Remember when I said Sansa would be thirteen in this? I lied. Not on purpose, clearly, but I lied nonetheless. She'll be sixteen. [fixed that in the original author's note but keeping it here for longtime readers who aren't caught up with the story] Also, keep in mind that the Sansa we're starting off with is book one level of dumb, so bear with me. She'll grow into her own arc as we progress. Half the point of having her is developing her. Especially since I'm no fan of how they've handled her growth on the show. That's when a certain thing called fanfiction comes in handy, I suppose. Fixing canon as you please.
Also, thanks to the guest reviewers who've made their thoughts known. I see you lovely people. And I mean that in the least creepy way possible.
CERSEI II
In which a fashion diva falls down hard, a Canadian Mona Lisa is not welcome, and the second contender is introduced.
Cersei sat like a sculpture in her chair, sipping her drink. Vodka on ice, the no hard alcohol at work policy be damned. She was a Lannister. Her father could buy the world. She was equipped to break her own rules.
She glimmed up and down at the thing Taena had shoved in front of her. Shards of lukewarmness spilled from her fern eyes down to her lips, dragging the blood red corners downwards.
The girl was hideous. She had the face of a fifth grader, hair the tinge of habanero, and a long flat body that was as curvy as a popsicle stick. Jesus, her stand. From the Disney princess lip glow to the ill-advised jeans skirt and baby doll shirt combination, she was a testament to everything Cersei's magazine was fighting to bar from everyday wear standards. The crowning touch had to be the ribbon, though. An actual, pink ribbon sitting neatly at the girl's clavicle, like it was the most natural thing in the world for it to be there. It was like watching Dorothy take fashion lessons from a very competent grease monkey. Cersei briefly wondered what kind of agency would ever bother to hire her. Starbucks, maybe. The girl was so country she might as well be carrying a banjo.
To tell the truth, Cersei wasn't overly bothered by any of it. All fashion disasters were fixable, and besides, she needed a shadow that wasn't offensive to the eye, not a fucking Monroe. What bothered Cersei was that there was beauty hidden underneath it all, an actual, classical beauty that just begged to be exposed and soft sold to the world. It made the girl something of a threat, and Cersei didn't like to feel threatened.
Cersei tapped her finger against the hollow of her glass, manicured nail singing hostility. "Does it talk?"
Taena smiled thinly. "To the best of my knowledge."
Cersei pinned the girl to the opposite wall with her wintry gaze. "Talk, girl. I have an important meeting to attend. Why do I want to hire you? Ten words."
The girl clutched her resume file to her chest like a life shield. Taena pushed her forward encouragingly. "I… I've always wanted to be a fashion model," the young thing blurted out. Such a small voice. Everything about it screamed polite, Christian, and stereotyped.
Cersei's smile was knifelike. "How very original of you, sweetheart. At least you have a general sense of things. Or someone's bothered to explain it to you very slowly. It's true that my assistants, the ones who are good and useful to me, they have a bright future on the runway. Do you know what makes a good assistant?"
"Loyalty?" the girl tried.
Cersei downed her vodka, eyes never leaving those pale blue pools of vulnerability that were peering at her like she was the judge of life and death. "Where does loyalty stem from?"
"From… the heart?"
Cersei snapped, barely resisting the urge to fan the girl's stupidity off herself. She spun in her chair, addressing Taena, "Dear lord. How do I work with that?" When her friend just mouthed a be patient and smiled her most winning smile, Cersei sighed and focused her attention back on the sweet ignorant thing, looking for something, anything noteworthy to grab on to.
"I'm familiar with the look in your eyes. Do you admire me, girl?" Ginger nodded hesitantly. "You want to be like me?" Another nod, this time more enthusiastic. "You want to be me?"
