If you'd like to apply to Snowblind and would like to test the waters first or get a sample set up for your application, this meme is for you! We've even provided some prompts for you to use if you want (but feel free to make up your own). Here's how it works.
✭ Reply to this entry with a character you're considering apping into the game. You can include the name of your character and the fandom in your subject line. ✭ Comment around to others on the meme, whether you're in the game already or not. ✭ Now you have a sample ready for your application! ✭ So go reserve and apply when reservations and applications are open. ✭ Seriously, do it.
Network Prompts
ONE: IT WON'T BE LONG NOW... Well, you made a mistake. You spent too long searching around, or you ran outside near the end of the day for just one more thing, and now you've been locked out. You can search around all you want, but the best shelter you can hope for is pressing against the side of a sealed up building. You do still have your tablet, though. Maybe someone on the network can give you some advice, or at least some comfort while you wait for hypothermia to set in.
TWO: CABIN FEVER Maybe you didn't want that mistake of getting caught outside to happen again, but now you've ended up staying too long in one location, and cabin fever has set in. Maybe you're taking to the network to try and ignore the hallucinations. Maybe you want to tell everyone that you've figured out they're all in on your kidnapping. Maybe you ended up wandering off and now you'd really like to know if anyone can check back in the place you were at for your pants.
Action Prompts
THREE: AN UNEXPECTED MEETING You're going about your business searching what seems like it might be an especially promising house--it's fully intact and there's even a working fireplace with some wood! It looks like someone else has the same idea, though, and you've run into them in the middle of your search. Do you share the potential wealth or try to kick them out? On the other hand, maybe you know who this is, or maybe you're just glad to actually see another person for the first time in ages.
FOUR: GOOD MORGUE-NING You've just woken up in a morgue after dying in one unfortunate way or another. You have no idea where you are beyond that, but your tablet is insisting you can't stay here, so you should probably get out of here pretty quickly. Of course, bringing people back from the dead isn't a perfect science, so you're missing something important to you. Maybe you've lost your voice, maybe you can't remember where you're from, maybe you can't remember where you are right now. It looks like someone else is nearby, though. Maybe they can help you out?
['Winter is coming' are words that play over in her mind as she stands outside the building in the snow that's far past her ankles at this point. Her furs are a comfort, reminding her ever of her Northern-ness. It was once something she tried to hide, to change.
But here, she knows. Here, her House's words ring ever true. She holds the device up, trying to understand how it works. Her cheeks are rosy, looking around. She isn't lost, but she's hoping she isn't alone.]
I've been locked out-- [Hold your nerve, she thinks to herself.] I didn't realize how late it had gotten.
Is anyone else out here? Has someone else been out here before? [Maybe there's shelter. Maybe someone can take pity on her. Sansa wipes at her nose before brushing back her long, dark strands.
She won't announce what's in a small satchel attached to her wrist, hanging outside the frame. Having already made one foolish mistake today, she doesn't know who else is here. Sansa is willing to share, but she doesn't want someone to take them on her either.]
( two; action )
[She's stopped feeling her toes in search for the warmth of a hearth. But the small cottage on the hill is not too far. One more step, she tells herself. She must keep going, must keep going. It would be too easy to stop, to sit beside a tree and let herself drift off.
But she doesn't. There's a drive that comes inside, to keep going. She cold, her face and feet are frozen, hands stuffed into her cloak as she shuffles through the bitter cold. The determination is too persistent. Her father, her true father, once called it the Wolf's Blood. But it causes her to move quicker, thinking only of the rescue that lays behind those doors.
It is only when she reaches the steps of the porch, the wood cracking at the weight, that she realizes she is not alone. Sansa cannot survive by staying out in the cold for much longer. It is her kindness that she must rely on now, her words, and how to wield them.]
My apologies, [She dips her head as the condensation from her breath rises into the air.] I hadn't know this place was taken.
[It is hard to get her teeth not to chatter, but she tries to look put together despite the snow and frost on her eyebrows and her very blue lips.]
