(Untitled)

[kings_dog]

After having spent much of last night aiding the search for Jon Snow, Sandor had slept most of the morning and woken late, and spent what remained of it in a groggy funk. Living in a hut was still strange, and he found himself restless with the unfamiliarity after a short time. He decided to go to the Compound and search out breakfast; it was an

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[whats_insideyou]

With her son spending the day with the Strombecks, Sarah was free to have a bit of peace and quiet, to read and organize her photographs, to have a smoke -- thank God -- and sit in the kitchen with her coffee without having to spend every moment entertaining a toddler.

She had her own scars, deep and ugly and full of stories, so it wasn't the scars that caught her attention about him, but his rather substantial height. Still, she gave him no more than a passing glance and a muffled utterance that might have been a hello before she went about pouring her own cup of coffee.

No one had ever accused her of being friendly. Not in a very long time.

[kings_dog]

He grunted in response, almost grateful to find someone who wasn't the same dreadful sort of morning person that Bert had turned out to be. Not that Sandor didn't usually get up early, but he definitely wasn't ever cheerful about it. The woman went for the coffee just about the same time the kettle started shrieking, and Sandor turned to shut it off before getting a mug from the cabinet.

[whats_insideyou]

"Would you mind?" she asked in her low and heavily accented voice, pointing with one scarred hand toward the shelf of mugs that he could reach a lot better that the moment than she could. The look she gave him was knowing, somehow, one corner of her lips twitching almost imperceptible.

[kings_dog]

"Sure," Sandor said, a little surprised by both her accent and the sight of the scars on her hand. He brought down two mugs and passed her one. Their eyes briefly met and, seeing something like amusement there, he felt one side of his mouth pull up in a bit of a grin as he turned back toward the kettle. "Rough morning," he added over his shoulder, both a question and a statement.

[poison_lipstick]

Saffron knew Sandor, of course, since he was friends with Cuthbert and Alain. They hadn't talked much, though, so he was still somewhat of a mystery to her. She headed into the kitchen, fresh from the shower with her blow-dried hair pulled into a ponytail, and the smile she gave Sandor was friendly but small when she noticed he seemed to be even more ornery than usual. "Long night?" she asked, arching an eyebrow slightly at him as she passed by in search of green tea.

[kings_dog]

The manager of the Catscratch was mostly an unknown to Sandor, at least in that everything he knew of her, he knew from Bert. He was actually surprised they'd spoken so little, given how often he came to bother Bert and Lloyd at the club. "Yeah," he said in answer to her question, "and not in a good way. Man went missing, we were out looking for him till after midnight." He turned as the kettle whistled, flipping the switch off and pouring his tea.

[poison_lipstick]

"Oh, that's terrible," Saffron replied, scrunching her nose up in a sympathetic cringe. She hadn't heard anything about it, but she hadn't gotten up very long ago. Staying up until the wee hours and sometimes later six nights a week caught up with her every once in a while. "Were you able to find him?"

[kings_dog]

"Bert and Alain did, they brought him back to the clinic. A good reason to be up late, I guess," he said with a shrug, "but I'm paying for it now." Seeing her with a mug in her hands, he stepped sideways and let her get at the kettle.

[fortuneforbid]

With neither Sandor's leave nor her own hesitation, Viola assumes the task at hand, fetching a mug from one of many cupboards and making ready for tea

[kings_dog]

Cesario's appearance was not as sudden as Sandor's weary mind made it out to be; still, when the ball bounced to his feet his head whipped up quickly and he shot an accusing look at the dog, who only stared back with a wide grin. He then turned his glare on the boy, or rather on the back of his neck, as he was occupied in reaching for a mug.

"Black and bitter," he said dryly, holding out his hand for the mug. "And you don't have to do that-- I know I've got a bad history with burns, but I'm usually able to keep from boiling myself instead of my tea." His tone was far less harsh than his words, but as Cesario turned toward him, Sandor saw the firm set to the boy's mouth and knew it wasn't likely he'd let himself be dissuaded. "You've been up longer than I have, I see," he said to change the subject.

[fortuneforbid]

"And you have been up longer than all the rest of New Gilead, I see. I'll not ask," Viola adds, the silent I'm not so certain I'd wish to know implied; with Cuthbert to consider, no mean number of small catastrophes or wild antics doth spring to mind.

Somewhat less smug than wry, she sets before Sandor his cup. "Black and bitter, as my lord Sai Sunshine prefers."