A coyish grin smeared across ruddy cheeks as Jon slungshot earth-toned eyes in Loras’ direction. Dramatically flamboyant as all get out, he was but an ankle cross and delicately fingered bright pink sipping straw away from the batting eyelash kingdom of flirtation Princess Tyrell ruled over with shrewd, Z-snapping affluence. Done up to the nines and putting them all to shame, including the very man with bountiful wallet able to fund such expenses. His flawless exposé of powder-white skin and striking red lipstick covering a full spectrum of colour dulling the very decor of themed bar.
Jon snorted. “Fuck no.”
It’d been worth the risks though. Nocturnal adventures with baby sister - not so much a baby these days as a young woman with sprite mentality - consisting of pubs and clubs and a warm summer night loitering along the riverbank with nothing so pressing or important beyond simply enjoying the other’s company. They’d talked some, Arya more than Jon, late night walkabout taking the pair from Blackfriars to Tower Bridge along the pier where party boats and fancy dinner yachts were moored, awaiting tomorrow’s fresh batch of tourists. Arya had wanted to nick one. Half convinced Jon to hop waist-height dock gates and play at stowaway or pirates on the high seas, drifting up and down the Thames while it slept. Peaceful, for lack of wind or changing tides.
Instead, Jon had shown her exactly what happened to a ship’s stowaway upon discovery. An innocent hip-bump and an “Oops...” all it took to pay Arya back for all the times she’d crept up behind and tackled him into the Stark family pool.
“Father deemed it preferable to theft. I think his hands were a bit tied. Grounding Arya would involve explaining to his lady wife why he allowed her to go galavanting about London with a poof.”
Family politics aside, the evening was now a memory Jon would cherish forever. Well worth the quick turnaround - California to London and back - even separation from Robb, with whom he now entwined drink-moist fingers.