"Can I borrow your lipstick, dear? I seem to have forgotten mine."
Not looking at Sansa but with her hand extended in waits for the lipstick, Margaery leaned against the wall-long vanity with her face practically pressed to the mirror while she examined her appearance. Margaery always prided herself on a flawless appearance and tonight was not the night that she would disappoint the gossip-hungry public.
The room was crowded with the soft noises of fellow women as they adjusted their dresses, powdered their noses, and idly chattered. It was a comfortable place amongst women adorned with soft smiles and compliments. The opening and closing of compacts and lipsticks. The swishing of gowns. The giggles between friends. With a muscle-memory movement, Sansa, seated in her high-backed chair, placed the deep red lipstick in her friends palm. "You are lucky that I chose this drastic of a red tonight or you would be out on the street begging for a swipe from every red lipped woman who had the misfortune to cross your path."
Margaery gave Sansa a devilish grin before reminding her that this particular lipstick was originally her own thank you.
Glancing at her friend, Sansa had to admit that Margaery really did live up to image that everyone projected onto her- perfect and unafraid. Being widowed, royally divorced and, to the frustration of high society, still stunningly young and not looking to settle down, she ran the inner circles of New York City. Margaery was raised in a more than comfortable upbringing. Her family was that of old money- money and political influence that could be traced back for centuries. High society meant high expectations of keeping the money amongst those in a place of power and increasing one's status. Being so rooted in upper class, Margaery was engaged and married by the time she was 16 which was all arranged by her ambitious grandmother.
One of the only commonalities Margaery shared with the everyday woman, was that while left at home to keep the country running, Margaery found herself one normal afternoon with a letter in her hands that decimated her tight held dreams of what her post war life could consist of. What she dreamed of and hoped for when the war ended had perished. He promised to come back to her. They all did. Tragedy's well played hand snuffed out the light of this young man, who was so full of fun and life, as well as so many others' who would not be returning home- not truly. Sometimes just a flag and nothing more. That second spot on the swing would remain unoccupied now. Babies would never know what their father's voice sounded like. Mothers had to bury sons. Sisters mourned brothers' laughing faces that would fade from memory one day. They were not coming back.
This spoonful of mischief of a man would no longer be a thorn in the sides of the older traditionalists. The other hand that Tragedy played was one of mutual affection. The couple were genuinely fond of each other. Caring, tender, and not at all sexually interested in one another, they were the perfect match for people such as themselves. If such a match as this was to be made and romantic love was missing or impossible, then this was the next best thing. Maybe even better. Good friends rarely came out of such circumstances and far too often did the cards deal indifference and resentment.
Loved by the public but not his family, the man had no relatives to willingly pass his fortune to. When his will was read, everything: the money, the villas, the expansive properties, the businesses were all handed over to Margaery at eighteen.
Famously, the young woman's next forced betrothal didn't fare quite so well, but that really depended on which party was questioned on the matter. This second man, described as such by a majority, was scum. From the outside he appeared to have everything, a successful family, a promising future, and a gallant disposition. Sometimes women saw these lies too late. After a hushed up domestic police report and an embezzlement scandal, Margaery acquired an ample pile of money to keep silent about the entire affair and even more to her delight, a file for divorce. It was no surprise that despite the confidentiality papers, the hushed incident still managed to make front page news. Turned out he was a draft dodger too.
It would be a mild understatement to say that Margaery simply enjoyed finding herself in this new situation. She thrived with the independance from her family. She was her own woman and her grandmother no longer tried to arrange what men she would or would not have in her life. She was not tied down to what a husband would have wanted her to be doing with her time either. Margaery was her own woman.
