st_arkcrowblack (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
st_arkcrowblack) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
strangetrip2017-12-21 12:00 am
st_arkcrowblack) wrote in strangetrip2017-12-21 12:00 am
Entry tags:
And then there were none - OTA
She was gone. Sansa was gone.
It wasn't unusual for Snow White not to see Sansa for a day or two. Sansa kept to herself much of the time, shy of many of the inn’s inhabitants. But she would find Snow, would talk to Snow, and it would always bring light and warmth to Snow’s day to see her. She didn’t understand why. She didn’t need to know, so long as she could have this.
Yesterday had been just about the most magical day in her life. She'd found Sansa building a castle in the snow, and they'd worked quietly together on this tiny model of a castle called Winterfell. Snow had finally worked up her nerve and kissed her after those last touches were made. It had been terrifying. It had been achingly sweet. But it had not been bad. Neither of them knew what it meant, and yet...
And then today she just knew something was different. Something was wrong. She had gone to Sansa’s room. Then to the desk.
She didn’t cry. Or scream, or rage. Instead she calmly and quietly collected four glass bottles from the bar and took them out to a fence along the road.
She had four bullets left in Rose Red. Two had been used in Songrun, and she had been saving the rest until Percy could make her more. She lined up the bottles on the fence, and stepped back as far as she thought she could manage.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Zero.
She dropped the gun and went down on her knees in the grass, staring at nothing.
It wasn't unusual for Snow White not to see Sansa for a day or two. Sansa kept to herself much of the time, shy of many of the inn’s inhabitants. But she would find Snow, would talk to Snow, and it would always bring light and warmth to Snow’s day to see her. She didn’t understand why. She didn’t need to know, so long as she could have this.
Yesterday had been just about the most magical day in her life. She'd found Sansa building a castle in the snow, and they'd worked quietly together on this tiny model of a castle called Winterfell. Snow had finally worked up her nerve and kissed her after those last touches were made. It had been terrifying. It had been achingly sweet. But it had not been bad. Neither of them knew what it meant, and yet...
And then today she just knew something was different. Something was wrong. She had gone to Sansa’s room. Then to the desk.
She didn’t cry. Or scream, or rage. Instead she calmly and quietly collected four glass bottles from the bar and took them out to a fence along the road.
She had four bullets left in Rose Red. Two had been used in Songrun, and she had been saving the rest until Percy could make her more. She lined up the bottles on the fence, and stepped back as far as she thought she could manage.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Zero.
She dropped the gun and went down on her knees in the grass, staring at nothing.
no subject
no subject
Care. He cared. He gave a fuck about this girl and if that meant sitting here, not speaking, not touching her, not doing anything until she was ready or he was, then he would gods-damn well sit here and do that.
And if it meant letting her punch him until he bled and she cried, he could do that too.
no subject
no subject
Sansa's gone.
Not her mama, not one of the horses, a friend. More than a friend, maybe. "One of the ones worth holding onto," he said, certain, not asking. "Feels like a bleeding hole in your chest." For him, anyway.
no subject
no subject
"Don't let her go," were the words that finally found their way out to etch themselves in the shared silence. They were the only ones he had. Don't let go.
no subject
"Why the fuck not?!" Snow snapped, angry tears stinging her eyes. Fuck this fucking place and every fucking thing about it.
no subject
If Snow were someone else. Stephanie or Molly. One of the bright pretty women that people loved easily or thought they did, he wouldn't say it. But Snow was like him. If it had happened at all, it had been real. Sansa would never forget Snow. Ever. Or let her go.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
She shrieked like an angry cat and came up straight before swinging. It was clumsy and confused, her heart was in the force, but not in the aim.
no subject
no subject
But she wanted to put a hole in something. She wanted to shoot up the whole hotel, the walls, the ceilings. Even now, though, she'd had enough control not to shoot wildly, the memory of that seagull she'd shot down and that man she'd shot on Hauloff weighing heavy in her mind.
She was out of bullets, and that made things at last a little clearer.
It was clear that no one had ever taught Snow White to fight. She got by on her size, her raw strength, and the instinct not to die if she didn't have to. She screamed and roared and swung at him and hated it, but as she swung she thought of the sweetness of Sansa's smile and her mouth, the bright flame of her hair and the deep blue of her eyes. She thought of those monsters back in Westeros who would hurt her, and how she wouldn't, couldn't be there to keep her safe. She would have been her knight. She would have tried.
Her fists kept swinging.
no subject
He ached, but he felt balanced. Like he'd done something he could be proud of.
no subject
And then... she did not soften exactly. She was still just a split second away from shying. But she lowered her head and hid her face in his shoulder.
no subject
no subject
no subject