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What's Your Type?

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What’s Your Type?

 

 

 

“…and then I said, ‘Not with that face you won’t, Darling.’” Megga finished yet another bawdy tale, in a voice that carried all too well across the small, upmarket coffee/wine bar.

Alla, Alysanne and Alyce all blushed as red as a Dornish fire pepper while Margaery and Elinor rolled their eyes and shared a covert smirk at their cousin’s tale.

“It’s a wonder poor Mark can muster enough willpower to get himself out of bed in the morning Megga, with the way you chip away at the poor sod’s self-confidence.” Merry chimed in at their friend.

“I most definitely make up for it with how I wake him up in the mornings.” Megga replied with a mock-sultry raise of her eyebrow.

All the girls responded with giggles, guffaws or booming laughs. Margaery looked around at her childhood friends. They were all in King’s Landing, just to visit her from The Reach, and she felt a warm glow of contentment that, no matter how much time passed nor how many leagues separated them, when they were together again, it was just as it had always been.

Not that she was living the life of a friendless hermit in King’s Landing or anything. She was still a Tyrell and it was expected of her to socialise and be visible on any ‘scene’ that would be beneficial but those people are not the ones you can share a tub of Ben and Jerry’s with in your pyjamas and do a ‘quote along’ to Mean Girls. She had been quite certain when she had left The Reach and the same friends she’d had nearly all of her life, that that type of friendship would be lost to her for a time until she could return home but she had, thankfully, been proven wrong in this assumption by Sansa Stark. Margaery had met Sansa in Fresher’s Week at King’s Landing. Margaery had been in her second year of doing Political Sciences, manning the Fashion Society booth at Fresher’s Fair when Sansa Stark walked over, looking at the collage of fashion magazine covers that Margaery had made to lure Freshman in with. The moment Sansa looked up and shyly praised the selections, Margaery knew they would get on just fine.

Nearly three years later and they were still fast friends and sharing a flat at the top of Visenya’s Hill as they finished up their penultimate year at King’s Landing. Meeting Sansa had kind of changed her life actually. By the end of Sansa’s first year, she had managed to convince Margaery that her art was worth pursuing even if her family needed convincing of that fact. ‘And oh, convincing did they need!’ Her family had had higher aspirations for their Golden Rose than a ‘hippy artist’ as her Grandmother put it. She heard her phone chirp faintly from her handbag while Elinor began to quip back at Megga, something about hoping she’d finally learned to lock the door before engaging in such activities. ‘Speaking of roomie…'

I’m sorry! I’ve just managed to find an alternative bus route to Alchemy; I’ll be five minutes! Or I’ll be walking in with the bus driver’s head on a spike!
XXX S XXX

Margaery smirked as she read the text. When she first met Sansa, all sweet, innocent and fresh-faced in her summer dresses and pastel colours, she never thought she would have such a black sense of humour and that Margaery would love the juxtaposition so much.

Alyce updated them on her pregnancy, Elinor talked about her and Alyn’s wedding plans and Merry gave them a very descriptive retelling of an amazing night she’d had a week or so ago with a woman called Taena.

“I was walking like John Wayne for the rest of the weekend, no joke!” She finished earnestly, looking around for some sympathy.

“Oh, poor you!” Margaery snarked, topping up everyone’s glass with the dregs of the Arbor Gold bottle being shared and ordering another with a twitch of a finger at the Sommelier. “A beautiful woman made you orgasm so hard that you sprained your vagina. What a hard life you lead.”

Alla snorted into her serviette while Megga’s summerwine shot out through her nose.

“Well, when you put it that way.” Merry conceded with a tip of her glass.

“Speaking of, anyone making you walk funny recently, Margaery?” Alla asked with a shy smirk.

Margaery rolled her eyes at the turn in conversation. “Unfortunately not.” She stated, making her lower lip jut out in an exaggerated pout.

“You should let me set you up babe. I know plenty of awesome ladies that would give their left tit for a date with you.” Merry enthused, putting an excited hand on Margaery’s arm.

“Oh good. You were just saying you needed a spare left tit, weren’t you Margaery?” Asked Elinor in a serious voice, making the table erupt in giggles again.

