armoredincourtesy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
armoredincourtesy) wrote2012-01-30 10:53 pm
armoredincourtesy) wrote2012-01-30 10:53 pm
Entry tags:
Kon Ran application
→ Personal Information ←
→ Name: Elle
→ Age: 25
→ Personal Livejournal/Dreamwidth: I'm new to DW, and my personal IJ has gathered dust for almost a year. I used to be![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snicks_chan
→ E-mail: snickschan@gmail.com
→ IM/Plurk: Lizaleigh P
→ Other Characters in Game: None at present
→ Character Information ←
→ Character Name: Sansa Stark, sometimes known as Alayne Stone
→ Canon: Game of Thrones
→ Canon Point: clear through A Feast For Crows (technically through A Dance With Dragons, but we didn't get our promised PoV chapter in that book, so...)
→ Personality:
When she first rode south to King's Landing, Sansa was much like any other pretty pre-teen girl: sweet, tractable and hugely self involved. She was brought up to be a proper lord's wife, and had no higher ambitions. Although still very young, she worked to comport herself as a perfect lady, gentle, soft-spoken and obedient. She had a natural flair for the sort of skills expected of highborn young women and earned much praise from her tutors. All that positive feedback, combined with compliments about her blossoming beauty, made her more than a little self centered and put her at odds with her tomboyish little sister, Arya. Accustomed to being the favorite, always the center of attention, she was not equipped to cope with disapproval or harsh treatment from adults. She caved easily to pressure and wasn't above lying to save face or avoid punishment.
Sansa grew up with ballads and pretty stories, an ideal she stubbornly tried to project onto the real world. Perhaps because her parents were good, noble people who worked to surround themselves and their children with the same, she had this idea that everyone of their social station was kind and gracious. She displayed a startling talent for self-deception in initially defending Prince Joffrey, though it's hard to blame her for wanting to think well of a boy she'd been promised to marry. It took her father's death to truly disabuse Sansa of her belief in happy endings, and it's only been downhill from there.
Two years as a hostage and war bride have worked drastic changes in Sansa. Her family, dreams and childish naivete have all been stripped away, leaving her numb. Although she's learned the foolishness of doing so, she continues to rely on a string of 'benefactors' who value her only for her claim to Winterfell. If she's been left without social agency, at least she's found a sort of inner strength. She no longer whines about fair or unfair, no longer expects good things to fall out of the sky. Survival often means taking risks, and Sansa has begun to learn how best to calculate them.
Where her father and brother lost their lives to points of honor, Sansa has discovered a sort of fluid compromise within herself. She concentrates on the big picture, bending and adapting as needed to survive. There's something fluid and mutable to her, perhaps her Tully heritage tempering the Stark. Sansa greatly loved and admired her mother, Lady Catelyn, and tries to emulate her strength and poise in trying times. Polite to a fault, she often falls back on manners when she's out of her depth. Since assuming the identity of Alayne Stone, she's become even more withdrawn and careful. She feels adrift in the world, afraid to hope too strongly for anything. Her true feelings rarely surface, buried beneath layer after layer of careful courtesy.
Much as she tries to distance herself from the girl she was and the family she lost, Sansa cannot forget what she's lost. She may not have inherited as much pigheaded Stark-ness as the rest of her siblings, but she has enough to endure and to yearn for home.
→ History:
The bare bones of Sansa's history can be found at the ASOIAF wiki page. Although the forums on this site are problematic, the wiki information is factually accurate.
→ Abilities:Due to her upbringing, most of Sansa's talents are domestic or concerned with running a household. She has never had to cook or clean for herself, but she does understand the economics involved in keeping people to do so. Her embroidery skills are particularly fine, but she also makes most of her own clothing from the ground up. She has a lovely singing voice and is a graceful dancer, although she does not enjoy strenuous physical exercise. Her grasp of etiquette is exquisite and she has a sharp memory for names, faces and pertinent details. Sansa is never without a kind word or a polite response, and she's shown a great deal of patience in dealing with difficult individuals.
Sansa continued to dream of wolves and pack long after the death of her direwolf, Lady. The dreams have stopped shortly after she began to pass herself off as Alayne, but they do imply warg tendencies. If allowed to bond with an animal, she might be able to skinwalk as some of the other Stark children do. As things stand, she's painfully isolated from the mental 'pack' ties.
→ Strengths: A lady's courtesy is her armor, and Sansa's is almost without a chink. During her time in Joffrey's court, she became inured to physical and psychological taunts; she is accustomed to constantly living with fear, but has learned how to conceal it from the world.
