revivalproject

Entry tags:

salon

WHO: Esteemed, invited guests (everyone).
WHERE: The greenhouse
WHAT: A party! And not the kind of crime that the Agrii commit. Come show them how it is done.
WHEN: During a very long and slow space trip.
WARNINGS: Mark your threads if you get into trouble.

pre-festivity...network?
[Over the shipwide broadcast system that everyone is lucky Tony has not made more liberal use of, accompanied by gently dimming lights as though signalling intermission was coming to an end, and Act II was about to begin.]

Your attention, please. Please give me attention. You're not doing anything important, I know you aren't, so if you would kindly make your way to the quote-unquote 'Green Room', the rest of us are waiting for you.

Wear something that makes you feel delectable.

[Did he have to say it like that? Of course, he's trying to set a mood.]

the event
The atmosphere of the Green Room, which had at other times been a battleground, and a quiet resting place, was what could be called a soiree. Some of it was magic, brought to brief reality by Billy to disappear as the get together came to an end like carriages into pumpkins as their clock ran out, and other things were altogether different kinds of illusions. Like the tree Cayde had worked to fell, hauled up off of the ground to brace in the branches overhead, its dying boughs slouching down toward the ground in winding tendrils that were strung with glittering lights, a fragrant curtain around the area conveniently cleared by the destruction of the tree to give plenty of room to pull a partner into a dance. The music, naggingly familiar to those who called Earth home but distinctly synthetic, was playing through the broadcast system, loudest near the clearing and progressively softer the further away from this hub, but continuous throughout the ship until it felt like a whisper from another room at the farthest points like the cargo bay.

The noise competed slightly with the raucous beckoning of the karaoke machine installed near one end of the Green Room. This corner felt like it hadn't quite received the dress code, dotted with balloons and nearest to what could be described as a sundae bar, with what looked like all of the right textures for a very indulgent ice cream experience. The Agrii were more than happy to help with the food, so be prepared for a less obvious flavour profile.

More (potentially?) savoury options were offered throughout the Green Room, in no centralized location but spread across tables that had obviously be borrowed and dragged from throughout the ship, flanked by equally mismatched seating, flat-enough surfaces, or piles of linens and pillows where the ground was less even. Some of these tables had a datapad left on them, locked to a curious list that could only be checked off and not otherwise tampered with, at least for those not particularly technically inclined. Each item seemed to describe a person, all following a similar format in various levels of complexity, starting simple with, 'Someone with hazel eyes...'

One of these datapads, on a table tucked under a heavy lattice of vines and under the drape of what looked like approximately 40 metres of a sheer silk, started the evening much more blank, only marked at the top with a bold WHAT WE KNOW. That was a broad statement. Surely, everyone had a little of something to contribute to an article like that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sansa doesn't particularly want to go to a party but it is a change in routine so she's at a party. She has a dress, because she always has a dress, but it's one of her modest ones from home and it's in black. She'd favored black in Westeros over the last several years and she imagines she needs to favor it again - black is her mask, part of her identity now. Still, seeing what has actually been done to this room makes her think she ought to have gone lighter, possibly floral. James wears a onesie and busies himself with tugging at her hair.

The datapads have descriptions on them and she looks through a few before she finds "Someone who is a mother" and she knows it belongs to her. There's no other mothers on this ship.

"At least I'm known for the one thing if nothing else," she says, hitching James a little higher on her hip so she's more comfortable. "You seem to define me now, little prince."

This wouldn't normally be Wanda's thing but being left alone with her own thoughts sounds even worse, so here she is. She's wearing one of the dresses she picked up on their 'vacation,' made of a fabric that can't seem to decide if it is gray or lavender or pale blue. She could have picked something more formal, but she can fight in this dress if she needs to.

She doesn't think she'll need to, but she doesn't feel safe here. Not when someone or something snuck in and stole (or is it kidnapped?) the singing core right under their noses.

But even that doesn't diminish the massive soft spot she has for Sansa and James. Laughing, she comes forward and sweeps Sansa's hair back over her shoulders, away from the Baby Danger Zone. "There, that's better." She grins. "All of these lights and he still wants your hair."