“No, seriously. Let me set you up.” Merry continued, undeterred, looking earnestly at one of her oldest friends.

“With someone that you’ve deemed not good enough for your fine self? No thanks.” Margaery replied, with a deep pull from her glass.

“Well, what’s your type?” Alysanne questioned Margaery diplomatically. “Between the six of us I’m sure we could find a lovely lady that would fit the bill.”

“We know her type.” Megga argued from the other side of the table. “We’ve seen her through every girlfriend she’s ever had.”

“Well, her ‘normal type’ obviously isn’t working out for her.” Alla countered. “Besides, we’re not the same people we were when we were 16. Elinor’s getting married, Alyce is pregnant, Merry likes girls now.”

“Always copying me.” Margaery muttered with a shake of her head and a smirk at Merry who responded by poking her tongue out.

“She’s right you know.” Alyce piped up on Alla’s behalf. “Margaery, when you left Highgarden, your ambition was to be a King’s Landing politician and now you’re studying art.” Margaery raised an unamused eyebrow at Alyce, wondering what her point was. “Which is great!” Alyce followed up quickly, holding up a placating hand.

“I think what Alyce is trying to say is that we’ve all grown up a lot in the last 5 years or so, except for Megga, and it might not hurt for you to summarise what the Margaery of 307 is looking for in a woman.” Elinor interjected, not pausing to acknowledge Megga’s indignant splutter.

Margaery looked around the table to see all eyes were on her, seemingly eager to hear her answer. “Well, I don’t know? I’ve not really thought about it in any particular depth.”

“That’s why it’s good to talk it out.” Alysanne started. “You can get it clear in your own head.” She encouraged.

“I…uh…” Margaery stuttered, at rare loss for words.

“Let’s start small.” Megga jumped in. “Tall or Short?”

Margaery took a moment to think about it. “Tall.”

“Fair or Dark?” Said Elinor.

“Complexion or Hair?”

“Both.”

“Fair.”

“For which?”

“Both.”

“Then why did you…?” Elinor began to snap at her cousins teasing.

“Long hair or Short?” Alla interrupted.

“Long.” Margaery answered, leaning back into her chair, getting into the Q&A now. “I like having something to run my hands through… and hold onto.” Margaery expanded.

Alla and Alysanne tittered nervously while Merry and Megga nodded in appreciative agreement.

“Good Girl or Bad Girl?” Alyce jumped in, stroking her stomach idly.

Here Margaery paused, thinking about it. She knew how she would have answered a few years ago, but now? “Good girl.” Margaery answered slowly, testing how it falls of her tongue. The table threw a surprised eyebrow up at that.

“Really now?” Megga asked.

“Not 100% angel or anything. She’d have to have a dark streak too and be open to a little corruption by myself.” Margaery volleyed.

“Can I just interrupt briefly to throw in how relieved I am that this pro forma is the exact opposite of Arianne.” Elinor threw in, getting a round of ‘here here’s’ from the other ladies.

‘Oh, Arianne’ Margaery thought wistfully, thinking of her first love when she was just the ripe age of 17. Arianne Martell was everything that Margaery wanted at that age; older, dangerous, mysterious and from a family that would piss off hers. She rather fancied them as star-crossed lovers, like ‘Juliette & Juliette’ but looking back on it now, Margaery can acknowledge that they had little in common and without anything else to bind them together, passion alone made their romance fizzle out twice as fast. It wasn’t a particularly healthy relationship besides.

“Big or Small?” Alysanne asked while writing in her scrapbook. ‘Is she taking notes?’ Margaery thought. ‘Such a sweetheart.’

“I don’t really mind either. I’ve found ladies of all builds bring something to the table that I like.” Margaery replied, raising her glass towards her cousins who sat on the opposite ends of the continuum from willowy Elinor to the voluptuous Megga. They responded by raising their own glasses, Megga throwing in a saucy wink for good measure.

“Tits or Arse?” Merry jumped in excitedly.

“Oh, arse, all the way.” ‘Nice to know not everything’s changed!’ Margaery thinks to herself.

“Nice to know not everything’s changed!” Elinor piped in a half second later with a dry laugh. ‘Fucker!’