Placing the returned lipstick back in her clutch, Sansa studied her own hard earned appearance. Auburn hair ran to the small of her back and shone in loose curls softly framing her face in just the right way. It was not particularly in style for the times to have such lengths of hair, but Sansa could never bring herself to cut it. Moreover, people always fawned over how beautiful and unique her hair was. Sansa's face was made up with a perfected wing, mascara that made her lashes even longer than normal, a light rouge that indicated a constant state of a subtle blush, and the burgundy red lipstick painted on full lips. It was more extravagant compared to her normal makeup routine, though even Sansa had to admire herself tonight due to Margaery's supervision.
Hours were spent earlier this week in a back and forth cadance of thoughts over how Sansa would have her hair styled, how she was going wear her makeup, and what jewels would be up to par for such an occasion. Only the opal would do she decided. Such a grand event called for the most grandiose necklace. As her mother would say, the two women were "dressed to the nines" this evening but would any less be accepted? Now the dress, this fairytale of tulle upon layers of tulle sculpted as petals made Sansa feel like the Queen of some northern land. Like she was something precious to be worshipped. Like she was kissed by moonbeams. It was already decided upon by Margaery that she was to wear this dress and there would be no exceptions or alternatives. It was a pale robin's blue with luxurious sapphire jewels meticulously placed that only accentuated the warmth of her hair and the blue depths of her eyes.
It was a dream that even Sansa had to buy into wearing and it was one that she was more than happy to dream if only for the night. I will step into this fairytale if only for tonight. She had thought when she stepped into it. Not every evening was Opening Night and this one was all the more special because it also happened to be the charity event of the year. Only the elite of New York City were invited. Those most in the spotlight and the top of the top of biggest names were in attendance. She could have fainted two months ago when Margaery announced that she, Sansa Stark, would be her plus one, because she found "all of the white collared business men beyond boring at the moment."
'Why would I bring any stiff shirt with a bowtie when I could have my most darling friend on my arm instead? You are far too stunning to not be there and the whole event would be lacking without you.'
"Who is it you need to speak with tonight, Margie?" Sansa said while delicately pulling her pale elbow length gloves on. She knew her friend always had a list of names to cross off whenever she went out in public. Whether it be business or pleasure, that depended on the night. Sansa was always happy to participate in polite conversation and found it to be similar to a game of how many people could they speak to that night and how much could she learn about them.
"Oh you know the usual, dear. I need to speak with the Major since my last letter about the new soup kitchen has gone unanswered." Margaery mused as she turned to face her friend with her hip leaning against the vanity for support. "There is also Sam and his new wife Joan. I would wager my last fur they will hunt me down at some point to inquire about catering for my Christmas Ball. They were dearly smarted when I went with Paul's company last year, but how could I have turned down those brown doe eyes?" With that the woman took Sansa hand in hers and drew her from the seat.
They stepped out of the powder room into the dark red carpeted hallway amongst the other women who were eager to return to the mayhem. There were wives dolled up for their husbands, young socialites from notable families in pursuit of husbands, and possibly more than a few accompanying men tonight in an unknowing (or sometimes knowing) housewife's place. All were illuminated by the soft lights positioned along the way to the reception hall like fairies leading the way to a grand feast. Tonight, no matter a woman's age or standing, it was not hard to feel like a little girl again at ball.
Paul, quick to laugh but quick to make excuses and lie. "You did- in February," Sansa quickly reminded her friend although she was quite sure she did not need reminding.
"Nonetheless, I miss his cherry tarts but probably not as much as he misses mine!" Margaery retorted with a wiggle of her eyebrows that was rewarded with a fit of giggles from both women. Arm in arm, they sauntered through the masses.
Entering the reception hall, Sansa looked up with wonder. It did not matter how many times she found herself here, the extravagance of the Metropolitan Opera House left her breathless each time. With grand ceilings that seemed to glance the heavens, chandeliers that sparkled like a girl's dream of full gowns and soft kisses between lovers, and intricate molding that grew from the walls like exotic foliage, it was all entirely perfect to Sansa. This was one of the first buildings Sansa had visited when she moved to New York City a few years ago and it would remain her favorite for years to come. It was artful and classic just like her. Who would not be inspired?