Hesitance laced with the first traits of fear swirled between those knotted, horribly clipped carroty eyebrows. "Miss Lannister…"
"You should know that you absolutely cannot do that. Not only because I would never allow it. But because you're not cut out for it. You probably won't be halfway up the ladder when the piranhas at the bottom swallow you whole. I don't need a shark but I have no use for plankton either. You're a good little girl, aren't you? Fashion has no tolerance for girls like you. You need to make your peace with that."
Cersei paused when the girl's jaw threatened to dislocate and crack her lovely floors. She sighed, then went on in a slightly less cutting tone. "You seem like a mellow girl to me, so listen up very carefully. I would like to give you some womanly advice before you pit-a-pat away from here, something to carry with you onwards in your life. Your introduction is your gift wrap. It should be prettier than what you have to offer on the inside. The next time you try to get hired, open with something clever that you have rehearsed in advance, something that won't make your potential employer want to strangle you on that atrocious ribbon of yours." Ignoring the horrified look that crossed the dove's face as her eyes descended to the salmon accessory at the base of her throat, Cersei turned towards Taena, eyes cold. "Next."
Taena scuttled closer, leaning in to whisper urgently, "Hold on, my love."
Cersei hissed, pushing herself out of the rolling chair and dragging her friend by the elbow to the neutral zone of the broad French window. "I don't know what you thought I'd see in her but you were mistaken," she whispered sharply. "Now don't make me waste another instant of my life on this. Tell it to pack up and go home to the family rancho or wherever it lives."
Taena dared to smirk. "That would be Vancouver. The rancho being Stark estate."
Cersei cast a surprised glance over at the fretting creature in the middle of her office. "This? A Stark?" She paused, thinking it over. "I suppose it makes perfect sense."
Taena nodded slyly. "To the last bit. I wanted you to see her first, she's competent, I promise you, but I think she's just a little intimidated by talking to a fashion diva." Taena laughed sultrily. "I can relate to her. I stood before you in this same office too, once. You make funny things with people's stomachs."
Cersei ignored her friend's low-key brown nosing. "You've tested her?"
"I have. She's a little mousy but she's read every issue of our magazine and I swear she knows more about Coco Chanel than Coco Chanel. Her name is Sansa, by the way. She is the eldest daughter."
"I don't care about her name. Why is she even here? Ned Stark watches over his flock like a turtledove. I haven't heard of a Stark crossing the border in five years."
"Petyr brought her from his last trip. Our little missy begged to be taken away from her boring life and into the city of angels. Apparently Daddy Stark wasn't too keen on the idea at first. L.A. would damage his little girl, he feared. Petyr managed to convince the family that it was for the best though. Promised she would be safe with him and Robert, and you know how Cate will trust any bullshit he feeds her. Perhaps your husband's death has given us an opportunity to make something of this situation. As it stands, nothing is keeping our little mermaid here. If we don't act quickly, they'll ship her back home again. Now, if she was to find a more permanent occupation in the meantime, in her dream industry of all places…"
Daddy wouldn't dare wrench his little princess from her deluded dreams. Cersei frowned deeply. There were more pressing concerns at the forefront of her mind than catering to a clumsy if somewhat pretty teenager. Baelish was back and no one had told her? Some people bring home souvenirs, he brings me child slaves. How was Taena in on any of that anyway? Too many things going on behind her back. "Why was I not informed about this?"
"You were so very busy, my love."
Cersei snorted, reaching for her glass only to find it almost empty. She felt like she should reprimand Taena for this betrayal somehow. But Greyjoy was waiting for her three floors down and it was too much of a headache to think of any reasonable venom to spit. "I don't have time for this. Why do we need her?"
"The Starks are capable investors," Taena explained. "Perhaps it might be good to have them on our side? We're offering shelter and guidance to papa Stark's confused little girl. We should be owed a favor or two."
"The Starks are lawyers," Cersei corrected. "Brooding, boring, law-abiding mice. They invested in Robert because that bitch Lyanna spread her legs for him once back in the nineties. What good are they to me?"
Taena's voice dropped to just the hint of a whisper, mischief diffused all over her clever face. "Petyr was thinking that perhaps we could use a positive relationship with people who are trusted by Stannis. Just in case."
