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Paparazzi

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She would have thought it had been a dream; a dream about wet, luscious, ardent lips bruising hers, the hard planes of a muscled chest against her petite form, and a sneaky hand under her blouse, tugging at her waist...a hangover dream. But first hour in the morning, when Melisandre, her PR manager pulled off swiftly at the thick comforter that was covering her from head to toe, and after ignoring her agonizing pleas to pull down the drapes from the window to avoid the sun lights burning her eyelids and the need to speak lower, somewhere in her dazed, overly drunken mind she knew something was off.

-I need you to get your arse off the bed, and take a shower. I want you lucid to discuss a thing that has come up-  

The tone and words made her straight up suddenly on the bed, baffled and angry, the dizziness of the sudden move making her almost throw up, her hand to her mouth just in case. She took a few deep breaths.

-Those are not manners to talk to me! - she replied, the hoarseness of her voice almost making it unrecognizable to her own hears -You know who I am? –

If Melisandre was offended she didn’t show it, her voice quiet- Of course I know who you’re miss Stark, but you’re behaving like a brat, so then, you’ll be treated like one-

 

Arya Stark, the younger daughter of Eddard Stark, Winterfell’s candidate for President of Westeros for the upcoming elections, was known for her wild spirit and sharped tongue, with a scholarship in Fencing in one of the best institutes of Westeros itself, in spite of the futile efforts of her mother to make her study Laws. After her father had launched his campaign, their lives had been scrutinized, put it under a microscope and dissected. She knew it was something necessary and of course she supported her lovely father, but after that, it came the restrictions, the bodywards, the Melisandres, always someone watching over her now she wasn’t at home under the overprotective (oppressive?) gaze of lady Catelyn Stark, and so, that so required determined behaviors from her. She could hate Melisandre sometimes (she was bossy and way too hot anyway) but she admitted the red woman always make her look good before the media, and that was something she appreciated a lot, her confidence in herself constantly over mined with her mother’s current comparisons with her perfect sister Sansa.

 

-What the hell are you talking about? - she growled anyway.

-As I can see you have no intention to leave the bed, I’m going to address the topic anyway. I hope you be sober enough. Do you remember what did you do last night? -

Arya scrubbed her tousled mane trying to remember through the fogginess of her mind.

-Uh…the dinner at the City Hall? - she prodded.

-After that- Melisandre crossed her arms over her chest.

Her face turned blank for a moment; she would swear that dinner lasted forever.

-The Club? - the red woman suggested.

-Oh…the club! - she said rising both eyebrows, as if reminding a lost fact - What about that? -

-You don’t remember eh? -

-Uh…it’s a little foggy- she admits flushing and she really hopes she hasn’t embarrassed herself like Last Year Eve, when she drank too much and spend the whole night vomiting during regular episodes of unconsciousness- What…what happened? - she was a little afraid to ask.

 

Melisandre gave her a look whatsoever and started scrolling something on her tablet, and having found what she was looking for, she tossed it over the bedding, in front of her. She still finds the gesture a bit rude but takes the tablet anyway, curious about what was this mess about.

At first she doesn’t understand what she is watching, the darkness of picture itself making hard to distinguish details, but then she recognizes the black short skirt from the smaller of the two forms entangled in the photo, and yes, just a look at the rumpled stack of discarded clothes on the floor and she can make out the white blouse too.

And it’s pretty obvious she is the one in that picture in a very compromising position with the a tall male figure clad in black holding her in a very possessive manner, and from this an angle his rear looks just fine “Not now Arya” she chides herself, and she tries to remember, really try to, because things seem to have gotten out of hands a little, and she isn’t one for being snogging with strangers in a dark corner. But the next ones are closer, and although she can’t make out the face of her kisser, she definitely can see her hands tangled on his neck, and in one of them her right leg is pressing at his hip, his hand holding it in place.

-So…- the sharp voice of the red woman drags her out of her reverie.

She swears she is beet red when she looks up, wide-eyed.

-I…- and where did go her voice, as a low whisper came out her mouth- I have no idea who is him-

-I supposed that, I still don’t know how you managed to sneak from your bodywards and don’t worry, you didn’t get to finish…your affair, I guess someone interrupted or maybe he noticed you were being watched- replied coolly her manager- but those pictures were taken for a paparazzi last night, and although they can’t clearly prove it was you, thanks to the dark spot you two had chosen, there are enough circumstantial evidences to make a scandal about it, and of course you know that’s the least your father needs now-

-Oh shit- she said covering her face, the banging in her head louder now, she felt sick.

-Now, please take a bath and pull yourself together, not a word to anybody about what happened last night, let’s us clear that mess of yours, and please, don’t meet with any stranger anywhere soon- the woman lectured her, and for once she knew she was guilty, still hiding her face with her hands.

Melisandre was about to turn around to leave when she looked over at the girl over the bed, and something briefly shone in her eyes, making her clear her throat, her demeanor changing completely “She is just a girl anyway”.

-I left some pills on the bedside, take it, it’ll make you feel better, and I make the room service to bring you some milk, sleep a little more- she said almost softly- You have an hour-

-Thanks, I’m so sorry- Arya said to her back, before the door close behind her.

Arya stood up and tossed two pills into her mouth, downing it with a glass of water, and then she laid back on the bed, pulling the comforter over her head again. Between the thud in her head and the wariness about last night she didn’t think she couldn’t get any sleep soon, but the dizziness surprised her nicely, and suddenly the images from the dream came back: those scorching lips, and those solid hands on her, and before she could fall sleep she remembered music in the background, a pair of hazel eyes with a deep gaze to seemed to look into her soul, and a voice that made her low belly turn liquid.

-It’s Jaqen, a man’s name is Jaqen lovely girl-