It was loud in the "house" for some reason when Sansa opened her eyes, hands reaching up to rub at them. Her eyes were still blurry when she saw the figure of a shorter, brown-haired man retreat, Drogo storming after him.

"Fucking accountant, fucking-... Get back here, you oaf, " She heard Sandor growl, Drogo relenting and stomping back over to him. They began muttering heatedly amongst themselves.

What is going on? Sansa thought to herself. She suddenly felt like it might just be a good idea to play dead.

A female voice joined the fray: Asha's, of course. Sansa could clearly tell they were speaking of money as she laid her head back down and closed her eyes.

"...only a quarter. Supposed to get a third," She heard Asha say.

"Don't you think I fucking remember that, woman?"

"Should have smashed Littlefinger's head in, like grape."

Littlefinger? What kind of name is that? Was he the man who was just here?

The three quieted down again to the point where Sansa could no longer make out what they were saying. They broke off after a while, someone exiting the building. She could tell Asha stayed, as Sansa could hear her speaking to someone on the phone, until she once more entered the room she seemed to spend so much time in.

Seems like everyone's preoccupied, Sansa thought as she crept out of her bed and into the makeshift den/dining room. The girl glanced around just to make sure she was alone, then lowered herself down into the old, somewhat ratty couch. The remote was found after she reached her hand down between the couch cushions.

She turned the TV on and began to flip through the channels. She finally landed on MTV, her go-to channel. Just some reruns of Jersey Shore. Ugh. But it was somewhat better than just laying in bed. She ended up just staring blankly at the screen, mulling over the morning's events.

An hour or two pased of her mindlessly watching TV. Drogo and Sandor re-entered the building but she didn't even notice.

"Jesus fucking Christ, really?" She heard Sandor say. She gasped in surprise, grabbing the remote and turning the television off before stumbling to her bare feet. She turned, just to run face first into a broad chest. Taking a quick step back, she saw the chest covered in a Metallica t-shirt, then glanced further up to see that scarred face.

"So many channels, and you have to choose that one? I feel like smashing the damn TV now." He waved his hand out at the TV in annoyance.

"...well, if I had anything else to do," Sansa began in a quiet voice. She decided not to go on, her eyes looking off at something that wasn't the large, scary man, even though he could feel his eyes boring into her.

There was silence for a few moments, then irritated grumbling as she saw a box being shoved at her. "Put these on. Tired of watching you walk around in your bare feet. He waved his hand, again, but this time toward the room she had been sleeping in. Bowing her head to him, she scurried off, feeling his eyes follow.

This would have been one of the times she'd shut and lock the door behind her, but there was no door to speak of. She when off to the side of the room instead, opening up the box so she could peer inside. What was in the box surprised her quite a bit.

She lifted the shoes he had brought from the box. They were flats much like the ones she had left behind at home: black velvet with little bows on top. The only way these differed were the straps that would go over her feet, so they wouldn't come (or fly) off. They were also her exact size. Odd. She hadn't told Asha her shoe size yet. She didn't think much more of it, slipping her cold feed into the shoes.

Turning to her bed, she spied another, larger box, but decided to leave it for now. She couldn't believe she was doing this, but on she went, right back to the large room where the other three stood. A couple of moments later, as if on queue, they turned to look at her in unison, then down at her shoed feet. Clearing her throat, she spoke up, "Th-thank you for these. It's very nice of you."

She stared right at Sandor as she spoke. It was getting a bit easier to look at him, though in her mind she knew she should be afraid. He stared right back at her, then grunted.

"But if I may ask," Sansa began, "how did you know what size I wore?"

"I know a lot about you, from watching you. It's my job."

"Oh god, Sandor. That's creepy," Asha added.

"What? You two were heloing. If it means I'm a creeper, then you are fucking creepers, too."

"No. Is just you. Go alone lots of times by self. Is too creepy."

Sandor scowled. "Fuck the both of you," He breathed before moving to plop down onto the couch, leaving Asha and Drogo snickering behind him. Sansa looked from face to face before backing up, then turning to head into her room.

Making it to her bed, she opened up the cardboard box that had been left atop it to look inside. Stacks of books rested there. Romance novels. Mostly the cheesy kind, and also some slightly less cheesy young adult novels. Had Sandor bought these for her as well?

Turning to glance over her shoulder, she found her face dangerously close to someone else's. Drogo's. He had leaned in close behind her and was grinning. "Romance books, eh? Ever done things like in books?" Sansa stared at him dumbly, not quite getting it. As as if he knew what was going on, Sandor shouted, "Leave Birdy alone, you oaf." There was no passion behind it, as if he only half-cared. But Drogo shrugged and did as he was told, winking at Sansa before retreating.

Sansa watched him go, reaching to smooth down her slightly frazzled red hair. She was really wihshing she had as shower, some nice shampoo, and a straight iron, but people suhc as these probably didn't care about the state of her poor hair.

