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a naked man has few secrets

Who: Ramsay Bolton (

veneries) & semi-open.
What: Ramsay's been outed and is on the run. For more information see this post.
When: The whole of January
Where: Starting in Wyver, ending in Olympia
Warning(s): Violence, torture, language, death, potentially an aggressive dog. I'll warn in specific threads.

Please come plot with me before replying, just to keep things in order.

Thanks Hannah for the inspiring picture.

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[Theon is out of their shared house and everything's ready for Ramsay's guest. He can barely contain himself.

Fucking Stannis Baratheon, arriving here and acting the right cunt. Someone else had killed him back in Westeros, but Ramsay would take his chance now. The would-be king wouldn't be walking away from this.

When a knock comes at the door he's ready, opening it with a smile and a-] Come in, my lord.

[ it occurs to Stannis Baratheon that perhaps this was an idiotic idea. while he might know enough about the Bastard of his Westeros, this Ramsay was another matter altogether. while he couldn't be sure this Willem was indeed Snow, there was still enough cause for concern. he had let both Justice and Jon Snow know where he was going, should the worst come to pass.

still, he almost wishes that he brought more than just a dagger. be that as it may he was confident that one or the other would show up if needed. and "Willem" did not need to know such a thing. ]

Willem. I am glad to finally meet you in person.

[ he enters into the house, body language even stiffer than usual.

~~guess Ramsay didn't need Ser Twenty Goodmen this time~~. ]

[Thers's no mistaking Stannis Baratheon, even though Ramsay's never met him or seen a picture. The man walks like he has a stick wedged right up his arse.

For his part, Ramsay's relaxed, eyes bright and eager as he smiles at his guest. He leads him into the living area, sparely decorated except for the signs of two young men living there.] Won't you have a seat? It's not much, but it's home. [Something nervous appears in his smile- though he's too excited to really commit to it.] The place is bigger than anything my mother and I ever had, though I suppose it's nothing at all to where you've lived.

[ again, he surveys "Willem" carefully. while he is much larger than the other man, the fact of the matter remains that he has been still weakened by starvation in the North (though the months have started to be a bit kinder to him). still, he is certain that so long as he strikes true, his knife will be all that is needed. ]

I have never particularly concerned myself with the size of my quarters. If it serves its purpose, it's more than good enough.

[ carefully, he takes a seat. absently, he is certain he should not accept anything to drink here.

(perhaps he should have brought Jon along, but he is certain that if he had, the Bastard would not show himself) ]

[ There had been a text message. It had made the man very worried for his young friend. He doesn't really know what's going on. He doesn't really care. It just sounds like the kindly young Willem who had offered so selflessly to harbor his friends when they had been fugitives needed his help.

That's all Reinhardt needs to know.

He gives his address. A very small place in Wyver that has just enough room for him and his armor and not much else and he waits, already attaching the lion faced buckler to his arm and making sure their shield generator worked still. Just in case.

He considers the rest of his armor and his hammer but he doesn't know yet what sort of trouble Willem is in. He just has to wait for the young man to show up at his door. Reinhardt will be prepared with warm food, warm clothing and whatever little he has. A friend has put out the call for help and he will be ready. ]

[Ramsay's made only concession to keeping hidden after that public network pronouncement: wearing a hood. There's a knife up his sleeve, but he's always carried that.

The market is busy right now, which allows him to blend in better as he watches the woman with ginger hair. Sansa, he assumes, and he's pleased that for once she's left that fucking overgrown dog at home.

It takes some time for her to be done and to leave the more crowded areas- but he's there when she does- coming up behind her to put his hands over her eyes. It's their game, he tells himself. Their thing.]

Guess who!

[So that's the man Sansa's going to kill, she'd thought after that announcement. She'd thought it with grim enjoyment, her lips turned up into a smile and absolutely no light in her eyes. That's the man, then, upon whom she'll wreck vengeance. She'd been glad to see his face at least once, because then she could so perfectly imagine the details afterwards when Sansa came to her and told her everything.

She isn't thinking of him today, though. She's really not thinking of anything save the books she's just purchased; she's half a mind to pull one out and read while she walks. She certainly isn't paying much mind to how crowded the streets are (or aren't). When you can teleport, who needs to bother with watching for muggers? So she walks, red hair tied back simply and her posture perfect, as befitting a lady.

I'd've sworn you for a Tully, Eddard had told her the first time they spoke. Your hair is a similar colour . . . and she always did everything with grace, like a proper lady should. Just like you, Sansa had shyly confessed. It's little wonder Ramsay mistakes her; from behind, Rosalind and Catelyn-- and by extension Sansa-- aren't all that dissimilar.

But the voice that emerges from her lips is far from Sansa's usual tones. It's harsh, accented in the same way but with a fury that has no need to conceal itself.]

Get off--!

[She shoves at the strange man's hands, turning with a scowl. She doesn't recognize the voice, and god knows her gentleman callers know better than to do such a thing, so who--

. . . oh.

Him.

(And the thing is, the really awful, hideous thing is, is that Sansa never told her Ramsay's crimes. He never told her just what a hideous man he truly is; all Rosalind knows is that he's done something terrible to her, and that had been all the reason Rosalind needed to be pleased he'd die at Sansa's hands).]

Ramsay, I presume. Do I get a prize for guessing right?

[Tarrlok is taking odd jobs to pay for his rent and to save up for property along the border. He's been doing a lot of work that doesn't require him to commit to a place in either Olympia or Wyver. He's even renting two tiny residences. Neither are very much. Quite spartan and small, but they keep him sheltered and warm at night, and that's all that he really needs until he can get himself properly situatated. As much as he likes luxury and extravagence, he's quite able to make do without. Hunting trips with his father and brother up in the frozen north have taught him how to survive with very limited supplies.

For however awful those trips were, the lessons he learned on them have proven useful more than once since arriving here. In trying to mold him into a tool for revenge, his father had at least produced a resourceful survivor.

After Jon's announcement, he's been searching for Ramsay for hours. Hours of looking around, asking about, and although some people reported seeing a man matching that description, it's ultimately fruitless search. He returns home, and heads into his small bathroom for a quick shower before he winds down for the night. The waterskin he always carries with him and his phone are set down on the bathroom counter and left there as he pads out of there wearing his dark blue bathrobe.

It's only as he heads into the small kitchenette area that he notices a shadow where there shouldn't be one.

He's not alone.]

It's rude to enter a home uninvited, you know.

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