edge_of_forever | (no subject)

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Sansa, by and large, mostly kept to herself. She spent more time than was really necessary in the observation room, just sitting on the couch as she watched the universe spin by, trying not to think of how her life had changed. She was Sansa now - she had been since she'd run into Sandor and Jaime Lannister, and she had no choice.

Alayne Stone was gone, now. The smiling, somewhat wary-but-eager-to-please natural born daughter of Petyr Baelish was retired, put away with the girl who loved King Joffrey, with the girl who had left Winterfell years ago. What was left was Sansa - something she was trying to figure out, who this girl was. She was stronger, she knew. Proud, but not to a fault. Very aware of her family and her obligations, and that she would need to get them back - but also patient, because there was nothing she could do here.

She had told Klaus - he had stopped by, and she knew she owed him an explanation, but that made her realise that Alistair deserved one as well. The fact that she could not find him - she had been looking for days, but she could not find him and he was her neighbor is why she was no longer keeping to herself. He was her friend, and he was just... gone.

Sansa wore a simple gown, one that she could get dressed in on her own; she had banished the shorter skirts to the back of her closet, because she knew that there were people here that knew her, and even if she liked them, even if Klaus said they were normal, they were anything but.

"Excuse me," she said to the first person she saw as she walked through the concourse. "I'm looking for someone. Have you seen a man called Alistair, anywhere?"

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Short dresses were, as far as Zoe was concerned, not only normal, but actually necessary for her to feel like herself. And with access to the best Caprican designers through the wardrobe room, she had indulged in quite a few wonderful little numbers. This one was a red bustier dress, and it was as short as all her others. Her heels were also as high as they usually were, and designed by her favorite designer, too.

"Sorry, I haven't met an Alistair yet," Zoe answered the girl - pretty, but she could use a little make-up. She made her think of Lacy a little, but more beautiful. "What's he look like?"

Hey, she'd seen a blue woman around, and there was a guy with only one hand. If Alistair looked as distinctive, she might be able to help out the other girl.

Sansa tries not to stare, because that's rude, and she gets then what Klaus had been saying about women wearing even shorter skirts. "He's taller than I am, brown hair, blue eyes, very nice. Sort of... regular," which makes her brows furrow. "He is a knight, of sorts. Very cheerful. A bit sarcastic." She didn't bite her lip although it was a near thing.

"He lives in the room next to mine, but he hasn't been there for days." She's worried enough that she's forgotten to introduce herself.

"I don't think I've even met him," Zoe answers, genuinely sorry not to be able to help out. "You think he's one of the people that's gone missing?"

She hadn't had a clue about that until Gaius's message, but it wasn't the sort of thing she was likely to dismiss.

Her brows furrow, and she hesitates. "He's not in his rooms," she says again, but then-- "I'm afraid that he is. He's never been gone this long before, and- and I'm afraid- We appeared together. In the rooms." She stops then, and exhales slowly, correcting her misstep. "I'm Sansa Stark."

Zoe smiles, kindly; the girl looks so jittery she might jump out of her skin any moment. "I'm Zoe." She doesn't say her last name on purpose, she tends not to. "Nice to meet you, Sansa. You looked for him all over?"

She blinks because the girl has the same name as the other woman who was here, but she smiles at the introduction anyway, because it's good manners, then the smile just fades when she mentions looking for Alistair. "Not everywhere, no, but I looked in the places he normally stays, and in his room - I'm his neighbor, and I've stopped by a dozen times in the last few days."

She bit her lower lip inside her mouth, before-- "It's not as if there's somewhere for him to go"

So either he is lying somewhere bleeding out or otherwise injured (or dead), or he's gone, Zoe figures. "I'm sorry," she tells Sansa, and the emotion is genuine in her face and in her voice. "It doesn't sound like good news."

"I know," she said quietly, and she shakes her head minutely. "I am just asking, so that I know. He may have just moved without telling me, which- I would rather have it be that, if there is a choice, of course." She just wants to know, because then she can move him from the column of here to gone, where he would have company with her family, with those dead, with the people from the Eyrie. With her husband, although Tyrion Lannister had never really been her husband.

"I'm sure it will come to light soon, one way or the other." She doesn't mean to be morose about it, but it's much more of a quiet acceptance. People come, and people go.

There is something almost tragic in the way Sansa speaks, and Zoe finds herself frowning slightly. She can't quite put her finger on what it is that bothers her and touches her, but there is something.

"Maybe you could message everybody, ask if anybody's seen him?" she offers, because it's the easiest, quickest solution she can think of.

"Message?" Her brows furrow, and she does not know what the other girl means, that much is clear. "You mean- I suppose I could write notes, but speaking to everyone seems to work just as well." She has no idea the girl is talking about the piece of plastic that Sansa largely ignores, that she has left abandoned on her dresser to gather dust.

"No, on the comm," Zoe answers, and pulls hers out of her purse to show Sansa. "You don't have one?"

"Oh. That. I... don't... use it. I have one, just-" She seemed awkward where she hadn't before, because the fact that just didn't use it - Klaus had made it sound easy, but she hated it.

She felt uncomfortable that it was not, in fact, easy.

"You don't know how to work it?" Zoe tried and guessed, because she didn't understand the sudden awkwardness there. It was just a comm device, like a mini-tablet of some sort.

"I do not like it," she said quietly, her voice low. "It is- it seems like magic."

She eyed the other girl, her brows furrowed, waiting for her reaction - if she would think her simple, just because she did not like their 'comms'.