Had Joffrey not been such a monster to her, she would have made him a wonderful queen. She is in her element in social situations, adept at winning people over and settling ruffled feelings. She instinctively knows the right thing to say to defuse a situation or turn it to her advantage.
Since leaving King's Landing in the company of Littlefinger, her survival instinct has grown sharper. Intentionally or no, Lord Baelish taught her how to watch for plots, lies and deceptions, how to listen to what people do not say as well as their choice of words. She has become incapable of looking at someone without dissecting their motives.
Sansa's beauty grows with every passing day. What was once her most powerful asset has become a source of much unwanted attention. It hasn't yet occurred to her to try and turn this back around.
→ Weaknesses: Protected by her father and brother, favored by her mother, she was completely unaware of the unpleasant realities of life. She's constantly surprised by the depths to which people will sink, and each consecutive letdown crushes her a little bit more. The world that was promised to her in songs and stories simply does not exist, and she's still struggling to cope with that.
Sansa is not physically strong and relies totally on others for protection. Although she's been through a great deal of strife, she hasn't had to make any key decisions for herself - someone else has always stepped in and taken charge of her fate. She has not yet realized that she has the option to strike out on her own.
She's prone to flights of fancy and occasionally indulges in escapism at inappropriate times. She often gives way when she's unsure of herself (frequently, anymore) and sometimes pushes too far when overconfident. Though she's been broken of her adolescent conviction that she knows just as much as adults, incompetence frustrates her. Sansa has played her assorted roles to perfection, and she expects the same from others. It's those high expectations that continue to put her in the position of being let down.
→ First Person Sample:
[Video]
[It's clear from the angle that Sansa has propped the device against something - a dresser or bathroom counter, maybe - so that the camera tilts up towards her. She sits far enough back for her head and shoulders to be clearly visible. Her hair is loose in floaty, just-brushed waves. She runs her fingers through it, eyes darting back and forth between the camera and something off-screen.]
It's so silly. Trying to recreate something from a dream, I mean. It isn't as if the normal rules apply in dreams, so I don't see why this should even work, but I...I just thought it might...it could look nice.
[She turns towards something off-screen, possibly a mirror. Her fingers work as she speaks, parting her hair into smooth sections, twisting it up and pinning it in place in a series of practiced gestures. As the updo becomes more complex, Sansa's expression hardens into intense focus. Locks and flyaways escape her fingers and stick out or hang down at odd angles. Her cheeks redden with frustration and her lips press into a thin line, but forced concentration does not help. A portion comes undone down the back of her neck, pins dangling precariously. Sansa stares offscreen for a few moments, arms upraised and lower lip quivering, before her expression smoothes out.]
I thought so. It couldn't work, not for real.
[She works her fingers through the mess from temples to nape, raining pins. The speaker on the device is not good enough to hear them hit the carpet. Sansa has yet to act as though she remembers the device is taping.]
...although, I think it used to take two people...
→ Third Person Sample:
They did not speak as they ate, this family of hers. She wondered if they were always this way or if the meal was made awkward by her presence. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to erase the weight, the strangeness of her presence from the room. Was she being overly self-conscious again? Her therapist was forever cautioning her about such behavior, but she couldn't seem to help it. Maybe she was making overmuch of the silence; maybe meals were always muted affairs with these people. It seemed a strange notion to her, when her memories of supper were irrevocably linked to a cacophony of noise, of men bellowing up the length of the great table and siblings shoving at her elbow and dogs snuffling under the benches--
There were other dinners, state affairs but equally as loud, where the nasal chatter of gaily dressed men and women drowned out the soulful strains of a string quartet and the delicacies of nations sat like lead in her stomach--
No. No, surely silence was better. Surely it was how she'd always enjoyed her roast beef and potatoes. She only wished she could remember sitting at this chair, handling this cutlery from clumsy toddlerhood to sure adolescence. She wished she could remember the people ringing this table. She wanted so badly to know them, to recognize eyes and smiles and the fall of hair over cheek and brow. If she could look them in the eyes, just once, and remember the slightest thing, she could put aside her misgivings and become the girl they expected her to be.
The girl she wanted to be. Not Sansa, sole surviving heir to Winterfell, last of the Starks (before marriage made a Lannister of her), a girl who loved to dance and sing, a girl with an uncanny ability for self deception. No, not Sansa. Not even Alayne, baseborn Alayne, who kept her head down and served without complaint and...loved...her father. They were only displacements. Figments. Coping mechanisms of some kind. Her therapist said so.