( three; action )
[Death is a shock to the system. People do all sorts of things, she's heard, when they die. It is gruesome and unpleasant, and something she has hoped to never experience-- or at least not until she is old in her bed. It is something Sansa knows too much about already, the grief haunting her from a young age.
But her own? Well coming back from the dead is just as much as a shock. She rises quickly, gasping for breath as her lungs try and work again. It is labored breathing though, slow and steady, and she wheezes each time she inhales as if she cannot get the air into her fast enough. Wide eyes look forward, frightened and confused.
No. No, no, no. This cannot be.
And yet, she can feel the cold beginning to creep over her. The metal table below her is hard, and her nervous system starts to take into account just what she's feeling.
But still she objects, and she tries to voice it. But as much as she dislikes this, nothing comes out. A soft hand touches just beneath her throat. Nothing is there, but still she cannot speak. She does not feel ill, but even as she tries to clear her throat there is no result. All she can do is whisper a wheezy sort of:]
[ Toreth had just recently died, as well. He was certain of it. Lying on the slab like that, surrounded by drawers and drawers of the other dead. It felt fucking awful, dying. Not that he hasn't done it before, and maybe that's why he's less alarmed after coming to, even if he has no recollection of how he's ended up here in the first place.
He's still sitting on his slab, trying to catch his breath -- he thinks everything's in working order, he can wiggle his toes and his fingers and that feels fine -- when one of the drawers near him abruptly opens, and a young woman is gasping for air, struggling for it right by him.
He watches her for a moment, utterly fascinated by the process. How does it work? It's not until she starts struggling to speak and everything comes out a desperate rasp that he finally gets up, feet unevenly hitting the ground, and walks over to her. ]
Calm down.
[ His voice is fairly firm despite its disuse for the past... however long he's spent dead. If he can just get her calm and speaking, maybe she can tell him just exactly where the hell he is and what the hell is going on. ]
[It's harder than he thinks, her heart beating in her ears now. She can't speak. She tries, but nothing comes out but a grainy breath. Waking up after being dead is unnerving enough-- something unnatural, creatures only Nan would tell little Bran after he pleaded for more stories. Not this.
She tries to clutch at her throat again, to get it across. She isn't so much outwardly panic, but the wheezing has gone down a little. Sansa needs to steady her breaths, trying to inhale slower.]
I can't-- [Her voice is gone. Out comes more condensation from her breath and nothing more.]
[ Rose is perched on the roof getting used to the elements, and has made the executive decision to never, ever wear a uniform that includes chainmail. It's useful as hell to deal with what's back home, but here, it's been radiating her body heat to the environment. And she's very much without her usual resistance to the cold. It sucks. ]
You okay?
[ She has one hand on the hilt of her knife, eyeing Sansa very warily. She has the advantage in higher ground and in speed, but never underestimate anyone, especially if they look innocent, there could very well be explosives under the coat. Though, if Sansa's defenceless... that changes the game. ]
[She needn't worry about Sansa. She carries no weapons with her other than her words. In some ways that is why she is out there, nearly crawling through the snow. She has no allies here, no Petyr to guide her, no sworn bannermen to protect her. It is a terrible way to find them, half frozen to death on a stoop of a cabin, and in this case it is mostly unintentional since she most desperately is trying not to be the damsel in distress.
But here she stands half frozen to the bone when the woman calls out to her. Her hands clutch around her body as she shakes.]
I seek shelter. I've not much to offer, but I can cook and sew if you have need of me. [It may be low of her, but Alayne has known the life of a bastard, and she does as she is told. Sansa knows her own survival, and she does as she must.]
[ Words are the most dangerous weapons, and this one strikes true. She hops down from the roof, strolls over to where Sansa is, and with mild horror determines she is, indeed, completely unarmed. Not even a knife. ]
Okay, you can cook. Come on, get in, you're freezing.
[She hurries in quickly, just wanting to feel some heat at the moment. Standing awkwardly right beyond the door, she is quick to shed her wet cloak, not wishing to ruin the floors. Already she feels like a bother, but she is still thankful for the kindness.]
