Chapter Text
The Mockingbird was the most extinguished theater in all of London. Operated for years by the elusive Petyr Baelish, the theatre district erupted upon The Mockingbird's successful few years. It was an old theatre, but had classic beauty adorned with baroque arches swooping up and around. Between the arches, were angelic paintings, recreations of famous art displayed above. Its grandeur was overall opulent and lushly decorated. Petyr expected his actors and clients to represent these qualities as well but often felt disappointed.
This year the Mockingbird was showcasing the musical Nine for its Spring season. Casting calls for his leads and supporting roles were tonight and Petyr dreaded the terrible auditions as much as he savored the gifted ones. Musicals can be tricky, because of their vocal and dance performance. An actor had to be trained in both areas for Petyr to even consider for his show.
Nine was sexy, exuberant and Petyr had very high expectations for his female roles. He had anticipated the same women auditioning: Ros, Miranda, Laila...all the same petty disagreements and fights between them. Petyr was hoping for fresh talent, after being a theater director for several years, he craved it.
Petyr stepped through the doors to his theatre. Before him seated were nearly a hundred faces bearing nervousness, haughtiness, unpreparedness; nothing he hadn't seen before. He walked stealthily to the stage through the shadows, each foot step on the side stairs echoing in the grandness of it all. His steps were heavy, though his feet skimmed the ground. He wore sleek, black slacks, a tucked in pale blue dress shirt buttoned with a few undone at the top. Seeing through his sunglasses, Petyr surveyed the women in front of him, recognizing several faces with a combination of a few new. His eyes only stretched as far as he was allowed with the lighting, as there were others he could not study. Yet.
Petyr was suave and sophisticated, and he spoke with a deep huskiness. "Good evening ladies, you are all here to audition for one of my favorite musicals: Nine. This musical consists of two acts with a very well rounded group of roles for you, ladies. It will run for two weeks. Please note that these short performances tonight do require you to sing and dance. As you should already know. You have five minutes each, I suggest you use your time, and mine, wisely.
Out of his pocket, Petyr unfolded a crinkled list of names. "Alright then, Ros, if you please..."
Petyr slipped off the stage with his hands in his pockets, slowly sauntering off to sit in the furthest seat away from the stage in the theater. Ros waited until he sat down, accustomed to his habits and demands.
It took a few hours for every one to try out; some Petyr outwardly disliked and permitted them of returning to his stage, others he ignored and a few he had considered as possibilities.
As he was about to conclude, a young woman with striking red hair emerged from the middle of the seats to the stage. He'd recognize that shade anywhere, but why would she be here. She floated across the stage. "Mr. Baelish, I am not on your list, but I will now be auditioning for the role of Claudia. At your permission of course, Uncle." She hesitated, understanding that she had broken his first rule. No one auditions without signing their name. She was Petyr's exception.
Sansa. Holy shit, it's been years. Lysa... my wife... is now dead... I guess that still makes me her uncle... Petyr cringed. She was immaculate. Sansa wore an all black, low-cut loose fitting dress that accentuated her long legs and tall frame. Petyr could not believe it was her, he removed his sunglasses, struck by her appearance and sheer beauty. But does she have talent? Petyr, you're gawking, contain yourself..
"Sansa Stark, please do continue."
Miranda stood up facing him. Even though she was far away, Petyr could see how livid she was. "Petyr, you seem to have forgotten that she has not-"
"I am very well aware, Miranda. I think I can make an exception, for my niece." Petyr stressed that they were related. Despite his obvious attraction to her, Petyr would never indulge himself so visibly in public. Christ, how old is she? Eighteen, nineteen? She's beautiful, breathtaking... Petyr audibly sighed.
Petyr's thoughts were immersed with Sansa, swirling in his head that he had not realized Miranda was not through with speaking. "-don't see how this is fair. She is nobody, she's never been here before and clearly has no talent."
"I'll see for myself, Miranda. Now sit down and be quiet, that is if you still want a role in this production." Petyr hissed.
"Yeah shut it, Miranda." added Ros.
"Enough ladies. Sansa, since you have already broken one of the rules for The Mockingbird, I will be choosing your song to sing."
"I um, what if I don't know it, sir?"