"Miss Sansa," Margaery said, pulling Sansa out of her daydreams of flying creatures and lustful gods, "I think we have just enough time to enjoy a drink and find a little trouble before we take our seats, how about it?" And it was like clockwork that a server with a tray of champagne passed them.
"To the Opera!" toasted Sansa after she thanked the server.
"To tonight suddenly having a lot more potential," Margaery murmured clinking her glass against Sansa's.
The champagne was a welcome sweetness of bubbles in Sansa's mouth and sent an oh so needed sensation of warmth and giddiness through her. It took her a moment to notice what Margaery's toast was aimed at- or better who it was aimed at.
Two men in their best tuxes were close to reaching them when Sansa turned left. They would be hard to miss even in the chaos of the room. Eyes seemed to follow them. Excitement radiated from each cluster of people they passed. The smaller of the men wore a pristine, fitted black tux with subtle stripes and a bowtie and the much larger in one of a deep grey it was almost black with a matching bowtie as well.
Meeting the larger man's eyes, Sansa only then felt how intense his gaze was on her. Actually felt it. It was as if he was absorbing the energy directed towards him and pulsing it towards Sansa. She was used to men looking at her but not like this. Not with so much heat that she felt like the afternoon sun warmed her skin when she knew very well the Moon had found her place amongst the buildings. His presence demanded attention and he would not be denied.
Sansa had seen his picture in the papers more than a couple of times, but that did not stop the gasp that unbiddengly escaped her lips upon seeing the gnarled scars in person. They adorned his left side of his face from forehead to a little way down his neck. They were twisted scars and not pretty to look upon. Embarrassed, Sansa hoped he had not noticed her temporary look of shock that must have crossed her face. She hoped he would have chalked her rudeness up to something akin to being a little starstruck considering he more than likely inspired similar looks regularly from the public. Walking through the crowd, murmurs of conversation and wide-eyed double takes broke out from each group the men had passed.
World renowned, he was boxing's latest heavyweight champion and known in and out of the ring as, The Hound. As far as she could recall, none of the articles on him ever showcased how his scars were given to him which further added to his shroud of mystery that captivated the public. The Hound was larger than she would have imagined, towering over most in the room and filling out his tux better than any man Sansa had seen before- even during the War.
"Margaery Tyrell, you are a vision for these tired, old eyes," the smaller of the men beamed as the two lightly embraced and kissed one another on both cheeks. Margaery laughed as he spun her in a circle by the hand and indulged in the sight of her at such close proximity. Her dress was a glamorous ruby silk fitted to her form with a low back and slit in the leg. A shapely woman, Margaery had earned similar, but in Sansa's opinion, less tasteful leers from all corners of the room. "Or do you go by another last name again? That would be a damn shame and a lot less thrilling," he said as they separated.
There is a story here that I do yet not know about, Sansa thought as this was a side of Margaery she only saw when the woman was not yet planning her next conversation with someone more interesting. Though no one could ever tell unless they saw Margaery when she was not "on."
The man showering her friend with compliments had a permanent smirk on his face that suggested he was up to something but it made Sansa smile regardless. His was not a smile she had seen plastered on men's faces once they built up the courage to initiate a conversation with them, but it also was not one born of smugness either. This man reminded her of a scruffy terrier that one of her neighbors had growing up. Full of energy and playfulness. She wondered if her friend had a dog in her girlhood and if it might have been something like this man.
Coyly slapping him on the arm, Margaery, pouring her liquid charm all but sang, "Oh honey, quite a few have been trying but I am still a Tyrell until I decide otherwise." She took a sip of her champagne and feigned a bored tone, "I find most them to be far too dull these days anyways, I fear. Soon I may have to find a new hobby!"