Thank you. I was beginning to think I may not run into anything open. [Or at least someone that she could hopefully befriend.]
[ he should not be here. this is not his place. his place is similar to this in that the climate is practically the same, all cutting wind and deep snow and treacherous ice. when lord ramsay finds out his reek is missing he will not be well pleased. his lordship will be wroth, foul, hurtful … and will no doubt take his black mood out on jeyne. there's nothing he can do about that now, though. not that he could have done anything before, and yet — ]
[ and yet theon greyjoy feels responsible. guilty. so much so, in fact, that he doesn't hear the sound of footfalls until it's too late. stiff and shaking, his heart starts to beat frantically, like it's about to burst right out of his chest. he had thought himself alone and now he's expecting the worst: ramsay. it isn't ramsay, though. isn't even a man. however, still his heart continues to drum away, his breathing ragged and frightened. reek, reek, it rhymes with squeak. ]
[ he takes a good half a step backwards, the stumps of his missing fingers twitching wildly. that face, he knows it well. has looked upon it countless times. her hair is different, chestnut instead of auburn. she's taller too, older and far more beautiful than he remembers, the spit of lady catelyn, except that can't be right. theon greyjoy knew sansa stark's face well, but reek? reek has neither encountered nor looked upon the stark girl in his life. until now. ]
[ discarding the tattered scraps of his former identity (remembering is too dangerous. will only bring him pain), theon gives way to reek once more, ducking his head low to avoid eye contact, praying to whatever gods might be listening to go unnoticed, to be unrecognizable to her eye. ]
You needn't apologize, my—m'lady. This place is yours, if you wish it.
[It would be easy to not notice him, some sort of damaged creature, a vagrant mayhaps. Most of them flocked to nobility when walking in King's Landing, if one ever left the Keep. But Alayne has been taught to notice everything, to look and hear before she acts.
He is kind, though she is wary of him. He is disfigured and skittish, but she watches him even more closely for it. There is something else there, a familiarity.
'My-- m'lady, he says. He isn't lowborn, or if he is he's been taught well. Her eyes search him before she speaks.]
I'm no lady, but your offer is kind. [Even as the Lord Protector's daughter, Alayne is still baseborn. She takes his kindness though, slipping into the door frame for the warmth. It is too cold to stand there staring at one another.]
[ her words are confusing, to say the least. she's a lady, trueborn and noble. everyone knows that, even reek. he doesn't question her, though. he daren't. sansa stark is no bolton, that's true, yet he fears losing his tongue all the same. reek, reek, it rhymes with meek. ]
[ when she slips through the door frame, reek's gaze darts to the door. it's cold outside, fucking freezing, far chillier than the north. with naught but rags damp from the trek to the cottage and a coat and backpack that do not belong to him (items he fears to make use of, in case lord ramsay should arrive) he would not last long. would perish in no time at all. and yet he considers leaving all the same, hobbling back out into a world of white under some pretence or another to avoid remembering, what will happen if sansa sees past the greyish skin, missing teeth, and ghastly white hair. ]
[ he can't just up and run, though. that would raise suspicion, questions, might cause her to chase after him. thinking of that makes him realize that, for now, he has no choice but to stay, to endure. head down, eyes low, reek turns his body towards the fire he made, gesturing at it with an arm. it isn't very bright or very big, but it's better than nothing. ]
To keep warm, [ he mumbles, as if it wasn't obvious. ]
[A chill goes up her spine when he speaks. It is familiar, but distant, and she cannot quite place it, yet. Perhaps it is the cold playing with her mind. After all not everyone from this town is from Westeros. She dips her head in thanks before shutting the door behind her. She would not want to warmth to escape.
Her eyes are cautiously on him as she steps closer to the fire he's created. She does not know what to say, and something nags in the pit of her stomach. Trust doesn't come easy, but there's something else. Something she can't quite place. So she quietly heads toward the hearth, pulling off her gloves.]
My apologies if I have bothered you. Are you alone here?
