows what I’ve done, but they remember it differently.

[ Their stories all line up, but Theon’s doesn’t. ]

[veneries]

[Gently:] You took Winterfell, betraying king Robb Stark. You killed- or had someone kill two farm boys in place of Bran and Rickon Stark. Your ironborn men turned on you rather than stay loyal to you- then you remember no more... that much is shared?

[It's not quite as good as sticking a knife in the man, but it'll do for now.

The key was to get Reek to agree with how Ramsay was defining him. There was power in that- a dog would never properly obey until it understood that it's master was leader of the pack and that the dog was to be obedient under all circumstances.]

[reek]

That much is shared.

[ He agrees begrudgingly, clenching his teeth. He hates himself for what he’s done, and he’s ashamed that he lacked what it took to keep ironborn men loyal to him. He should have listened to Asha, abandoned his foolishness while he still had his pride and Winterfell was still more than ashes. ]

Nothing more.

[veneries]

Then what happens after that- [He wiggles his fingers. It's insensitive, but Reek doesn't deserve sensitivity right now.

He shakes his head.] I mean, you've no reason to believe what I'm saying. You've likely been hale and hearty here, not at all feeling guilty about your betrayal or the deaths of those boys on you. Having king Robb alive here... you can't feel guilty for his death if he's right here.

[Right, Reek? You're not enough of a mess to question what might have happened to you back home after all of this? You're clearly doing just fine.]

[reek]

[ That’s where it gets to be too much. It isn’t the mockery or insensitivity, but it’s the mention of Robb and the suggestion that he feels nothing for what he’s done, that he doesn’t feel the smallest amount of guilt just because Robb is here and alive and—

He snaps. Perhaps it’s a moment of clarity, or perhaps it’s a moment of true madness, but his fingers finally find the dagger at his belt. It draws it out and pulls Ramsay back in, fitting the blade beneath his chin and not caring that there are still a few stray passersby lingering.

Never said he was smart. ]

What would you know about what I can or cannot feel?

[ Hatred, fear and pain all burn behind his eyes. Hatred and fear for Ramsay, pain for what he’s done. ]

I feel guilty for his death. I would not feel as much for yours.

[ It's not like he can bring himself to do it, what with his hands full on trembling and all. ]

[veneries]

You're not going to cut the throat of your only ally. Put the knife down, Theon. [His eyes are wide, staring intently into Reek's, flickering darkly with... something. It's pity, perhaps, possibly amusement? Or maybe anger that Reek would dare to this. The emotion doesn't matter.

What matters is that his voice is calm, his hands don't move to grab the other man, or even for the shiv he has concealed in his clothing. Ramsay is in control here and Reek is not. Ramsay is giving the orders, and Reek- if he's being good -will follow them.

(If Ramsay's leaning into the knife, making the man feel that tension, it's only half consciously done. Subconsciously he's daring the man to do it, to cut his throat, to prove Reek is not who they both know he is.)]

[reek]

[ Another bark of laughter. ]

At which point did we become allies?

[ Still, Theon backs off, backs away from the pressure as Ramsay leans into the blade. He's never lacked the nerve to kill an enemy before, never shied away from the opportunity to use a knife or a sword, but at close range like this, now? It transports him right back to his last days in Winterfell. He remembers taking an axe to the kennelmaster’s neck because someone needed to take the blame for the murders of his ironborn men, he remembers redressing those innocent boys in the colors of house Stark as their bodies began to stiffen, all in an attempt to save his own skin and pride, and he remembers the savage dreams he had of Robb’s death before he even knew of it. Robb's blood is on his hands, even if he didn't swing the sword. He can’t tell which makes him sicker: his lost nerve, or the memory of the innocent blood on his hands.

Kill him, he tries to urge himself as his hands shake violently. Kill him like you promised you would. But he can’t bring himself to cut Ramsay's throat. It’s the thought of the spilling blood paired with the thought of what might happen if he fails. Ramsay isn’t innocent, but Ramsay can make people believe he is innocent.

Theon doesn’t put the knife down, but he’s clearly not a threat. The knife isn’t even making contact anymore. ]

I should kill you. Here and now. For everything you’ve done. For flaying my men, for—

[ Winterfell, Sansa, Arya, all these things that don’t line up and may not have happened at all. Mad man Theon at his finest. ]

[veneries]

-for keeping your ungrateful ass from jumping out the tallest tower of the Dreadfort or cutting off all your fingers. [He interrupts, frustration creeping into his voice again.

He brings a hand up to try to take the knife out of the man's fingers. Perhaps it's to keep his fingers from shaking so much? It's unclear for now.

In the back of his mind, behind the hurt frown, he studies the hate and frustrated pain in the man's eyes. He knew how Reek looked, he knew all the ways Theon had looked at him with pain and anger and despaire before he'd broken him. Is this the same? Theon hadn't often looked at him with such unbridled hate- not before he'd started to flay the man.

It's worth keeping in the back of his mind.]

[reek]

[ Theon’s grip on the knife isn’t particularly tight, given his shaking. If Ramsay were to pry it away from him, he would find the golden kraken of House Greyjoy emblazoned onto the hilt. It’s been gifted to him by his sister, and she has one to match, making it a particularly risky theft. He still doesn’t know why she gave it to him. Perhaps it was for this purpose: to kill Ramsay. He’s very likely to dwell on that later, if his muddled thoughts allow that much clarity.

