Joffrey Baratheon

      ” I’ve been here a mere three days,                 yet I have heard many things                 concerning you. To say they                 were laced with repulsion                 would be an understatement. ”

The King's brows drew together as he straightened his posture, fingers curling around the arms of his throne. His head was held high, exuding utter arrogance and egocentrism. This approacher had an unfamiliar face, and Joffrey could only hope that he wouldn't waste his time with boring and trivial matters he cared naught for.

"I won’t. I won’t beg, not to you."

And with that, she aimed and spat straight in his face.

--That did it. Being spat at, straight in his face, was enough to finally make the spark meet the end of the Prince's short fuse. "I'll have you killed, you disrespectful little cunt!" he snapped, pressing down firmly on his sword. He cared naught if his blade were to pierce straight through the girl's hand, for all he could see right now was red. Using his free hand, Joffrey wiped the spit from his face. "Beg your Prince. Now," he demanded, a furious tremble in his voice as he spoke through clenched teeth. "Lest you wish to lose your hand." Arya already had a gaping wound in her palm, the sword still pushed through, so it wouldn't take much more effort to completely remove the girl's hand.

"Get off of me! Get off, or I’ll call for my father. Or Sansa."

"Shut up," he snapped, digging his sword into the gash that had been inflicted on Arya's hand. Very slowly, he began sinking it in deeper into the flesh and sinew. He wouldn't hesitate to push it in fully either, which would end up pinning her hand to the ground and make for a highly unpleasant wound. The scar surely wouldn't be all too pretty of a sight either. "You'll do as your Prince commands. You can start by begging for your pathetic life."