[Foolish girl, she kept her head bowed to miss that it was her brother that answered the door. He had only been inside for a short while himself, but long enough to get a fire started.
A hand darted out and grabbed her by the arm, tugging her inside in the warmth. It didn't take seeing her blue lips to know she must be frozen solid, only her northern blood keeping her going. Robb was in this exact predicament not even an hour ago. He should've said something, but he only reacted. Both surprise to see her again, and concerned for her health.
Sansa was startled and scared, and he couldn't blame her, past the stoic features upon his face he was too.]
Stop struggling! Sansa...!
[His hands were upon her shoulders, steadying her and their eyes met.]
[He is not the first to grab her, but then men do as they wish. There is no Luthor Brune to protect her here, and she can only push against the man now bringing her to his chest. The Queen still wants her head, and there's a myriad of other terrible scenarios of how this plays out--
But that voice. It is a voice she has long stopped dreaming of. She can hear it in her memories, faint and distant, and through the long halls of Winterfell. He uses a name that feels nearly dead to her now, not that she has forgotten, but it is a name only one man knows, and the man holding her is certainly not her lord father, Petyr Baelish.
She stops only to look up at the voice, thinking this place is playing tricks on her. He is dead, betrayed by the Boltons. Everyone in King's Landing knew of it, spoke of his death, and what they've done to his body. He can't be real, but he is, and Sansa reaches up to touch his face, confirming that it is her older brother.]
You can't-- [She's know real words in this moment. She is not Alayne, but the younger sister to the King of the North. She is a Stark, and she feels ever more confident even if she's confused to how this is even possible.]
[He remembered everything. How he swallowed nervously before speaking to Walder Frey, the side glances from their mother, the screams around him and the pain of the arrows and the knife being embedded deep within him. He remembered.
There were thick, ugly scars marring his body, he already checked, but he wouldn't tell her that, no. The wounds were like a distant memory to his body, but right there when he closed his eyes for him.
And before she could say anything else, he pulled her in a tight hug, wanting her close. He never considered himself overly affectionate, but there was so much he wanted to say and apologize for.]
[jon wastes no time in reply. he should, probably, make an extra effort to be gentler with sansa than he might be with his men, but he can feel the edge of panic settling in. sansa is the last person who should be locked out alone at night.
she might know him well enough to be able tell that his face is set in a look of deep concern, and not anger. he honestly doesn't know.]
[She holds the device as steady as she can, but she can feel her fingers losing feeling even with the fur gloves she has on. She doesn't look panicked, but there's a crack in her voice when she speaks.]
S-south. [Her teeth chatter, jaw tight. She is Northern, she tells herself. She can withstand it.] South of the village.
I'm sorry, J-Jon. [With a shaky hand the video jolts before she switches to holding it with one hand, cupping her hand in front of her mouth. It was foolish to get caught out here, but the winter berries are getting harder and harder to find. She feels more like the little sister now, and it is a strange feeling in her belly.
But somehow it gives her hope, and a warmth she can't describe. They are the last now, and in so many ways she has tried to emulate him as Alayne. Quiet, meek and yet with a strong look. It may be an insult to say it, but she can survive this. What would it say for a Stark and the Lord Commander's sister to freeze to death?]
[it hadn't occurred to him she might blame herself. he's still not used to this new sansa, with fears and doubts he doesn't recognize. his face soften somewhat, his mouth open in surprise.]
I'm coming. Don't be sorry.
[he sets the tablet down to grab an extra fur and few sticks of firewood. the precious matches in his belt should help them get a fire going even with snow on the ground. if they can't, well, two bodies are warmer than one. three, counting ghost. sansa doesn't have her wolf to protect her. he doesn't even consider not going.]
[The response to the door opening? It startled a short laugh from the younger Stark girl, as she set hands against her hips, looking her sister up and down. It let her take a moment to wrangle back the urge to simply sob, to lose any composure, as well as to make sure she wasn't injured.]