“Tatoo’s? Piercings?” Asked Alla.

Margaery scrunched up her face considering. “Neither is vital. If they had a tattoo, it couldn’t be shit. I’m an artist now you know!” Margaery threw her nose in the air and did her most pretentious voice on the last line. “Piercings? Again, not vital, but fuck me, belly button piercings are hot!”

“Oh really?” Merry asked with a sly look, nonchalantly lifting her shirt just enough that the silver and amethyst in her naval could be seen.

“Down girl. As much as I love you and am flattered by your constant advances, you are like my sister. That would be weird.” She concluded.

“We’d have to start calling you Jamie.” Elinor tossed in. Everyone threw Elinor a ‘I can’t believe you just said that' look while laughing into their napkins or casting furtive glances around the bar to see if anyone had heard the jape of that unseemly rumour.

“And would you like her to have a tongue piercing to match your own?” Megga asked with a wolfish grin.

“Nah, that’s fine.” Margaery answered, presenting said piercing and rolling her tongue suggestively. “I’ve got my own playbook for this thing; I don’t want any copyright infringement.” Alysanne buried her nose so far in the scrapbook to hide her blush that she went cock-eyed trying to read her notes.

“Any other extra’s you’d like to throw in as a bonus before Alysanne gets this list laminated?” Alyce asked, sending an indulging look across the table at the younger girl.

“Hmmmmm.” Margaery considered this, bringing her palms together and resting them on her lips. “Bonus points for glasses. Like, authentic, nerd-chique. It’s so in right now! I love the thought of a naughty teacher or librarian putting me over their knee for being too loud!” Margaery shared with a coy smile.

Poor Alysanne was now fanning herself with the scrapbook in an attempt to make the colour recede from her cheeks while the other’s laughed good naturedly at her embarrassment.

“So does that about some up your dream girl then?” Megga asked.

“Yes, I do believe so.” Margaery replied with a faux-serious nod of the head.

Elinor grabbed the scrapbook from Alysanne, trading her for a glass of ice to press to her overheated cheeks. “So we have,” Elinor prepared to summarise, “a tall, fair haired and skinned maiden, with flowing locks, an undisclosed build, a voluptuous rump, navel piercing and glasses with a fondness for giving out spankings. Have I missed anything?”

“Heart of gold with a dark streak.” Alyce supplied.

“Ah yes.” Elinor conceded, stealing Alysanne’s pen to scribble the addition.

“Hello ladies.” A voice called from behind Margaery. Margaery turned at Sansa’s voice which she recognised instantly, a teasing retort about her unacceptable tardiness bubbling on her tongue which died a slow death in her mouth when she saw her.

All 5”11 of Sansa was gracefully weaving her way between the tables, her long auburn hair, normally tied up in some way, flowing freely over her shoulders. The black skirt she wore was billowing around her long, pale thighs with every step she took. Sansa idly brought a hand up to tug at the collar of her white shirt and baby blue cardigan, which along with the slight flush in her normally pale cheeks, suggested she was a little flustered from her delay. As she got closer, she distractedly pushed her thick rimmed glasses back up to the bridge of her nose. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” Sansa said politely and sincerely, holding a hand to her chest, before looking down at Margaery. “They wouldn’t let me check the bus driver’s spiked head in with my coat.” She chuckled with a look at Margaery as if it to say, 'Can you believe that?'

Margaery just stared at her, unable to say anything, her mouth suddenly dry despite the copious amount of wine she’d been drinking. Sansa’s brow crinkled at her best friend’s lack of response, so cast a look around at the rest of the table to see similar bemused looks on all of the faces.

“What?” Sansa asked awkwardly, ringing her hands. “I feel like I’ve walked in on you while you were talking about me or something.” She adds with a nervous chuckle.

“I think we might have been.” Alla said seriously before Elinor surreptitiously kicked her under the table.

This snapped Margaery back into the moment. Thankfully, Sansa didn’t notice Alla’s jerk at the kick as her questioning eyes were now back on Margaery. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Margaery answered quickly, pulling out the chair to her left that she had saved for her. “Sit down.”

Sansa did so without further comment but was still wearing a wary look on her face.

