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» 1st lemoncake

Who: ~~Sansa Stark~~Alayne Stone and YOU!
Broadcast: Video (fleetwide)
Action: Marsiva (bathroom + hallways + kitchen)
When: Early morning.

[ she stares at her refection -- standing in the communal bathroom on the marsiva. another morning, which had followed hard upon another night. at least she could only assume they were mornings and nights by the waning of the lights, and the jarring onset of such cryptic dreams. these nightly journeys into strange places and stranger memories exhaust her, and with girlish vanity she touches the dark circles under her eyes -- so starkly visible in such a perfectly reflective surface, far better than even the best polished metals in king's landing. my name is alayne stone, she mouths to herself -- more bewildered now by the obvious dark dye in her hair than she'd ever been before. sansa is gone; sansa is dead. but already her roots are beginning to show copper--!

she gathers her hair into a simple plait and fastidiously straightens the dress she'd worn to the tournament feast in the vale, and the same dress she'd worn when she'd woken up elsewhere on the marsiva. it would need a washing, soon. but she had no handmaid to prevail upon. so, looking almost as dreary as she felt, she walked solemnly and slowly back to her assigned room: nothing to keep her company except a fur-lined cloak and a mockingbird pin.

she had avoided the bizarre little message-givers for so long. but having slyly watched someone else use theirs on the previous evening, she dares to address whoever else might be listening: ]

Please. I want to go home. I'm not supposed to be here.

[ it doesn't occur to her that no one else should be, either.

but once she's been thoroughly schooled on that front, she can be found drowning her private sorrows in the kitchen, her gaze stuck on the warmed milk filling her mug. she can't decide whether she's relieved or angry she can't return to where she's meant to be. ]

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I'll make a mug. You can come watch, or have some when I've poured it out.

[ She doesn't look armed — even when he knows looks can be deceiving he's willing enough to turn his back to her, to expose his more vulnerable left side even if the arm doesn't look that way on the surface. ]

[ He lets her watch the process, all the way through. ]

I'll take it poured, if you please. [ not to put too fine a point on it, but lady sansa is more than alright with sitting back while someone else does the 'hard work'. after all, she isn't a kitchen maid. why should it matter whether she watches how this chocolate is made?

and yet -- and yet -- a quiet curiousity steals over her in the ensuing silence. from her chair, she cranes her neck...as though looking for a stealthy glimpse while his back is turned. ]

Yes'm.

[ He chirps this happily, more than pleased to be of use — does nothing that blocks her view. After all's said and done, he places a small glass in front of her, his own larger mug in front of him, and waits for her to drink first. ]

[ a conundrum: how can she trust his offering? this isn't westeros, and she can't be certain that anyone in this fleet should honour the hospitality rites of her people. with caution, she tucks her palms against the glass and tries to convince herself that the heat is reassuring. ]

Is it strong? [ she asks, stalling for time. she imagines the beverage must be alcoholic -- they always are, back home. ]

To taste? Probably, if you haven't before.

[ Perhaps sensing her doubt, he sips his first. ]

[ her gut knots itself with anxiety. it's quite a feat: to see a king poisoned at his wedding cup, and then consider to sip something prepared by a stranger. but bran feels safe, here. she breathes deep and asks herself what her brother would do in this moment.

and what would her other siblings do? be brave, she decides. brave like robb. sansa leans forward to meet the mug as she lifts it, trying to stealthily sniff the concoction before she sips. ] It doesn't seem at all familiar --

[ but oh, the taste! rich and sweet and ever-so-slightly bitter. in the aftermath of her first sip, she's silent. nearly reverent. ]

[ Jim doesn't stare, but watches carefully, expression soft, and curious. ]

How is it?

Good. It tastes good.

[ she resists the urge to speak in superlatives. instead, she takes a second sip and marvels (a little) that she's not dropped dead and poisoned. from whence does such paranoia spring? sansa watches the thick-and-creamy texture as it settles back into the mug. and she wonders whether this is sufficient generosity to bind them by guest right in her thoughts, if not in his.

she isn't certain. ] Is it a common drink?