Cersei took a moment to contemplate. Then her expression mirrored Taena's.
Stannis was an old and unshakable detractor. They'd never gotten along, no more than she'd managed with any of the Baratheon brothers. They all shared a certain of air of unpleasantness between them, from Renly's overinflated ego to Robert's general tendency to be human garbage. Stannis was possibly worse. They'd started hating each other from the moment they were introduced to one another at her wedding reception and the conservative fool had dared criticize her choice of gown, dubbing it too revealing for the occasion. She'd called him a shrewd, he'd called her Machiavellian and power-hungry. There'd only been more of the same since then. She'd never considered him to be anything more than a bitter little man though, a slight thorn in her plans for happiness, until today. Today was the first time he'd made serious allegations against her personally, and the Lannister family as a whole.
The Starks could be of use with that. Eddard Stark was a legal counselor, with a reputation for being about as bribable as a tree log. She'd hire him in case Stannis was planning on filing an actual lawsuit based on the simple fact that she was apparently the last person on Arryn's dial list, and that they'd found traces of arsenic in his body during the post-mortem. It didn't matter. She'd make sure Stark and Stannis had time to chat. Stannis would trust Stark's word for it, yes. The Starks didn't take on dishonest clients. They could help ease the tension without bloodshed, like the boring pacifists that they were. And besides... it was always good to have a means to mislead Stannis.
Understanding slowly smoothed out Cersei's face.
The friend of my enemy can still be my dearest friend.
She gave a slow nod, inclining her head towards the Stark daughter, keeping her voice low as she spoke. "Very well. Hire it. Fix it. Keep it out of my sight until it's well-behaved and better dressed."
Taena grinned knowingly. She clapped her hands and smiled broadly at the girl that had paled considerably during their exchange. Cersei groaned quietly as her friend's voice falsettoed to a wince worthy octave. "Alright, Sansa dear, you're hired."
It seemed to work wonders because the dove's face lit up like a candy shop. "I am?"
"You sure are. You're starting immediately. You can tell your father all about the Lannister hospitality the next time you hear from him."
"I will, I will, I promise. Thank you so much, Miss Lannister, Miss Merrywheather. I'll do such a good job, I promise I won't be a disappointment—"
"Don't start off with lies, Sansa," Cersei cut her off mercilessly. She turned to Taena again, this time directing a slender finger at her new employee. "Redress, restyle, reprogram. And get rid of the accent, it's not doing her any favors."
Then she poured herself another glass of vodka and watched the ice set sail in a lake of ethanol, swirling the drink and observing scenes of icebergs drifting into a sea storm in miniature. "You are supposed to be doing this for me, dear," she said coolly as she swept past her intimidated new assistant, Taena following hot on her heels. "I'll let it slide this once but that's it."
Then she pushed the door open and headed downstairs to meet this Euron Greyjoy, letting the girl decide for herself if she was supposed to follow. First test.
She heard a third set of footsteps, eventually, a strange clomping noise, different from the pointed clank of her designer heels and those of Taena. Even the girl's boots sounded off. "Stay," Cersei intoned without turning.
No more artless clomping. Good.
The girl's presence by her side was perfunctory anyway. She was here to facilitate a good riddance of an old enemy, and that was it. Cersei would not pretend to be some sort of fairy godmother to this child. A little animosity would do her good.
Cersei stalked away, feeling good about her strategy. Let the Canadian Mona Lisa feel the spray of fame on her freckled child face for a while. Let her have a taste of L.A.'s sweeter elixir, let her gurgle all about it to her jurist daddy. The fashion business ruined girls like her all the time. Let her feel wanted. Let her get dazed by nothing. But let her make no mistake. She wasn't welcome.