"Call me Petyr, Sansa. Trust me, if you want to play Claudia, you should know it." A small part of Petyr was at least hoping she would. Petyr laid back in his chair, preparing to prove to everyone the mistake of being unprepared in his theatre. His arms were folded, his legs outstretched into the aisle. With no intention of moving, Petyr spoke again. "Sansa, I want you to sing Unusual Way." I have her. Petyr bit his lip and broke into a wicked smile.
Sansa's eyes widened, yet not of fear. It was almost a revelation. "Thank you. That song has always been my favorite." Petyr was surprised but did not show it. Her favorite.
Sansa stepped into the spotlight and began ethereally.
In a very unusual way
One time I needed you
In a very unusual way
You were my friend
Maybe it lasted a day
Maybe it lasted an hour
But somehow it will never end
In a very unusual way
I think I'm in love with you...
Petyr's body responded in accordance with Sansa's sweet voice, his legs bent and stood up. As she sang, Petyr shuffled down the aisle, his eyes not once leaving her cerulean blue eyes. Transfixed, Petyr stopped by the edge of the stage looking up at her. Sansa had noticed him near as she held her note on the word 'love'. Petyr glanced at his surroundings quickly, keeping his body still. It was then Petyr abruptly held up his hand and yelled for Sansa to stop just as she soothingly breathed out the last 'you'.
It was silent for a few beats. "But, you said we had five minutes." Sansa's voice was shaking. "I can try a different key, but I am confident in-"
Miranda laughed hysterically over Sansa's meek voice. "He stopped you, little one. He's never gotten up from his seat during a performance. Never." She relished in Sansa's apparent failure.
"She's right, girl." Petyr was looking down to the floor, avoiding her eyes.
"Call me Sansa, Petyr. Try me." Sansa was determined to ignore the jests of the others and simultaneously afraid of his reaction to her outburst. She was mocking him and he knew it.
Petyr's eyes reluctantly met hers once more. He silently walked up the steps to meet her center stage. Sansa stood solid and unmoving, partly due to her stubbornness and worry. She could not interpret his face, it was emotionless. Sansa's breath shook and became ragged as he moved in very close. The few of those who stayed in their seats watched Petyr and Sansa intently, waiting to see how Petyr would react. Or rather erupt.
She's feisty. "Try me, huh Sansa? This audtition requires a dance portion as well." He smirked noticing her discomfort. He brought his hand behind her back, gripping her flush to his chest. "Imagine I am Guido Contini, you are Carla, my mistress. Prove to me, with your motions that you want me. Dance."
His arm was still wrapped around Sansa's back, his hand grasped her waist tightly with aggression mixed with desire. Sansa was uncomfortable, he's my uncle... Yet, only be marriage. Why doesn't anyone else think this unsusual?! She looked at his face illuminated by the harsh, spotlight from above. He looked like he was in his late thirties, his hair peppered with gray on the sides while the rest of his dark brown hair had been slicked back. They were near in height, she could feel his calm, mint breath on her face. He exuded charisma and sex appeal, and it made Sansa feel hot from the light and from his flirtations. She soon became furious at him, for relentlessly trying to find her inadequate.
"I am not auditioning for Carla, your mistress. Please let me go."
Her demand hung in the air, without Petyr's response. Sansa's head spun to the small crowd, desperate for any help whatsoever. Petyr only looked amused, his women abided by his second rule: If I get involved with someone on stage, never disrupt.
Petyr released his arm, turned away and muttered so only she could here, "I thought so."
Without thinking, Sansa automatically stepped forward forcefully grabbing a chair, hiked her leg up highly to bring his shoulder and body to face her. She pulled his hands with hers, bringing him close once more, fire in her eyes. "Watch me", she whispered in his ear, grazing it. She grabbed his shoulders, and threw him onto the chair as she straddled him. "Music" she commanded.
Petyr swallowed hard. But nevertheless, smiled at her to piss her off further. He was not expecting her to go this far, but he certainly wasn't complaining. As the music started, Sansa got off of Petyr and danced to the Burlesque song chosen for the women who moved past the singing part of their call. Sansa danced around his chair, her hair swayed and her hips rhythmically moved with the song. Petyr remained still, but his eyes grew dark and he drank in her every move. Entranced once more, Petyr knew what he had to do. Sansa's time was almost up, sensing she had the upper-hand over him briefly, she sat on him and started to grind against him slightly so he would feel pressure. She reached her hand back to mess his hair, and before Petyr's hands unwittingly flew to her waist, she slid off him and ended her dance. She eyed him briefly, and curtsied to the stage.
