milliways_bar | (no subject)

Sansa is also looking worried as she walks over to the Bar. The dark brown of her dress really highlights how wan her face is.

Mal might be able to hear her when she murmurs, "Bar, may I please have a knife?"

A butter knife appears in front of the young girl.

"Something...sharper?"

Nothing happens. Sansa bites her lower lip. "I'm, I'm not trying to hurt anyone." Bar remains steadfast. Sansa pats her, as if hoping that will change Bar's 'mind'. It doesn't.

Mal glances over, and leaves the books where they are, sliding the two seats over.

"Are you in need of assistance?"

Sansa jerks her head over at Mal, staring like a deer before a wolf. Or a lion. She eventually forms words.

"I...sir, I believe I am." After a steadying breath, she dips into a curtsy. "I am Alayne Stone, sir. And...I need a knife. Something sharp. Not to hurt anyone," she adds quickly, "but to...hide something." She makes a vague gesture at the stairs the lead up the rooms.

"It's good to meet you."

She looks worried. "Why would you need a knife to hide something? And do you need help with the deed?"

"The dress needs to be shredded first," Sansa replies promptly. Her words come faster. "I need to cut it into pieces. I thought I might stuff it into my mattress and I can't rip it open. I thought I could sneak some pieces into the fire, or into the woods where I could hide them. Or bury them, but they might be found. And--" She stops herself, and switches gears.

"I am sorry, sir." She is polite, now, her words unhurried. "I did not ask your name."

"The dress?" Mal looks even more confused. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

And then, with a gentle smile. "Not a problem. I am Mal."

Sansa, now breathing a bit more easily, gives the ghost of a lady-like smile. "How perfectly fortuitous to meet you, Mal. I need to destroy the--"

Then it hits her that she has no idea how long Tyrion has been here. Or how many friends he's made.

"Have you met any dwarves here, sir Mal?" she asks, watching his face with sudden intensity.

"Destroy the what?" Now looking alarmed, hand on sword.

"No...no, I have not met a dwarf, persay. I met a short man, called Arithon."

Is he lying? After a tense moment, Sansa decides he isn't. It doesn't unclench her stomach or ease her manner much.

"My dress," she repeats. "Destroy it, burn it, hide it. And I...need something sharp to do so."

She glances at Mal's sword. It's obviously forced, but there's a smile as Sansa recalls her courtly courtesies. "It is perhaps not suitable an aim for so fine a sword," she compliments. "Are you a knight, Mal?"

She bites her lip for a moment. "Of course. Outside might be better. We can burn it."

She catches the look, and shakes her head. "No, no. I'm in the army. A common soldier. But we can use it."

She doesn't carry herself like a commoner, but she is. Now, anyway.

Sansa considers Mal's suggestion. "An excellent suggestion. But, I wonder...would the woods be discrete enough? A burning dress - one must assume it draws the eye."

Were this Westeros, even as Alayne she would not think much of the smallfolk. But here she needs all the help she can get.

Sansa looks at Mal with her clear blue eyes. "You are a knight to me, sir Mal, brave and true as any in the stories, if you can help me with this."

"Perhaps not here, lady. And I have previously shown interest in burning things. We will be discreet."

She ducks her head, not blushing, because that would require blood in her cheeks. "I thank you. But I am no more then you, your equal."

Sansa looks where to Door should be. "I cannot go through the Door." She gives a rueful laugh. "If I could, there would be no need for fear." Which isn't true, but for now it's true enough.

"Where, then, would be best, do you think?" She looks around the bar, a bit less frantically now. Her face shows nothing beyond strain - but perhaps she's also using this time to digest the comment about 'interest in burning things' and reassess her options.

"Outside, by the lake? If so, I will need you to tell me if it is overcast."

She chews her lip for a moment, looking suddenly - younger, then resettles her mask.

"There should be no one out there."

"By the lake," Sansa murmurs thoughtfully. Then she nods, agreeing with his decision. Her aunt's words echo in her head; she's little more than a beggar now, really.

Sansa does send Mal a faintly curious glance. With a, "One moment, please," she takes a look outside.

"The day is cloudy and threatens rain," she says when she comes back. It is Scottish weather, after all.

"Should...is now a good time?" She looks expectantly at Mal. Men make the real decisions, in her mind. "Perhaps it will not rain for a while yet!"

Mal smiles, thankful she will not demonstrate her...abilities, for some time.

"Now will be good. Outside, in the wood. I can keep the fire from spreading, so no worries."

Oh, if only Sansa knew who Mal really was, what she really was.

Sansa breathes a sigh of relief. She then goes through the logistics out loud.

"I shall conceal the dress...ah! By wrapping it under my cloak. And then....Shall I meet you outside, good sir? We can meet at the lake as if chatting, then move deeper into the wood."

As she speaks she takes a step toward the stairs. The girl is chomping at the bit.

"Of course."

Mal moves off towards Bar, discreetly also in the direction of the Lake entrance.

[ooc: Separate thread, or what?]

Sansa goes up to her room and gets herself prepared. This takes around fifteen minutes or so.

[ooc: Wonderful. I think it is ;)]

While Mal casually saunters out to the lake, and lights a cigarette.

Sansa comes back down, dressed for colder weather than it currently is outside; most prominent is her blue winter cloak with fox fur around the hood. Once more she looks over the bar - the gods might punish her by having Tyrion show up right at this moment.

She doesn't see him, and sighs in relief. Then she walks carefully out the door and to the lake. Sansa spies a much more welcome figure and walks over to him.

"What is that in your mouth, sir?" she asks, genuinely curious even as she glances to the woods.

"This?" Mal looks a little suprised.

"It's a cigarette. Um...dry leaves, rolled up in paper and lit at one end. Sort of. They're not exactly good for you."

She gently takes the other girl's arm, and leads her towards the woods. "We must be quick."

"Men must have their vices," Sansa comments inanely as she walks. She speeds up once Mal takes her arm.

Suddenly, she gasps. "I forgot! Tinder-- flint! To start the fire!"

'Oh crap!' is a bit too small to describe the look on her face. She looks worriedly at Mal.

Mal, for resons she will not explain, chokes a little at that comment. "Er. Yes."

Mal shushs her gently. "It is fine, I have matches with me. We can light it."

They are deep in the woods, and Mal stops, almost unconciously playing with the weather, making mist surround them from prying eyes.

Deep breath, Sansa.

"Oh." She doesn't know what matches are, but Mal hasn't lead her wrong so far.

Unconsciously, she reaches out to touch Mal's arm as the mist surrounds them.

Eventually she'll murmur, "Is this far enough?"