RP: The Lord and Lady Stark Who: Catelyn and Eddard Stark When:Backdated - 12 June 2013; following Ned’s lunch with Jon Snow. Where:Stark Manor, Laguna Beach, Ca. Status: Complete Word Count: 7,295
Grand home in Laguna Beach, California sat geographically center of a two acre plot overlooking Emerald Bay. Perched at tip of miniature peninsula with neighbors far to left and right meant Stark Manor was exposed to very little which defined Southern California living, major exception being inexplicable views overlooking Pacific Ocean visible from nearly all points of the property. The rest, however, noisy traffic, pollution thick as London fog, graffiti and neon lights, maxed out kit cars dealing drugs and riding barely half an inch from the ground all barred and kept on wrong side of thick, iron gates guarding the private community.
The sun, however, ignored all signs bearing Restricted Access warning, chuffed to melt and bake paradise cove in equal amounts of Vitamin-D and more harmful UV rays.
Catelyn Stark, a girl of New York quite accustomed to sweltering summers, however, found quiet pleasure in the afternoon heat. Coastal winds maintaining delightful breeze through white linen blouse helped to further that comfort as she knelt in denim capris over prized rosebeds. Highly trusted and well paid for their effort gardeners aside, the Lady Stark much prefered doing her own work from time to time, fully capable of rolling up pricey, custom stitched sleeves and getting her hands dirty. Pet project shrubs and exotic plants always fell under her watchful gaze, leaving the more common lavender and citrus trees to the hired help.
Today, Cat pruned back several bushes, selecting an array of early yellow buds to decorate her eldest’s bedroom. Darling Sansa was returning soon from college for the summer holidays, a sorely missed presence in eight-bedroom estate now that four nestlings had become three. They were all growing up far too quickly for Cat’s liking. Infants to tots to argumentative teenagers, she’d have kept them all suckling babes if given the choice, never to bloom or fade, tiny buds preserved for all time.
It was there, in the lower front garden that the sound of crunching gravel broke through Catelyn’s mental wanderings as the family cruiser rolled up the drive bearing her husband. Deciding she’d spent quite enough time outside without sunscreen, his approach set a natural close to garden activity and with a florists’ bunch wrapped neatly in a bright blue handkerchief, Lady Stark rose from her knees to walk back towards the house.