There comes a time in everyone's life when one's longly sought after goals are finally met.
Sansa has usually been great at only meeting the most perfunctory of short term goals, such as: learning how to do a fishtail braid on herself, or successfully limiting herself down to only two lemon cakes a day.
Sansa has never been one to bask in her good fortunes, (mostly because those fortunes have been few and far between these past few years), but finally; her tenacious efforts have seem to have paid off.
When she had first gotten off the phone with one of the executive producers for the hit television series Modevial Movements. She had to reevaluate the nature of the call to make sure it was not one huge jest.. No way would such a dream opportunity be bestowed to her; it was presumptuous to even consider this being reality when all she had ever known was disappointment and despair. In fact, she was fully convinced that she and her family had been cursed due to poor choices made by her ancestors.
But perhaps her good behavior and good faith has finally made the gods more inclined to take mercy upon her at last, and finally rewarded her with her most desired dream.
She is going to be one of the pro dancers for Modevial Movements!
She has spent the last year attending callback after callback. She honed her craft every day and night, practicing tirelessly until her body could take no more. She put herself through the ringer, but never once would she have thought the job would be rewarded to her.
She had experienced disappointment after disappointment; being told no by countless theater shows and productions, and was mostly only offered meager parts in local productions or summertime festivals.
To get an opportunity like this was pretty much unheard of and a bit unfathomable, her resume was not exactly on par with the elites.
Whenever Sansa began to question the hurried and bizarre nature of her casting; she would reconcile her confusion with the fact that the television industry was a shallow industry. It would hardly be conceited of her to acknowledge the fact that she had a face that appealed to the masses; considering the innumerable amount of compliments she's received about her appearance throughout her eighteen years of living.
Executive producer Petyr Baelish had let her know that the show was looking to branch out towards a younger audience this season. He also remarked how her youth and beauty would be a great draw for that demographic, and he was excited to meet with her next week for the photoshoot where she would meet her partner!
Perhaps she should treat herself to only one lemon cake today.
"Sandor…"
"Bugger off with this nonsense! I've entertained your bouts of madness for months, but it seems that you have finally lost all wits about you."
His good for nothing "friend" rolled his eyes upwards for a half second, seemingly in an effort to gather strength from his seven imaginary friends.
"You have yet to even hear me out. Have you so little faith in me brother, have I ever led you astray?"
Sandor took a second to ponder his response to that remark. It's true enough that the dogged zealot has done more for good for him in the past 6 months than anyone he's ever known in his miserable life, so it doesn't say much. Still, it doesn't give the man the right to impose his flights of fancy on him.
"If you think I'm like to twirl around in tights before the eyes of millions, you must've imbued all the liquor you pumped my stomach of moons ago, " Sandor chuckled, proud of his jest.
Again Elder Brother rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, and perhaps beyond.
He's probably enlisting the Stranger for help, thought Sandor. Perhaps he's finally found me too burdensome to take on as a patient, and knowing that acts of violence and overconsumption of hard liquor wouldn't do me in; he's going the route of sheer demasculinization.
"I would never even broach this subject to you if I didn't think it was a promising idea. Lately, I've been the only means of social interaction you've had…"
"And you mean to be rid of me, finally," Sandor surmised, definitively.
"And I mean to help guide you in life, only wanting the best for you socially, financially, and spiritually," Elder Brother continued, never failing to insert his overzealous piety into matters where it didn't belong.
Sandor snarled, it seemed like his unofficial doctor/sobercoach/unwanted preacher wasn't going to let up.
"I would rather burn my balls clean off than participate in a televised dance competition with a bunch of withered old gnats whose glory days are long past them," Sandor lashed out bitterly. "Dancers" whose mouths are still sore from all the executive and producer cock they've been sucking, and television executives who find it "moral" to exploit vulnerable fuckers in the public eye, like me, for ratings and mockery. It's all a mummer's farce. The whole lot of it," Sandor finished, not disguising his utter contempt for the entertainment industry.
"Surely that's not all it can be! Not everyone is offered 50,000 gold dragons to simply "twirl around in tights'' as you so delicately put it! My services are not cheap, and others in my profession charge twice what I charge. Your funds are drying up, Sandor! And with no means of steady income, as well as a lack of propositions due to your unseemly reputation; I'm afraid you're like to fall destitute within the next year, at best!"
"Like fuck all I care about any of that shite; you know I'm a resourcefall man, I don't need money to survive," Sandor rasped, incredibly annoyed at being lectured about this for the umpteenth time.
"Ah, yes; coin isn't everything a man needs to survive. But a human connection; I believe for you, is a must."
Sandor very near laughed in his "brothers" face.
"Seems like all my funds have been dried up like a septas cunt for naught if that's what you've gathered from all our talks these past few moons," Sandor bit back.
"Please be more mindful of your language when you're here with me, there's no need to get so crass. It's just what I've observed."
"Maybe it's time to seek out a new means of income, perhaps you should enlist yourself to join this godsforsaken "Model Moment" show."
"Its called Modevial Movement," Elder Brother corrected.
"As if the name could be even more buggering daft," Sandor remarked. "Well we've prattled on about this for near a sennight already, just give me the number of the stupid bugger who thought putting this offer out to me was a good idea, and I'll see to it that he won't be a bother again. Unless you want me to vouch for your good character so you're to be cast instead. Though, I can't say a recommendation from the likes of me is worth spit," Sandor finished, bitterly.
"You're making a grievous error, brother. This could be the boon that can finally get you on the right path in life."
Sandor nearly growled. He's long accepted that his life was not meant to be one of good fortune, that making his own way in this world and getting by using his size and strength was the path he was destined for. He was one not meant to live an ordinary life, and that was fine by him. Career, friends, wife, all of that nonsense meant fuck all to him. If only the doctor who now has taken it upon himself to upjump his position to sober coach/therapist would get a buggering clue. If he hadn't saved his worthless life all those months ago, he would've beaten him to a pulp thrice over by now.
"If you're not to comply with my demands, I guess silence will be my answer, as it seems to be as of late. Now quite pestering me, or you're like to drive me to the drink," Sandor responded, surprising himself with the composure he's shown to the Elder Brother's incessant nagging.
"Here we go again with the empty threats. I suppose it's no use to try to impose this upon you so soon," Elder Brother sighed with an air of disapproval Sandor had long become accustomed to during his many talks with the bugger.
"So have you done any cooking lately?" Elder Brother asked, surprisingly earnest. His interest in the in's and out's of Sandor's daily routines never ceased to surprise and bother him.
"Piss off."