"You come from a world without technology?" Zoe tried and guessed, again. That sounded like what a princess in a fairy tale would say about modern technology, after all, and Sansa spoke like she was right out of one.

"With less technology," she said, sharper than she means to, but she knows that she sounds backwards in saying it, that she comes from a place that makes no sense here and where they see holograms and hallucinations, she sees spells and enchantments because it's the only solution that makes sense to her. She knows now that it is technology, that her food is somehow created and transported by some sort of machines, but the words used to explain it make no sense to her, and it might as well be magic.

"Less technology," Zoe repeats, placating. She can imagine what it feels like to Sansa, or try to, anyway. Being in this world she doesn't understand, that most others did. None of their situations were ideal, but at least Zoe was at home with tablets and computers. "I could teach you, if you like?"

Lady Grantham paused and turned to look at the girl who had addressed her. They had spoken little in the weeks, months now, since their mutual arrival, but her general impression of the soft spoken young woman was positive. The girl had manners and grace, which both put her well into Violet's favor, enough so that the response was soft in return.

"I have not, my dear," she replied. "We are not well acquainted, but I do not believe that I have seen anything of him of late." She might have gone on her way then, but she remembered that another had gone missing as well, and that made her pause. "You have spoken to him recently?" she asked.

Sansa can't stop the way her face falls, but she nods at Lady Grantham's my dear. "I have not spoken to him in days," she said quietly, forcing her hands to remain still, to not show vulnerability. Petyr had trained her well. "I am afraid that something happened to him," although she supposed that she shouldn't be surprised; it was just the way that things were in her life. People came into it and fell out of it with a surprising speed.

"I don't think we've formally met, not since the first day. My name is Sansa Stark, it's lovely to meet you." She doesn't know if Lady Gratham would think her name to be Alayne, or if the woman even knew, but it was good to establish herself - the more people that knew she was Sansa, the more defense she would have against accusations of lying.

Violet could see the welling grief on the girl's face and was struck by how practiced it seems there. Not the proud refusal to cry, but the look of someone far too used to bad news for one so young. Lady Grantham was too polite to pry more than the girl is comfortable, but her curiosity about the young lady kindled.

"Not formally, no," she agreed. "But I do believe I have had your introduction in the company of others," she paused. Sansa was not the name she remembered the girl giving, but in those first few days, she would not have blamed anyone for such duplicitous behavior. There were many reasons a person might not want to give their right name in the company of strangers. She could think of many both inside and outside of novels.

"Sansa," she repeated the name. "That is quite lovely. It is indeed good to meet you, my dear, I could only wish that it did not come while you are distressed."

"Thank you," she said with a soft smile. "And it is good to meet you as well. The circumstances..." She paused only for a moment, and then sighed softly, the minute shake of her head making it clear that that was that, that it was done. "I wish that they were better, but there is nothing to be done for them, if he is truly gone. I will, of course, continue to ask - and I hope that he is not, but..." She did not shrug, but it was clear that it was what she was saying - if he was gone, then life moved on.

"How are you faring here?" She did change the subject, purely so that her mind would stay off of more depressing subjects.

"As well as can be expected," she replied dryly. "What can one do, but soldier on?" Violet had adjusted well enough, but her dearest wish, to return to Downton, would not leave her. There had been so much brewing when she had been snatched away. She wondered what had become of Mary and Matthew and the dreaded Carlisle.

Newt looked up at the quiet girl. That's what she called her in her head, as she was seen about rarely.

"If you have a picture we can put up a post on the cortex." The girl looked down and scuffed the toe of her sneaker on the carpet. "My friend Teyla went missing, too," she looked back up into eyes the same color as her own.

"There was a search, so if we let everyone know someone will organize a search." Newt hoped they could actually find him.

Sansa stares at the younger girl with wide eyes. She reminds her a bit of Bran, although Bran wouldn't have jumped to so many conclusions so quickly. Arya was too brash, too bright to be like this girl - the fire in Arya's eyes, challenging everything - was one of the things that Sansa could remember of her sister past the darkness of her hair and eyes, and how she insisted on dressing like a boy. Listening to the blonde girl, it hurt - she'd not been facing the chance that Alistair could be gone, and when Newt talks about the Cortex, she frowns. "I don't have a picture," she says, and she wonders if the girl means that Sansa should draw one, even though it's not as if she does draw or paint.

She knows how to dance and sing and embroider, how to memorize and speak poetry eloquently, how to comport herself as a lady - but she could only passably draw, not with any skill. "I am sorry your friend is gone, although I do hope that Alistair is just... elsewhere. There are many people he could be staying with." She hesitates when she says let everyone know, because she would not have Jaime Lannister - and, oddly, Sandor Clegane - know that she is without her friend and protector. It was not all that Alistair was, but she had known him from the start here, and she had counted on the fact that if she had to escape, he would be her safe harbor. "Perhaps I have just not looked in the right place."

"You can get a picture..." Newt pulled out her communicator and spoke to it, "Image of Alistair, please." The same picture that was on his intake ticket showed on the screen and she turned the image to Sansa. "Is this him?"

Newt understood hoping. She was hoping Teyla was sent home. "Most of the people here are nice and would help you find him. Even if he's trying to be alone somewhere. I mean, he can be found and then left alone, right?"

"I'm Newt, by the way. Some of the people here have been calling me 'little mouse'," her scrunched face indicated her opinion of that.

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