Ｓａｉｎ ｅｔ Ｓａｕｆ

                   BUT SOMETIMES YOUR SIDE IS JUST NOT WHERE I AM NEEDED. She scoffs, face turns away a fraction at his words, nose wrinkling a little in disgust; she doesn’t agree with that statement, not in the slightest. His place should be at her side, his place should be a Winterfell. But it isn’t. It’s true, he’s not of Winterfell. She’s always felt like he’s more akin to a bird — free flying to wherever he pleases, across all four corners of the realm and, dare she say, beyond. “I always want y’here.” She murmurs softly, gaze fixed on the candles flickering dully at the marble figure of her sister’s feet. Tries her hardest not to let her vision swell up with tears, but the ache in her chest is too painful to ignore. She knows why he can’t stay. He’s a spy for her House, a most valuable alley and asset in this glaring threat of war. She knows soon both the Lannisters & the Starks will be vying for each others blood — but try as she might to focus on the fact Sinclair is playing earful magpie on her behalf, the night’s here in Winterfell without him are long, bitter, and lonesome. 

                  “It’s not fair.” It’s a childish remark that slips from her lips, a whisper as she extends her own hand to take hold of his, link their fingers. Feet shift to close the gap between them, and she makes to rest blonde curls against one of the man’s shoulders, bury her face against the crook of his neck. This wasn’t their war — these strains of hatred have been thriving since they were children, since before they were born, but now, with hardly any living members to her House, it is her war. A war to honor the memories of all those lost. Her brothers, her sister, her mother. The kidnap of her cousin, the mutilation of her brother. Her father lost at sea. Suddenly House Stark seems so small in the grand scheme of it all, and if she doesn’t fight for the wolf’s survival, will their House remain in the history books? A hundred years from now, will they know the Stark name?

                “ If they were still alive, if — if father were here, he’d…he’d know what t’do.” Suddenly, as the heir of her House, the world seems so scary and uncertain. She must make the decisions for her people in the absence of her brother’s physical strength. He is gravely wounded, unable to walk without aid. “If father was here, perhaps none of this would’ve happened. And we’d… we’d be married by now.”

     He refrains from mentioning just how he thinks things would be turning out if it were as she wishes it was. It’s not perfect now - mainly because the world is crumbling of its own volition and people seem to be champing at the bit to plunge the whole of it into chaos - but Sinclair actually prefers that they face it as they are. Adelias is sensible, she’s a survivor - the north has more of a chance with her, in his opinion, than with any other in her family. The Starks like honour - and they haven’t caught up to the fact that it fell out of fashion everywhere else several generations ago. People aren’t just willing to hit below the belt now, they’re aiming for it. The benefit to having Adelias in charge is that she listens to Sinclair and his southern sensibilities, and that (not to blow his own horn or anything) is going to be the difference between the rise and the fall of the Starks.

And Sinclair really doesn’t want them to go extinct, for more than just Adelias’s sake. He’s fond of the hulking great idiots. He still has a boyish excitement for the stories of man and wolf fighting side by side. It would be a sad thing if that was all wiped out.

“Your father could not have prevented this war with a hundred years to prepare and a hundred thousand soldiers.” he assures, squeezing her hand “He could not have stopped men from being greedy or bloodthirsty, and until someone finds out how to do that, wars will come time and time again, no matter what anyone does. But you have done magnificently. Every single person under the Stark banner that still breathes is a testament to you.”

He offers a smile, wry and small as it is.

              HEARTBEAT PICKS UP in her chest, as rapid as the flutter of a blue bird’s wings, sat within a cage of bone. This feels surreal, being with him like this — never in a million years did she ever think she would find friendship, let alone potential companionship with someone outside of the community. They’re all so closely knit here, almost every family is related to another. Outsiders are a rarity, hardly ever seen. But Sinclair brings with him a sense of EXCITEMENT, a thrill. She’s never felt particularly close to this lifestyle…and she believes now, he’s the reason why. She was supposed to meet him, supposed to leave tonight with him. Maybe it’s not God’s will, perhaps God doesn’t exist at all, but she knows in this moment, they were supposed to be. TONIGHT can’t come quick enough.