Honestly Sansa, would you apologize for breathing someone else's air? [Hiding emotion behind teasing like when they were younger, but not with any bite, a rough sort of affection in her tone as she simply reached out to take Sansa's hand in hers to pull her inside.
Where her hands were rough, calloused from practice, from fighting, from survival, her sister's was soft. It reassured her somewhat that she'd not been enduring like this for too long, She certainly had her own trials to deal with, trapped with the Lannisters, in the den of snakes that was King's Landing, but something told Arya that her sister was better suited to navigating those dangers than the dangers of the world at large.]
Honestly, get in here before all the warmth gets out.
[Gods be good, this cannot be so. She stares, even with the door hanging open. Unable to move, it takes effort to even speak. Sansa thought her dead, and while she is older and rougher, there is no mistaking that the slight girl in front of her is, indeed, Arya Stark.]
Your hair! [It is a silly thing to say, even more so as the first thing to say to her, but once she speaks, her senses come back to her. Pushing the door closed behind her, the dark haired girl returns back to her sister. It is slow at first, and while they argued and fought for most of their lives, to have her near again.]
You are really here. [It isn't a question, though she is unsure of it. But Arya is alive. Her hands curl at her sides before she's moving to wrap them around her. It is emotion born from relief, from familiarity.]
[It was a silly thing to say, it was such a Sansa thing to say that it had tears pricking at Arya's eyes, a hot lump in her throat no matter how she swallowed. They argued and fought so much back home, and here and now, after everything that had happened, how... small and insignificant those feuds seemed! Arya was just glad to see her sister again, alive and well.]
It's all the rage across the Narrow Sea. [An attempt at some form of humor, some lightness to the situation, something to try and keep a veil of normalcy. Not that it lasted long, when Sansa's arms shifted around her she just tucked right in, her own arms going around her older sister in a tight, breathless embrace, needing the physical confirmation that she was here, that she was really here.]
[Korra looks up, wary, when she hears footsteps at the door. Quietly, she shifts her weight onto her feet, making it easier to defend or attack if she needs to. It's not pleasant, suspecting the worst of everyone, but she's learned the hard way that kindness is not what some people automatically default to in a life-and-death situation.]
It's not taken--uh, not exactly, I mean. I was just looking for supplies around here.
[Korra jumps to her feet anyway when she gets a good look at Sansa, brows knitting together in concern.]
Here, get inside. You look like you're about to fall over.
[She understands the mistrust. It is the same Sansa holds within herself. Too much can happen, and when everyone is on the edge of life or death, one cannot be too careful. That does not mean she does not recognize kindness though. Sansa keeps her head bent as she enters the cabin, pleased by the immediate warmth that envelops her.
Turning back, Sansa closes the door behind her.]
I have been seeking shelter for some time now. [The warmth is a comfort, but it nearly burns at her frigid skin, thawing parts of her already.]
You can stay here with me if you want. [Korra peers out of the window at the sky, a frown on her face.] I wasn't going to stick around long, but it's getting late. I don't want to risk getting locked outside when the doors close up.
[Sansa's probably already heard people crying for help on their tablets the previous few nights, if she's been paying attention to it like Korra has. Closer now, Korra studies Sansa carefully, noting the blue tinge of her lips--as someone who grew up in the snow, she knows all too well what that means.]
How long were you out there? My name's Korra, by the way. What's yours?
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snowblindmemes2015-05-12 07:10 am
Sansa Stark | ASOIAF
['Winter is coming' are words that play over in her mind as she stands outside the building in the snow that's far past her ankles at this point. Her furs are a comfort, reminding her ever of her Northern-ness. It was once something she tried to hide, to change.
But here, she knows. Here, her House's words ring ever true. She holds the device up, trying to understand how it works. Her cheeks are rosy, looking around. She isn't lost, but she's hoping she isn't alone.]
I've been locked out-- [Hold your nerve, she thinks to herself.] I didn't realize how late it had gotten.
Is anyone else out here? Has someone else been out here before? [Maybe there's shelter. Maybe someone can take pity on her. Sansa wipes at her nose before brushing back her long, dark strands.
