#imagine doing physiotherapy in a blouse

[alongtidesoflight]

.

[sinister-official]

EARLY DAYS

WORD COUNT:  1.3k // SUMMARY: In which Olivia wakes up. // ERA: Predebut

Olivia thought.

In her current situation, it was all she could do. Oh, she could speak, and swallow, and swivel her eyes about behind her bandages to no end, but her arms and legs were limp and lifeless, as weak as an infant's. When she’d first became aware of her situation, there hadn’t been any feeling at all in them, and panic had flared in her chest, hot and stifling, before she’d realized that she wasn’t actually paralyzed.

Her actuators, though, were infallible. They were made of metal, unlike her weak, fleshy limbs, and they could keep moving when her legs gave out underneath her, or when her arms grew too sore to lift. She could see through them, through the cameras mounted on their ends, and through them she could see that she was in a hospital, with a man - Japanese? - watching over her. His pulse had spiked. He's scared.

Her actuators crept over the floor towards her, sliding into her bed, handling her bandaged form with care. They manoeuvred by touch, nosing up her back, until they uncovered a knot of scar tissue at the base of her neck. They left it untouched.

When the microwires re-interfaced with her spine, it felt like coming home.

Who needs weak, badly-designed eyeballs when you could have high-definition, high-quality cameras?

"Mirror," Olivia rasped, and the Japanese man pointed to her right. Her actuators turned to look, and there was a door. Slowly, careful-as-you-please, the harness crackled over her stiff, sore hips, gliding over the gauze, and slotted into place, supporting her spine. The pressure was familiar, applied evenly from her hips all the way up to her ribs (since when could I feel my ribs?), and as her actuators lifted her out of bed and into the bathroom, she saw herself, suspended a foot above the ground, hanging limply from her actuators. She couldn't see a single square inch of skin that was uncovered, apart from around her mouth.

Let's change that.

One of her actuators unsheathed a blade (oh, it's dull; I'll have to replace it). The bandages had been applied deliberately and carefully, to apply pressure to her whole head, and as they fell away, Olivia realized just how constricted she'd been.

That realization, however, paled in comparison to her new face.

Wow.

She had cheekbones, now, and her eyes were larger. Her double chin had vanished, and the spray of acne that had been the blight of her high school years (among other things) seemed to have been wiped from existence. She was bald, though, and her eyes -

"Fuck," Olivia hissed, and squeezed them shut.

"Your eyes haven't been exposed to light in months," a woman said, dryly, from behind her, and one of her actuators spun around. "Take it slow."

"And who are you?"

"Call me Natsuko," said the woman, who seemed to be as old as Olivia herself. "It’s nice to meet you in person, Ms Choi."

-----

The hospital in which she had been warded was located on the outskirts of a Japanese city, one of the smaller ones. They’d told her the name of the city, but Olivia hadn’t bothered to devote any effort to retaining it. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed as though she was the only patient there.

“We use it to house injured personnel,“ Natsuko told her, glancing up from her phone to answer her question, and Olivia nodded absently, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her unfamiliar nose.

Her eyes were still adjusting, as was the rest of her. The doctors said that it was good that she hadn’t tried to walk immediately upon waking up, because her legs wouldn’t have been able to support her weight. They were putting her through a physiotherapy programme in the desolate, hastily-retrofitted underground basement, and it was this programme that she was currently enduring, arms quivering as the treadmill beeped and the electrodes plastered to her scalp fizzled.

“I’m getting stir-crazy,“ she said, between abortive, heaving pants, and Natsuko nodded sympathetically.

“That’s understandable. Honestly, if you weren’t getting a little cooped-up, I’d have been worried.“ She leaned against one of the handrails. “I’ll talk to the doctors. We should be able to let you go out on a few… eh… night-time excursions.“

“Great.”

Natsuko shifted. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something else, actually,“ she began, carefully, and took Olivia’s grunt as permission to continue. “Now, as we understand, there’s a lot of people who are currently searching for you, yes?”

Olivia nodded. Her legs were sore, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be tired of how they pumped and glided beneath her. They’d made her so tall.

“Have you ever heard of the phrase hiding in plain sight?“

“What?“

“You see, there’s this little project of mine,“ Natsuko muttered, leaning in, and Olivia, intrigued, listened. “Imagine, if you will, being adored by millions. You’d be called upon to film commercials, or to model. You certainly have the looks for it, after all.“

Adoration.