He desperately wishes everything would just stop: the world spinning around him, the thoughts rushing around his head, the heavy guilt crushing down on him. He only needs a moment, just one moment to collect himself, but it isn’t granted to him. All he can do is blink his way through the haze and struggle to find a response. ]

It would have been just as well, after Robb’s death. He was the only reason you were keeping me alive and at the Dreadfort.

[ But he wonders vaguely if Robb had arrived at the Dreadfort, if Robb had made any orders regarding Theon's fate before his untimely death. He's been so silent here, so angry. He'll hardly speak to Theon, and despite having dozens of opportunities, he hasn't cut Theon's throat. Perhaps Robb knows more than he lets on, and if so, Theon's lost one more person he trusts. ]

Am I wrong?

[veneries]

[Robb had been the last thing on Ramsay's mind while he kept Reek at the Dreadfort. He'd been a distant figure, important only insofar as he could be used to poke and pry at Reek.

So naturally, that's what he's good for here.

He holds the man's gaze, doesn't confirm or deny what he's being asked. Better to leave the man's mind to work itself out into the worst outcome. He'll have to contact Robb at some point, to see what he can find about their contact.

(Better yet, to befriend the man under the nose of the Stark bastard and his bitch of a wife.)

Instead he focuses on the knife, prying it out of Theon's fingers and holding it in he space between them. He tests the blade against his thumb, draws blood.]

What has King Robb said about it?

[reek]

[ Theon growls as his knife is pried away, not realizing just how loose his grip on it had become. Enraged, his hands continue to shake, but he doesn’t reach for it once more. ]

Nothing.

[ Venom in his voice, hatred in his eyes as he searches for an answer among more questions, but he finds nothing. Ramsay’s pale eyes are an impossible read. ]

He’s said nothing of it at all. He’s said nothing of anything.

[ He hates me, Theon thinks bitterly. They all do.

The more he thinks about it, the less he trusts Jon and Sansa’s sudden acceptance of him. Some wounds cut too deeply for time to heal, and Theon took their home from them. Theon betrayed their brother and their family. Why should those wounds ever heal? Why should they ever accept him as anything but a turncloak? ]

[veneries]

[A frown appears across his face (one might believe it was accidental, if they didn't know him well enough).

Then he adds cautiously] What of Sansa?

[The bitch had escaped with Reek, she would be oh so grateful if she saw him again. A shame the Winterfell bastard was around, otherwise getting close to her might be a lot easier.]

[reek]

[ For all his caution and mistrust, for all his confusion, Theon can’t help but continue to feel protective of Sansa. She was always a sweet, but naive girl, and if she's told him really is the truth, she never deserved any of this. She never deserved a fate like Ramsay. ]

What of Sansa? The same as her brother. She has said nothing.

[ This time, it’s a lie. Sansa has told him plenty. She told him that Roose had legitimized Ramsay, that she’d been married to him, that Petyr Baelish had been the reason it happened at all, that she owed Theon her life. It’s still too much for him to process, and he had refused her the latter, insisting that she owed him nothing.

Perhaps Ramsay can see that lie in his eyes, or hear it in lurking behind the venom his voice, but Theon holds to it with far more strength than he held to his knife. He’s always been a good actor, even when his lies are transparent. ]

She was in King’s Landing when I took Winterfell. Leagues away.

[veneries]

[As if to a small child-] She's not in King's Landing now, is she?

[Sansa has seen him dead, Ramsay knows. He thinks he knows her well enough to guess that she'd speak to Theon about it- but if Robb won't speak to the man, perhaps he's kept his sister from him too.

Satisfied that the edge of the knife is sharp, he spins it in his fingers. Perhaps just playing with it, perhaps threatening. There's no threat in his voice.]

But I know you wouldn't lie about that, Theon. Not to me.

[reek]

The Starks have little to say to me at all.

[ He bites his tongue as he tells yet another bitter lie. He shares a flat with three of them, and Arya is likely to join them soon if Robb has his way. He spoke true in regards to Robb, but Jon and Sansa have been a wealth of information. Whether any of it is true is an entirely different tisutation, but what the two of them have shared has been very similar. Theon continues to doubt how much he can actually believe. Some of what Jon has offered him seems particularly farfetched—Asha in need of rescuing from their uncle Euron, and Theon offering his services to Daenerys Targaryen. After his betrayal of Robb, he can’t see himself willingly pledging his loyalty to another leader, not ever.

He doesn’t trust them, he doesn’t trust their information or their words, but he lies anyway. He lies because he still wants to keep them safe, and he lies because he doesn’t wish to betray them once more. Still, his eyes remain on the blade, as though he anticipates the worst. Ramsay’s voice is too calm. There can be no good in that. ]

I haven’t lied to you. I took their home. What other words could they have for me but anger?

[veneries]

What other words indeed. [The meat of Reek's thigh is a tempting target. Pin him down, pin the truth down, perhaps? Seeing him writhe would be just as worthwhile even if nothing else came of it.

There's the sound of laughter over his shoulder, a male and female voice passing close by. He settles for tapping the flat of the blade against the man's thigh lightly.]

My dear wife and her bastard brother took it on themselves to claim power in the North from under my nose. I've no doubt they'll do whatever they think they need to do. [He leans in, holding the man's gaze.]