hellhouse | (no subject)

WHO: Clegane and YOU
WHAT: exploring, adjusting. grumping at everyone and everything, probably.
WHEN: now?
WHERE: all over!

WARNINGS: Clegane uses really coarse language on a regular basis and doesn't know how social niceties work. or doesn't care, either one. if there's any kind of content that really bothers you let me know and I'll do my best to avoid it with your character!

The first day had been the worst, or so he'd figured. Strange place with a pair of strangers, vaguely eerie undertones, but no real threats per se. Empty ones, sure, but nothing particularly tangible. They'd found their way out to the house proper but hadn't been able to find a usable exit, and while it was clear enough then, it hadn't stopped Clegane from continuing to look. He'd eventually found clothes closer to his own, at least, loose shirt and trousers that fit well enough and boots instead of shoes that pinched his feet, and the means to resume some semblance of personal hygiene now he wasn't trekking across the world for months anymore, so he no longer felt like he had ash and smoke caked into his skin and his beard was trimmed back enough to itch and...okay. He could do this. He could figure this out.

He'd still feel better if he had a sword at hand, but he still had the knives from the table setting, so that would have to do for now. As ready as he was going to be, he set to better learning the layout of the house, making his way from one end to the other. None of the rooms ever seemed to stay in one place, doors opening into either a room he'd already been in or into a solid wall more often than he had any taste for, but he turned each room upside down as he entered it all the same, and when he found the front door he did his level best to try to knock it down, for as much luck as he had at it.

Which wasn't much, which was why anyone fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to find him there would come across a giant of a man seemingly having a shouting match-slash-brawl with the front door.

"Just open, you damn bastard!"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sansa hasn't had the same luck in finding a new dress so she's still in the same dress she'd woken up in the other day. She's had little luck trying to escape the house, as well, and while she's not given up she's become very discouraged.

She hasn't seen anyone from Westeros here so she's been able to pass as Sharra Snow without any questions. When she sees Sandor Clegane wrestling with a door, though, she lets out an audible gasp.

"You're here," she says, unable to think of anything else to say.

He gives it a final kick in protest, growling under his breath, when the voice interrupts. One he knows all too well, and one he'd been utterly certain he'd never hear again. But he turns to face it, and sure enough there she is, Sansa Stark in about as ridiculous a dress as he's ever seen.

"So it seems. So are you, in whatever in the seven hells that is."

"I did not choose the dress, as you can imagine," Sansa says, wrinkling her nose a bit. "I've not been using my true name here, Sandor. I thought perhaps I'd been taken because I'm Queen in the North."

Sansa doesn't want to take any chances with that. She's worried that their captors can hear her, though, and keeps her voice soft. "If you talk of me, I'm calling myself Sharra Snow."

"I wasn't in these clothes when I first arrived either. Some idiotic get-up I got rid of as soon as I could."

But he mulls over the rest of her words, and her request, fits them in alongside what he knows of his own arrival. He obviously missed something after he went south, either while or since, but it doesn't matter, he's not especially surprised either.

"Fine. Wouldn't be the first of you to go by something else. I don't think it's to do with your title, though, or else why would I be here too."

"I'm beginning to believe that as well," Sansa says. The other people here don't seem to be Westerosi and certainly not Jared, whom she'd woken up with, but she wants to be careful. There's no telling who their captors are or what their aim is. She means to keep herself safe with lies.

"Still, for now, I'm Sharra Snow, and I'll reveal my name as Sansa when the time comes. I trust you to keep secrets. You've been keeping secrets for Starks for longer than you've wanted to, I imagine."

He nods agreeably enough at her conclusion; not his place to argue with it, it's her own business at the end of the day no matter how likely he feels the deception is to be needed. If it makes her feel safer, he won't dispute it.

"Learn anything useful about the place yet?"

"I've yet to find any windows," Sansa says. "Which I don't think is useful so much as notable. All throughout the rooms I've been able to investigate, I've found no windows that actually look to the outside so I cannot determine the hour of the day and I cannot determine where we are."

It's a useful trick to keep a prisoner. Both Joffrey and Ramsay had used it to great effect with her in the past.

"So they're smart, whoever they are."

Frustrating, but smart.

"Could be underground, then."

"I was thinking we might be underground, yes. It's strange but very clever to keep us in a place where we cannot tell where we are or tell our days from our nights. It keeps us on edge and makes it more difficult for us to break free."

Sansa sighs a bit. "I just wish I knew why we'd been captured, that's all."