It was a novel concept, to be sure. Olivia had never been adored before. There was a boy in high school who had asked her to meet him behind the bleachers, like in the movies, but that had just been the set-up to a particularly cruel prank. Apart from him…

“Blouses and skirts,“ Natsuko enthused. “Lipstick and mascara. There’d be a full complement of staff whose job it would be to make sure that your every need is met.“

Olivia had never been one for blouses and skirts. She’d always preferred hoodies and sweatpants, baggy clothes that concealed her pudgy figure and allowed her to fade into the background. Now, though…

“Think of it as… oh… making up for lost time.“

Olivia squinted. “What?“

Natsuko blinked. “What?“

“What's making up for lost time supposed to mean?“

“Just a turn of phrase.“

“Hmph,“ Olivia grunted. The treadmill was finally slowing down, after an interminable period of time, and she called her actuators to her as it ground to a halt. “And if I say no?“

“Well, according to the terms of our prior agreement, you’ll remain in our employ for a decade or so, producing technology to our specifications.”

Inwardly, Olivia winced. She’d been desperate, exhausted and shaken when she’d signed that contract, all those months ago. (How long has it been? A year? More?) They’d placed it in front of her, and she’d signed it without a second thought. “A decade?“ she repeated, numbly.

“A decade,“ Natsuko confirmed, and as her actuators tramped past the shorter woman, Olivia wondered if it would be wiser to flee in the night and try to make it to China on her own. She discarded the idea almost immediately, of course. “Perhaps more. I’d have to check, of course.“

“Can’t I renegotiate?“ Olivia tried, attempting to hide the sinking feeling in her stomach.

“No.” Natsuko looked as though she might smile, just to rub it in, but her expression didn’t change. As Olivia’s harness tightened over her waist and lifted her off the treadmill, her head tilted upwards to continue looking at her. “Besides, we’ve already delivered on our end of the bargain. We’ve shielded you from your pursuers for the past few months, and we’ve made you unrecognizable. We’ll continue to protect you from them for as long as the contract stipulates.“

Which is more than a decade. What if they come and get me after my time is up?

I deserve it.

Olivia inhaled.

No, I don’t.

“And I suppose that if I go along with this enterprise, you’ll reduce my…” Olivia searched for the phrase, “… term of service?“

“We’ll reduce it to five years, but we’ll keep in touch with you for as long as we need to. Just to make sure that you haven’t been brought in or captured, of course.“

That makes it easier to decide.

“I’ll think about it,” Olivia said.

“Please do,“ Natsuko answered, smiling thinly, and left.

[kittensjonsa]

Alayne

For @jonxsansafanfiction Valentine’s Day Feb 4: Confessions

This is an emotional piece, so do note for emotional triggers e.g family deaths, stalking, bad life choices etc and some strong language. I’m not sure if I got the trope right but oh well.. This might be painful to read because it’s a little emotionally messed up or painful to read coz it’s just crap.. Anyway thanks for reading! xx ******************

Sansa smoothed the satin skirt she had worn specially for tonight. It was a deep red, a colour Sansa thought always brought out her vixen side and paired it with her organza blouse and snakeskin heels. Perfect, she thought. A few sips of Pinot calmed her nerves, even after two years yet whenever the text or call came, she felt her stomach do somersaults.

She had been fortunate enough to have had mostly gentlemen during those years and most of them just enjoyed an evening of companionship and nothing more. Some of them were her regulars, they went to the same restaurant, sit at the same bar and usually would order the same drinks and chat about the same things. It was almost routine, Sansa had her diary planned out for them. Sometimes she would have someone new for the night. And those nights, were the toughest on Sansa. Sansa didn’t know who to feel more sorry for, these men who were starved for attention or herself, enabling them.

But at least she didn’t need to worry about student loans anymore. It was just Bran’s medical bills and groceries she had to worry about. They hadn’t always gotten along, but it was to Sansa’s great relief when Arya’s scholarship came at the most needed time. Being the sole breadwinner of the family was a tough role she had to play for quite some time now. The guilt that plagued her in the beginning slowly gave way to expensive physiotherapy sessions and costly school textbooks. She wasn’t proud of the choice she made but it was a choice nevertheless, that helped her tragedy stricken family carry on with their lives. Or whatever that was left of it. A sacrifice she was willing to pay for if it meant keeping her family together, all three of them.

Sansa smiled graciously as she was greeted by the door man. The W was always her regular meeting place for first timers. She liked the bar which had a terrace that overlooked the city. And she had made friends with the bartender who was a kind and fatherly type that reminded her of her own.

