The Eyrie

[a visit to the eyrie, a previous day] [arrynvale, london area]

Mon, 31 Oct 2011 23:32:04 -0400

The scent of her perfume took him back to the last time he’d been here, to his Uncle Jon’s funeral. It had been a strange day, full of ice-cold sunshine and more old men than he’d ever seen outside of the Lords. Sansa had worn black — he’d never seen her wear black before, and his father had retreated further into himself, though there were many who would have wanted him to speak. Rickon had cried, though he had barely known why, and no one had slept a wink that night whilst their aunt went howling through the cavernous rooms with only her sister to soothe her. He remembered, in the morning, that his mother had looked older than he’d ever seen her.

The memory gave his heart a sharp twist and he gave his aunt a squeeze, her soft skin giving way beneath his fingers. He could not have said much for how well he knew her, but his mother cared for her very much, and for that he would say he loved her. He wouldn’t mention her late husband if he could help it. He didn’t want to see her upset.

“We’re well, thank you, auntie,” he said when he stepped away. He glanced back at Sansa, who had given her most polite dip. “Aren’t we?” He went back to his aunt. “How have you been keeping, Lysa?”

“I’ve been all right, dear, I’ve been all right. All things considered, at any rate. I suppose one can only be as all right as one can be!” Lysa felt almost immaterial when touched; strange, because there was certainly a lot of her, a substantial volume to her, and yet at it was like she were a gossamer web or a windsock doll, something moving and smiling but not quite there. Her powdered skin glistened under the lamplight from a wall sconce — electricity had been installed at the Eyrie not a year prior, and while Jon had always preferred the quiet, somber light of the candle-wick, Lysa thrilled at the power of the electric bulb. Since his death the Eyrie had been much brighter in appearance, if darker in tone.

Turning, Lysa gestured to a table setting; cakes and tea brought up by one of the footmen. ”Do help yourself. Sansa my sweet, if you should like to go see your cousin you may find him in his chambers. He’s just finished with a nap.” Young Robert Arryn’s naps were a regimented affair, a small and ever-creeping reminder of his ill health. Lysa, as was ever her wont, simply pretended he was a sensitive boy who loved to spend as much time as possible in the world of dreams. ”I trust, Robert, that your other siblings are quite well? It has been ages since I have seen little Brandon!”

[a visit to the eyrie, a previous day] [arrynvale, london area]

Thu, 27 Oct 2011 01:58:00 -0400

ltrobertstark:

Robert ran a toe through the thick layer of gravel while Egen helped Sansa from the car, worrying at buttoned sleeve. He made a mental note to leave a note for Jeyne when they got in.

Once they were both disembarked, he followed the butler in through the wide front doors, twisting a little as he went to give Sansa a not entire admonishing look. The Eyrie’s welcoming hall was warmer than the outside would suggest, with mahogany tables and chairs polished to a rosy shine and portraits of the Lords of Arrynvale ascending up the main staircase. The only sound was that of the grandfather clocks, two on either sides of the hall, ticking in unison. Rob wasn’t sure what he’d expected; it wasn’t as if their cousin Robin was apt to rushing in to embrace them about the legs with abandon. He turned at the opening and went into the drawing room, removing his hat.

“Aunt Lysa?”

The years had been unkind to Lysa Arryn, once a bright-eyed girl with rich red hair and long, birdlike limbs that matched her sparrowlike gait. Robert had known that girl, once, when he was very young and she was still full of hope, but that had been long ago. The woman who sat in one of the Eyrie’s opulent hand-carved chairs was puffy and drawn, simultaneously bloated and bony, shrunken and swollen. The make-up that caked her face had the effect of making her look not younger, but rather like a grotesque of the young, like a store window mannequin with aspirations of burlesque.

“Rob!” she said, as if by announcing his presence she created him there in the air before her. ”And dear sweet Sansa.” Rising from her seat, she opened her arms wide to embrace her oldest nephew first. ”It has been so long! I trust you are both quite well?” The heady odor of her perfume, thick and floral, filled Robert’s nostrils.

(OOC NOTE: Shall we wait for Sansa’s player to return from her family stuff before we continue this, or…? Also, for the record, Lysa’s son will be called ‘Robert’ here; ‘Sweetrobin’ is his nickname, but his actual name is only ‘Robin’ on the television series. Lysa therefore refers to Robb, as I’ve done in my telegrams to Littlefinger, as ‘Cat’s Robert’.)

Would it be okay with you if Cat, Bran and Rickon ultimately come down to stay with Lysa at Arrynvale?

Wed, 26 Oct 2011 13:36:00 -0400

More than okay! It would give me a ton more to do.

OOC: Will pick up that scene tomorrow, sorry folks

Wed, 26 Oct 2011 02:43:36 -0400

Had a long workday today and now have a ton of homework to do before I hit the hay. Tomorrow I’ll have time.

xoxo

auntie l

[a visit to the eyrie, a previous day] [arrynvale, london area]

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 21:54:00 -0400

miss-sansa-stark:

The atmosphere in the automobile was tense. Sansa’s mood had turned quite foul, and Robb could sense it. Easily. She wasn’t the type of girl who liked to be carted off place to place.

