A/N: Hello, all. Sorry about how long it's been, cause I know it's been too long. I can't promise that the break will be any shorter after this chapter, but I do promise that I won't just abandon this story, so no matter how long I might wait between chapters, there will always be another. Unless I say it's finished. But that'd be a long time from now. This is just something I wrote in honor of Valentine's Day cause it was an excuse to make myself write something, and I'm sorry about the title. I came up with it so I really deserve the blame, but my boyfriend did encourage its actual use, so...we'll split it. Anyway, I hope you like it, and I don't mean any offense to the idea of speed dating when I talk about it at the beginning. I just don't think it's the kind of thing that would really be Arya's...speed.
Okay sorry I'm done now. Just read it and ignore me. Review if you want.
Thanks to AllIdiotsMustDie for reviewing ch. 8.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.
Rating: M for drinking and maybe language but I don't think so and suggestive themes.
Arya Stark was certainly no stranger to humiliation. With two older brothers, she really couldn't be. And yet, somehow she had sunk to a new low, and by her own hand no less.
She told herself that she was doing it to avoid Sandor and Sansa's nauseating PDA, but a small part of her was tired of spending every Valentine's Day without someone of her own. Even Rickon was taking some girl to his middle school's sorry attempt at a "formal", and she was, for yet another year, alone.
And so she stood at the front door of the local bar in a tight black dress that was perhaps a bit too presumptuous for the occasion and stared at the posted sign.
Valentine's Day Event: Speed Dating! Come thirsty and lonely, leave drunk and pretending you'll call!
The resident bartender had seen her drinking alone on one too many nights and had insisted she attend, and to get him to shut up, she relented. At the very least, she could get a few free drinks out of the evening.
The bell above the door tinkled when she let herself in, but the bar was already crowded enough for the sound to be lost in the din, and she received no more than a cursory glance from a few of the prospective daters and a wave from Hot Pie behind the bar.
"Welcome, young lady!" A heavily cologned—perfumed?—bald man swept over to greet her, his garishly festive suit jacket assaulting Arya's eyes and making her visibly cringe. "We'll be starting in twenty minutes! Just fill out this questionnaire while you wait and then hand it to me before you choose a seat so we can pair you with your best match at the end!"
Nodding vaguely, Arya took the paper and shrank away, retreating to the bar. With a heavy sigh, she plopped down on one of the stools and waved to Hot Pie for her usual before fishing a pen out of her purse and scribbling down her name.
Question one: what are you hoping to find at this event?
She rolled her eyes and sarcastically scrawled her reply. A man.
Two: what is your drink of choice? Scotch on the rocks.
The next few covered the basics: age, sexual preference, time passed since your last date, favorite food…and beyond those, began to get a bit more personal.
Question ten: Do you want children? NO. She was more than happy to leave that to Sansa.
Eleven: What is your favorite sex position?
Arya side-eyed the flamboyant proctor and wrinkled her nose. Pervert.
Just as she set her pen down to answer, a man sat beside her. Self-conscious, she covered the paper with her arm and looked his way.
"Rum and coke, please."
He was handsome enough, she supposed, but she wasn't sure how she felt about a man who diluted his liquor with a soda as sub-par as Coca-Cola. If it had to be done, ginger ale was the way to go.
After taking a sip of his drink, he sighed and looked down at his own paper. After a moment, he shook his head.
"What are you hoping to find at this event?" He wrote down an answer before meeting her eyes. "I suppose ambiguous questions are the best way to find a date?"
Arya shrugged and removed her arm so he could see her reply. "I do lean toward ambiguous answers."
A strange look flashed in his eyes before he smiled and held up his own paper. In surprisingly neat cursive, it read: a girl.
"Attention, everyone, please!" A loud clap brought their attention back to the bald man and when he gestured toward the tables that had been scooted together, they gathered their papers and drinks and shuffled over to the one closest, sitting across from each other.
