voice testing this lovely lady.

[smudged]

—Cheeky.

[ The tail-end of a tapered eyebrow lifts a little way: amused, cynical, but ultimately playful. After all, Ros has had enough of the mundane in her life, and this could prove itself quite an interesting venture. ]

You haven't a clue what you're doing, have you? Picking me up like this — and not a coin in sight. Here I thought I'd got rid of the miseries who'd barter a peek for a handful of thin air.

[ But she's only teasing. ]

... Still, I suppose a girl could always use a change of sheets. Find me a place I can earn my supper and I don't see why I should refuse.

Just be a love and try not to get me killed along the way, would you? After all, I know a handful of men who'd never be happy again.

Comments

[temptedbypower]

Now why would someone wish to kill a pretty woman like yourself, my lady?

[smudged]

Hopefully I'll never have to find out.

[temptedbypower]

[Yes, he knows what you are.]

Here's hoping, my lady.

[No, he doesn't care. Yes, he has coin.]

[smudged]

[ Have a roll of the eyes, Boromir, followed by an appreciative glance over your torso. ]

Sorry to disappoint, mi'Lord, but I'm certainly not a lady ...

[ A suggestive raise of an eyebrow. ]

If you understand my meaning.

[temptedbypower]

And I am not a lord. I am merely observing nicities.

[He's grinning still.]

And I understand your meaning perfectly.

[turncloak]

I've a suggestion.

[smudged]

Oh?

[ A beat of pause. ]

I probably don't want to hear it.

[turncloak]

[ Ouch. But he plows on, regardless. ]

You could come with me. There's a good living to be made, and— I've my own house...?

[ Okay, so he's not exactly his best self in Anatole, but no matter what way his life goes, he'll always have a fondness for Ros. ]

[smudged]

... Your own house? [ Have a wry smile. ] Do you really miss me that much?

[ She's on the verge of laughing — similar to the laugh she offered amidst those turnips as she left for King's Landing — but. His expression is serious, matching the seriousness of his suggestion, which sobers her for a short moment. In the end, it's always about money. ]

A good living to be made, is there. Better than I might find elsewhere?

[turncloak]

Good enough. Work of all kinds, including your kind.

[ He looks away, remembers her mocking him with his last name, Lady Greyjoy as though he could ever, thinks of salt wives and Iolanthe and Dismas and Tyrion fucking Lannister and the rest of it. Maybe she wants to be a whore. Maybe she likes it. Maybe he should want her to stay a whore, lest he never see her teats again. ]

[smudged]

[ Including her kind? Ros just chuckles, an eyebrow slightly raised. ]

I should hardly be surprised.

[ Light and dismissive. After all, wherever there's men there'll be work of 'her kind'. Whoring is the trade she knows best in all the world — a trade she's as skilled in as any master blacksmith at his anvil or apothecary with his mortar and pestle. ]

And what more could I expect? After all, I do like to keep noble friends as well as boy wards.

[ Omitting the fact that Theon is a nobleman himself, of course, but Ros relies on generous tips. Lord Tyrion-style tips. ]

[turncloak]

You can expect to be treated right, I'd say. There are some bloody expensive places. With bloody expensive women.

[ Which obviously implies he's been and visited them. Not that that should surprise her, either. ]

[ Lowered eyelashes, and then he gives her an impeaching look. ]

But none of them are you, Ros.

[smudged]

[ She tiles her head just a little and looks at him through her lashes, an impish smirk on her lips. ]

'Course they're not. Lucky they are, too — they won't have to put up with you the way I do.

[ Her smile seems almost apologetic, in a way, because you know? Despite outward appearances it's actually a little bit nice to be missed. ]

To be treated right, though. There's a nice idea.

[ And it is, although she'll remain sceptical until she sees it for herself. That said, her interest seems piqued by the prospect of working at one of these so-called expensive places, not least because she knows she's good enough to make a pretty penny at a high-class whorehouse.

Ros rolls her eyes, long-suffering, although there's a hint of another smirk touching her lips already; ]

—I suppose I could give it a go.

[turncloak]

I'll make sure you won't regret it.

[smudged]

Will you, now?

[ Pause for a little laugh. If nothing else, Theon Greyjoy is one of her more tenacious 'friends'. ]

I'm sure you'll do your best.

[turncloak]

If I have to drag every man I know to your doorstep, I will.

[ He'd dragged Jon there once, and likely Robb, and recommended Tyrion, if belatedly; say what you would about Theon's tipping, but he'd done his best to send business her way. ]

[smudged]

[ Ugh Theon stop being so sweet and adorable. Still, Ros doesn't doubt that he'll make good on his promises, not least because he knows she'll have to move away again if business isn't satisfactory.

She just looks at him for a moment before flipping her olive-green cloak around herself with a pleasant smirk; ]

Then I suppose I'd best make sure to have a half-decent doorstep.

[northerner]

[ OH MAN IT'S ROS ]

Pray she finds you somewhere quiet and safe.

[smudged]

[ LIES. Anyway, have an amused chuckle; ]

And what would I do somewhere quiet and safe, I wonder.

[northerner]

Live without worry.

[ obviously ]

[wont]

Never again? [ The girl has hair the color of burnt chestnuts and bright blue eyes. At her throat is the sigil of her father's house — a mockingbird — cast in her father's favored metal — polished silver. Absently, the girl touches it. ] What misery you'd make.

[smudged]

A misery indeed.

[ Ros quirks an eyebrow at the touch to the silver trinket. ]

That's very pretty. A gift from an admirer?

[wont]

[ Alayne does not seem to realize she's touched it until after the woman brings it to her attention. Alayne has practice enough not to pull her hand away sharply. (Sansa would not be half as subtle; no, she would have drawn her hand back as if she'd touched heated iron.) ] Thank you. [ She dips a bow. ] It was a gift my lord father.

[seem]

Only a handful? There's no need to be modest.

[smudged]

I hear a little modesty goes a long way in some circles, my Lord.

[seem]

[ Littlefinger manages a quick smile, nodding in concession. ] True. But in others, that same modesty can earn you very little. Advertising is everything.

[smudged]

That it is, my Lord.

[ Her own smile comes more easily than his. ]

—And who would know such a thing better than you.

[antlered]

[Lovely, one of Littlefinger's women. Just what Renly needs in his life, a thought dripping with sarcasm. Still he smiles because it is only polite, though the smile is not without a certain falsehood.]

And here I was lead to believe that Littlefinger could do no wrong by those in his service.