driftfleet | open | video + action

Who: Sansa Stark and YOU
Broadcast: Y, fleetwide
Action: Blue Fish
When: Today

Dear friends. [ some lies are kindly told. like this one, wherein she counts only a few souls in the fleet as friends but it's only polite to address the whole lot with warmth and generosity. especially when she's asking for help. and especially when there are lions in the tall grass. ]

I need a recipe for baklava -- I do not think anyone eats it where I come from. But someone dear to me who has long since left the fleet used to bring baklava every week. And we would enjoy it together. I should like to have some again but the cook on this ship needs to know how it's made. Please -- I promise the information will go to good use, although some cooks must covet their kitchen's secrets.

[ sansa approaches her broadcast with steel in her spine: hands folded in her lap; hair brushed until it shines. if there are enemies recently shuffled onto ships, then she must let them know she is comfortable here. she is protected. after surviving the raid, she realizes her days of hiding must be numbered.

as an afterthought, she adds a bit of mercy. a gesture of peace for jeyne: ] Or if there are other recipes you have and want to share, you may do so. My good-sister is new to her duties and I think it would be a kindness to provide her with fresh dishes.

[ ordinarily, in the evening, she would go to the garden on the iskaulit to 'pray' -- but with the news of recent arrivals, she's too skittish to leave the blue fish. instead, she stays on ship and prays in her quarters. sansa kneels on the floor and props her elbows on her mattress. as much as it's become an act (a performance!) she still feels compelled to go through the motions. it's like meditating. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ -- if his appearance alarms her (it does) then she stomachs it well. after all, he doesn't speak like a lannister. doesn't even form his sentences like one.

and his question piques a memory in her. cautious, she nods. ]

Yes. There are markets. [ though very few she's visited. why should she, when there are others to do the visiting for her? ] There's one in Winter Town. The market square was always crowded with wooden stalls, though they were not always manned.

What was it like? Was it just food, or the kind with clothes and home-made bottle-openers and dried flowers and stuff?

[It should be quite apparent that he's trying to picture it with her. To catch a vicarious glimpse.]

Food -- grains, mostly, that were stored before winter started. Or animal pelts. [ coolly. ] Why would they sell flowers?

I think for the smell? But yeah, no, that's a good question. All I know is people buy them. A lot. There's a French word for them that means 'smelly pots' or something.

Mayhaps they did sell them -- but we never bought them. We had our glass gardens; we grew flowers even in the depth of winter.

And in Winter town I'm guessing that's most of the time?

No. [ she bites back on her venom; it isn't the stranger's fault that his question is stupid. ] Winters can be long, ser, but summer will come. Eventually.

[ a wry little inversion of her family's words; it entertains only her. ]

Edited 2017-02-21 19:20 (UTC)

[There's something weird about the way she's speaking. Her syntax. Summer will come? It's strangely immediate. So he says:]

Not in space.

As you say. [ she guards no ground -- none detectable, at least. ] Not in space. Not any real summer, at least.

Did you go to the market often?

[She didn't sound like she came from a planet with a Whole Foods.]

Often enough. [ never to buy anything. and never alone. ] I liked it best after snowfall -- in summers, the streets were little more than mud.

I think I can understand that. I've been living in a place called New York - and it's pretty great there in the winter. The snow brings out the good in people. You'll see them shovel out each-other's porches, and people buy warm drinks for people stuck out in the cold. Plus, there's a kind of quiet that you only ever hear in the snow. Like everyone's holding their breath.

[ she resists the siren's song of his words. instead, quite perfunctory, she replies: ] Your winters must be awful short if it feels like anyone has been holding their breath through them.

Yeah, I guess. A handful of storms, you know. Cold mornings and nights. Everyone complains about it while it's happening, but they complain about the summer as well.

[ and what she says next is said only because other people have found it curious. noteworthy. ]

In the kingdom of my homeland, it snows even in the summer.

There's places from my - land - that're like that too. Far in the north there's a place called the arctic. Not a lot of what you'd call beach-weather there.

It's in our north too! [ she gains a bit of enthusiasm. a bit of steam. ] But we simply call it the North.

[A lesser man might have made fun of her for that one. A town called Winter Town with long winters, and a northern region named The North.

Except... Clint had just finished talking about a place call New York, and he knows enough about the city's history to know that the name comes from another place, called... York. So who's he to judge?]

It's cold in the far South as well. There's probably a science-reason for it.

A...science reason? [ make no mistake! she understands the intended suggestion beneath the words. but she's damn well going to query the words themselves. ]

Astrophysics. In school, they always tell you how the Earth is round, and tilted, so it probably has something to do with that. I don't know.

[He smiled wryly.]

I think I missed that day.

I don't think it's cold in our far south.

Yeah? How far south have you been?

[It seemed like the most obvious follow-up question.]

King's Landing. [ but she knows he won't know it. so few do. ] Awfully south.

What's south of King's landing?

Dorne -- where it's all sand and hot peppers.

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