dear_mun | on being a new muse in an already crowded brain.

What's all this, then? Grow tired of playing with princesses, did you? [ She seems to glean more than her fair share of satisfaction at the prospect, her tone both mocking and singsong, her mouth pursed in both amusement and fake obsequiousness. ] Not that I blame you.

All that worrying about keeping their skirts clean— [ She gives a short sigh, fingers toying with the end of her long braid. ] —it's enough to turn any lord off a fine a meal and go digging for scraps instead.

Not that I'm scraps, of course. [ With a touch of pride: ] This is no common bawdy house and Lord Baelish is no whoremonger; he has an eye for finer things, which means that I'm a busy woman. So whatever it is you're meaning to do — get on with it, will you? Unless you'd rather keep to the Stark girl instead. [ Ros smiles, not nearly kind but not wholly cruel. ] She won't do a very good job keeping your bed warm at night, but—

She is quite pretty, if you enjoy that sort of thing. [ Her shoulder lifts dismissively. ] A lid for every pot.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Oh, Theon Greyjoy, don't you know? She much prefers that impish smile of yours to any dour-faced Iron Islands nonsense you claim to have coursing through your veins. ]

That depends, you serious boy. [ Her lips, now rouged with sweet and expensive tinctures, spread to reveal her teeth. She peels back the collar of her robe to reveal an inch or skin — then two, then three — before tucking it away again. ] Tell a girl what she's worth, won't you?

I could give you so much more than Little Prick.

[ He catches her under the chin, bowstring-calloused fingers rough on the delicate skin of her cheek. One thumb smears the paint at her lower lip, deliberately. He's not sure he likes her like this, all dolled up, looking like a whore. ]

Lady Stark doesn't wear much in the way of jewellery, but there're pretty things in Winterfell, and gold besides.

[ He's paid the iron price. They're his by rights. ]

[ She'd been had by more than a hoard of Northerners, and she'd tumbled and tussled her way down the length of the Kingsroad to pay for her passage to capitol. And now that she's in Littlefinger's employ, she has a new host of men to see to and ploy for gifts (lords and lordlings, rich men and merchants, a far cry from Winterfell's snow-chilled rabble).

And yet, despite all this, Ros still recalls the touch of Theon Greyjoy's greedy, bow-worked hands on her face and her ass and her tits. The sudden sentimentality of the thought surprises a throaty laugh out of her and she grins despite the mar of her make-up, goading him further with her smile. ]

Is that why you've come all this way, Theon Greyjoy? Have you come to make a lady out of me?

[ She's always so sassy, and it infuriates him even as it make him want her even worse. ]

I don't think there's a man alive who could manage that.

[ One day, he swears. One day he'll make those kohl-limned eyes open wide with surprise, the surprise that wasn't there when he stuck his cock in her, or the first time he kissed her on the mouth, or when he told her he'd miss her. She'd maybe gasp a little, like she does when he pleases her well, and it'd be him that managed to pull something sincere out of her, all for him. ]

But you could play at it, if it please you. Not all of Sansa Stark's wardrobe was taken South, and little and less of the Lady's. I could have every maid and manservant in the keep bowing and begging your pardon, if you wanted it.

[ She's always so sassy because the world gave her cause — gave her nothing save a mouth of straight teeth and a head of red hair and tits better than all of the other girls in the winter village. What else was she to make of herself? Born so low and yet with gifts so fine. When she laughs, she laughs as much at him and his cock — overeager as ever — as she does herself. In certain slants of light, Ros is prideful as a queen, but what did she have to be prideful about? She's a whore (but even whores have power, meager and momentary as it is). ]

I've seen Sansa Stark, the girl's barely a twig, [ Ros says, her voice sounding a note of displeasure, her mouth threatening to frown in his grasp even though her teeth remained bared. ] And it wouldn't please me to be poured into her dresses, no. The stays would scream, nevermind the seams.

[ Disinterested, she tries to turn her face away and when that doesn't work, Ros rolls her eyes instead, shifting her gaze elsewhere and from Theon. ] I thought you had an eye for women— [ She doesn't say 'ladies', not as she makes a crass grab for his cock and is given new reason to smile. ] —not little girls.

[ She's trying to look away from him — to dismiss him. Fuck that. He presses himself up against her lush body, letting her feel that he's hard, and that she's his, she is, if only for the time he has means to pay for. ]

I've an eye for you.

[ His grip on her jaw softens as he trails the tip of his nose lightly, so lightly, over her fine cheekbone, all done with rouge to emphasize it. ]

Whatever you're wearing. I'd just take it off you either way.

[ And it he sounds dark and hungry and manful, that ancient reaver blood quick in his veins, by his next words he's returned to petulant. ]

Come on, Ros. Don't you miss the North?

[ He had. Even with Robb, on the march, he'd missed it. In Pyke, listless with frustration in the rooms of his childhood, he'd made himself sick missing it. ]

on being a new muse in an already crowded brain.

alksjdf CRIT FOR +5 DAMAGE

NO WAIT IT'S ONLY A CRITICAL THREAT LET ME ROLL AGAIN

GM OVERRULES NO REROLLS. COUNTERATTACK USING SENTIMENT.

world's latest tag :(

i want all your theon/ros feels THIS IS ACCEPTABLE aklsdf

i have so many tho. i cannot fit them all in convenient transportation.