Sansa looked at the text on her phone again to check the time.

“Well, if isn’t my favourite lady,” a familiar voice greeted her as she approached the bar.

“Hi George. How are you? Any of that Malbec you have from the other night?” Sansa beamed at the stout bearded man. She had learned so much about wines, choosing and tasting countless bottles, from George whom Sansa was convinced secretly owned the hotel bar he worked in.

“Oh yes, it was a good one eh? Coming right up. Just you tonight?”

“Oh no, I’m on a date. So I’m hoping he’ll turn up. If not it’ll just be me and that fantastic vintage right here.”

Sansa had been to the hotel bar with friends, dates, clients and sometimes by herself on many occasions. It was the one place where she could hide behind the facade of a typical young female living her carefree perfect little life. Little did they know.

“Ah, lucky guy.”

Sansa sipped from her glass and glanced at the phone. It was five minutes past eight. He was late.

As Sansa watched George chat with the other patrons seated at the bar, she noticed a dark suit at the corner of her eye walking towards her direction. Sansa discreetly turned, wondering if it was him. A lanky blonde haired man was indeed walking towards her and he looked quite handsome. Young but very handsome. Sansa gave him a small smile.

“Hi excuse me, Miss? Alayne?”

“Yes, I am. You must be Cal.”

Sansa put on her best posture and most confident smile. His toothy grin smiled back. Very handsome, she thought gratefully.

“Well, apologies Miss but no I’m not. I’m Alex from the concierge. I was asked to give you this. From Mr Cal.”

Sansa took the small white envelope written with the name Alayne on it. She smiled as he wished her a good evening. Sansa opened the envelope and read the note that was inside of it.

‘Dear Miss Alayne, I didn’t want to waste one second of our time together since it is our first meeting. I hope you wouldn’t mind that I’ve arranged for our meeting to be in our room instead. The key card is enclosed and I hope to see you soon. Yours, C. Penthouse Suite 5115

Sansa looked at the key card. She held it tightly in her hand, knowing that this was going to be one of those tough nights again. Sansa read the note again. It was handwritten legibly but something stood out to her. It seemed familiar, as if she had seen this writing before. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it yet and she hoped to God it wasn’t one of her professors. Nonetheless, the rules were, meet and greet first. If there were any red flags, any danger, there was a number on speed and voice dial she would call. Sansa steeled herself and took a deep breath. She sipped the remaining of her wine and waited for George to settle her bill.

“Is he coming?” Sansa almost giggled at the choice of words. Sansa shook her head.

“No he just texted me that he’ll meet me somewhere else so yeah, calling it a night then.” George shook his head in disapproval.

“He’s an idiot. Stay safe and have a good one.”

“I will and you too George.”

Sansa waved her goodbye and stepped out of the bar. Lying was becoming second nature to her, it was almost effortless. It seemed that the mundane worked with most people. The dullest of reasons to ensure the matter won’t ever be spoken of again. Too boring to bring up. Sansa sighed as she pressed the lift button. She tapped the key card on the reader as she entered it and noticed the penthouse suites were on the 50th floor. She had never graced the hotel hallways of the W hotel. Her clients usually had their own preferred sanctuary. The bar was hers.

The lift opened to a spacious private lobby. Sansa knocked lightly. It was polite to do so. She took another deep breath as she slid in the card and opened the door.

Sansa’s jaw went slack as she stepped in and saw what was the most exquisite view of the city. The room had its own private terrace and the fireplace was lit. Sansa looked around and noticed that she was alone. Perhaps he wanted her to get ready for him. Sansa’s eyes found on a small envelope on the table. Another note, she thought.

'Dear Alayne,

I hope the room is to your liking, I wanted to make sure that everything is perfect for our first night together. If you step into the bedroom, there will be everything you need to make yourself comfortable and I do want you to be as comfortable as possible. Will see you soon.

Yours, C.

Sansa walked to the bedroom and fell in love with its elegant and stunning decor. He’s a big spender, she thought. The bed was a jumbo king sized one and laying on it was a silk robe. Sansa’s hand caressed the silk robe, it was fine and just the colour she would have picked. Sansa picked it up and noticed a lace chemise peeking out from underneath.

He adores the female body, another thought drifted in as Sansa held the chemise against her body. If he was coming up soon, she had better ready herself for him. That was the request. That he wanted her to wear something of his choice as he requested. Sansa stepped into the bathroom which was just as big as the bedroom.