"In case you haven't been to an event like this before," he began, "You're going to have three minutes with each of the ladies or gentlemen across the tables from you, to ask whatever you desire. At the end of three minutes, I will ring this bell." He did so for emphasis. "And then the people on the side closest to the bar will move one table to their left. At the end of the night, I will return your questionnaires to you and provide you with the name of the person with whom you are most compatible."
When Arya rolled her eyes, he caught the movement and added a slight addendum. "Of course, you are free to leave with whomever you choose, or no one at all, but when searching for a soul mate, compatibility is key."
With that, he rang the bell once more, and the three minutes began.
"So what's your name, Rum and Coke?"
He smiled, and for a brief moment, not even his choice in drink could diminish the heat that flared in the pit of her stomach.
"Jaqen H'ghar. And you?"
"Arya Stark."
"And what is it that you do for a living, Jaqen H'ghar?" She had hastily looked up a list of recommended questions on the cab ride over, and the token career one had appeared on all of the ones she had skimmed.
"Contract killer," he replied without skipping a beat, his smile unwavering.
"Ah," Arya replied, fighting back a smirk of amusement. "Then I'm an exotic dancer."
He cocked an eyebrow at that. "If that dress can tell me anything, you'd make a good one." His gaze fell unabashedly to her breasts, and though she supposed she should feel somewhat chagrined, Arya felt nothing but satisfaction.
"Can you cook?"
His eyes rose again and he nodded. "Or so I've been told. You?"
Arya nodded in return. "Oh yes. My specialty is Michelina's "Wheels and Cheese". Been making that since elementary school."
Jaqen chuckled. "Sounds delicious." He paused to think for a moment before asking another question. "If you could meet anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?"
Arya smirked. "You looked up the question lists too didn't you?"
"Guilty as charged."
She grinned and then pondered it for a moment. "Freddie Mercury."
"Ah. A Queen girl then?"
Arya snorted. "Anybody would be lucky to stand in his presence, but yes. If you tell me you're not a Queen kind of guy, I think this conversation has to be over."
Even as she said it, the bell rang to announce the end of three minutes and she couldn't hide the disappointment that flashed across her features.
Jaqen stood and shrugged slightly. "I guess it is anyway. But if you have to know…" He leaned in close and for a brief moment, Arya thought that he might kiss her. Instead, his lips grazed her ear, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. "I'm more of an AC/DC man."
With a smirk, he left her, and a younger man took his place, far taller and more muscular than his predecessor.
He smiled politely as he settled in his seat, and Arya forced herself to return it. His name was Gendry, and as they talked, she discovered that they had quite a bit in common. He was nice enough, she supposed, and she was not averse to a decent set of abs, but she didn't feel a "spark", and even as she answered his questions, she found her gaze slipping over to the next table. More than once, she found a pair of dark blue eyes returning her stare, and she flushed at the smirk that pulled at his lips.
The night passed more quickly than she would've imagined, and by the end she had talked to an Edric, Harry, Tommen, and Walder before she reached the last and their enthusiastic proctor returned their papers.
Downing her drink and returning the glass to the bar, she looked down at the sheet in her hand. Gendry, it read. Several numbers were circled, and she had a sneaking suspicion that those were the ones which were most important to a couple's "compatibility". Her match with Gendry was a modest 80%, and listed at the top of the page were the percentages associated with the other attendees.
"12%," came a voice from beside her. She turned to see Jaqen leaning against the bar, and he sighed heavily. "I suppose that means we aren't soul mates then."
Arya shrugged and glanced down at his paper before tapping her finger against the number eleven. "Must be because we both like to be on top."
Jaqen smirked. "I'm not averse to compromise."
Smiling, Arya stayed silent. She could see Gendry searching the room, presumably for her, but Jaqen's voice caught her attention once more.
"As far as I'm concerned we're compatible. You fulfill what's most important to me."
She looked back and cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Nodding, he held up his paper and pointed to the first question, and his answer to it. When Arya smiled, he continued. "What do you say? Can a man take a girl to dinner tomorrow night?"
Arya's smile grew and when she turned to go, her paper remained, ignored and forgotten.
"Yes. Yes he can."