Work Text:
“I’m not wearing that Marg!” Sansa cringed at the tiny scarp of cheap polyester. The sequins glittered under the fluorescent lighting of the huge warehouse that had been converted into a makeshift costume store just in time for Halloween and the following festive season. The two girls had spotted a flyer announcing one of the university dive bars was hosting a Halloween bash as they were leaving their international relations class and had brainstormed costume ideas all the way to and during lunch. Mermaid had been the top of the list and Sansa had loved the idea as soon as Margaery suggested it. The Little Mermaid was her favourite story as a child and there was no way she would let the option to dress up as her favourite heroine go to waste. At least, that was before she saw what the costume actually looked like.
When Margaery had first suggested she dress as a mermaid, Sansa had imagined her long red hair flowing down her back with glitter, beads and shells strewn through it, her arms and shoulders shimmering with glitter under flashing lights. Basically as much glitter as she could get her hands on. It was like all her girlish fantasies come true; she would look like a majestic sea goddess, a handsome prince would sweep her off her feet and they would love happily ever after. Sansa hadn’t really taken the time to think through the practicalities of the costume; namely that sheer lack of it.
In October.
In Scotland.
At night.
Gods above she was going to freeze her tits off.
No amount of alcohol was going to warm her up if she wore that and she said just as much to the other girl.
“Of course not! That’s what guys are for and you’re going to be reeling them in in this get up – ha! Get it? Reeling them in…” the older girl snorted at her own pun and continued to shake the sequined monstrosity in Sansa’s face. With a huff, Sansa snatched the mermaid costume out of her best friends hand and looked around for the fitting rooms. She managed to locate them on the opposite side of the store and reluctantly made her way towards them.
Along the way she saw two guys down the accessories aisle that seemed to be arguing. Thankful she was not the only one being talked into a costume by a well-meaning companion, she walked a little closer to them to hear the disagreement until the shorter of the two started waving a rubber sword in the curly-haired one’s face in an effort to persuade him into a costume. Not wanting to be smacked in the face by a fake sword (she’d had enough of that growing up with Arya, thank you very much!) she veered down another aisle and marched into a spare fitting room.
Sansa stood in front of the mirror scrutinising the costume in all its sequined glory. She had to admit that it was not as bad as she thought it would be. Sure, the shells barely covered anything and if she was to move too quickly or stretched her arms too high she may give someone a bit of a free show but the purple sequins actually complemented her pale skin and the blue of her eyes. The skirt, as constricting as it was, even managed to make her long legs look even longer. She felt too exposed though. It wasn’t the lack of fabric; it was what the lack of fabric allowed everyone to see. Up until a few months ago she would have jumped at the chance to wear something that made her feel so beautiful but she knew if she turned around to check out whether her bum looked good, all of the positive feelings she was getting from this costume would disappear. The scars would chase them away. This wasn’t the costume for her, not anymore. Sansa had mostly come to terms with her scars and the circumstances that led to them but she wanted to be able to go out on Halloween and just enjoy herself, not having strangers stare at her scars and look at her with pity.
“Sansa, love, you almost done? Come out so I can see.” Margaery’s voice startled Sansa out of her melancholy reverie. She looked at herself in the mirror one last time, heaved a sigh and braced herself, and opened the curtain. Immediately, Margaery started raving about the costume but another curtain opening across the dressing room distracted Sansa.
There, decked out in full pirate costume – including leather pants – was the curly haired guy with the sword. His friend seemed to be just as enthusiastic about the costume as Margaery had been with Sansa’s, however pirate guy looked like he would rather be any where else on Earth than in that warehouse.
“Jon this is perfect! You look great!”
“Are you kidding Sam? I look bloody ridiculous, is what I look!” He glared down at the pants as if they had personally offended him and Sansa’s eyes followed. It was a bloody good view too, one she wouldn’t mind looking at for a little longer either. She shook her head and tried to get her mind out of the gutter, trying to pay attention to what the curly haired guy – Jon – was saying, “ – I’m not even if I can get these pants of by myself.”
“I could help you with tha – oh bugger!” Sansa slapped her hands over her mouth in mortification. All she wished for in that moment was for the ground to swallow her whole. Margaery, the traitor, just sat there cackling.
Jon gaped at her, then his eyes softened and a small smirk appeared on his lips, “Well we do match, I suppose, but I usually ask a girl for her name before she takes my pants off.”