For the thousandth time, she scanned the faces gathered around her and prayed for a bolt of recognition
→ Password:
→ Name: Elle
→ Age: 25
→ Personal Livejournal/Dreamwidth: I'm new to DW, and my personal IJ has gathered dust for almost a year. I used to be
snicks_chan→ E-mail: snickschan@gmail.com
→ IM/Plurk: Lizaleigh P
→ Other Characters in Game: None at present
→ Character Information ←
→ Character Name: Sansa Stark, sometimes known as Alayne Stone
→ Canon: Game of Thrones
→ Canon Point: clear through A Feast For Crows (technically through A Dance With Dragons, but we didn't get our promised PoV chapter in that book, so...)
→ Personality:
When she first rode south to King's Landing, Sansa was much like any other pretty pre-teen girl: sweet, tractable and hugely self involved. She was brought up to be a proper lord's wife, and had no higher ambitions. Although still very young, she worked to comport herself as a perfect lady, gentle, soft-spoken and obedient. She had a natural flair for the sort of skills expected of highborn young women and earned much praise from her tutors. All that positive feedback, combined with compliments about her blossoming beauty, made her more than a little self centered and put her at odds with her tomboyish little sister, Arya. Accustomed to being the favorite, always the center of attention, she was not equipped to cope with disapproval or harsh treatment from adults. She caved easily to pressure and wasn't above lying to save face or avoid punishment.
Sansa grew up with ballads and pretty stories, an ideal she stubbornly tried to project onto the real world. Perhaps because her parents were good, noble people who worked to surround themselves and their children with the same, she had this idea that everyone of their social station was kind and gracious. She displayed a startling talent for self-deception in initially defending Prince Joffrey, though it's hard to blame her for wanting to think well of a boy she'd been promised to marry. It took her father's death to truly disabuse Sansa of her belief in happy endings, and it's only been downhill from there.
Two years as a hostage and war bride have worked drastic changes in Sansa. Her family, dreams and childish naivete have all been stripped away, leaving her numb. Although she's learned the foolishness of doing so, she continues to rely on a string of 'benefactors' who value her only for her claim to Winterfell. If she's been left without social agency, at least she's found a sort of inner strength. She no longer whines about fair or unfair, no longer expects good things to fall out of the sky. Survival often means taking risks, and Sansa has begun to learn how best to calculate them.
Where her father and brother lost their lives to points of honor, Sansa has discovered a sort of fluid compromise within herself. She concentrates on the big picture, bending and adapting as needed to survive. There's something fluid and mutable to her, perhaps her Tully heritage tempering the Stark. Sansa greatly loved and admired her mother, Lady Catelyn, and tries to emulate her strength and poise in trying times. Polite to a fault, she often falls back on manners when she's out of her depth. Since assuming the identity of Alayne Stone, she's become even more withdrawn and careful. She feels adrift in the world, afraid to hope too strongly for anything. Her true feelings rarely surface, buried beneath layer after layer of careful courtesy.
Much as she tries to distance herself from the girl she was and the family she lost, Sansa cannot forget what she's lost. She may not have inherited as much pigheaded Stark-ness as the rest of her siblings, but she has enough to endure and to yearn for home.
→ History:
The bare bones of Sansa's history can be found at the ASOIAF wiki page. Although the forums on this site are problematic, the wiki information is factually accurate.
→ Abilities:Due to her upbringing, most of Sansa's talents are domestic or concerned with running a household. She has never had to cook or clean for herself, but she does understand the economics involved in keeping people to do so. Her embroidery skills are particularly fine, but she also makes most of her own clothing from the ground up. She has a lovely singing voice and is a graceful dancer, although she does not enjoy strenuous physical exercise. Her grasp of etiquette is exquisite and she has a sharp memory for names, faces and pertinent details. Sansa is never without a kind word or a polite response, and she's shown a great deal of patience in dealing with difficult individuals.
Sansa continued to dream of wolves and pack long after the death of her direwolf, Lady. The dreams have stopped shortly after she began to pass herself off as Alayne, but they do imply warg tendencies. If allowed to bond with an animal, she might be able to skinwalk as some of the other Stark children do. As things stand, she's painfully isolated from the mental 'pack' ties.
→ Strengths: A lady's courtesy is her armor, and Sansa's is almost without a chink. During her time in Joffrey's court, she became inured to physical and psychological taunts; she is accustomed to constantly living with fear, but has learned how to conceal it from the world.