                 Cheeks flush rosy, and she lifts little trembling hands to take ahold of his face in tender grasp. “Yeah?” Her own voice leaves her a bit breathy, head cocking just a fraction as blue gaze latches onto his. “Well, that’s good. ‘Cause …I like you more than jus’ friends too.”

     The smile creeps onto his face, so strong that he can’t straighten out to kiss her properly. Bumping their lips together has to do; he can only just shut his mouth to manage it, but his muscles won’t listen when he tries to stop beaming like a lunatic. The kiss is far from his best work. He can’t shut his eyes, either, because he can’t take them off her face, can’t miss one second of looking at her, seeing what her eyes say. If it were anyone else he’d panic about it, but she’s the one girl that’ll let him get away with it - maybe in a few months when they’ve kissed a thousand times and she has a basis for comparison, she’ll ask him why their first one was so shit, and he can explain that really it’s her fault. If she wasn’t so perfect, he wouldn’t have buggered it up from being so in love with her.

His hands take hers, covering them and holding them there, his thumbs grazing her fingers as he squeezes them softly. He’s laughing a little bit as he pulls away a fraction- a nervy, breathy, tentative exhale of delight.

* 🍎@securxs​ . )

                “THE OWNER OF SECURIS, YES?” Oh, she knows him. Of course she does. That name sits on every revolving door in the city, etched into steel. The man’s empire is the walkway for all types of life: young, old, poor and rich alike. Andrew has told her all about these men who came to his city, the ones he forged contacts with. The ELITE. She knows their names, knows their trades, spoken to her among languid kisses and a breath heavy with cigar smoke and whisky. His mother was the investor, she knows that much — but she knows Dubois for other reasons, too.

              Jolene pats the fur-trim of red coat with gloved hands as she comes to a halt beside the man’s table. He’s young, she can’t help but note. Young, and very handsome, features slightly pointed and well defined. Beautiful blue eyes. He could easily have any woman his heart desired, and if word carries right, he’s quite the charmer. But his words & thick accent will not work on her. Jasmine has strolled within a garden unfamiliar to her, in search of what she hopes is not a snake clad in the flesh of man. Rapture’s tea gardens are expensive nowadays, but it is Ryan’s money she uses to access the beauty of Arcadia. She extends a leather-clad hand in offering.

                “Miss Jolene. I’ve heard so much about you, Mr Dubois. It’s a pleasure.”

     It’s a surprise, pleasant though it may be, to look up and find ‘Ryan’s Favourite Gal’ introducing herself to him. He knows who she is the moment he sees her, of course. There can’t be anyone in Rapture who hasn’t at least heard her name. But he’s seen her show, so he knows her by more than artist’s rendition.

His response to any surprise is to smile at it, and smile he does, a languid and lopsided stretch of lips as he stands, takes her hand, and bends slightly to kiss it. One of his mother’s lessons, that. If a woman is anyone, then don’t drag her hand around because you can’t be bothered to lower yourself a little. His mother was short, and relationships with her were sometimes make or break depending on the angle her arm was at when a man kissed her hand. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Mademoiselle.”

Heard so much about you is a heavy phrase. It's about the from who, more than the about what. His life is anything from admirable to a field day of scandal, depending on whether it’s in the hands of another socialite or a journalist. He hasn’t read the paper this morning, but he’s sure Rosie would have hunted him down by now if the front page was an exposé.

* @securxs. ) ❜

                 “I FORGET WHAT SHE looks like, sometimes.” In the Stark crypt beneath Winterfell is where she comes to seek a moment’s peace away from the chaos that is swallowing her family whole. A place to think, a place to reflect. A place to remember all the lives already LOST from this game. The statue of her sister, Tessa, is the last of memorials to be built and placed here, a fresh bouquet of winter roses sitting at the figure’s feet, alongside burning candles. Adele knows Sinclair is there — behind her, she senses him. The raven that was sent spoke of his arrival, but she had not anticipated it so soon. "We looked identical yet, y’could always tell us apart. Lookin’ in a mirror ain’t the same.”