"He always wants my hair," Sansa says, a bright smile for Wanda at the ready. She's one of her dearest friends here and someone she'd trust with her very life - a very short list indeed. She coos at James for a moment before deciding to enjoy an actual adult conversation.

"He's at the stage where he wants to put everything in his mouth," she explains. "And so I am constantly trying to make sure there is nothing he can put in his mouth but my breast and the bit of solid food I've tried him on. I am learning a great deal about children all at once, that's for certain."

"Because it's pretty. Even a baby can see it." She grins. That's not it at all and Wanda knows it, but they've all had a rough time lately. She can be allowed a cheesy compliment or two.

"Is he really starting to eat solid food already? He's getting so big."

"I don't know," Reeve said as he moved to join the woman, a Sundae in one hand and a datapad peaking out of a suit coat pocket. He knew he was on there as 'Someone who really enjoys sundaes' and possibly under a few different things as well.

"If I had to summarize you, Sansa, I'd say a woman who was strong and self-possessed. Though your little prince would get his own distinction."

"Hello, Reeve." It's simple but warm; it had been his Mini that had helped her into the door when she'd been injured and she has a fondness for the doll and, now, the man who had created it. When he mentions strong and possessed she cannot help but agree.

"I wasn't always that woman," she admits. "But I've become her and put her on as a mantle. Sometimes it takes a long while to become a new person. I had to do that, in ways."

Yes, Mini was a very good boy, who was now running over to his side. The doll bounced and waved at Sansa, clearly pleased to see her healed and whole.

"Perhaps not, but life is about the transformations we undergo, the growth we experience, and the people we become," Reeve assures her. "I understand mantles, and sooner or later, they are what you become. And when it's such a good thing to be, you should be glad."

He smiles and takes a bite of his sundae. Listen, he loves these things.

"You've healed well. I'm glad."

Reeve's words strike a chord in her and he's right. You become the mantles you wear. She's worn several in her life, here and there, and being a mother is just another one. She likes this one, though, and it sits well with her.

She waves a hello to Mini and nods, glad that she had healed well. She's always been lucky in that.

"What are you eating? It looks delightful."

"It's a sundae, or nearly that. Not quite ice cream. There is a station nearby, we can make you one. It's a cold treat, though, so you must be careful not too eat too fast or it gives you a strange headache. Oh, and it's also absolutely horrible for you."

But he loves it anyway.

"I like cold things," Sansa says, laughing softly. "I'm Queen in the North, remember? We used to eat snow sweetened with sugar and cream when we were children. We would find the freshest, softest snow to make our treats with and the kitchens always indulged us. I think I want one of these sundaes."

She gestures toward Reeve's. "Come teach me how to make one?"

Hey, she never stipulated how far North she was the queen of. Not at all. But he looks delighted by the very idea of such treats.

"Now that sounds a lovely thing to do with snow. I just had snowball fights with scarecrows."

He does offer her his arm.

"Allow me to escort you to the sundae table."

In a rare moment of straying away from his protective table, padding a very curated path through a soft, grassy strip to pass a hawkish watch over the gathering before he retreated again, of course Tony overheard Sansa's voice. His cold consideration softened into a smile. "You know, I really didn't think that one through," he replied as he slipped up to the table she lingered at to lounge against it, chin up to try to peer down his nose at the datapad she held. "I thought it would be much more mysterious, like you weren't obviously going to bring James with you and give it away immediately. We could dress him up, make it look like you're just carrying a bouquet around." He only grinned then, head tilted cheekily, before properly greeting Sansa with a soft, "Hey, mama bear."

"I would prefer if you didn't."

It's icy, even if it's still polite, but Sansa isn't particularly in the mood to be wrapped up in lies. She's cross with herself for allowing it to even happen, to think someone would tell her flattering truths, but she's arrived here all the same.

"I have a name that I can be addressed by and not a description that points out the only interesting thing about me. After all, I am someone who is a mother. The place card tells me such."

It was a bit early in the evening for Tony to have earned that tone, he thought, making his smile turn brittle and brow twitch with concern, not quite managing to school it. "Ah--I was going to tell you, I finally met your papa bear..." he tried, looking away to the side with a finger twirling in the air, but that suddenly didn't feel like a piece that was going to fit into this conversation, finding more difficult edges to fit here than he anticipated.