Arrynvale was a beautiful place. There was no denying it. The Eyrie, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore upon the landscape. All that grey, and all those railings - pitch black. Why, the house resembled a prison more than somewhere livable. She had heard her brother mention the word fortress many times in the past. And she couldn’t disagree. This place was a fortress.

Sansa had never been particularly fond of Aunt Lysa. She was a pleasant woman, but not without her quirks. Sansa found her very worrisome, paranoid. This was probably the point in her living so far away from anyone, in a type of house like this. Ever since her Uncle Jon has passed, she became even stranger. And then there was her cousin, Robin. Sansa may have been spoiled, but Robin Arryn was spoiled. She couldn’t remember a time when she had visited that he whined and complained constantly about something that wasn’t going his way. Sansa clutchedthe bag of sweets in her lap, praying they would be sufficient.

Turning her head, she looked at Robb. “Even Joff wouldn’t keep me interested 5 minutes in this place.” She shivered, turning back to the window. “It frightens me.”

At the gate — and oh, what a gate; Bedlam never had such a gate — they were met by Mr. Vardis Egen, the Eyrie’s butler. A plain-faced man with a stocky build and silver hair, Egen had never been known for his warmth, and the lovely summer day seemed to have absolutely no effect on his generally dour outlook. ”Young Master Stark,” he remarked, stiffy, before extending a hand to help Sansa out of the automobile. ”Lady Sansa,” he granted her. ”Lady Arryn is expecting you both in the drawing room.”

Telegrams

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 21:36:53 -0400

pbaelish-esq:

ladyarryn:

RECEIVED MOST CURIOUS LETTER FROM CAT (STOP) WHAT IS THIS BUSINESS WITH SANSA (STOP) RAISING PLENTY OF EYEBROWS AT WINTER HALL (STOP) DO RESPOND PROMPTLY (STOP)

YOURS ALWAYS L ARRYN (STOP)

TELEGRAM TO L ARRYN FROM P BAELISH, THE SAME AFTERNOON

SUPPOSE IT WOULD BE FOLLY TO THINK THAT MY CORRESPONDENCES TO EITHER TULLY SISTER WOULD BE KEPT QUIET (STOP) IF THE STARKS ARE TO BE IN LONDON FOR THE SEASON I SEE NO REASON WHY I SHOULD NOT OFFER TO LEARN YOUR NIECES AND NEPHEWS SOME SKILLS IN ADMINISTRATION (STOP)

TIMES ARE CHANGING LYSA (STOP) YOU ALWAYS WERE A REALIST BUT EVEN YOU MAY NOT WANT TO SEE THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER (STOP) DOWRIES AND WINDFALLS MAY SOON NOT BE ENOUGH TO ENSURE OUR CHILDRENS FUTURES (STOP)

I WOULD OFFER THE SAME FOR YOUR ROBIN, BUT HE IS YOUNG STILL (STOP) PRAY HE COMES OF AGE AT A SIMPLER TIME FOR OUR NATION (STOP) YOU MAY CONVEY THAT SENTIMENT TO YOUR SISTER AS IT APPEARS SO MUCH MUST BE SHARED BETWEEN US ALL (STOP)

EVER YOUR SERVANT,

P BAELISH

TELEGRAM FROM L ARRYN TO P BAELISH, DATED THAT EVENING

NO NEED FOR SO MUCH SALT IN YOUR TONE PETER DEAR (STOP) I MERELY FELT I OUGHT TO KNOW WHAT YOU WERE UP TO AS CAT HAS ASKED ME WHAT SORT OF PERSON YOU ARE THESE DAYS (STOP) I HAVE BEEN DISCREET AS EVER WHEN IT COMES TO YOUR AFFAIRS (STOP)

TOLD CAT THAT YOU ARE A VERY RESPECTABLE MAN NOW (STOP) SANSA AND CAT’S ROBERT ARE CALLING TOMORROW AND I SHALL SAY NOTHING OF THIS BUSINESS UNLESS PROMPTED (STOP) SIMPLY UNSURE OF WHY YOU WOULD APPROACH MY SISTER WHEN IT HAS NEVER BEEN IN HER NATURE TO GIVE YOU THE TIME OF DAY (STOP)

YOURS ALWAYS

LYSA

OOC

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 21:30:31 -0400

With Ros gone I’m tempted to pick up Chataya as a general underworld contact type to facilitate street-level stuff. Would that be useful to people, or is everyone too respectable for fancy brothels?

