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[baelful.livejournal.com]

[ Deftly peeling a ripe blood orange. ]

Comments

[practiced.livejournal.com]

[ It is impolite to stare.

Sansa reminds herself of this when she realizes that is what she is doing, her attention held by the masterly way in which Lord Baelish strips the soft fruit of its unruly rind. There is no reason the gesture should capture her interest so she does not go searching for one. Instead, she forces her gaze down to the book she holds in her lap, its stiff pages opened to one of the many poems held within. A heroic tale of resplendent knights and highly-held queens, of monsters that crawl the depths of the wide sea, their heads waiting to be lopped in the name of glory and love so that all may be well again, so that the kingdom knows peace.

It is also impolite to lie.

The thought occurs to Sansa as soon as her eyes alight upon the word 'honor' writ plainly upon the page. ]

[baelful.livejournal.com]

[ Littlefinger is better with a knife that he ought to be. He works around two strips (the backs of two pieces), the steel of the blade flashing in the light. (If there is anything consistent in all of his actions — not that the extent of his machinations will be evident to her — it is that he keeps his hands as clean as he can.)

He's aware of the subject matter of her book — he hasn't asked outright, but the occasional cursory glance had given him enough to guess. Poems (songs) take a certain shape, and their contents never tend to vary much, not unless one ventures into the company of those who hold no real titles. (She'd do better with a history, he suspects, but there are things that ladies of good breeding are and aren't meant to read, at least not in public, and if nothing else she has proved to be good at keeping up appearances.)

It's only once he's stripped the peel down to two pieces (on opposite sides of the orange) that he looks up at Sansa, his gaze lingering perhaps a moment too long before he says anything at all.

With a nod at the book in her hands: ] Have you read it before?

[practiced.livejournal.com]

[ Sansa takes his address of her as permission to look up again, her gaze now invited as opposed to intruding. Littlefinger has a way of looking at people that always seems to intrude, welcome or not. Or no -- Sansa gives this momentary thought as her eyes find his -- perhaps it is not people, perhaps it is just her. She cannot say for certain, for she hadn't considered it previously; her time in court has been spent mostly stealing glances at Joffrey (before) or staring sullenly at her hands folded silently in her lap (now).

Those hands are equally deft but in a way different than his as they delicately turn the unwatched page. They show Lord Baelish that Sansa is a quick and smart study; as practiced as the motion is, it does not carry any trace of deception, no weight of shame or anger despite whatever may stir hotly in her breast whenever the madness takes her and she hears her father call from the wall. ]

I have, my lord. It's traveled with me, from Winterfell. [ It is one of the few things she has left from the place, and although it should bring her some modicum of comfort, its words are bitter. Still, the book is hers, along with its bitterness.

They will not take this from me. And so, she reads. ]

[baelful.livejournal.com]

A token from home, [ Petyr muses, as if such a thing as sentimental value held any particular significance for him. (To some degree, it does, but not in relation to his birthplace. He doesn't miss the Fingers, and he suspects that the spit of land fares none the worse for his absence. Barren place that it is, he doubts that anything could actually make the conditions significantly worse.)

He shakes his head, pretending to dismiss the thought, before checking his grip on the knife he still has clutched in one hand and, in a series of two quick movements, carving out a slice. It's cut along its natural boundaries so that the juice only just barely threatens to drip off, and it's this neatly-cut slice that he offers to Sansa. ]

Would I have heard its songs before?

Part of me really wants to do up through book canon...

[sansaofstories.livejournal.com]

My lord, I don't suppose you would be interested in company, would you?

feel free, if you'd like!

[baelful.livejournal.com]

I would not turn yours down.

I would, but only if you're down.

[sansaofstories.livejournal.com]

Thank you. [She moves to sit next to him.] Your meetings, how have they been as of late?

most definitely.

[baelful.livejournal.com]

Productive enough, [ he responds, in a cursory sort of manner. ] If the birds that report back here are correct, Cersei Lannister's destruction seems to be occurring largely by her own hand. I'd expected she might not take to the throne particularly well, but I hadn't thought she wouldn't require any assistance in losing it.

[hisdebts.livejournal.com]

[ Tyrion eyes the orange like an unwanted intruder. He had been too long in King's Landing, he's decided, when even fruit begins to look worthy of suspicion. But his father said rule, and so Tyrion would rule even if his own desires would take him anywhere else at the moment. ]

Breaking fast late today, my lord.

[baelful.livejournal.com]

[ It's with that look in mind that Littlefinger splits the orange in two, offering one half to Tyrion with the hand that's not holding the knife. ]

Time is an implacable mistress, [ he says, duly. (It's his way of saying it's been a busy morning.) ] What needs doing, she will have done as she pleases, no matter the wishes of her lover. This is the first respite I have had today.

[hisdebts.livejournal.com]

[ Tyrion would rather ride in his father's vanguard again than trust food from a man like Littlefinger, but he inclines his head in a nod of thanks and takes the orange half anyway. Whoever called poison a woman's weapon has obviously never spent a day in court, Tyrion has found himself thinking, more and more often, but it occurs to him as well that an orange offered in public, from Lord Baelish's own hand, cut with Lord Baelish's own knife is likely to be the safest thing he's eaten in days. ]

Yes, I've had the pleasure of time's company once or twice myself, [ he says musingly. ] I haven't had enough of her lately, but it seems that all the gold of Casterly Rock cannot buy her favours for long.

