Zsra187's original prompt: Modern AU, featuring Sandor as a tough-talking, no bullshit tattoo artist and Sansa as the young, naive customer getting her first tattoo. Bonus points if Sansa wants some sort of 'Joffrey' tattoo as a token of her love and Sandor tries to talk her (or scare her in his own terrifying way) out of it.
I've posted the full story on the Sansa_Sandor LJ but I intend to have it up here completely (with some parts rewritten) at a good pace. Working on this was lots of fun, I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I had writing it.
A/N: Don't think too hard on the distances between places, because I didn't either. Also, all rights belong to George R.R. Martin
1. A trip
A wave of heat hit Sansa as she opened the pub door, followed by a nauseating aroma of smoke, earth and rotten eggs. She couldn't stop herself from scrunching up her nose and taking a deep breath, shutting out the foul stench from her nostrils. Gods, it's so hot in here. Brown sconces shaped to look like torches were the only light source in the establishment by which the patrons of the Hollow Hill pub could identify the color of their drink. She had expected it to be pretty much deserted at early noon. The three men eyeing her as they hung in various poses at the bar, and several others participating in a rowdy pool game at the back, proved her assumption wrong.
She tried, again, to straighten out her skirt, so the hem would come just a little bit lower and she'd feel a little less exposed. As soon as her phone had guided her to the faded stores and bars that crowded Stoney Sept Alley, she had cursed herself for wearing her old but cherished white dress with its red bird prints. The distinct stares that passersby directed at her as she tacked past them in her low heeled sandals reminded her sorely of the fact that she'd grown out of the dress by a few inches. Two thirty-something women sharing a cigarette outside a seedy hotel named 'The Peach' had smirked at her, one of them calling out, "Hey doll, here to rent a bed?" Sansa's skin had turned a deep shade of red as she sped up, eyes desperately scanning the vicinity for her destination.
Hound Tattoos, Stoney Sept Alley thirteen she'd kept chanting in her head to drone out her mounting unease. But instead of locating the tattoo shop where Google Maps had ascertained her it would be, she found the greasy front of the Hollow Hill pub.
"Excuse me," she said as she approached the bartender, ignoring the patrons strung about the bar. The man behind had his back turned to her as he was rearranging some bottles, while humming a tune Sansa could put no name to. He turned around at the sound of her voice. A friendly, creased face with a big nose and a larger mouth greeted her, his eyes shining and his mouth curving upward as he took her in. "Well hello there, sweetheart," he said in a lilting voice. "Lost your way?"
Sansa usually reacted coldly to people she knew hide nor hair of who used endearments to address her. She considered it improper. I wish Joffrey would do it more, though.
"I don't know," she said, tugging at her dress. "I was looking for a shop that's supposed to be here, at number thirteen."
"You sure you didn't take a wrong turn on the Gold Road, miss? The shopping district is mostly over at Lannisport, another ten miles further down," he told her with a benign smile.
"No. It's not that kind of shop, sir." She felt a blush come on, knowing how utterly out of place she must look. "I'm looking for a tattoo parlor, by the name of Hound Tattoos."
"Hah!" snorted one of the patrons, a burly man who sported the ugliest yellow jacket Sansa had ever seen. She had no idea how the man could stand to wear it in the oppressive warmth of the pub. "You girl, looking for that sour old dog?" he asked. "Did ye hear that, Tom?"
The bartender looked surprised at first, but reverted back to his broad smile before Sansa could blink. "Wouldn't have guessed you for one of his clients," said the man. "He's set up on the upper floor."
"Oh." She let her eyes wander the space of the dark pub in search of a door or stair.
"Not here. Go back out front and right, up the stairs next to the building," Tom informed.
"Right. Thank you very much, sir."
The bartender made as if he took off an invisible hat for her gratitude, a gesture that made her smile. "Until we meet again, fair lady."
"Wouldn't count on that," the man in the yellow jacket smirked, leaning beside him, "probably runs off screaming when she sees-" he was saying, but the loud clang of a glass being forcefully put down interrupted him. "That's enough outta you, Lem," Tom admonished.
xxx
Sansa looked around the corner of the pub, and discovered the stairs Tom had pointed her to. She examined the wall, but even here there was no sign of a marker announcing the existence of a tattoo shop. "Someone should introduce the owner to the basics of commerce and marketing," she mumbled.
Her attempts to find a website or any other digital outlet of the place had come up empty too, though she came across many comments on various boards and social media raving about the genius inks of 'the Hound'. The photographs and images of the guy's work floating around on the web were mostly too dark and gothic for Sansa's taste – lots of skulls and weapons and mean looking monsters and the like - but she could see the skill of the artist. He has to be good. And she wanted it to be good.