~oOo~
Greyjoy was an arrogant creature. Occupying the finest spot of the twentieth-floor café overlooking the city, sitting opposite the man himself with Taena at her side, Cersei drank her dreadful latte in bitter impotence, wondering how her life had come to this—sucking up to people she wouldn't have sneezed at two years ago. She supposed it was only fitting that the downpour the weather channel had promised finally made an appearance, soaking her terraces as the sky broke into thin white veins, blinking like a camera taking snapshots of the city below.
Cersei sighed, looking over at Greyjoy. Her new investor.
He wasn't exactly what she'd expected. Knowing Balon Greyjoy, the man's older brother, Cersei had been half-prepared to conduct negotiations with a slightly less scraggy version of the old scarecrow himself. What had awaited her in the middle of her conference hall was far from that.
First off, there had been women. Her women, the women working under her, all of the women whose job was on that floor as well as some from adjacent departments which Cersei recognized. The way they'd all flanked the large round table, one might think gravity itself was sitting in the middle of it. Which of course was the only possible excuse Cersei would accept for this ongoing hysteria. From inside what looked like an improvised AA assemblage, a pleasant voice could be heard purring about how sexually stimulating genocide was. Taena had elbowed all trash aside to carve a path for Cersei within the circle.
There he was.
Euron Greyjoy was admittedly handsome, not much was up for debate on that front, but his handsomeness rubbed off in all the wrong ways. A Cuban cigar hung from his lips, despite the sign of prohibition Cersei had made sure was gracing every wall possible and staring down at her employees sternly at all times.
Cersei immediately distrusted the man. Something about him put her in the mind of Robert, some of that devil-may-care attitude that pig her late husband had lost in the early years of their marriage, though in all fairness Robert had always lacked the innate cleverness that this man possessed.
The moment he'd laid his eyes on her it was clear as day he wanted to fuck her. Very well. Let him stare. Cersei was used to the eyes of strangers, being undressed by them. Truth be told it brought her a degree of satisfaction to know she could still draw such libidinous looks from men who weren't that far from her own age.
"I dare say the cameras don't do you justice, my dear," were his first words to her. Every woman in the room was forced to direct her attention towards her looming boss, if rather reluctantly. Cersei waved the brood of salacious women away, infuriated when more than half deliberately took their time exiting. He wants me you foolish bitches, she had wanted to hiss. Men want what's above them, not beneath them.
On the way to the café she'd kindly asked him to stop smoking, he'd ignored her. Fine. Let him play the prime mover. At the end of the day, this was still her territory and she was still holding all the cards. Greyjoy would see, one way or another.
But it got worse. What she'd primarily dubbed a desire for her had quickly expanded into an appetency for power Cersei hadn't witnessed in a long time. For each of her demands he had two of his own. The man was a shark that could smell it was needed and wasn't scared to play hardball to get what he wanted. She'd asked for a short-term loan, he'd straight out requested to be hooked up with Robert's position on Tywin Lannister's company or something of equal importance. She'd wanted to be granted an extra 20% to make up for the last-minute shoots, he'd cheekily asked for creative control over her stock in the Lannister-Baratheon dealings, and a token photograph of her in thongs (Taena had valiantly volunteered herself for the distasteful task, though Cersei had put a stop to it while mentally taking a note to thank her friend later). And then, then Greyjoy had set his drink aside, looked her straight in the eye and delivered the most ridiculous suggestion of all. Effectively causing Cersei to choke and spit a little.
"Lioness is a respectable brand and managerial business," she found herself saying through gritted teeth, ice-cold. "I will not be associated with that kind of filth."
Euron grinned like he'd just overheard something impossibly funny.