Shrugging, she picked up a book. Twilight. Ugh. Even she didn't read such things. She tossed it aside and reached for another. Never the Knight. Weird name for a romance novel. But the tagline... "But ever ready to love." She giggled to herself, soon opening it up to start reading.

Another hour passed, which the Stark girl spent laying back and reading the somewhat corny romance novel. Only did she think about putting it down when Drogo called out that he had brought lunch back.

Sansa waited for a couple of minutes, finishing the chapter she was on before folding the corner of the page to keep her place and putting the book down.

Whens he got near the table, the smell of fried food hit her. And not just one kind. Chicken. Fries. Corn dogs. Cheese sticks. Dear god, where they wanting her to die this young? As she thought about how unhealthy it all looked, she turned toward Drogo, who was happily scarfing down as much as he could fit into his mouth.

Sandor and Asha entered the room soon after, both of them giving Drogo their own special looks: Asha's of annoyance mixed with some slight amusement, Sandor's of pure annoyance, bordering on anger. He moved over to a cooler beside the couch, pulling out three bottles of beer. Seeing the expectant looks on his partners' faces, he said, "What are you looking at? These are all for me." And with that, he plopped down into his chair, removing the cap off of one bottle to guzzle down the liquid within down quickly. Sansa frowned as she watched him, moving tentatively to pick a corn dog up by the stick and place it on her plate, Sandor and Asha serving themselves soon after.

Drogo leaned over the table, a friendly yet impish smile on his face as he squirted mustard onto her plate, motioning for her to eat. Sansa lifted the corn dog, taking a small bite, the bronze-skinned man staring at her intently, that smile still on his face. Weird. She took another bite. He licked his lips.

Finally, Sandor slammed his fist down on the table. "I swear to god, if you don't wipe that stupid grin off your face and stop staring, I'll gouge your fucking eyes out!"

Drogo's lips twitched up into a snarl, but he did as he was told, returning to his own food. Sansa was utterly confused about what was going on, but said nothing of her confusion, simply finishing her food in peace. When she looked back up, she saw Sandor had already drank his second beer and was opening his third.

Worrying her lip, the young woman decided to speak up, "You shouldn't drink so much. It isn't good for you." Sandor wrinkled his brown, turning to leer at her for a moment. "It might not be good for my health, but it is certainly good for his." He tilted his head in Drogo's direction. "If I didn't drink so much, I would have rung this idiot's neck by now."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Drogo glaring daggers at Sandor, his fists clenched. Sandor must have noticed as well, as he soon turned to glare right back. Drogo muttered something in his own language, nearly throwing his chair over as he pushed it back, just to storm off.

Asha sighed, watching him leave and stood up as well, setting his chair straight after pushing her own in. That just left Sandor and Sansa. All alone.

She began chewing on her lip again, pushing her long, red hair back away from her face as she glanced over at Sandor, almost shyly. He didn't seem to notice, his own gray eyes staring off blankly as he slowly sipped from his last bottle of beer. Sansa cleared her throat, causing him to blink suddenly and glance toward her. "Yeah?"

Sansa swallowed before replying, "Why were you so mad at him? He was only looking at me."

The man chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "It's how he was looking at you that bothers me. Don't you see what he's doing?" Sansa shook her head.

"He wants in your pants, girl. He wants in every woman's pants. You just happen to be convenient and close by." He eyed her up and down slowly, drinking the rest of his beer.

Sansa felt a shiver run down her spine, even as blood rushed to her face, coloring her cheeks a rosy red. She still felt his eyes on her, but he soon averted them, pretending not to care. She stammered out a goodbye and ran off to her room, leaving him alone again. He always was. "This must be by punishment for being so damn honest in a world of bull-shitters," He muttered.

He found himself tromping over to his old, faithful couch, falling down into it with a grunt. He could no longer hear any other voices. This used to be when he felt most comfortable, and any semblance of contentment. But not now. What was missing? The large man glanced sideways at the cooler, which still held many a bottle of beer, but then shook his head, his pawlike hand reaching to scratch at his scarred face.

He sat there like that for a while, his head itching from the inside, bothering him. What was wrong? Did Drogo get to him that much? He should be used to the man's stupidity womanizing by now. Another job, another girl he'd end up fucking and then driving away from. He felt himself tense up, his hands becoming fists in his lap. He was making himself angry.

Nope. No more of this. He walked over to his cot and pulled a small bag out from under it, unzipping it to take out his trusty knock-out pills. Hurrying back over to the cooler, he took out another beer, his last beer for the night, and swallowed down both it and a couple of pills. Grumbling, he trudged back over to his rickety bed, peeled his shirt off, and fell down onto it.

Sleep. Come. Please come. This is fucking stupid.

It eventually did, but not fast enough, thoughts of red hair and stupid girlish smiles running through his fogged up head.