She won't announce what's in a small satchel attached to her wrist, hanging outside the frame. Having already made one foolish mistake today, she doesn't know who else is here. Sansa is willing to share, but she doesn't want someone to take them on her either.]
( two; action )
[She's stopped feeling her toes in search for the warmth of a hearth. But the small cottage on the hill is not too far. One more step, she tells herself. She must keep going, must keep going. It would be too easy to stop, to sit beside a tree and let herself drift off.
But she doesn't. There's a drive that comes inside, to keep going. She cold, her face and feet are frozen, hands stuffed into her cloak as she shuffles through the bitter cold. The determination is too persistent. Her father, her true father, once called it the Wolf's Blood. But it causes her to move quicker, thinking only of the rescue that lays behind those doors.
It is only when she reaches the steps of the porch, the wood cracking at the weight, that she realizes she is not alone. Sansa cannot survive by staying out in the cold for much longer. It is her kindness that she must rely on now, her words, and how to wield them.]
My apologies, [She dips her head as the condensation from her breath rises into the air.] I hadn't know this place was taken.
[It is hard to get her teeth not to chatter, but she tries to look put together despite the snow and frost on her eyebrows and her very blue lips.]
( three; action )
[Death is a shock to the system. People do all sorts of things, she's heard, when they die. It is gruesome and unpleasant, and something she has hoped to never experience-- or at least not until she is old in her bed. It is something Sansa knows too much about already, the grief haunting her from a young age.
But her own? Well coming back from the dead is just as much as a shock. She rises quickly, gasping for breath as her lungs try and work again. It is labored breathing though, slow and steady, and she wheezes each time she inhales as if she cannot get the air into her fast enough. Wide eyes look forward, frightened and confused.
No. No, no, no. This cannot be.
And yet, she can feel the cold beginning to creep over her. The metal table below her is hard, and her nervous system starts to take into account just what she's feeling.
But still she objects, and she tries to voice it. But as much as she dislikes this, nothing comes out. A soft hand touches just beneath her throat. Nothing is there, but still she cannot speak. She does not feel ill, but even as she tries to clear her throat there is no result. All she can do is whisper a wheezy sort of:]
Help.
three
He's still sitting on his slab, trying to catch his breath -- he thinks everything's in working order, he can wiggle his toes and his fingers and that feels fine -- when one of the drawers near him abruptly opens, and a young woman is gasping for air, struggling for it right by him.
He watches her for a moment, utterly fascinated by the process. How does it work? It's not until she starts struggling to speak and everything comes out a desperate rasp that he finally gets up, feet unevenly hitting the ground, and walks over to her. ]
Calm down.
[ His voice is fairly firm despite its disuse for the past... however long he's spent dead. If he can just get her calm and speaking, maybe she can tell him just exactly where the hell he is and what the hell is going on. ]
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She tries to clutch at her throat again, to get it across. She isn't so much outwardly panic, but the wheezing has gone down a little. Sansa needs to steady her breaths, trying to inhale slower.]
I can't-- [Her voice is gone. Out comes more condensation from her breath and nothing more.]
two.
You okay?
[ She has one hand on the hilt of her knife, eyeing Sansa very warily. She has the advantage in higher ground and in speed, but never underestimate anyone, especially if they look innocent, there could very well be explosives under the coat. Though, if Sansa's defenceless... that changes the game. ]
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But here she stands half frozen to the bone when the woman calls out to her. Her hands clutch around her body as she shakes.]
I seek shelter. I've not much to offer, but I can cook and sew if you have need of me. [It may be low of her, but Alayne has known the life of a bastard, and she does as she is told. Sansa knows her own survival, and she does as she must.]
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Okay, you can cook. Come on, get in, you're freezing.
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Thank you. I was beginning to think I may not run into anything open. [Or at least someone that she could hopefully befriend.]
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two.
