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[wont]

— » 003 » 005 QUARTERS | THIRD LEVEL SEAMSTRESS | FIFTH LEVEL PETYR'S LIBARY | FIFTH LEVEL DEVICE, IN-PERSON, BY RAVEN

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( A C T I O N | T E X T )

[wont]

[ She does not expect to hear from him. Not for some time, at least. Unlike some of the others who had taken readily to Alayne's tale, Percy had reeled from it — as much for her own sake as his own, though Alayne cannot fault for him that (she cannot and will not; she was the one who had been unfaithful).

For a long moment she does not open the message that makes her device chime upon the bedside table. When she finally does, it is trepidation. Alayne is quick to respond: ]

Dear friend Percy,

You are always welcome, both in company and conversation.
Though we have a great obstacle set before us,
I never have and never shall turn you away.

You have my ear and my thoughts, as always.

Yours truly,
Lady Sansa Stark.

( A C T I O N | T E X T )

[ripstides]

[ letters. she sends him letters and she sounds the same. he scrolls the screen, reads and rereads the words. she is as she's always sounded. but his eyes continue to linger heavily. Lady Sansa Stark. it doesn't dig into him as deep as the first time (like it did from her mouth) and he sighs, taps his foot on the ground because he has all this nervous energy and nothing to do with it. his knee's jumping. he straightens out the muscle and opens the reply screen.

he knows he owes her the courtesy of the same but if that was the point, if writing in perfect etiquette was his aim, that's what he'd be doing. but it's not. he skips it, not to spite her or inflict her with any kind of pain. he isn't malicious or scorned. and he doesn't know who he feels more comfortable addressing the letter to, if it should still say Alayne because not everyone knows. ]

if you mean that and you have some time to spare, i'm outside.

[ well... ]

i think.

( A C T I O N )

[wont]

[ Almost immediately there is the bustle of motion that comes from behind Alayne Stone's door. Fabric shuffling, the feet of a chair scraping, the near-unintelligible murmur of Alayne's voice as she chides herself for not having done her hair more primly that morning. Though she does not think Percy will mind much the difference, the offense she has done him still sits freshly in her mind and Alayne endeavors to apologize with every effort, every gesture and every word. How else would he be able to forgive her if she was not perfect in every way, if she did not strive to shine like the sun (radiant and effulgent and without flaw).

She frowns at her reflection once in the mirror — her hair looks limp and lifeless, her cheeks lack their usual luster — but it is a passing expression because she makes herself smile a moment later.

Alayne is still smiling when the door to her chambers unlock with a click and then slide open to reveal her smoothing at the lines of her dress. Modestly, she lowers her gaze and dips in a bow to greet him. ]

Greetings, Percy Jackson. I was unsure what it meant, for you to only think you were outside. But I am glad you did more than just think. I'm glad that you are here. You've been much in my thoughts since we last spoke.

Are— [ An expectant pause. ] —are you well?

( A C T I O N )

[ripstides]

[ he waits her out, thinking nothing of the noises he can hear through the wall. maybe she's cleaning up. he knows that's what he'd be doing. he uses the word cleaning sparingly though. Percy can't picture Alayne with clothes littering the floor or defending the idea that it might be a mess but at least it's her own mess. yeah, no way. she's definitely not tidying up her room in there but whatever it is, he bets it's important.

the glide of he door forces him to full height, to present himself before her. he'd ask her to sit with him but she's not a girl from his century, or even his decade, and he won't submit her to offense regardless of what she thinks she owes him.

if her hair is limp and lifeless (it's not) he must look homeless. like some savage that sleeps in the hall and rebels against all guidelines for personal hygiene. alright, maybe it's not that awful. he has a bedroom and he believes in showering daily - points in his favor, he figures. Percy only worries about what he looks like because he has the time to and because she makes it seem important. with one arm folded against his chest, he bows to her in the only way he knows how. maybe his feet are wrong or his hand placement is off but it's the attempt of the custom, better that than to ignore her. ]

Hello, Sansa Stark. [ her phrasing tugs at his lips, makes him laugh. ] I wasn't sure if this was your room. I've heard that people can change if they want to. Move floors, or just take up the place next door if nobody's staying there.

Me? [ this is the dismissal of a guy that doesn't think about himself too much. ] Yeah, I'm good. Can't complain.

[ he pushes his hands in his pockets, looks down, shifts his feet. he's looking up through his hair, chewing the corner of his bottom lip. ] How have you been doing?