Drunk Texts
"Well," Jon said finally, “we knew that Tyrion and Shae’s honeymoon would be interesting."
Sansa snickered, remembering Garlan mentioning the Iron Man condoms he’d snuck in their luggage. “As interesting as the wedding, though?" Nothing, she decided, would be as funny as Tywin Lannister being frogmarched out of his son’s wedding. By Mr Martell and her father. (She was mostly certain that Mr. Martell had only attended to get that chance. Well, that and making sure that Willas didn’t get kidnapped by the Queen of Elfland. Again.)
"They aren’t on the news," Jaime, who was taking stock of the alcohol, muttered. Rhaenys, his cobartender, was hauling things up from the basement, which made no sense to anyone except those who knew she had excellent night-sight. She cackled, the noise coming up from the trapdoor.
"Yet," Brienne the bouncer added as she walked in. Tyrion, pointing out that having male bouncers in the same place as a male strip club was probably a recipe for disaster, had borrowed Brienne from Sansa’s mum after she’d retired from Mayoring. He’d also hired Ygritte and Val, who gleefully enjoyed tormenting Jon.
Sometimes Sansa wondered how Tyrion’s mad plan, concocted when he was drunk and Jaime depressed, was still running a year later. But then again, Westeros was a weird town.
"I live in hope, wench," Jaime called back.
"Just drunk texts so far," Jon said. He looked at Jaime’s phone again. “They wouldn’t really…"
"There haven’t been any calls for bail," Sansa said. Somehow she’d gotten stuck dealing with that job after the last incident. Which she had refused, though she noticed Lannisters had an endless capacity for self-delusion.
"Oh, our sweet Disney Princess," Rhaenys said from the trapdoor, curls poking out after Jaime snagged the box from her hands. "It'll come. It'll come."
Jaime looked tempted to defend his brother's honor, but thought better of it, which Sansa was minded to chalk up to progress. Or perhaps the strange friendship the bartenders had.