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Not Theon Greyjoy, but a device made to mimic his sweet words. If you're soliciting goods, I've got no interest, unless you're a lady and they're yours by birth. If you're from Westeros you'll have better luck trying to send a raven. Bar the obvious exceptions. But this message is long enough — time for yours.

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[ "She". ]

Aren't you a member of the Night's Watch?

Edited (proper noun) 2012-07-02 17:48 (UTC)

I am.

[Even if there's not really a Night's Watch here...but that would be splitting hairs.]

Aren't you sworn not to have a woman to provide for?

She's not my woman.

Then why don't you let her dry her own seaweed.

She doesn't know how, or I'm sure she would.

[ Grins, slow and lazy, deliberately being a prick. ]

D'you want me to teach her.

[The effects of the Mist have passed. So the curl of Theon's lips, what they suggest without saying shouldn't bother him as much as it does.]

You're not speaking with her. You're speaking with me.

[So that would be a no.]

So you'd prefer she rely on you, is that how it is? And they call me an oathbreaker.

You needn't remind me of my vows, I already have someone to do that.

Is it as simple as lying it in the sun?

In this climate? It'd rot before it dried.

Then how? And how do you fish it out of the water?

With your hands. And you should clean it before you dry it. D'you want me to take you out in a fishing sloop and show you, Snow?

[On a boat, dredging up seaweed with his bare hands, with the snark and smirk of Theon Greyjoy...]

When?

Tomorrow morning?

Fine. I'll meet you near the docks.

[Or wherever else he tells him to be.]

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Voice / go to bed!!! i can set up a log if you'd like

Voice / okay yes. goodnight!