The marble tub was large enough to accommodate a couple and Sansa wondered if the evening would end up in a naughty bubble bath. Sansa took off her clothes and put on the silk chemise and robe. She left her silk stockings and garter belt on as well as her heels. They usually like it on anyway, she mused. Sansa tied up her hair in a ponytail she thought would look great with what she was asked to wear. She knew from experience that neck kisses were one way to avert French ones. Sansa stepped out of the bathroom and draped her own clothes on the armchair. She might as well enjoy it, when would she ever have the chance to lay in a bed of a $3000 a night penthouse suite.

Sansa was good at making the best out of things. It was the only way she could ever keep her sanity. Sansa wandered around the large room and came across another envelope on the nightstand. This time, it was just cold hard cash. No handwritten note. Sansa counted the bills, there was an extra thousand in it. That usually counted as a tip but tips usually meant something more. Sansa shut her eyes and tried to calm her nerves. She liked surprises but in this job, surprises weren’t usually welcomed. Sansa placed the envelope in her clutch and decided she would have another drink.

The whiskey felt like fire down her throat but it would be a good anaesthetic to what she had to face in a few moments. Sansa stood against the open glass doors and looked out at the view. She tried to imagine herself waiting for a husband to come home. She would greet him in her sexy nightie, in her slut heels, hand him a drink and gently massage his shoulders as he sits on the plush sofa, kissing away the pain tenderly and lovingly. That was what a wife would do, wouldn’t it? Or the kind most men hoped to have.

Sansa eyes fluttered open as she heard a click behind her. The door was shut by someone entering. Her client was here. Sansa didn’t quite want to turn to face him yet. She wasn’t really ready for him. In fact she could never be ready when she had evenings like these.

She breathed in deeply in order to stop her pulse from racing. And sweat would stain the lovely silk that adorned her body. Sansa pursed her lips and prepared to put on her sexiest smile to greet her husband for the night.

“So it’s true. It IS you.” Sansa’s eyes widened in horror as she heard a familiar raspy voice greeting from behind her.

“I didn’t want to believe it when I heard about you.. I wanted to see it for myself. Sansa… This is.. Sansa look at me,” the voice carried on and demanded. The tinge of disappointment was apparent. Sansa’s heart raced as she slowly turned around. His dark eyes and dark curls were unmistakable.

“Jon? Why..”

“I heard things Sansa. I beat up the mouths of those who said those things. But I can’t believe it… I can’t believe it’s really you.” Sansa pulled at her robe to cover her shame and anger. He had the audacity. He had the balls to tell it to her face about 'things’ he heard about her doing what she was doing. How dare he, judge her when he was the one paying for all this? Sansa felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks and stepped away when Jon inched closer.

“No! Fuck you Jon! Why the fuck are you here? Don’t you fucking dare step any closer! What you couldn’t look up Facebook or the bloody telephone book for that? You had to do this? And see me like this? Where were you when we needed you? When Robb died, when everybody fucking died! You think I enjoy doing this? You fucker, one more step and I’m calling the police!”

Sansa’s rage was unleashed, years of grief and trouble, years of trying to stay strong when left alone to deal with Robb’s death shortly after Mother’s. Jon was gone, no word since he left for college. Jon stopped and stood where he was. His eyes were still on her, albeit softer this time. There was unresolved guilt in them. She knew how that looked like. She faced it everyday in the mirror.

Sansa felt her legs go from under her and swayed over to the couch. Shame, guilt, embarrassment, anger and hate were in the huge mixed bag of emotions that was all stirred up in her. Sansa felt like she wanted to scream.

“Sansa.. Please. I’m sorry for all this, the call and all of that, but I tried, honest to God I did! I couldn’t find Arya on Facebook, or Rickon or Bran or you even! I went to the old house but you guys aren’t living there anymore. Sansa I did, I looked for all of you. I wanted to find you.”

Sansa turned to glare at him with her teary eyes. She didn’t care if her make up was ruined or even if her mascara ran.

“Rickon’s dead.”

Sansa saw Jon eyes stare back at her in disbelief and hung his head down. He started to cry. Good, Sansa thought, I’ve cried for so long, Jon.

“I’m sorry Sansa..”

“Sorry you weren’t around or sorry you just got the news?” Sansa didn’t hold back. Jon had asked for it.