Telegram to P Baelish (postmarked immediately following the previous letter)

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 18:07:51 -0400

RECEIVED MOST CURIOUS LETTER FROM CAT (STOP) WHAT IS THIS BUSINESS WITH SANSA (STOP) RAISING PLENTY OF EYEBROWS AT WINTER HALL (STOP) DO RESPOND PROMPTLY (STOP)

YOURS ALWAYS L ARRYN (STOP)

Personal correspondence to Catelyn Stark, Winter Hall (postmarked a day prior to Robb and Sansa's arrival)

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 18:05:23 -0400

Sweet Cat,

How very queer that Peter would contact you! I have seen him about in London, of course, and we have had occasion to speak a few times. He seems quite well, and he has established himself nicely in the city. I must say, though, I too find this offer rather curious. What sort of position could he wish Sansa to serve? Surely he is not so presumptuous as to think Lord Stark’s daughter would deign to work as his secretary? Do keep me abreast of any developments on this matter. Would you like me to inquire after it with him myself?

It would be just lovely for you to join us for dear Sansa’s season; I am sure she will catch the eye of many a lad in the coming year, just as her mother did when we were young! I am sure Sweetrobin would be delighted to have a playmate, as well. With regard to Jon, there is not much to say, but I appreciate as ever your kindness. It is true, no one in our family could ever abide solitude.

Bravery is one thing, and foolhardiness is another. I shall do my best to advise your son of that when he arrives, I should think! He is a strong and intelligent lad, and he ought be careful not to get overhasty. Every man has his chance to go to war, eventually. No need to hasten the process.

Yours always,
L.

Lady Lysa: Personal correspondence to Catelyn Stark, Winter Hall

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 01:06:51 -0400

My sweet Cat,

I fear I am quite despondent without Jon; I am uncertain I would call it illness, but in my heart it is a perfect emptiness, a certain queer calm that comes to nausea. I must manage the household entire, now, which has left me quite exhausted and with little time for correspondence. My apologies, sister, if you have found me less than dutiful! Sweetrobin is doing quite well, at least, the poor dear. It was quite a shock to lose his father at such an age, of course, and you know how delicate he can be emotionally.

So far as I am concerned, this matter on the continent is something for the continent to deal with. What should we care about Belgium? I daresay I enjoy a good waffle as much as the next woman, but I don’t see any reason to ship off our lads. Your lad, at least — thank the Lord mine’s far too young. How is young Robert taking all this uneasiness?

If my presence is desired at Tully House, I shall make my way down. Perhaps on a day Father is indisposed, if at all possible — do let me know when would be most convenient for us all. You and your children (and Ned) are of course welcome here at the Eyrie at any time; this big house feels so terribly empty these days.

Yours,
L.

OOC: Hooks

Sat, 22 Oct 2011 21:25:00 -0400

Aristocracy: Lady Arryn is not only the widow of the late Earl of Arrynvale, but also the daughter of the prominent Lord Hoster Tully. She’s been part of London high society since her days as a girl in charm school, though since the birth of her son she has rather withdrawn from public life. Remembered as a flighty but sweet girl in her youth, she’s now thought of as something of a reclusive eccentric.
Jon Arryn: The Earl of Arrynvale was a well-beloved man, the last scion of a very old family that had long been an institution in London’s upper crust. Noted for his interest in falconry and his sage advice to other noblemen, he was greatly mourned last Winter when he died quite suddenly after a short illness. The official inquest into his death found nothing suspicious, but not everyone who knew him is convinced he died a natural death.
The Eyrie: One of the finest estates in the London area, and the seat of Arrynvale. It has some absolutely staggering ballrooms. Maybe you’re looking to host a party?
Philanthropy: While it was Jon who really took an interest in charitable endowment, Lysa now has control of all the money until young Robert comes of age. Anyone looking for a nest egg from Arrynvale has to go through her.

OOC: Player Information

Sat, 22 Oct 2011 03:39:19 -0400

Name: Connor

Characters: Tyene Sand, Lysa Arryn

Timezone: EST

How I can be reached: My ask and submit are both open on this account, but the best way to reach me quickly is to drop me a line either through my personal tumblr or at lysatully@gmail.com, which I’ve arranged to forward to my personal email. I’m also open to AIM, potentially, if that’s something people prefer.

Personal Tumblr: it’s in the trees; it’s coming

answerthecall-rp: Lysa Tully Arryn → Taken The younger...

Sat, 22 Oct 2011 03:38:09 -0400

answerthecall-rp:

Lysa Tully Arryn → Taken

The younger daughter of a British earl, Lady Lysa Tully was married off to an associate and contemporary of her father’s — Jon Arryn, the Earl of Arrynvale. As Lady Arryn she came to command a household even finer than the one she’d known in childhood, but a cold marriage to a man roughly her father’s age left her lonely and depressed. With Lord Arryn’s recent death from a sudden illness, Lysa has begun to oversee the workings of their London-area estate, the Eyrie, until their son Robert comes of age. There are whispers, however, that he never will — he’s rumored to be a frail epileptic, and Lysa keeps him cloistered in the house at all times. Politically she is a strict isolationist, viewing the growing storm in the rest of Europe as the rest of Europe’s problem.