“We were just talking about a girl we used to know from The Reach.” Alyce jumped in. “You looked so much like her, for a moment we were taken aback. Weren’t we girls?”

‘She lies as smoothly as sandpaper on gravel.’ Margaery lamented but was grateful for the attempt all the same.

Sansa still didn’t look convinced but seemed to be letting it go at the lack of any logical alternative.

“Yes.” Margaery answered. “As Sansa doesn’t know who we’re talking about though, it seems rude to carry on with the conversation, so, we’ll just finish it another time. That was pretty much it anyway.” Margaery said looking at Sansa with an encouraging look.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Merry said casually. “I thought there were still a couple of points we’d left untouched.” She smirked, the essence of faux innocence spread all over her smug face.

Margaery threw a glare to her right. “No, no, Merry. That. Would. Be. Rude.” She intoned clearly.

“I don’t mind.” Sweet Sansa put in, oh so oblivious. “I don’t want to interrupt the conversation.”

“No, no. We were done.” Margaery said desperately now, looking around the table for help, seeing only lips being bitten to hide laughter and no one meeting her eye. “Promise. So finally made it then!” She pushed frantically and repeatedly patting Sansa’s hand on the table in a way that was by no means encouraging or relaxing.

“Uh…Yeah.” Sansa answered with a tilt of the head, suspicion back in her eyes now. “Rush hour, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Margaery nodded excessively.

“I love your glasses Sansa. I’ve never seen you wear them before. Are they new?” Elinor asked innocently, avoiding her cousin’s death glare that promised swift retribution.

“Aww, thanks Elinor.” Sansa answered, distracted by what she now deemed to be ‘normal’ conversation, absently pushing them further up her nose again. “No, they’re not new. I’ve had them for ages, I just don’t wear them out that often.”

Margaery couldn't help but jump in with a tone far more accusatory than she’d intended, “Why are you wearing them now then?”

“One of my contacts fell into the sink at work and I didn’t have any of my solution with me.” Sansa answered, starting to look somewhat miffed with Margaery now. “What’s the big deal? You’ve seen me wear these a million times in the flat.”

“But you’re normally not wearing those types of clothes when you’re in the flat.” Margaery couldn't help but answer back dejectedly, knowing she should just shut her mouth now.

Sansa looked completely flummoxed now, actually shaking her head as if doing a reality check.

“Oh, don’t mind Margaery, Sansa. She’s had a little too much to drink. She’s out of shape, trying to match us drink-for-drink now, after so long away from The Reach.” Merry supplied, draping an arm of Margaery’s shoulder and squeezing it in apology.

Sansa looked at Margaery somewhat disbelievingly; she had seen Margaery finish a bottle of wine to herself a week prior without as much as a flush rising in her cheeks. “Yeah, I’m sorry Sans. I guess the wine is just…making me talk in circles a bit. I’m sorry.” Margaery’s arm twitched as it started to rise automatically to brush Sansa hair back behind her ear but jerked to a halt, stopping herself, suddenly and annoyingly self-conscious with her friends sat there, clearly judging her every move.

There was a long pause where Sansa’s Tully blue eyes studied Margaery’s face intently before she finally relented. “Okay.” Sansa then slowly turned to the rest of the table and began to ask Alyce about the baby before moving onto Elinor’s wedding preparations.

‘I’m going to kill them all.’ Margaery thought calmly to herself.

Sansa then stood up. “After the day I’ve had, I need a drink! I’m going to get a pear brandy. Do you want anything?” Sansa asked, laying her hand on Margaery’s shoulder, apparently having forgiven her already.

“No. Water for me I think’s best.” Margaery answered, feeling free to let her face go a bit green like it wanted to.

“Anyone else?” Sansa offered to the table.

“Could you please get me another mango juice, Sansa?” Alyce asked, showing her empty glass for emphasis.