The Hound let out an amused snort that drew Sansa's eyes back to him. She found that his were on her again, and from the feel of them, have not been sidetracked for long. His presence felt even larger standing right in front of her and despite being a tall woman herself, she had to tilt her head slightly to match his eyes. Some men matched her in height and most of the others matched hers in heels, but not him. He was a tower of a man.
The spell between the two seemed to break because the smaller man, turned his attention to her after a moment and Margaery grabbed Sansa's arm saying, "Oh how rude of me! I forgot introductions in all of this excitement amongst us old friends. Bronn, darling, this is my truest friend, Miss Sansa Stark."
Tucking her clutch under her elbow that held the champagne, Sansa extended her right hand for this gentleman called Bronn to kiss while Margaery added, "Bronn Blackwater is the manager of the impressive monster of a man next to him, The Hound. They are partners in a gym ownership as well as soon to be restaurant owners which is opening in… late Spring!" Margaery's eyebrows rose in easy anticipation.
"Margaery, you still have all of your sources I see. I swear he may look and fight like a demon I swear he ," Bronn responded as he elbowed his companion.
With a smirk, a roll of his eyes, and in a deeper voice than Sansa anticipated, the larger man said, "Don't let any of my fellow competitors hear that or the two of us are out on the streets." The Hound shifted his weight forward to kiss Margaery's hand first as she let out a hearty laugh.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir" Sansa breathed as he took her own hand. In hands that dwarfed her own and with a press of his lips he furthered, "My friends call me Sandor Clegane outside of the ring, not sir."
As his head rose, he looked into Sansa's eyes again and offered the hand still engulfed in his a light squeeze.
It was broken when Margaery chimed, "Miss Sansa here is not only my dearest friend but also the most fantastic painter. Best portraiture in New York I say and more should! Before I know it, all of my walls will be covered with her art."
"It seems we are not the most impressive or best looking people here then, Sandor." Bronn said with a wink towards Sansa.
"Margaery is too kind I promise you-" Sansa flustered as she fingered with her champagne glass.
"No, I swear I am completely unbiased!" her friend interrupted. "Last month, Sansa painted me the most divine landscape that breathed a whole new life into my tea room. I have been drowned in compliments for it since. It was so wonderful that the only way I could repay her was with this gown. Tonight, Sansa may be more beautiful than the painting itself."
Laying it on a little thick, Margie. Sansa was sure she was the shade of her lipstick now looked at the floor.
Breaking the attention on Sansa, Bronn abruptly clapped his hands together once and then again and pointed at his partner with gusto. "The restaurant! We need a few of these paintings. This is perfect. They will really class up the place!"
"Oh that is a fabulous idea! You must see her work. It is delicate, it is sophisticated, classic-" The two were once again only had eyes for each other as they conspired.
"And!" Margaery went on truly inspired with arms outstretched painting the scene, "she can paint a portrait of Sandor to be the featured piece!"
Oh my god her champagne is spilling everywhere… Wait, what?
The two were practically bouncing up and down like school children when Sandor intruded, "Hold on now. The goal is to have people eat at this joint not to scare them away."
Sansa recognized the scowl on his face that was often in the papers. He could be handsome if her did not frown so much.
Before Margaery or Bronn could open their mouths Sansa blurted, "I would love to paint you, sir."
Sandor glared hard at her. "You do not have to lie to me to spare a dog's feelings, girl," Sandor growled. "I am sure there are plenty of pretty and delicate things you would rather spend your time looking at."
Lifting her head and steadying herself with a deep breath for confidence, Sansa met his eye. For the first time that night she noticed the stormy gray of them guarded under heavy brows and the raven hair that threatened to hide his face. There was pain veiled there, a pain that was not present a moment before. But there was also anger that was threatening to spill out as well. "I am speaking honestly and would see it as an honor, sir. I have never painted a champion boxer before."