"Now, now. Adult films are hardly 'filth'. I promise you my work is very dignified, and fairly artistic. If you look at it the right way, our businesses complete each other, really. You sell the wrapping, I sell the essence. Everything will be handled with utmost discretion. There's nothing to be weary of, at least not from me. I'm not interested in tarnishing your good name. Once you get to know me you'll come to realize I care very little for things that don't damage or benefit me in any way. Now I'm a newcomer to this city of angels, or a very old local if you will. I won't pretend nothing's changed during my absence. The whole game's been moderated. As it stands my old friends are now my enemies. I need to carve out a market all over again. With your widespread connections I'm sure it wouldn't be too much trouble to work out a nice little niche where I can conduct my harmless hobby in peace… free of pesky governmental fingers, I'm sure you'll understand. But that shouldn't be a problem for a woman such as you, yes? I'm told you Lannisters cast some long shadows. I should be more than happy to just enjoy the quiet of them."
Cersei stared ahead, not liking the tone this man was taking with her. Clearly she needed to set the boundaries early on, before any more drastic liberties were taken. "The game has been moderated, Mr. Greyjoy," she said coolly, flashing her teeth. "Allow me to explain the rules. When somebody of prominence is so kind as to invite you into a flourishing business, you don't generally insult them by setting ultimatums before they've even finished their drink."
Euron didn't seem intimidated by her reaction at all, just slightly amused, which only added fuel to the fire that was raging under her skin, poking at her cheekbones and causing her a dreadful eye twitch. "Do sheath your claws, my dear. I'm hardly obsolete, and your business is most definitely far from flourishing or else we wouldn't be here. We both have our needs and fames, don't we?"
He let the question linger, smiling widely and complacently, provoking her to bite back.
The smug son of a bitch. How dare he toss that in her face. Her commitment to various clinics, her boy's death… Those were things Cersei was not taunted with. Those were things Cersei killed for. Taena's touch under the table as a regrettable reminder that we need him, C, I'm sorry but we do was all that stopped her from having the man dragged out by security.
Cersei held her tongue, pumping blood into her fist. It cost her the edge of a perfectly good fingernail, which she would not be forgetting anytime soon.
"We do," she agreed icily. "I seem to recall you made quite the news when your own brother exposed your cartel to the police and sent you to prison."
Jaime had been present at the arrest, and he'd told her all about it. How the man had growled and grunted like an animal as he was being hauled into a patrol car. How he had to be sedated twice before they'd been able to take a proper picture of him behind bars. How his first three cellmates had ended up either crippled or dead.
To her uttermost annoyance, Euron just gave a blithe shrug and exhaled a generous puff of smoke in her face. "My brother, your father… We have been largely eclipsed by our relatives so far, wouldn't you say? Wouldn't you like to turn the tables, Cersei? May I call you that? Good. The way I see it, there's no reason for us to not get along presently. This is as good an opportunity as they come for us overlooked children to finally seize what's ours."
Cersei gave him a skeptical look from underneath her magnified eyelashes. She perked her chin up defiantly, in bitter refusal to let it show that he was hitting a sore spot. "No."
Euron raised his eyebrows, the first sign that things were starting to spill out of his little game board. It brought Cersei a great deal of pleasure to see the expression cross his face, even if it got traded for that same maddening smirk a second later. "Just like that? No?"
"I'm not interested…"
"I ask you to be honest with me, Cersei. That much I will stick to. I like honesty." He grinned again, another, cruder man flashing underneath the mask of his charm for a second. "Prison makes you have more appreciation for simple virtues like that. We should be honest with each other if we're going to reach a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Cersei sighed, giving the man a long, hard look of appraisal before sinking back in her chair. "You're too big a risk to take," she explained, more tiredly than coldly. Her head was killing her and the fluorescent lighting wasn't helping. "You're asking me to sweet-talk my father into employing you without showcasing any of the necessary qualifications or connections. You want me to spread illegal pornography and launder money for your business, both things I've no desire to commit to as you don't have any guarantee to back it up. I've no plans for another government-sponsored vacation, Mr. Greyjoy. I just don't."
Euron gifted her with a largely untelling smirk. A disturbingly jolly chuckle for a man who'd just been refused escaped his lips.