“Of course.” Sansa answered, idly undoing the top button on her shirt before taking her cardigan off. Margaery could not believe how much the gods were mocking her today because when Sansa was taking her cardigan off, the material caught slightly, lifting her shirt to give a momentary show of a sliver of pale belly, including…a silver wolfs head, hanging from Sansa’s navel. And worse still, Margaery knew without even looking up, that everyone else saw it too. They all watched as Sansa walked towards the bar, clearly forgetting that the waiters came to you here, so she did not see the Tyrell cousins biting their upper lips in identical attempts of stifling their smirks or Alyce, hunching her shoulders and biting her index finger in an attempt to keep her laughter in. Just to make it that much worse, Sansa’s arse, of course, looks phenomenal in that skirt as she weaved her way to the bar, evidenced by Merry staring a little too long after her as she went.

Margaery knew Sansa wouldn’t even be away from the table for a minute getting the drinks so went in hard. “Not another fucking word! I swear to the seven, I will go all ‘Bolton Bastard’ and flay each and every one of you!” Margaery threatened low and deep.

“Oh come on!” Megga let out, unable to keep it in anymore.

“This is bloody hilarious and you would not let the opportunity go by if the situation were reversed.” Elinor argued. “Besides, you can’t honestly say you didn’t know you were describing her? You live together. You know she has a piercing and glasses and a nice arse.”

“And fair hair and complexion.” Alla chimed in.

“And tall. I never realised how tall she was before, did you?” Alyce added, looking around at the others questioningly.

“First off,” Margaery spat, pointing a finger at her cousin, “9 times out of 10, if she’s wearing those glasses in the flat, she’s also in pyjamas which doesn’t quite match up with the Naughty Librarian image I had in my head. Secondly, it’s easy to forget she has that piercing. She doesn’t saunter around the flat showing off her midriff. I only ever see her like that if we’re in bikini’s at Blackwater Bay or something.” ‘…Don’t think about Sansa in a bikini right now!’ “I joke with her about having a nice arse all the time, it doesn’t even register to me as an arse anymore.” ‘Oh, that’s what we’re doing now are we, Margaery? Lying.’ “And tall girls, fair girls, there are thousands of them walking around the Crownlands.” Margaery finished with a blasé flick of the wrist.

“But you don’t live with any of them, do you?” Megga retorted.

Elinor looked so thoroughly unconvinced, as did the others, that Margaery was about to push herself up to stand and yell at them some more when Merry piped up, pushing on Margaery’s shoulder to keep her seated, apparently feeling guilty for the level of her earlier teasing. “Ladies, ladies. Perhaps we had best just call this one a draw and leave it at that.”

“Yes.” Gentle Alysanne jumped in. “We’ve had our fun.”

Elinor looked up to see Sansa balancing three drinks in her hands while making her way back towards them. “Fine. I won’t bring it up again.”

Nothing else can be said as Sansa was now standing back at the table, handing out drinks to their respective owners.

“So Sansa.” Alla jumped in first and Margaery was grateful, knowing that she would do her best to steer them away from all this…awkwardness. “Traffic must have been bad today to keep you this long.”

Sansa took a sip of her pear brandy and Margery tried her best not to stare as she licked her lips or to question why she suddenly found the action from her flatmate so fascinating. “Well, to be honest, it wasn’t just the traffic. My usual bus here was cancelled so I had to figure out another way and I stayed a bit later at school because one of the children’s parents was running late collecting him after work.”

Alla nodded stiffly and Margaery knew that Alla, completely un-maliciously, always repeated facts that took her off guard. “Oh, right. I forgot you were in your practical year as a teacher now.” Sansa nodded enthusiastically with a big smile on her face, oblivious to the fact that Megga wasn’t actually sneezing into that tissue and that Alyce looked like she was having a seizure from trying to keep her face neutral.

‘Don’t, don’t, don’t.’ Margaery pleaded in her head.

“So tell me Sansa,” Elinor started, without an ounce of remorse on her face or in her voice, “if any of the children misbehave, do you, you know, take them over your knee and give them a little smack?”

‘I won’t have the patience to flay. A quick beheading will do.’

Sansa looked slightly horrified. “Ummm…no. That’s a bit…outdated. We don’t do that anymore.”

“What a shame!”

“Too bad, too bad!”

“Not even a little?”

“What about no ruler? Just palm?”

“How tall are you Sansa?”

‘I hate my friends.’ Margaery thought pitifully.