Sansa Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
porcelainandsteel) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-10-20 01:40 am
porcelainandsteel) wrote in thearena2015-10-20 01:40 am
Entry tags:
if you could only see the beast you've made of me [OPEN]
Who| Sansa and OPEN, with a closed prompt for Luna and Arya
What| Catch-all for Arena 4 so farbecause my activity sucks
Where| Throughout the Arena (desert/city in week 1, Winterfell/medieval fantasy in weeks 2-3, forest in week 4)
When| ALL THE TIMES week 1-4, backdated like whoa
Warnings/Notes| TBC
i: desert, week 1
Sansa is woefully underequipped for the desert. She's a Northerner, more used to cold and damp than to the heat and dryness that the desert offers. By the second day, she's clearly struggling, as much from heat as from thirst. Besides that, she's not used to walking long distances, or sleeping outside, and her whole body aches.
You can find her hunting for water, stumbling and struggling over the dunes, looking desperately for anything that isn't dry, featureless sand. At night, innocent of the dangers, she lights a fire and sits close; in the wide unoccupied landscape, her fire is visible from some distance.
ii: city, week 1
She sticks less close to Luna in the city, leaving her friend to go and hunt for supplies in the houses. She can be found anywhere in the city, a slight, weary figure clutching a broken piece of timber without much hope of actually being able to fight with it. Whenever she sees someone else, she freezes, caught in a horrible indecision between fleeing a potential enemy and making a new ally. In most cases, though, she goes towards them, figuring that it's better to die in an entertaining way than be forgettable and have the Capitol decide she wasn't worth the effort.
About halfway through the week, she finds the pizza place, and when the lights go out and the animatronics have shifted, she screams loud enough to be heard for at least a block.
iii: fantasy area, week 2
Once she's found Winterfell, Sansa is a little more comfortable with roaming, confident that she can find her way home again and that there are allies nearby. Still, she's cautious, and although she ventures out every so often to look for food and water, she's far more circumspect than she was in the city. You may see a flutter of auburn hair in the sunlight, or a shadow shifting: when it comes to making herself unnoticeable, Sansa is better than she lets on. And now that she's found Arya, and something that looks like home, she's a lot less willing to die.
iv: the bombing of Winterfell
When the explosions start, Sansa freezes in terror for a good few minutes, struggling not to hyperventilate. Last time she heard anything like it was at the Blackwater, and then she was relatively safe under the keep; now it's close, and deafening, and light explodes in the corners of her vision, and then she's running. She seeks about for Luna or Arya, but can't find them through the smoke, the falling masonry, the haze of wild panic. I am a wolf, she tells herself, I fear nothing, but she is afraid, horribly afraid.
So she runs. Ash lightening her hair, masonry dust making her cough, she runs, and prays that she's running in the right direction, prays to the old gods and the new that Arya and Luna make it out alive. And as she runs, she cries, unable to stop the tears that mix the ash into mud on her face. This is the cruellest thing they could have devised, she thinks: to give her Winterfell and Arya, and to make her watch it all destroyed again. No matter how much she tells herself it's only a game, she can't convince herself, and her panicked, broken sobs are drowned out by the crash of the bombs.
v: the forest, week 4
Exhaustion stops her running, only a few minutes after the bombing ends. She thinks of seeking out Arya and Luna, but she's just too tired, worn out emotionally and physically. In the end, she crumples down and curls up under a tree, and cries herself to sleep. She can be found there well into the next day, thin and bruised and filthy, a far cry from the noble lady she tries to be.
After that, she'll wander, although not without purpose. She doesn't know how to track, but tries to remember what little she's read or heard or studied in the Training Center. If she were really a wolf, she thinks more than once, she could sniff the other girls out, and be reunited in the blink of an eye. If she were a wolf, she would revel in this place, with a thick fur to warm her and sharp teeth and claws to hold her own. If she were a wolf, and not a frightened girl.
But she isn't a wolf. She only has herself, thin and pale and ill-prepared for this place. To start with, she's careful in her search, trying not to draw attention to herself. But as time wears on, and weariness and desperation eat away at her, she starts to be bolder, calling their names and carving arrows into trees to show which way she went. To be alone, right now, seems worse than being dead.
CLOSED: Winterfell, week 2
Sansa is struggling, the week and a half they've spent travelling taking its toll. Her feet feel like they're nothing but blisters, and she's never been so exhausted in her life, not even in those long, horrible nights after her father's death. She feels like nothing can lift her spirits.
She's wrong.
She sees Winterfell and all her exhaustion, fear, and wariness falls away. The smile comes to her face like a dawn breaking, and she grabs for Luna's hand, pointing and breaking into a run she didn't think she still had in her. She doesn't pause for explanation, buoyed up by a hope and lightness she hasn't felt since the Arena first threatened.
If she were a gambler, she'd lay money on Arya being inside Winterfell. But that isn't what spurs her on, makes her forget her blistered feet and aching joints. It's something much more visceral, much less considered: the same thing that made her draw the North over and over again in the Youth Programme, that in another world would make her build castles in the snow. It's home, something she never thought she'd see again, and even knowing that it's only a pretty trick doesn't quell the sudden leaping of her heart.