For an instance, she believed he was going to yell at her but then he turned his glare from Sansa to Bronn and said, "If you want a portrait hung so badly, hang your own. Mine will not be there for people to point and gawk at." With that, The Hound retreated from their group and was swallowed within the crowd once more.
Sansa watched as he stalked away and earned startled and admiring looks from men and women alike. As he rounded to the stairs and disappeared from view, the room seemed to dull just a shade. Like the sun stepping behind a cloud and the wind picking up again. She was watching the space he left when Bronn brought her back to their trio with his hand invading in her viewline. "Here is my card and here is his. I am going to buy some of your paintings no matter what he barks. He'll come around. How can I contact you, love?"
Sansa dug through her clutch and handed him her own card.
Since Margaery began making it a game to win her commissions, Sansa had made it a habit to keep a few on hand when they went out.
"Alan Stone? That's an interesting way to spell Sansa Stark," said Bronn as he turned it over in his hand.
"It's my pseudonym. I apologize but I usually only give those to people merely interested in my completed works and those who I do not consider friends. I am sure it would not surprise you hear people tend to admire a man's work more," Sansa pursed as she shut her clutch with a snap. "I must remember to get my others reprinted. I apologize again."
"Alan Stone or Sansa Stark, I am buying from whoever can make Margaery smile like that." With that he kissed Margaery's hand and said to her, "I'll make sure I see you around, honey." A wicked grin played on his face as he too retreated.
Sansa leered at Margaery with raised eyebrows and a giggle that tinkled as their glasses had minutes before.
"Oh do not give me that look, Sansa. I know that look," Margaery huffed as she polished off her glass. "Bronn is simply an old friend from during the War."
"A bit familiar."
"I am not the one who set off the big bad wolf," Margaery retorted as the two started moving with the crowd. A sea of dress shoes and gowns as they politely shuffled to their seats. "I almost landed you another commission! You know, I am certain it has the do with his scars because he is apparently very touchy when it comes to the subject. Does not like being asked about them and will not take a posed photo from what I have gathered in the gossip section. Really, you would think he would play them up for the sake of his career."
Up the staircase and down a hall, the two women entered their designated balcony. It was on the second level and four booths left from center stage. If the reception hall was grand then the auditorium was truly divine. There were two older couples who would be sharing the space with them. The two women participated in polite conversation with them about who the featured performers were of the night, about scandals that had been whispered concerning a member of the orchestra who was sleeping with one of the directors, and about what the rumors were regarding how the show would be generally received.
Sansa found herself people watching as she always did once the usual courteous exchanges naturally died down. She watched enraptured by how the orchestra tuned their instruments and handled them with care that would suggest they were an additional limb. How the pianist was double and triple checking his sheet music and stealing small looks at the petite violinist seated three rows to his right. How in the section four to the of them left three young girls sat with their mother. Two were twins with matching periwinkle dresses while the older reminded her of herself when she was thirteen. When she tried to carry herself like her mother and be seen as a woman and not a child. A proper little lady. It brought a small smile to her lips but sadness that longed to tell her girlhood self to stay a child as long a possible, because the next few years only brought a yearning for things past. The general hum of the crowd acted like a numbing device as Sansa glided within her thoughts.
As the lights began to dim, so did the volume of voices and this was one of Sansa favorite parts about coming to the Opera. Nothing was the same as how it felt to be in crowd of people enjoying the same thing. Electricity was in the air and the reaction as a mass was one of anticipation and excitement. Soft murmurs bounced across the hall. The orchestra sang its first notes. The curtain rose.
It was promptly 28 minutes into the show and what started as a small feeling turned into a desperate pang. The champagne. Sansa usually knew better. Do not, absolutely do not drink any alcohol before leaving for a car ride, before a meeting, and definitely not before the Opera because to her peril, Sansa had a tiny bladder when alcohol entered the mix. It was known. She would not hold off until intermission and she could had thrown herself off the balcony for her lapse on an opening night.