[ ser. my lord. she doesn't know what to call him, and so she calls him nothing. ]

[ He offers a warm, sincere smile at her statement. ]

Yes. There's plenty more in the cupboard.

[ And because he seems to have forgotten his manners — ]

James Barnes. Pleasure to meet you, miss.

[ Somehow, he gets the feeling she'd be disinclined to use "Jim". ]

[ he's rough, she surmises. but polite enough despite the broad syllables in an accent she can't quite place. her mouth opens, and she very nearly gives him the easy lie. alayne stone. but, instead, she freezes for a heartbeat or three -- looking lost, as though she's suddenly forgotten how to proceed.

i must make this easier on bran, she decides. and be the sister he needs me to be. ] Sansa. My name is Sansa.

[ she isn't brave enough to add the stark. and so she buries her cowardice in another sip of hot chocolate. ]

[ In front of a stranger, not an odd reaction. ]

Miss Sansa. [ He nods. ] Have you been with us long?

Only days, ser.

[ she can't exactly pin it down, but he exudes something that makes her tongue leap to call him a ser. too rough to be a lord, but too well-groomed to be a peasant. and with a physique such as that! yes, a knight. ]

[ A soft heh. ]

Not that I object to a ser, miss, [ she's one for propriety ] if you must, Captain is better. I'm a soldier.

Captain! [ her brows furrow. it's the only outward sign that, somehow, this possibility is less welcome than the last. sansa makes the brave attempt to look him in the eye. ] As in, captain of a ship?

[ or captain of the guard -- the unspoken possibility that frightens her far more than the first. ]

[ There's many reasons a young woman would be frightened of a soldier. Jim tries to make himself smaller, and unthreatening. ]

Yes. The Heron [ he reflexively gestures to the window. ] ah, we're not on our ships now.

Mine -- the one they gave me too, Captain -- it's called the Huntress. [ she worries her bottom lip, and asks in a hush: ] Is it a good ship?

[ will i be safe there? ]

I know the captain, Cullen Rutherford, and one of the crew members. Miah. They're good people.

[ You'll be well-looked after. ]

[ her nose crinkles. she doesn't want to ask this of him, but he's been so judicious and careful in his answers so far. delicate, even, in his diplomacy.

cautiously: ] What manner of man is Ser Rutherford?

[ Firmly, ]

A good one. My word might not mean much to you, miss, as we're strangers, but I don't say it lightly. Soldiers aren't always people you want to be around.

[ her nod is small, but telling. soldiers aren't her preference when it comes to keeping company, but she isn't quick to dismiss the value of a good sword. brune is a soldier through and through, and her trust has slowly taken root in him. and the hound, before...

and sansa thinks now she should have had better faith in winterfell's soldiers -- no matter what had befallen them since. ]

What a scathing thing for a soldier to say of other soldiers. [ quietly, she recognizes his honesty. ]

[ Just as quietly, ]

Only the truth of war.

[ Something young women have more of a cause to know than most. They all saw their share of women coerced into giving comfort to the Germans, and heard enough of what happened after. It didn't matter that they tried to stop as much as they could — it still went on, they knew men who did nothing. ]

-- Is there a war, here? Are your ships at war?

[ your ships. she excludes herself for so many reasons. and yet she asks about war with the defeated air of someone who (although she hasn't fought it one) is all too familiar with certain knock-on hardships of ongoing conflict. ]

No, not here. I came from one, at home.

[ He was born out of it such that he's a thing of war just as the Winter Soldier is. They have different skin on the outside, but the wolf in them is the same. Wary, worn, and hungry, driven by that hunger. ]

[ Gently, ]

Seems you did, too.

[ meanwhile, the wolf in sansa is beaten and castigated -- broken, in effect. but she retains a prim line of steel in her spine. courtesy is her armour. ]

Civil strife, [ she admits. a war whose losing side had consisted of her family and its forces, and now the fallout of one war feeds into another. ] There was a rebellion, Captain.

[ and she will play this conversation as though she disapproved of rebellion, uncertain whether it's safe to suggest otherwise. ]

[ Past tense. Implies it's over, but no war is. No one comes back. ]

Which side were you on?

[ He chooses to play it as a question rather than a statement. The losing side. It's written all over her. ]

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