“Arya’s in college now and Bran.. Well Bran is alive. He’s still paralysed from the waist down but he’s alive. In case you needed an update.” Sansa calmed herself down and stood up. She felt strong enough to get dressed and leave when a firm arm grip stopped her.

“Sansa, please don’t. This was just wrong, I know it, Please don’t go. I’m an ass, I know that. Just please don’t go. I’m so alone, I need you here right now, please,” Jon pleaded through his tears and quaking voice. He let go of her arm. Sansa had never seen her cousin cry before. She wished for Jon to come back to the Stark family after Robb had passed. Jon and Robb were as close as brothers. How different it would be if Jon was there for her and Arya and Bran, or even Rickon. But it all changed after her father’s death. And Sansa never knew what she was in for since then. Alone was a feeling that kept her up at night. Every night since.

“Why did you call? Who told you about this? I never used my real name so how did you know about this?”

Jon kept silent. He didn’t want to tell the whole actual truth. Though he had smashed the face of one Meryn Trant, an associate of the Lannisters, who boasted of his disdain for red heads and who thought he came across an escort at a 'gentleman’s club’ event that looked just like his cousin Sansa. Joffrey Lannister with his big mouth and his even bigger ego, fragile as it was, had a talent in shaming his exes. It took Jon a while to track down Joffrey and the trail led him to the one name, he knew, that could only associate Sansa with. Alayne. When he asked a few dozen agencies for a date with a 5 foot 9 leggy, blue eyed red haired lass named Alayne, he thought he was going insane. Sansa wouldn’t be doing this. She was a lady in every way, raised well as one, Jon couldn’t imagine, even the darker side of him, Sansa as an escort.

Up until he stumbled upon one that matched his description perfectly. As skeptical as he was, Jon knew he had to try. Part of him didn’t want to but part of him wouldn’t forgive himself for not trying to track down the only family he had. He had wished and hoped it wasn’t Sansa who walked through the door of the hotel. His heart broke the moment he watched from afar as Alex handed the envelope to her.

Jon had never cried so hard before as he sat back and bawled in his car. He couldn’t leave her there as much as he didn’t want to face the truth. What has his family become? There was only one person to blame and it was him. If only he had been there when Robb died. If only he wasn’t the coward who left not wanting to deal with his beloved Uncle Ned’s death. There were so many reasons for him to leave Sansa and the Stark family behind but yet there was only one reason that made him come up to the suite. Sansa.

“Alayne. I know that name.”

Sansa stared at him. Alayne was a name that only she knew. A name that as a girl she kept in her diary.

“It was the name of your favourite doll. That I broke when you were eight. It had red hair and blue eyes just like you. You said that if one day if you had a daughter, she would look just like Alayne.” Jon’s eyes slowly met with hers as he said it. It was true and Sansa couldn’t stand the sight of him since the incident.

“But how could you know that? I sure as hell didn’t tell you that when were kids, Jon,” Sansa shook her head at the memories flooding back to her. There were happy times in her childhood she thought would help her withstand the pain of loss but the pain was too great to bear. Trying to deal with real life helped get her back on track. She had to, there was only herself she could depend on.

“I know. I read it in your diary. I wanted to know why you hated me so much. And yeah, I’m sorry for that,” Jon confessed apologetically.

The evening was becoming exhausting and one that exposed raw nerves and reopened old wounds that never really healed properly. Sansa realised the more she sat and talk the more tired she would be. She felt a calm and peace now, perhaps from knowing that Jon was here with her, alive and well. But the shame was still there.

“No one can know about this, Jon. I have bills to pay and Bran to look after. This was the only thing that would do both. Nobody knows I do this.”

Jon held out his hand and waited for Sansa to reach out. Sansa sighed and held it in hers. Jon pulled her in for an embrace, one she didn’t think she would ever experience.

“I promise you, no one will. You have my word. You don’t have to this if you don’t want to. We’ll figure it out together. I just want you back, and Arya and Bran. I’ll look after you, I’ll help out I promise. Whenever you need me, for whatever, you’ll have me there right by your side. Sansa, I won’t ever leave you.” Jon promised her as he peppered her head with kisses, her fiery red hair smelling of lavender and lemon, a smell that made him warm and fuzzy inside.

Sansa sniffed to stifle a sob and nodded her head. She believed him. She wanted him with her. She wanted him back and around her. She was so tired of being strong. And sacrificing herself, her body, her soul, her dignity and her conscience.

Perhaps, she had to confess, that it was a long time coming, that she didn’t want to do this anymore.