(no subject)
DATE: November 4th, midday.
CHARACTER(S): Sansa Stark and anyone who happens across her | OPEN
SUMMARY: Question: how does a medieval princess adapt to life on the prairie? Answer: not very well.
LOCATION: Independence, Missouri.
WARNINGS: Curtseying. Lots of curtseying.
FORMAT: Paragraph to start. Responders get to pick their poison!
Sansa Stark's stomach grumbled.
Overhead, the sun confirmed what her aching belly already told her; it was midday or somewhere there abouts and she had yet to eat anything since waking in the back of a musty old wagon. The day was moving along - no, not moving, it was practically running - and she had nothing to show for it yet, save a handful of politely-made acquaintances and a roughly-carved "S" on the hitch of her wagon, put there by Jack Kelly in order to distinguish it from the others later.
It was an odd town, this 'Independence, Missouri', though the name alone was enough to fill Sansa with a kind of tentative hope. Independence is what she had longed for, had hoped and prayed for more than anything else, from behind the bars of her gilded cage of King's Landing. Surely it was a sign from the gods - old or new - that she had been brought to this place for a reason.
Most of the shops in town sold sensible things, things like nails and hammers and yokes, hand-carved to fit the shoulders of an ox, but since realizing her hunger, Sansa lingered by the front steps of a bakery, the smell of freshly-baked bread the closest thing to a meal (though far too meager to keep her satisfied). Longingly she watched as town folk disappeared inside, only to emerge moments later with wheels of bread tucked beneath their arms. Again, her stomach complained, more loudly this time and Sansa covered her protestful belly with both hands, embarrassed at its vocal rebellion.
Testily, she shushed herself: "Not another peep out of you."
CHARACTER(S): Sansa Stark and anyone who happens across her | OPEN
SUMMARY: Question: how does a medieval princess adapt to life on the prairie? Answer: not very well.
LOCATION: Independence, Missouri.
WARNINGS: Curtseying. Lots of curtseying.
FORMAT: Paragraph to start. Responders get to pick their poison!
Sansa Stark's stomach grumbled.
Overhead, the sun confirmed what her aching belly already told her; it was midday or somewhere there abouts and she had yet to eat anything since waking in the back of a musty old wagon. The day was moving along - no, not moving, it was practically running - and she had nothing to show for it yet, save a handful of politely-made acquaintances and a roughly-carved "S" on the hitch of her wagon, put there by Jack Kelly in order to distinguish it from the others later.
It was an odd town, this 'Independence, Missouri', though the name alone was enough to fill Sansa with a kind of tentative hope. Independence is what she had longed for, had hoped and prayed for more than anything else, from behind the bars of her gilded cage of King's Landing. Surely it was a sign from the gods - old or new - that she had been brought to this place for a reason.
Most of the shops in town sold sensible things, things like nails and hammers and yokes, hand-carved to fit the shoulders of an ox, but since realizing her hunger, Sansa lingered by the front steps of a bakery, the smell of freshly-baked bread the closest thing to a meal (though far too meager to keep her satisfied). Longingly she watched as town folk disappeared inside, only to emerge moments later with wheels of bread tucked beneath their arms. Again, her stomach complained, more loudly this time and Sansa covered her protestful belly with both hands, embarrassed at its vocal rebellion.
Testily, she shushed herself: "Not another peep out of you."