"And I've no plans to send you on one," he affirmed. "See? There goes some common ground we can work with. I've learned my lessons, Cersei, trust me, I've learned them the hard way. You don't want to go where I've been. You think you had it rough in your little clinics?" He leveled his gaze with hers, the curve of his lips losing that cryptic smirk at last. Something about his look and his tone sent a chill racing down her spine, making her flinch uncomfortably. "Try doing six years in a federal prison and then come talk to me, darling. I can promise you I won't be going to jail again, either. You see I'm just as motivated to steer clear as you are. I know it might be difficult to believe right now but I understand you very well. And I take good care of my associates. L.A. is just the first mile of a long and interesting road, one I would be happy to share with a resourceful woman such as you. Help me seize this vile little city, Cersei. I swear to you you won't regret it."
Cersei dipped her head, looking the man slantwise, weighing his words, trying to separate the useful bits from the bullshit. He was a nasty piece of work but she needed him. She hated to not have options. It made her feel like a cat in a cage, similar to how they'd treated her in the asylums.
Greyjoy, debatable as he was, was offering money. Some of it would be risky, but it was still money. In this world, money was power, and power was everything. Power was something she could never refuse, and the promise of it danced in Euron's eyes like a blue flame. She was still weary though, and she knew she was too wrapped up in silly problems that dated years back. She was aware she was juggling too many plates as it was. And yet if she just reached for one more… Perhaps Tywin Lannister might see her potential at last.
"Very well," she declared finally. "I want all funds transferred to Lioness by the end of the day. I also expect us to share profits, on all our joined affairs."
Euron seemed a bit too pleased with himself when he parted his lips, extinguishing his cigar at long last. "Excellent choice, my Lioness," he drawled, inclining his head. He was staring at her like he was twelve and just discovered masturbation, and Cersei wanted to bash his head into something so very badly. "Just marvelous. I'll be looking forward to hearing from Mr. Tywin, too."
Cersei snuffled, ignoring the demeaning look and the nickname he was giving her, as well as the urge to rip out the tongue which had uttered it. She should've taken another one of Qyburn's pills before committing to this. He had advised her not to take more than three every week but this was clearly going to be the kind of man who was in full capacity to give her severe headaches with just a few select words.
She stood up from her chair, indicating that the brunch was over. Taena quickly scuttled to her feet, followed by Euron who came up to meet the women halfway round the table. Cersei extended her hand as if to offer it up for a kiss before letting it rest briefly atop his. Up close, he smelled like wine and cheap women, but also like money and ritzy aftershave and, most intriguingly—recreational drugs. She made sure to store that last bit of information away for later usage. Greyjoy took her by surprise when he bent over and touched his lips to the back of her hand before she could slap him, tasting the gold of her rings and bracelet. Wonderful. Now she'd have to give them up for charity.
"I'll try and suggest you for a pretty job to my father the next I see him. But these things take time," she warned sweetly. Let him think she'd lift a finger. Let him think he'd get what he wanted. The second he was no longer a priority she'd toss him to the dogs and disinfect her hands right after.
"I've no doubt you can speed them along," Euron had the audacity to purr before releasing her hand and winking knowingly. We're both in on a secret now. How had it come to this, really? Cersei had the sudden and overwhelming urge to palm her face. "After all, you don't seem to mind putting an entire issue together all in less than two weeks."
Cersei narrowed her eyes and watched after Greyjoy as he took his leave without further pleasantries, feeling like the stakes had been upped. Taena moved closer and captured her hand in silence, kissing her shoulder. Cersei sank into the vaults of her own thoughts. It was important to learn the ropes of this new chessboard quickly, figure out the rules as fast as she could. I can do this, Cersei thought to herself, inhaling deeply to soothe her twitching eye and fingers. She wouldn't end up in a hellhole clinic, ever again. She was stronger than anyone was giving her credit for.
Just you watch, father. I can play the game just as well as you do.
~oOo~
The news hit her like a fire truck on steroids. Just like that—an email for you, Miss Lannister—and it was all taken away from her. Cersei was beside herself. Just when her plans had started to come to fruition. Just when she'd thought that maybe, just maybe, she could start building a respectable life around herself once again. All had been snatched away from her by the grace of a finger snap.