The only thing Tony could grasp onto was the title that Sansa appeared to be taking umbrage with, and maybe that was because Tony's intent with the datapads hadn't been clear. He waved that gesturing hand, no, not a place card, then pointed to the tablet, trying to get her to let him scroll through it for her, "It's a game, see. You could be some of these other ones. 'Has red hair', that's a couple of people. 'Allergic to cats', that would be a shame, maybe don't tell Catra about that one." That twitch of concern returned, less sure what to make of 'the only interesting thing about me', and Tony let it settle into a questioning look as he searched for more information.

"I don't care about your game. It's a clever one. I just would prefer to be referred to by my own name and not some affectation. An intimate name implies intimacy and I am not intimate with anyone. I am loved by my son. That is love I can trust."

Getting drawn in by lies isn't her idea of a good time but she has to be polite, even if it's coldly so. It's unseemly to make a scene in front of everyone and show anger and upset. There's no point in being part of some rift in a group of people that's as small as theirs. They have to...work together.

"So my name is Sansa. I would prefer to be called Sansa."

Tony was slow to respond, like he was considering addressing her otherwise to test his limits as he studied this unfamiliar expression on her, but eventually agreed, in a tone that didn't quite match her cold remove, "Sansa." They hadn't been intimate the first time they had met, and she hadn't minded the petnames then, Tony thought, so this wasn't a very satisfying explanation; on the other hand, they hadn't seen much of each other at all while he kept to the engine room or the primitive Graq planet, not very welcoming places for someone recovering from the confrontation with the Graq, so not very intimate. Right. He wasn't worth putting up with anymore.

Tony finally let his gaze drift again as he straightened out of his lean against the table, smoothing his jacket down the front as he knit his smile back together to offer to Sansa with a casual salute. "Don't worry, I'm not on there much," he promised with a nod toward the datapad, and looked back to his covered table. He could have asked Billy to put together a bar, as long as he was letting the kid magic up a few balloons. What was the difference?

"I'm tired of men lying to me," Sansa says quietly. "So I would prefer that people call me by my own name and not some special name that implies an intimacy when there's none to be had. You're the best liar here. You even managed to trick me and I thought that wasn't possible anymore."

Down in her heart, things were still soft. She's not ice and steel everywhere even if she'd like to be.

"This isn't a lie," she says, pointing at the datapad. "I'm a mother. It's all I am - his mother."

As much as Tony wanted to assure Sansa that she couldn't be easily tricked, because he wasn't sure what the trickery even was, she wasn't the first person on this ship to remind him he was effortlessly manipulative. This whole party was for Reeve to try to forget that, just more of the glamour, like Tony really thought that was possible; once his works had been exposed by a crack in the armor, he rarely had much luck trying to hide them again. So his hand came up as if to dissuade her, palm out, only for Tony to tuck both away into his pockets where they wouldn't do any more damage, lifting his chin pompously instead to reply, "Don't tell me I'm the best, it'll go straight to my head."

That tick of worry returned, this reduction to her motherhood a more opaque part of this problem, but Sansa wasn't making it sound like Tony could have much of value to say to her to address it. "Are you--did someone say that to you?" he tried, feeling snagged by this problem.

“I know it in my heart to be true. When I gave you myself, I didn’t anticipate the gift being thrown aside. It means something to me. You meant something to me. I trusted you and you proved to be a liar. The only man who will never lie to me is my son.”

It seems too dramatic to say right in the open but it’s also true. She trusted, was burned, and is now left to put herself together again.

“So I don’t want your false affectations. You could have had me for yours and rejected the gift. Actions speak louder.”

She also wasn't the first person to remind Tony that his attention was too divided, that he wasn't ever going to be able to build any kind of meaningful relationship until he figured out how to value them over the work. He hadn't had that trait be called a lie yet, but his shoulders dropped slightly with a stiff nod, sure, he could see how that was misleading. He hadn't been available to Sansa, that was the real Tony Stark experience, after she had been very clear about wanting someone in her bed. She shouldn't have had to ask again.