[ and yet theon greyjoy feels responsible. guilty. so much so, in fact, that he doesn't hear the sound of footfalls until it's too late. stiff and shaking, his heart starts to beat frantically, like it's about to burst right out of his chest. he had thought himself alone and now he's expecting the worst: ramsay. it isn't ramsay, though. isn't even a man. however, still his heart continues to drum away, his breathing ragged and frightened. reek, reek, it rhymes with squeak. ]
[ he takes a good half a step backwards, the stumps of his missing fingers twitching wildly. that face, he knows it well. has looked upon it countless times. her hair is different, chestnut instead of auburn. she's taller too, older and far more beautiful than he remembers, the spit of lady catelyn, except that can't be right. theon greyjoy knew sansa stark's face well, but reek? reek has neither encountered nor looked upon the stark girl in his life. until now. ]
[ discarding the tattered scraps of his former identity (remembering is too dangerous. will only bring him pain), theon gives way to reek once more, ducking his head low to avoid eye contact, praying to whatever gods might be listening to go unnoticed, to be unrecognizable to her eye. ]
You needn't apologize, my—m'lady. This place is yours, if you wish it.
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He is kind, though she is wary of him. He is disfigured and skittish, but she watches him even more closely for it. There is something else there, a familiarity.
'My-- m'lady, he says. He isn't lowborn, or if he is he's been taught well. Her eyes search him before she speaks.]
I'm no lady, but your offer is kind. [Even as the Lord Protector's daughter, Alayne is still baseborn. She takes his kindness though, slipping into the door frame for the warmth. It is too cold to stand there staring at one another.]
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[ when she slips through the door frame, reek's gaze darts to the door. it's cold outside, fucking freezing, far chillier than the north. with naught but rags damp from the trek to the cottage and a coat and backpack that do not belong to him (items he fears to make use of, in case lord ramsay should arrive) he would not last long. would perish in no time at all. and yet he considers leaving all the same, hobbling back out into a world of white under some pretence or another to avoid remembering, what will happen if sansa sees past the greyish skin, missing teeth, and ghastly white hair. ]
[ he can't just up and run, though. that would raise suspicion, questions, might cause her to chase after him. thinking of that makes him realize that, for now, he has no choice but to stay, to endure. head down, eyes low, reek turns his body towards the fire he made, gesturing at it with an arm. it isn't very bright or very big, but it's better than nothing. ]
To keep warm, [ he mumbles, as if it wasn't obvious. ]
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Her eyes are cautiously on him as she steps closer to the fire he's created. She does not know what to say, and something nags in the pit of her stomach. Trust doesn't come easy, but there's something else. Something she can't quite place. So she quietly heads toward the hearth, pulling off her gloves.]
My apologies if I have bothered you. Are you alone here?
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two
A hand darted out and grabbed her by the arm, tugging her inside in the warmth. It didn't take seeing her blue lips to know she must be frozen solid, only her northern blood keeping her going. Robb was in this exact predicament not even an hour ago. He should've said something, but he only reacted. Both surprise to see her again, and concerned for her health.
Sansa was startled and scared, and he couldn't blame her, past the stoic features upon his face he was too.]
Stop struggling! Sansa...!
[His hands were upon her shoulders, steadying her and their eyes met.]
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But that voice. It is a voice she has long stopped dreaming of. She can hear it in her memories, faint and distant, and through the long halls of Winterfell. He uses a name that feels nearly dead to her now, not that she has forgotten, but it is a name only one man knows, and the man holding her is certainly not her lord father, Petyr Baelish.
She stops only to look up at the voice, thinking this place is playing tricks on her. He is dead, betrayed by the Boltons. Everyone in King's Landing knew of it, spoke of his death, and what they've done to his body. He can't be real, but he is, and Sansa reaches up to touch his face, confirming that it is her older brother.]
You can't-- [She's know real words in this moment. She is not Alayne, but the younger sister to the King of the North. She is a Stark, and she feels ever more confident even if she's confused to how this is even possible.]
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[He remembered everything. How he swallowed nervously before speaking to Walder Frey, the side glances from their mother, the screams around him and the pain of the arrows and the knife being embedded deep within him. He remembered.