[baelful.livejournal.com]

And what of her favour that can be bought with gold is usually only the illusion of it, [ Littlefinger notes, setting the blade down carefully before tearing one of the slices off of the half of the orange he's kept. Specks of red juice peer through the skin like small jewels, each shaking and threatening to fall from its perch. ]

The only whore who courts men without any considerations as to their purses, I should think. Well, time and death, although one's company is significantly more popular than the other's.

This makes little sense, but what the hell

[khaleesidani.livejournal.com]

Do you have any more of those?

[aka-arya.livejournal.com]

[Arya slinks into the room, trying to escape the watchful eyes of Septa Mordane, not realizing that the room is in fact occupied. Despite the Septa's best efforts, she is dressed like a boy, Needle on her hip.]

[practiced.livejournal.com]

[ It is impolite to stare.

Sansa reminds herself of this when she realizes that is what she is doing, her attention held by the masterly way in which Lord Baelish strips the soft fruit of its unruly rind. There is no reason the gesture should capture her interest so she does not go searching for one. Instead, she forces her gaze down to the book she holds in her lap, its stiff pages opened to one of the many poems held within. A heroic tale of resplendent knights and highly-held queens, of monsters that crawl the depths of the wide sea, their heads waiting to be lopped in the name of glory and love so that all may be well again, so that the kingdom knows peace.

It is also impolite to lie.

The thought occurs to Sansa as soon as her eyes alight upon the word 'honor' writ plainly upon the page. ]

[baelful.livejournal.com]

[ Littlefinger is better with a knife that he ought to be. He works around two strips (the backs of two pieces), the steel of the blade flashing in the light. (If there is anything consistent in all of his actions — not that the extent of his machinations will be evident to her — it is that he keeps his hands as clean as he can.)

He's aware of the subject matter of her book — he hasn't asked outright, but the occasional cursory glance had given him enough to guess. Poems (songs) take a certain shape, and their contents never tend to vary much, not unless one ventures into the company of those who hold no real titles. (She'd do better with a history, he suspects, but there are things that ladies of good breeding are and aren't meant to read, at least not in public, and if nothing else she has proved to be good at keeping up appearances.)

It's only once he's stripped the peel down to two pieces (on opposite sides of the orange) that he looks up at Sansa, his gaze lingering perhaps a moment too long before he says anything at all.

With a nod at the book in her hands: ] Have you read it before?

[practiced.livejournal.com]

[ Sansa takes his address of her as permission to look up again, her gaze now invited as opposed to intruding. Littlefinger has a way of looking at people that always seems to intrude, welcome or not. Or no -- Sansa gives this momentary thought as her eyes find his -- perhaps it is not people, perhaps it is just her. She cannot say for certain, for she hadn't considered it previously; her time in court has been spent mostly stealing glances at Joffrey (before) or staring sullenly at her hands folded silently in her lap (now).

Those hands are equally deft but in a way different than his as they delicately turn the unwatched page. They show Lord Baelish that Sansa is a quick and smart study; as practiced as the motion is, it does not carry any trace of deception, no weight of shame or anger despite whatever may stir hotly in her breast whenever the madness takes her and she hears her father call from the wall. ]

I have, my lord. It's traveled with me, from Winterfell. [ It is one of the few things she has left from the place, and although it should bring her some modicum of comfort, its words are bitter. Still, the book is hers, along with its bitterness.

They will not take this from me. And so, she reads. ]

Part of me really wants to do up through book canon...

[sansaofstories.livejournal.com]

My lord, I don't suppose you would be interested in company, would you?

feel free, if you'd like!

[baelful.livejournal.com]

I would not turn yours down.

I would, but only if you're down.

[sansaofstories.livejournal.com]

Thank you. [She moves to sit next to him.] Your meetings, how have they been as of late?

[hisdebts.livejournal.com]

[ Tyrion eyes the orange like an unwanted intruder. He had been too long in King's Landing, he's decided, when even fruit begins to look worthy of suspicion. But his father said rule, and so Tyrion would rule even if his own desires would take him anywhere else at the moment. ]

Breaking fast late today, my lord.

[baelful.livejournal.com]

[ It's with that look in mind that Littlefinger splits the orange in two, offering one half to Tyrion with the hand that's not holding the knife. ]

Time is an implacable mistress, [ he says, duly. (It's his way of saying it's been a busy morning.) ] What needs doing, she will have done as she pleases, no matter the wishes of her lover. This is the first respite I have had today.

[hisdebts.livejournal.com]

[ Tyrion would rather ride in his father's vanguard again than trust food from a man like Littlefinger, but he inclines his head in a nod of thanks and takes the orange half anyway. Whoever called poison a woman's weapon has obviously never spent a day in court, Tyrion has found himself thinking, more and more often, but it occurs to him as well that an orange offered in public, from Lord Baelish's own hand, cut with Lord Baelish's own knife is likely to be the safest thing he's eaten in days. ]

Yes, I've had the pleasure of time's company once or twice myself, [ he says musingly. ] I haven't had enough of her lately, but it seems that all the gold of Casterly Rock cannot buy her favours for long.

This makes little sense, but what the hell

[khaleesidani.livejournal.com]

Do you have any more of those?

[aka-arya.livejournal.com]

[Arya slinks into the room, trying to escape the watchful eyes of Septa Mordane, not realizing that the room is in fact occupied. Despite the Septa's best efforts, she is dressed like a boy, Needle on her hip.]