driftfleet | [Open] Mornings, man.

Entry tags:

[Open] Mornings, man.

Who: Tyrion, the entire fleet
Broadcast: Open, accidental
Action: Tyrion is having a bad morning.
When: This Morning.

[The recording starts with Tyrion's small, stubby hand putting the device on the edge of the sink, tilting it upwards. All you can see is the top of his damp, curly blonde head, and the top of his scar. Then there's a sigh, before there is the sound of Tyrion's steps dragging across the bathroom floor.

After that, is the scrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeech of metal being pulled across metal, as the top of Tyrion's head comes into view again. Then the stomp stomp of Tyrion climbing what can only be the stepstool, and his tired face and slightly bloodshot eyes. He's not drunk, that much is clear, just ... tired.

He eyes the camera, and states flatly.]

There must be some universe ... where all things, can be available, according to height.

[And with that, he begins to clean his face, turning off the camera.]

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[ humbled. is he ever truly humbled, she wonders? but a tiny voice in the base of her mind answers: yes, and always. this is a little man long unloved. she'd learned as much on their wedding night, and that lesson had inspired pity in her heart.

but pity kills all other feeling. it douses the flame of love. it ruins passion. they had no chance. ]

And if, by some reason, you cannot vanquish your sink -- then there will be others here who will help you. They are uncommonly kind in this Fleet.

[Well honestly he knew that she pitied him and that she would never love him. Still, he could ... completely forget that and move onto someone more worthy of his time and attention!

By the Seven he would not be swamped into feelings that would never be reciprocated. He had proven his worth to himself. He need not prove it to Sansa Stark.

He smirked at the response, before he stated quietly.] Yes there are. I have never met such kind souls. Here, I am accepted and respected. It is a change I will not give up lightly.

[ there is one small part of her -- angry, and bitter -- that would call them all simpletons and fools for being so free with their kindness. and another part (her terror) would call them false and tricky and manipulative for being kind at all.

but then there is the part of her that's a lot like fresh green grass pushing through old flagstones: vulnerable, and hopeful. their kindness waters her hope and bids it grow a little taller. ]

Upon which ship have they shuffled you, my lord?

[Those are ... rather larger parts of Tyrion's own soul -- and while he has been reluctant to take their kindness, or has been thinking of ways on how to use it best to his advantage -- he cannot deny it.

There are people who care, no matter where you came from, or what you looked like.]

I am on the SS First Breath, my lady.

And I am on the Blue Fish. [ with robb. and bran.

a moon ago, she'd not have told him this much. it would have been a secret for her to keep. but (perversely) the more she talks with her family, the more she realizes she's not the same girl they used to love. so much has happened -- and lord tyrion, at least, knows some of the cause. he witnessed it; stopped it; wedded it.

perversely, she can be more herself with the imp than with her own flesh and blood. it burns -- but it's true. and so she tells him which ship she inhabits. and she offers him the thinnest of thin truces: ] And you may contact me -- from time to time -- if you wish to talk.

[ quite the change from their first meeting! but she's had a lot of time to think, and to compare her state with that of her brothers. tyrion, at the very least, understands. ]

I have heard of several others residing on Blue Fish.

[He knows that is where Bran is - he has not learned about Robb yet. It seems a great deal of his time will be now spent on this particular ship ...

Especially when she extends the invitation. Both of his eyebrows lift, before he state simply.]

It would be my pleasure. [A pause, and a quiet.] You may feel free to contact me as well, if you wish to talk.

[ there are things she thinks she will never tell him: of playing catspaw at his nephew's wedding, and of how she dared defend him against aunt lysa's disgust. there are questioned burning in her throat, but asking them betrays too much.

(and she believes he'll grow tired of her conversation. eventually. the imp does not want to discuss embroidery and the high harp.)

sansa begins her gracious exit: ] Good day, Lord Tyrion.

[At least in that, they would both keep their silence. He will never tell her that he knew what his sister and brother did to Bran, or why, although he has a fairly good idea she already knows.

(Honestly he'd be fascinated to learn about the high harp.)

He dips his head, even though he knows she cannot see him.] Good day, Lady Sansa.

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[Open] Mornings, man.

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