Why must champagne be so spiteful when all I have ever done was love it.
Gathering her bag with an internal groan, Sansa rose. After a knowing glance from Margaery, Sansa shook her head in response to Margaery's silent offer to accompany her. She could manage it alone and did not want her friend to miss what was happening on stage on her behalf. With Margaery staking out the position, Sansa would have a thorough recap of what was missed when intermission began.
Marching through the dim lit corridors of the upper level, Sansa moved with a focused familiarity and the soft swishing of her gown. She attended plenty of performances in this building, but what gave her confidence that she could be back to her seat in no less than five minutes was her extra knowledge of the upper floor. Some of the offices and executive lounges were located on the upper level and Sansa made note that there was a single room bathroom that was much more accessible than having to walk downstairs with the rest of the public. This information was given space in her mind on account of numerous meetings with board members or their wives because they were commissioning a portrait from her or buy a piece from Alan Stone.
Cornering off the the left, Sansa made her way down a narrow hall that was illuminated with a few sconces and a soft light that spilled from underneath a closed door. The sounds of the opera could could be heard but more muffled here. The restroom was placed at the end of the hall on the left to create more privacy so that those important enough did not have to mix with tourists or attendants. Slipping in, Sansa was rewarded with a sweet relief and a brief moment to touch up her lipstick. Maybe she should have taken Margaery up on her offer because relieving herself in this dress was like fighting a never ending war against jewel and tulle and fabric. Her face was mildly flushed from the effort.
She peered out the window to admire the Moon. The Harvest moon looked brightly down on her with a welcoming fullness.
When she stepped out in the hallway, she might not have noticed that the office light that had once dribbled onto the floor only a few minutes before, was now missing, leaving the small hallway duller than before. Muted colors and soft edges. If her mind was not so wrapped up in fine gowns and soaring voices, she might have remembered that she was afraid of the dark and what might linger in the shadows. All of this might have escaped her notice had a large shape not made the same left she had minutes before. If he had not come drifting down the hall which she was now aware came to an end a few feet at her back.
A small tingle ran through her from the top of her head to the bottom of her heeled feet. Was it fear or something rather different? Larger than any man had the right to be, he moved with an unexpected softness in his steps. He looked almost mystical with his profile falling in and out of shadow as if they were in the woods under a canopy of trees and bright moonlight and not in some hallway in a major city. His features seemed to soften as well as his scars, but that did not diminish the sharpness of his jaw or the hook of his nose. It did not make him less beast than man. Broad and angular, his face was serious like stonework and fixed on Sansa with intent.
As he closed the gap between them, he reached his arm out so that his fingertips brushed the wall and then found his pocket. With little space separating them, Sansa could hear his soft breathing, could see the rise and fall and rise of his broad chest, noticed that strands of his hair were resting on his burnt cheek, and could smell his earthy cologne that mixed with a lingering whiskey. It made her think of motorbikes and the time she spent the week on a country farm with a family friend. Nights occupied on the front porch gazing at the stars and sipping on wine when she was too young to do so.
For a moment, Sansa thought they would stand in this purple silence for hours only regarding each other never speaking until they were both turned to stone and remained in the building until they tore it down to build a new one. Her breath quickened.
"I changed my mind," The Hound said and it was a soft, deep rumble of a voice. It was as if he was afraid that the walls would overhear and this was a private exchange. It was meant for them. His eyes were a darker grey than they had been in the reception room though they were no less guarded than before as he studied her face and then down her body and back again.
Sansa found herself breathless and a flash of heat ran through her but she could not explain why. Changed his mind? What could he have changed his mind about.
Maybe confused by her silence or frustrated by it, he shifted his weight and rasped, "Do I frighten you so much, girl?"