It will solve things between me and Joff. After years of pining after him from afar and two glorious months of actually dating handsome and popular Joffrey Baratheon, a snag had come up in their relationship. It started with Joff sending her an increasing number of texts asking her where she was, who she was with, what she was doing. She thought it cute and thoughtful at first. Then came the little remarks he made when they were together, about other guys she talked with or looked at. They evolved from playful to angry and jealous, with Joffrey accusing her of, of – capriciousness. Their last date had been a total disaster.
Joffrey's change in just a few weeks' time confused her immensely, when all had been going so well. He'd been the very incarnation of the Prince Charming she had imagined him to be. Despite Sansa's repeated assurances to appease his sudden fits of jealousy, Joff still seemed determined to think the worst of her, and she longed to get back her former prince. Her worry kept her up at night, until the answer came to her.
A tattoo. An indelible proof. She was certain that when Joffrey saw this boldest kind of love declaration on her skin, all of his doubts would disappear. He will love me fully again, he will. He has to. Everything will be perfect once more.
Sansa started up the stairs. Halfway she heard a muted beep from inside her purse. Joffrey.
She had prepared for this. She'd told Jeyne her plans, and though her friend had protested heavily, saying only thugs got tattoos, she agreed to tell everyone who called that Sansa was enjoying herself on their shopping spree in Harrenhal. It was a safe ruse. Harrenhal mall was so enormous no one would question if they'd actually been there. In the meantime Jeyne would shelter in a local coffee bar none of their friends frequented.
Sansa pulled out her phone.
-Wher r u?
How considerate, she sighed inwardly. The sooner they made up, the better.
-Harhal mall wth J, she texted back. That would satisfy Joff for a while, hopefully.
Distracted by her phone handling, she took the last steps and halted on the small platform in front of the shop door. She looked up. Her mouth fell open.
The wall had been painted with graffiti. A huge, snarling dog-head with ferocious fangs, glistening with slaver and blood covered the surface. It coated the door, which was located in the reddish dark of the dog's throat between its incisors. The image looked so terrifying and lifelike that Sansa wavered to grab the door handle. For the second time that day, she was reminded of how out of place and out of her league she felt.
Maybe I should go back, she thought. I could surf the net again, and find a nicer tattoo parlor. Somewhere where flowers and hearts and cute bunnies are more prominently featured. Surely there had to be shops of that kind too. She'd only latched onto the Hound's name because she heard Arya drop it once in a conversation with one of her skater friends. And the place had been conveniently far from Winterfell, so she wouldn't bump into someone familiar on her secret trip.
She was about to turn back, when her phone went off again.
-Joff txtd, tld him cov story
Sansa stared back into the dreadful jaws of the dog. If she wanted her boyfriend to stop double-checking her words, she was prepared to face the dark unknown.
xxx
In her mind, Sansa pictured the interior of Hound Tattoos as black and menacing as the mural bedecking the entrance. The handle creaked as she pulled it down and pushed the door inwards with some effort. Inside an alarm went off, and contrary to Sansa's ominous fantasies about grave church bells, a dry ring jingled. The catacomb she had envisioned turned out to be a light, long rectangular room, with yellow walls that made her think of the wheat fields snaking by on the highway from Winterfell to the Neck. The room was empty save for her. She sniffed a rather stale and faintly medicinal scent in the shop.
Several black frames covered the long sides of the room, showcasing the work of the Hound, designs as well as actual photos of tattooed body parts. Just as Sansa had already picked up from her internet search, dark and gloomy was the overriding theme of the images, with here and there a lick of red. A wooden display case with a glass cover stood lonely against the left wall, and when she came closer she saw that it enclosed what looked like a real sword. She cautiously laid a hand on the cold glass, examining the weapon inside.
"With you in a minute," a gravelly voice announced behind her. She whipped her head around and saw the back of a massive figure disappear about the corner of a screen at the back wall. She gulped. He's big.
Tugging at her skirt, she darted closer to the counter at the further end, and tried to take a sneak peek behind the screen. She heard several noises of things being displaced, and saw the tail-end of a big leather chair. The peculiar smell of the place got stronger too.
She was leaning closer and closer, almost going beyond the counter, when his steps suddenly trounced her way. Oops, she thought, springing back from her impolite peeping position. With only seconds to spare, she turned her head to one of the frames, trying to affect an unperturbed state, a play that was undermined by she short gasps of breath she snapped. The heavy footfalls stopped, and she felt eyes on her, yet didn't dare move.
Moments went by, and her breathing at least slowed somewhat.
"Want a taste of the Stranger, girl?" rasped the man known as the Hound.
She hoped against hope that he would not notice her heavy blush, and swiveled towards his voice, starting with "I'm sorry sir, I don't know what…you…mean," and barely swallowed the lump in her throat.
The man before her was very tall, and broad, in a muscled fashion. Black ink ran over his arms and peeked up through his collar, but the marks on his face would always attract the most attention. Even curtained by long black hair, Sansa could see the leathery, burned skin with its pocks and fissures covering half of his features.