A few cheered, and Ros clapped and yelled loudly. "Yes girl!!"
Sansa smiled shyly, and walked off the stage sitting next to Ros whispering.
Petyr fixed his hair, trying to seem as if Sansa's little show had not affected him so much, but he was sure she felt his cock stirring as she slid off of him. Dammit. His cock ached in his slacks, and he needed more.
"Ladies, thank you. I will be posting my decisions tomorrow at 10 AM, I will not be having call backs. I believe my decisions are mostly made. You may go." Petyr stood to the edge of the stage, slumped down and sat, his legs hanging over.
Petyr was about to call Sansa over to speak to her alone, when his stage manager Olyvar eagerly ran to her from behind stage and approached her. "Holy shit, Sansa Stark, you are my fucking hero, you know that!" Petyr watched as Olyvar continued talking animatedly to Sansa, and followed her, Ros and Miranda leaving the theater. Once everyone was gone, Petyr's hand moved to his pants and he grunted.
Outside the theater, Olyvar continued. "Wow, you really showed him, sweetie. I bet he's trying to get off right now, jesus."
Sansa blushed, redness filling her cheeks. "Olyvar, lay off her", added Ros. "But he is right, Sansa. You were hot and Petyr knew it, even though he would never admit it. I wonder what part you will get."
Miranda who was silently fuming, worried she would no longer be Petyr's muse, fought down their compliments. "I disagree with the two of you. Sansa is a young, naive what seventeen year old girl who clearly was cut off from singing and Petyr gave no indication he was moved by her little dance routine. And I know him best."
Olyvar muttered, "I think we can all guess which long part of Petyr had moved." He and Ros giggled, while Sansa still hadn't spoken at all, blushing profusely. Miranda snapped at them, and said "Enough of it. We'll see what happens tomorrow." She walked ahead of them, and pushed through the double doors into the street.
Sansa finally said "I am not really sure what came over me, but I liked the freedom...the ability.." She paused, "to do what I want." Ros rubbed her arm, comfortingly. "Of course! Come on, let's get dinner together and talk some more. I'm sure we'll be working together."
Sansa followed Ros and Olyvar out of The Mockingbird, smiling and hopeful.
* *
The next morning, Petyr had posted his cast list on the doors to his locked theater. People rushed in enthusiastically, frantically scanning the sheet to find their name. Most shook their heads in disappointment or frustration and left immediately. One woman stated "He chooses the same people. All the time." Sansa walked over worriedly but people still were crowding the doors. I have never acted before, or been in one of his plays. I am not the 'same people'.
Sansa heard Ros's familiar voice ahead of her. "Aaand I'm the prostitute." Olyvar replied "Had a feeling." She laughed and elbowed him in the stomach. Ros saw her struggling to get through, and she grabbed her hand. "Come on, love, take a look." Ros guided Sansa closer to the front, but Miranda pushed her. She shrieked "I knew it!! Miss Louisa Contini." She was overly joyful until her face scowled into a grimace, eyeing Sansa and leaving the crowd.
Sansa's index finger traced the page, searching for her name.
Guido Contini..... Harold Hadryng
Louisa Contini.... Myranda Royce
Clara ................ Ros Valeria
Claudia ............. Sansa Stark
Sansa couldn't believe it. She broke into a wide smile and bear hugged Ros and Olyvar. "We're so happy for you!!" Olyvar assured Sansa. "Rehearsals start so soon, sweetie, I'm glad we're working together." Ros added.
The crowd dissapated until it was just the three of them. Sansa was speechless and so giddily happy. Her eyes flickering to her name on the page and back to Ros and Olyvar's humorous conversations. As they were about to walk out, she suddenly heard someone's footsteps beckoning her over. Petyr.
"Sansa, a word, please. Olyvar and Ros, I will see you tomorrow morning." Petyr made it clear he only needed Sansa. He let his stone, emotionless face curl into a smirk once he saw Ros and Olyvar turn around saying goodbye to her. "Sansa, Sansa, Sansa. What am I going to do with you, breaking so many of my rules." He held out his hand, leading her into his office.