A flush surely played across her face. Coming back to herself, Sansa let out a breath and regained her thoroughly trained courtesies. "If you would pardon me sir, I only did not expect anyone to be in this part of the building is all. To my dismay, I indulged in too much champagne before the curtains raised and found myself in desperate need of relief. I have had meetings on this level before and thought it easier to come here than travel down the stairs in this dress. It is rather bigger than I am used to..." Sansa was not sure why she was telling him all this but she could not stop her mouth from relaying her thoughts. She felt as though she were drunk and that the air was different than the air she usually breathed.
The Hound let out a slight breath that could have been mistaken as a chuckle. Is he laughing at me? What did he say again? He changed his mind?
"I apologise, sir, but what have you changed your mind about?" Sansa questioned.
It was the Hound's turn to study the patterns on the carpet as he spoke, "Can we meet tomorrow night for you to begin the painting?" He was almost sheepish as he said so.
The painting of course. Why else would he have followed me here. Had he followed me?
"Yes of course. I have an opening in the evening tomorrow after dinner time. The sooner we begin, the better considering you probably have a horrid schedule and that the restaurant opens in less than a year. I am in apartment 503 in the Garfield building. My studio is attached to my living spaces. I prefer not having the hassles of traveling since I can sometimes work late into the night," She went on.
Why am I blabbering? He must think me some stupid girl going on as if this is my first commission.
Remembering herself, Sansa retrieved him a card as well. "It says Alan Stone but that is my pseudonym. The rest of the information is correct."
"Tomorrow then," was all he said with a small smirk. One Sansa was sure he meant to conceal.
And as suddenly as he had appeared, he had turned and glided away leaving Sansa wondering if it had really happened or if it were a vision.
'Tomorrow then.'
Closing her eyes and opening them after a few breaths, she willed her feet to do their duty and to remind herself that she was not in some clearing under stars but rather a mere hallway.
Pushing back the heavy curtain, Sansa returned to her seat next to Margaery. Though she was eager to take her seat, she found herself not paying attention to the stage despite her best efforts. She followed the performers as they drifted to their marks, but did not hear the music. Her mind was still stuck firmly to the floor in that hallway. Glancing over to where she saw The Hound seated before the had lights dimmed, she found he was not there. They had been seated in the first floor of balconies as well but were closer to the stage. He had not returned while the man named Bronn remained. Did he leave after he spoke with me?
Light unsympathetically brightened the auditorium and the older couples seated next to them filed out in search of a restroom and well practiced intermission conversation.
The two women stretched in their seats and turned to each other.
"So when you were peeing you-" Margaery started to say.
"You will never believe what-" Sansa had started.
Margaery raised an suggestive eyebrow to which Sansa spilled out with a little to hastily, "Well I used the bathroom in the office hall, you know the one I told you about last time we were here, and when I was coming out he was there. The Hound I mean. The Hound was in the hallway."
"Really?" Margaery had her head down played with the binoculars resting in her lap.
"He walked down the hallway to me and told me that he had changed his mind."
Margaery looked up. "About the painting?"
"Yes. He is coming to the studio tomorrow night now. First he yells at me and then he changes his mind. He did not even apologize."
Turning back in her seat to face the stage, Margaery let out a low chuckle and tilted her head up to the ceiling. "Of course. Sandor Clegane is as restless as I would have thought."
"Why do you say so? It only makes sense to begin now so there is enough time to finish it before the opening. I would say that is proactive not restless," Sansa stated a bit confused why her friend was laughing at the situation when an hour ago she was lemmenting the lost business.
"Sansa," Margaery said turning back to her with a sly smile on her face, "he had been taking looks at you the entire time we have been in our seats. The entire first act. I doubt he was even paying an ounce of attention to anything else that what was happening outside our balcony. And it was not to me or the oldies next to us he was looking at. The way he looked at you downstairs was as if he thought you belong in a museum. As soon as you got up so did he."
Before Sansa could think on what Margaery had said, Sam and his new wife Joan stepping into their balcony space to inquire if Margaery had chosen a caterer for her Christmas Ball.