                 Adele is silent for a moment or two before she turns, face bathed in shadow from the flickering candlelight. Eyes skimming over his form, lips pursed. “No raven, no word ‘till now? Could y’not tell me where y’were goin’? You had t’leave me in the dark?” She isn’t sure why she sounds so hurt, so anguished — he’s been this way since they were children. It’s simply his way. Sinclair is shrouded in mystery, a man who has single-handedly forged himself a better name with a better signal, and with use of wit, charm and cunning, has additionally earned himself friends in very high places. But he was a Ward to House Stark once, raised like one of Lord Robert’s own, and as such remains in their debt. “Why is it whenever I need you most, y’no where t’be found? Do you not care my House is on it’s last legs?!” It’s her anger speaking: she does not mean that, and if he knows her as well as she THINKS he does, he will not take such words to heart. One cannot blame Adele for her stress — the future of her House hangs in the balance, and the lives of her brother & cousin. By the looks of things they are preparing for war with House Lannister & House Bolton, and it is a war in truth she cannot afford.

            “I don’t know what you’ve been doin’, but I’m tryin’ my best t’hold this House t’gether. I need t’know who I can trust an’ who I can depend on. I need you, Sinclair. Y’can’t keep doin’ this t’me. I need you here. M’brother is sick an’ Michael is in King’s Landing. I’m alone. I’m alone with very little allies. I need you here. I need you in Winterfell.”

     He paces forwards, his face emerging from the shadow as his dark clothes cling to it, outlined only by glinting golden thread twining across his body. “You know you can trust me.” his low voice carries through the quiet, soft as down, yet it is a voice that to many can herald nothing good. 

“You can always trust me. I stand by you. But sometimes your side just is not where I am needed.”

Fond as he is of Winterfell, he never hesitates to describe it as the arse-end of nowhere. It provides all the opportunity for political maneuvering found at the bottom of a well, as was perhaps intended by those that had it built. He cannot fight a war in letters; he cannot play a game of such immense subtlety when he is thousands of miles from all other players; and he cannot win against enemies that are eight steps ahead of him because they wine and dine with their allies every week. In truth, he should not spend the time returning to Winterfell at all. But then he would really be in the doghouse.

He holds his hand out to her, his skin tanned where it had once been pale. He has the beginnings of callouses on his fingers from holding reigns. It is the first sign he has ever shown of doing anything physical - he was declared a lost cause by every swordsman in the castle by the time he was eleven, and thereafter not asked to lift anything that could be described as a weapon lest he maim himself or anyone standing within ten feet. Raised in Winterfell, but not of Winterfell. He has always felt more comfortable as a guest, coming and going.

     "You see what your daughter has done? I thought dogs were meant to be smart - does she need to go to the vet? I’m going to keep the vet’s number by the phone just in case.”

@securxs

“ Looks like Tacky is back in town. Miss me, handsome? “

              “Y’WOULD REALLY TAKE me outta here? Tonight?” It sounds impossible, but she’s up for the challenge. Wonders if she can steal money from her stepfather, if she’ll have enough clothes and such to take on the journey. This is… spontaneous. She knows her mother wouldn’t approve of this plan, this idea of running away from everything she’s ever known to live a more MODERN lifestyle. But she likes the idea of it. No — loves the idea of it. This is her. This lifestyle never suited her; out there, on the open road? That’s where a free spirit belongs.

              “Of course I wanna go… I’d go anywhere with y’.” Her cheeks flush with color, and eyes the color of summer skies flutter to look at the ground, Adele pursing strawberry lips as she hesitantly makes to rest her hand on his. “I really… like y’.” She feels the blood rush to her face, taints her skin pinker, redder with embarrassment, feels it grow hot. “In a…more than a friend way, I guess.”

     ”Tonight.” he’s trying not to let it show that his heart is beating out of his chest, but he’s just not used to this - to caring so much, to finding a girl like her out in the back end of beyond. He’ll throw a wink at anything that doesn’t make him physically recoil, just because it’s so lonely living like he does - he can’t believe he’s found someone as beautiful as her out here, let alone that she wants to leave it all to be with him. People are happy to kill time with him - in fact, very rarely does he ask a question that gets a no. But they always want to go back to their bed, their family, their home - no matter what, when it comes down to it and he asks if they’ll just try it, just see what it’s like to be free, they prefer home. He doesn’t know what that’s like. He doesn’t remember what having a home is like.

sinclair: new phone who dis