There were thick, ugly scars marring his body, he already checked, but he wouldn't tell her that, no. The wounds were like a distant memory to his body, but right there when he closed his eyes for him.
And before she could say anything else, he pulled her in a tight hug, wanting her close. He never considered himself overly affectionate, but there was so much he wanted to say and apologize for.]
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one
she might know him well enough to be able tell that his face is set in a look of deep concern, and not anger. he honestly doesn't know.]
Where are you?
I WAS ABOUT TO TAG YOURS!! haha
S-south. [Her teeth chatter, jaw tight. She is Northern, she tells herself. She can withstand it.] South of the village.
I'm sorry, J-Jon. [With a shaky hand the video jolts before she switches to holding it with one hand, cupping her hand in front of her mouth. It was foolish to get caught out here, but the winter berries are getting harder and harder to find. She feels more like the little sister now, and it is a strange feeling in her belly.
But somehow it gives her hope, and a warmth she can't describe. They are the last now, and in so many ways she has tried to emulate him as Alayne. Quiet, meek and yet with a strong look. It may be an insult to say it, but she can survive this. What would it say for a Stark and the Lord Commander's sister to freeze to death?]
YOU STILL CAN!!!!!!
I'm coming. Don't be sorry.
[he sets the tablet down to grab an extra fur and few sticks of firewood. the precious matches in his belt should help them get a fire going even with snow on the ground. if they can't, well, two bodies are warmer than one. three, counting ghost. sansa doesn't have her wolf to protect her. he doesn't even consider not going.]
maybe I will then!
8D
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Two /SCREEEE IT'S A SANSA 8DDDD
Honestly Sansa, would you apologize for breathing someone else's air? [Hiding emotion behind teasing like when they were younger, but not with any bite, a rough sort of affection in her tone as she simply reached out to take Sansa's hand in hers to pull her inside.
Where her hands were rough, calloused from practice, from fighting, from survival, her sister's was soft. It reassured her somewhat that she'd not been enduring like this for too long, She certainly had her own trials to deal with, trapped with the Lannisters, in the den of snakes that was King's Landing, but something told Arya that her sister was better suited to navigating those dangers than the dangers of the world at large.]
Honestly, get in here before all the warmth gets out.
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Your hair! [It is a silly thing to say, even more so as the first thing to say to her, but once she speaks, her senses come back to her. Pushing the door closed behind her, the dark haired girl returns back to her sister. It is slow at first, and while they argued and fought for most of their lives, to have her near again.]
You are really here. [It isn't a question, though she is unsure of it. But Arya is alive. Her hands curl at her sides before she's moving to wrap them around her. It is emotion born from relief, from familiarity.]
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It's all the rage across the Narrow Sea. [An attempt at some form of humor, some lightness to the situation, something to try and keep a veil of normalcy. Not that it lasted long, when Sansa's arms shifted around her she just tucked right in, her own arms going around her older sister in a tight, breathless embrace, needing the physical confirmation that she was here, that she was really here.]
I... I missed you so much.
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two
It's not taken--uh, not exactly, I mean. I was just looking for supplies around here.
[Korra jumps to her feet anyway when she gets a good look at Sansa, brows knitting together in concern.]
Here, get inside. You look like you're about to fall over.
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Turning back, Sansa closes the door behind her.]
I have been seeking shelter for some time now. [The warmth is a comfort, but it nearly burns at her frigid skin, thawing parts of her already.]
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[Sansa's probably already heard people crying for help on their tablets the previous few nights, if she's been paying attention to it like Korra has. Closer now, Korra studies Sansa carefully, noting the blue tinge of her lips--as someone who grew up in the snow, she knows all too well what that means.]
How long were you out there? My name's Korra, by the way. What's yours?
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1.
I've been locked out before.
[ She had been very new, and very stupid, still going by the rules of her home, which was harsh and dangerous in a completely different way. ]
I died.
[ There's very little comfort offered in her flat tone. ]
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Someone's coming for me. [It does increase her chances of living, especially since he knows more about it in these conditions than she does.]