happiness is a warm gun; open & closed.

[clothed]

Who: Sansa, others.
What: Wolftimes, Aurora Feat shenanigans, Sansa freaking out about electricity, others to be added.
When: Throughout July-August.
Where: Milton, especially around the community hall.

Content Warnings: Please see individual prompts for warnings!

[ Sansa's catch-all log for July through August, covering the events of the month/s and the aftermath of the previous ones. General and closed prompts in the comments; please hit me up on plurk (weirwood) if you'd like to plot something out! ]

Comments

[satanicpanics]

What?

[ His eyebrows knit together, and he stares at her for a brief moment as if she’s insane—but then it hits him. He’d been struggling to light a cigarette, right? Struggling with everything, really, but an incredibly hazy memory reforms just enough for him to realize that no, Sansa isn’t insane. ]

Oh—yeah. I do actually.

[ He leans over Sansa to reach into the pocket of the coat, excusing himself as he does so, and draws out a single slightly-crushed cigarette (still plenty good) and the lighter. He really doesn’t need the lighter anymore when he can snap an have fire at his fingertips, but it stuck him as a good thing to keep around for backup.

She suggests a bowl of soup, and he grimaces. He could probably use the meal. He’s always been a walking stringbean, but the last time he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he was looking awfully ghoul-like. But at the same time, he’s not so sure he trusts Methuselah’s soup. He has no reason not to. They see the animals the old man hauls in, but it all ties back to those who have gone missing. They had to go somewhere, and his imagination has apparently run wild enough to believe there’s a chance they could be in the soup anyway. ]

You know, I’m good. I can just hang around here if you want to fix it, but uh…if I said anything rude to you or just seemed really out of it last time, I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t doing so hot.

[ Best to cover all his bases--he can't recall much. ]

[clothed]

[ sansa's gaze sharpens just a little, head tilting almost wolflike as she looks at the man more intensely. ]

Please, call me Lyanna, my lord. [ he seems like he might appreciate some offered title, if only because she senses a deep sadness surrounding the man. as though he's been adrift in a sense of helplessness—— or maybe sansa's projecting, but she doesn't feel any danger from him. ] And I'd like to insist you eat something, you look somewhat faint. We have dried game you could take, if you'd rather not eat here.

You were agitated the last time, too. You were— [ she turns to where the bulletins were, remembering that he was standing in front of the public notices. ] Would it be correct to say that one of the notices posted there belongs to you?

[ sansa softens, sincere in her worry. ]

Were you looking for help for something?

[satanicpanics]

[ This time, he grins. It’s an infectious, jackal-like grin, and he accompanies it with a theatrical bow—because my lord. Sansa’s just found someone who appreciates medieval titles are than anyone else, and he’s going to eat it up for as long as he can. ]

You know, I’ll happily take “my lord”, but uh…if you want something a little shorter, my name is Eddie. And believe me, I’ve looked way worse.

[ It feels like death has been knocking on his door since he arrived, like he was swept out of its talons and it’s trying to come to collect but Eddie just won’t answer the door. His wounds have healed, but he knows they haven’t healed properly. He usually hides it well, but he truly struggles with the frigid weather, and he’s woken up stiff and in agony more mornings than he hasn’t.

Who knew a few bats could cause so much damage? The only thing he’s found he can do is to keep moving, so he doesn’t sit. He paces a short line, back and forth across the room as he speaks. ]

But I’ll think about it.

[ He offers a more subdued, polite smile. Chances are, he’ll still reject the soup but he may take take her up on the offer of dried game when he heads out. ]

Uh, yeah. A couple of those are mine.

[ He frowns, gazing shifting toward those sad, pitiful posters once more. Part of him wonders why he bothers, why he keeps looking or why he’d begged Kenway to keep an eye out when he left to head East. It feels like folly, like the definition of insanity, but he just can’t not try. ]

Just…looking for friends from home. They’ve been missing for—well, one has been missing for months. The other just recently disappeared. I guess I just keep hoping someone’s seen something, you know?