She couldn't believe this was being done to her by her father—again. Why, father? Haven't I been a good fucking girl for you all this time?
Tyrion had a hand in it. He had to. For sure. She sensed his sticky little fingers were all over the damn thing. How she longed to break them one by one, then rearrange them so she could break them again.
She popped open a new pack of Qyburn's magic pills and chewed one without water. The world was spinning funnily by the time she brushed past the cloud of measured touches and worried words that was Taena, and entered the parking lot.
Cersei staggered out into the night—when had it turned so fucking dark outside?—and slammed herself into her black cherry Porsche without further ceremony, ass first, heels in the air, with the clear intention to go murder the little creep that had done this to her. Then she remembered she didn't know where the creep was.
Then she crumbed one more pill between her teeth and forgot about everything and anything at all.
~oOo~
She'd ended up at a logical place, somehow, despite her delirious state. It made sense, at least to her, even through the haze of booze and self-medication and shitty circumstances, that her shaking hands gripping the wheel would still know what she needed, just where to take her. This was where she'd always end up.
She hadn't called to let him know she was coming. She was almost sure her phone had buzzed at some point as she speeded and swerved across L.A. (she'd never known Californians were such loud honkers at night), but she'd never reached for it. It was too much of a headache to tackle the thing but that was beside the point—as if she'd ever call him. She'd never needed to make her presence known to him in advance. Whenever she came around, he was always there, waiting for her. She belonged with her other half.
She hadn't been aware she was driving his way until she was where she was presently, leaning up against the wide door frame of his penthouse, with her dress hitched up past her knees and her make-up smudged and her hair messed up and her eye contact all slippy, pounding at the door with her ten-inch heel while trying very hard to remember why she was pissed. She was pretty sure Tyrion had something to do with it but beyond that there wasn't much of anything in there save empty blanks.
THUD THUD THUD.
"Jaime!" Cersei wailed hoarsely, damning the drought that sat in her throat and refused to be swallowed. "Open up you… you dickless hand." It didn't sound right when she was saying it out loud like that. Not one bit. Where the hell was he? Did he think it was funny to torture her like that, to leave her out in the cold just so he could have a snicker?
No, no he wouldn't do that to her. Her twin had never been cruel. He never made her beg or wait or worry. What was up with him tonight?
She briefly registered she'd started clawing at the door at full force at this point, voice constantly flipping from flirty to angry to coy again.
"J," Cersei giggled. "J," Cersei sobbed. "Come out, J, I need you."
Nothing.
It took a fair bit of time until it finally dawned on her dazed mind that her brother wasn't home. Anger boiled at the pit of her stomach. Where was he when she needed him? Thankfully there was a nice man living next door who showed up in his pajama briefs and kindly directed her back to her vehicle. He wanted to know if she was OK and why she was crying. Cersei frowned deeply, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Then a woman was yelling from the front porch for the man to keep away from the trash and get back in. Oddly enough, Cersei didn't notice any trash bags lying around. He seemed like a sweet guy though. She thanked him and wondered why guys like that were always married to bitches.
She drove off again. It was like being in one of those simulator things where the car was flying through space. The next thing she knew she was reeling at another doorstep. The floor suddenly seemed awfully far away. Cersei toppled and felt her shoulder hit the wall, a careful act of balance. This time her kicks were rewarded as a familiar dark-haired head poked out from inside the suite.
That was where she wound up spending the night, too—the only place that seemed to always welcome her, no questions asked. Taena's apartment was warm and almost calming as Cersei puked and curled in her friend's bed, senselessly fucking the Spanish woman until the other could orgasm no more, then angrily crying herself to sleep tucked in Taena's sheets, surrounded by Taena's arms that tried to be comforting, completely forgetting about the fact that her phone was still flashing its single red eye, citing a missed call.
