get your mingle on

[curiositykilledthecats]

Who: SS Huntress and visitors
Broadcast: N
Action: Ship mingle!
When: Time is an illusion

[So, we've been returned to our ships, and they're all different now! Having lower ceilings must suck for those of you who are actually not tiny.]

Comments

[steeledskin]

[ her jaw sets like steel. had tyrion already gotten to this woman? secured her loyalty, somehow? all sansa knows is that nyssa is a hard and powerful creature -- perhaps lannister gold has already secured her services.

she grows withdrawn -- even more so than before. ] I am. Yes.

[sinuosity]

Well, that explains the my lady.

[ If she notices, she offers no comment. Sansa's thoughts are all laid out with care: her face and hands never out of place. A target like that needs patience. ]

I'm told women don't use the blade or bow. I confess I don't understand why. I doubt that a man could tell me.

[steeledskin]

[ women have other weapons -- other armour. but she doesn't give this answer.

instead: ] Some do. Some have. [ ... ] I do not.

[sinuosity]

[ She shakes her head. ]

Only some. What a waste.

[steeledskin]

-- My sister would like you, I think.

[ a sideways slanted sort of appeal. ]

[sinuosity]

[ Startled, she laughs. ]

But not you. You, Sara would like. Have you heard any songbirds?

[steeledskin]

All sorts. [ ... ] Robins and mockingbirds. Nightingales, too. Doves.

[ mostly from palace balconies. sansa tilts her head. ] Are you good with arrows? [ her eyes fall upon the quiver. sansa doesn't shoot, but she can recognize the accessories when she sees them. ]

[sinuosity]

I'm rather fond of robins.

[ Offhandedly, as she narrows in on the second question. ]

I am unmatched.

[steeledskin]

-- Truly?

[ she possess enough grace to project admiration, even as she doubts the claim. ]

[sinuosity]

Truly. A general must prove they can do more their men are capable of, else they're not fit to lead.

[steeledskin]

[ what does sansa know of leading men? nothing, and no more. and yet the phrase tickles something in the back of her thoughts. like staid old lectures at her lord father's knee, wherein he was truly imparting wisdom to her brothers but sansa had listened anyway. back then, it had all been about the romance of the fictional knight.

and right now, it's all about measuring how potent the lady nyssa truly was. ] And do you lead many men?

[ questions. soft and wide-eyed, but sharp like metal beneath all her romanticism. ]

[sinuosity]

[ Her amusement shakes a shoulder, briefly, but Sansa can lead. Nyssa has nothing to lose by being honest with her. ]

All who follow my father follow me.

[steeledskin]

[ and what is sansa stark to make of this creature?

she is bold, like the dornish. and ferocious like the targaryens of old. or she is like nymeria, the warrior queen -- and at long last sansa glimpses some fraction of what her sister saw in that legend. a tall and powerful woman, not smudged in dirt or hulking like a man -- but beautiful and poised. more like steel than anything she'd seen before.

she lays her fork across the plate. ] He must trust you a great deal, if you lead those who follow him.

[sinuosity]

[ A soft exhale. She was trusted, once. She was asked to be perfect and she was; Father still handed what was hers to some usurper. Nyssa exhales, softly. ]

The trust of one man means little. It must come from those below to have true power.

[steeledskin]

[ trust is a farce, and it has no place in power. but those words belong to someone else's voice -- haunting her, and souring the time-old traditions honoured in the north.

but even so, she affects a little shake of her head. ] The trust of one man might mean little, but the trust of a father means the world. Doesn't it?

[ sorrow. she misses her dear lord father. ]

[sinuosity]

[ She is silent, and knows it betrays her hesitance, her mixed feelings, and everything else besides. ]

Yes.

[steeledskin]

[ she believes her father must have been so disappointed in her: she'd fallen prey to the lion's claws, and she'd betrayed them all. hadn't she? except all sansa remembers with any clarity is falling on her knees and begging for her father's life.

and she remembers his blood on the hem of her dress. his head, rolling-- ]

What sort of lord is he? [ for a man commanding other men must hold some manner of title, mustn't he? ] Your father?

[sinuosity]

My father?

[ It's almost absent. She eyes the remaining baklava on her plate. ]

One of the most powerful men in the world. Perhaps the most, for we conquer our enemies without exception.

[steeledskin]

Is he a king?

[sinuosity]

Of his own house, perhaps.

Not of the world. We seek to rule nothing, only protect and guide.

[steeledskin]

[ she eats another bite. something about the food knits a net around the moment -- old world hospitality woven in with some basic sense of who this woman is. who she might be.

almost-gently, she changes tack: ] Sara is a pretty name.

[sinuosity]

[ Evenly, ]

So is Sansa.

[steeledskin]

[ oh, she responds to flattery -- even when (and she can tell) it's being used to chase her off the scent of another inquiry's path. sansa's smile is hidden in the firm line of her lips, but she can't hide how much she likes to hear a nice thing said. her whole person craves compliments like a fine flower's roots crave water. ]

It's a family name. [ ... ] Northern daughters have carried the name before me.

[sinuosity]

[ Something subtle in Nyssa's expression gives way to warmth. ]

And what of the name Stark? What can I expect of the family of Warden of the North?

[steeledskin]

[ it shouldn't be a difficult question. and yet, it is. its complexity creeps like a shadow over her face. house stark stands for things she'd abandoned all too willingly, and things she'd come to embrace once again in pain. ] Winter is coming, [ she breathes. ] Those are the words of our house. Even in the long summers, we are supposed to remember that winter always returns.

[ something she hasn't been so successful at recalling -- cavorting in the south, and enjoying the sun while she could. ] Stark is an old name. And it belonged to kings, once upon a time.