What| Catch-all for Arena 4 so far
Where| Throughout the Arena (desert/city in week 1, Winterfell/medieval fantasy in weeks 2-3, forest in week 4)
When| ALL THE TIMES week 1-4, backdated like whoa
Warnings/Notes| TBC
i: desert, week 1
Sansa is woefully underequipped for the desert. She's a Northerner, more used to cold and damp than to the heat and dryness that the desert offers. By the second day, she's clearly struggling, as much from heat as from thirst. Besides that, she's not used to walking long distances, or sleeping outside, and her whole body aches.
You can find her hunting for water, stumbling and struggling over the dunes, looking desperately for anything that isn't dry, featureless sand. At night, innocent of the dangers, she lights a fire and sits close; in the wide unoccupied landscape, her fire is visible from some distance.
ii: city, week 1
She sticks less close to Luna in the city, leaving her friend to go and hunt for supplies in the houses. She can be found anywhere in the city, a slight, weary figure clutching a broken piece of timber without much hope of actually being able to fight with it. Whenever she sees someone else, she freezes, caught in a horrible indecision between fleeing a potential enemy and making a new ally. In most cases, though, she goes towards them, figuring that it's better to die in an entertaining way than be forgettable and have the Capitol decide she wasn't worth the effort.
About halfway through the week, she finds the pizza place, and when the lights go out and the animatronics have shifted, she screams loud enough to be heard for at least a block.
iii: fantasy area, week 2
Once she's found Winterfell, Sansa is a little more comfortable with roaming, confident that she can find her way home again and that there are allies nearby. Still, she's cautious, and although she ventures out every so often to look for food and water, she's far more circumspect than she was in the city. You may see a flutter of auburn hair in the sunlight, or a shadow shifting: when it comes to making herself unnoticeable, Sansa is better than she lets on. And now that she's found Arya, and something that looks like home, she's a lot less willing to die.
iv: the bombing of Winterfell
When the explosions start, Sansa freezes in terror for a good few minutes, struggling not to hyperventilate. Last time she heard anything like it was at the Blackwater, and then she was relatively safe under the keep; now it's close, and deafening, and light explodes in the corners of her vision, and then she's running. She seeks about for Luna or Arya, but can't find them through the smoke, the falling masonry, the haze of wild panic. I am a wolf, she tells herself, I fear nothing, but she is afraid, horribly afraid.
So she runs. Ash lightening her hair, masonry dust making her cough, she runs, and prays that she's running in the right direction, prays to the old gods and the new that Arya and Luna make it out alive. And as she runs, she cries, unable to stop the tears that mix the ash into mud on her face. This is the cruellest thing they could have devised, she thinks: to give her Winterfell and Arya, and to make her watch it all destroyed again. No matter how much she tells herself it's only a game, she can't convince herself, and her panicked, broken sobs are drowned out by the crash of the bombs.
v: the forest, week 4
Exhaustion stops her running, only a few minutes after the bombing ends. She thinks of seeking out Arya and Luna, but she's just too tired, worn out emotionally and physically. In the end, she crumples down and curls up under a tree, and cries herself to sleep. She can be found there well into the next day, thin and bruised and filthy, a far cry from the noble lady she tries to be.
After that, she'll wander, although not without purpose. She doesn't know how to track, but tries to remember what little she's read or heard or studied in the Training Center. If she were really a wolf, she thinks more than once, she could sniff the other girls out, and be reunited in the blink of an eye. If she were a wolf, she would revel in this place, with a thick fur to warm her and sharp teeth and claws to hold her own. If she were a wolf, and not a frightened girl.
But she isn't a wolf. She only has herself, thin and pale and ill-prepared for this place. To start with, she's careful in her search, trying not to draw attention to herself. But as time wears on, and weariness and desperation eat away at her, she starts to be bolder, calling their names and carving arrows into trees to show which way she went. To be alone, right now, seems worse than being dead.
CLOSED: Winterfell, week 2
Sansa is struggling, the week and a half they've spent travelling taking its toll. Her feet feel like they're nothing but blisters, and she's never been so exhausted in her life, not even in those long, horrible nights after her father's death. She feels like nothing can lift her spirits.
She's wrong.
She sees Winterfell and all her exhaustion, fear, and wariness falls away. The smile comes to her face like a dawn breaking, and she grabs for Luna's hand, pointing and breaking into a run she didn't think she still had in her. She doesn't pause for explanation, buoyed up by a hope and lightness she hasn't felt since the Arena first threatened.
If she were a gambler, she'd lay money on Arya being inside Winterfell. But that isn't what spurs her on, makes her forget her blistered feet and aching joints. It's something much more visceral, much less considered: the same thing that made her draw the North over and over again in the Youth Programme, that in another world would make her build castles in the snow. It's home, something she never thought she'd see again, and even knowing that it's only a pretty trick doesn't quell the sudden leaping of her heart.