"Sorry," he muttered, and spread one hand over his heart before pressing his fingers against it through his shirt, trying to drive them in to draw out everything he didn't know how to give Sansa. Instead, he repeated, "Sorry," and looked away again. "Just so you know..." it was important to him to say, spreading his hand out again to steady the thought as he frowned absently at the distance, "There's a guy out there you can trust to take care of you, and he'll wait until you do. You're the kind of gal most guys would bring the stars down for. You didn't do this." He gave another tap to his heart.

"You don't understand me at all. This is what I mean. You tell me that I deserve everything I want, that I'm beautiful, that any man would want me. Lies. I wanted you. I trusted you. I shaped myself into the mold that I thought you wanted and I gave you something that had been stolen from me."

Sansa supposes it requires further elaboration and she sighs a little, rubbing the bridge of her nose. James is between them, at least, snug in his carrier across her chest.

"I trusted a man like you once. He spoke all the pretty lies you speak. He sold me to the monster who ruined me. Before you say anything, yes, I was ruined. You saw my body. You know it yourself. I thought I could trust you with it and that you'd come to love me. How am I supposed to tell someone I love them? By giving them the part of me that is ruined and weak. You saw it and rejected it. You hit me where I'm most vulnerable. Perhaps I shouldn't have bothered with trying but I did. Do you see it now? That you led me to believe you loved Sansa and it didn't matter? It did matter. It mattered to me."

Tony opened his mouth, only to shut it again, because anything he had to say was worthless here. What he had to say couldn't be trusted, and he wasn't going to produce something awful to say about her instead just so she might think it was more true, that wouldn't fix any of this. He had to shake his head, though, because he hadn't given her any kind of mold to fit into, he thought; she hardly knew what he could have wanted, and it definitely wasn't for Sansa to change herself. Who did she think he was visiting, all of those nights she met him by the fence in the restlessness of her pregnancy?

"You didn't say that," Tony broke his silence in frustration, because her anger with him was the same as Reeve's, was the same as Jon's, and Tony knew that he was the common denominator in that equation, but it didn't make him any less frustrated. He didn't know how to do this, as much as he kept trying and kept coming up short. "You have your family. I'm not worth half of that. So--so if you've been waiting for me, if that's what this is, I'm not going to chase you."

"I thought you were chasing me, though, because of how you spoke to me," Sansa points out. "And I didn't exactly get a chance, either. I didn't get a chance to be with you before you were done with me. That's how I mean it. If I'd been given a chance, I could have been able to tell you that. I wouldn't have left you in the dark but I only had one day."

That's gentle, though, because he deserves the fairness of listening to him and trying to consider his side of it.

"I'm not asking you to chase me. From what I understand, I cannot factor into this sort of relationship in your life. I tried to make it easy for you to be with me without constraining you but perhaps I should have simply said what I wanted to begin with and that it wasn't meant to be once. I can't wait on someone who has a lover, besides. That assumes the relationship would end and if you're happy, I wouldn't want you to end happiness for me."

"I don't--" Tony started to say, a horror creeping up his spine at just how many people seemed to know his business despite his attempts to guard himself, but that wasn't a conversation for Sansa. This wasn't about anyone else, this was about him and Sansa, whatever that meant, so Tony bit off that defence with an anxious sigh and gave a wave of his and, forget that, go back a step.

"I wasn't chasing you," he said evenly, and because Sansa seemed like she had already cut herself off from him and spoke of the rest in past tense, he followed suit, "I had what I wanted. I had you talking to me and letting me worry about you, I had someone that I...knew. I know that I'm not enough. I thought I was trying. I took every chance you gave me to tell you..." If Sansa didn't think she ever had a chance, and Tony thought he had been clear how much he adored her, he gave another wave of his hand, this was an even older problem.

"I wanted you romantically," Sansa says plainly. "And...well, it's unfair to tell you that I still do. That may be impossible now. I didn't think I could tell you that until you shared my bed. That was my mistake and I'm sorry for it. If you wanted me romantically and I didn't tell you plainly, I'm sorry."

Sansa plays with her hair a bit, trying to think of how she should say the things she needs to say. They're hard to put into words, really, but holding them inside isn't the answer.

"It terrifies me to know you've seen my body," she admits. "It's my worst secret. I just thought that a modern man would need to have that before I could tell him I had feelings for him. Was I wrong? Did you need that before I told you my feelings?"

salon

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