Had Joffrey not been such a monster to her, she would have made him a wonderful queen. She is in her element in social situations, adept at winning people over and settling ruffled feelings. She instinctively knows the right thing to say to defuse a situation or turn it to her advantage.
Since leaving King's Landing in the company of Littlefinger, her survival instinct has grown sharper. Intentionally or no, Lord Baelish taught her how to watch for plots, lies and deceptions, how to listen to what people do not say as well as their choice of words. She has become incapable of looking at someone without dissecting their motives.
Sansa's beauty grows with every passing day. What was once her most powerful asset has become a source of much unwanted attention. It hasn't yet occurred to her to try and turn this back around.
→ Weaknesses: Protected by her father and brother, favored by her mother, she was completely unaware of the unpleasant realities of life. She's constantly surprised by the depths to which people will sink, and each consecutive letdown crushes her a little bit more. The world that was promised to her in songs and stories simply does not exist, and she's still struggling to cope with that.
Sansa is not physically strong and relies totally on others for protection. Although she's been through a great deal of strife, she hasn't had to make any key decisions for herself - someone else has always stepped in and taken charge of her fate. She has not yet realized that she has the option to strike out on her own.
She's prone to flights of fancy and occasionally indulges in escapism at inappropriate times. She often gives way when she's unsure of herself (frequently, anymore) and sometimes pushes too far when overconfident. Though she's been broken of her adolescent conviction that she knows just as much as adults, incompetence frustrates her. Sansa has played her assorted roles to perfection, and she expects the same from others. It's those high expectations that continue to put her in the position of being let down.
→ First Person Sample:
[Video]
[It's clear from the angle that Sansa has propped the device against something - a dresser or bathroom counter, maybe - so that the camera tilts up towards her. She sits far enough back for her head and shoulders to be clearly visible. Her hair is loose in floaty, just-brushed waves. She runs her fingers through it, eyes darting back and forth between the camera and something off-screen.]
It's so silly. Trying to recreate something from a dream, I mean. It isn't as if the normal rules apply in dreams, so I don't see why this should even work, but I...I just thought it might...it could look nice.
[She turns towards something off-screen, possibly a mirror. Her fingers work as she speaks, parting her hair into smooth sections, twisting it up and pinning it in place in a series of practiced gestures. As the updo becomes more complex, Sansa's expression hardens into intense focus. Locks and flyaways escape her fingers and stick out or hang down at odd angles. Her cheeks redden with frustration and her lips press into a thin line, but forced concentration does not help. A portion comes undone down the back of her neck, pins dangling precariously. Sansa stares offscreen for a few moments, arms upraised and lower lip quivering, before her expression smoothes out.]
I thought so. It couldn't work, not for real.
[She works her fingers through the mess from temples to nape, raining pins. The speaker on the device is not good enough to hear them hit the carpet. Sansa has yet to act as though she remembers the device is taping.]
...although, I think it used to take two people...
→ Third Person Sample:
They did not speak as they ate, this family of hers. She wondered if they were always this way or if the meal was made awkward by her presence. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to erase the weight, the strangeness of her presence from the room. Was she being overly self-conscious again? Her therapist was forever cautioning her about such behavior, but she couldn't seem to help it. Maybe she was making overmuch of the silence; maybe meals were always muted affairs with these people. It seemed a strange notion to her, when her memories of supper were irrevocably linked to a cacophony of noise, of men bellowing up the length of the great table and siblings shoving at her elbow and dogs snuffling under the benches--
There were other dinners, state affairs but equally as loud, where the nasal chatter of gaily dressed men and women drowned out the soulful strains of a string quartet and the delicacies of nations sat like lead in her stomach--
No. No, surely silence was better. Surely it was how she'd always enjoyed her roast beef and potatoes. She only wished she could remember sitting at this chair, handling this cutlery from clumsy toddlerhood to sure adolescence. She wished she could remember the people ringing this table. She wanted so badly to know them, to recognize eyes and smiles and the fall of hair over cheek and brow. If she could look them in the eyes, just once, and remember the slightest thing, she could put aside her misgivings and become the girl they expected her to be.
The girl she wanted to be. Not Sansa, sole surviving heir to Winterfell, last of the Starks (before marriage made a Lannister of her), a girl who loved to dance and sing, a girl with an uncanny ability for self deception. No, not Sansa. Not even Alayne, baseborn Alayne, who kept her head down and served without complaint and...loved...her father. They were only displacements. Figments. Coping mechanisms of some kind. Her therapist said so.
For the thousandth time, she scanned the faces gathered around her and prayed for a bolt of recognition
→ Password: