On this cold, gloomy Friday in December, Arya decided to post something cheerful from a sun-dappled day last summer when the whole gang had driven out to the beach on a whim.
Most of the folks had been dressed in shorts and sundresses…you know…summer appropriate wear? But Jon bloody Snow had been in dark jeans and boots that day because of course he was, so it had been an easy and obvious decision for Robb, Theon and Gendry to pick him up, yelping and struggling to no avail, and hurl him into the water as soon as they got the chance to do so.
Arya had been laughing too hard to capture the moment, but she did have her phone out when the disgruntled Jon had picked himself up and started wading towards the shore. Sansa, who had been happily splashing about nearby, never even noticed his quiet approach…not until he had swooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and ran back into the surf, with what might actually have been an actual grin on his dopey, mopey face.
Sansa had screamed something about seawater and salt and her hair (huh?), but she clearly didn’t mind getting soaking wet (ok, ew.) while plastered against Jon’s (fit) body. The others had wandered into the water at this point and were playing like the overgrown toddlers that they were, so it would have been impossible for Sansa to stay dry anyway. Arya amused herself for a little while by taking photos of the group, but it wasn’t long before she decided to put her phone away and join them.
Nobody had thought to bring towels, not even Sansa, so the drive back later had been a little uncomfortable. Robb had initially thrown a hissy fit over his car seats, but he hadn’t thought to bring towels either, so his grumbling was pointless. He was somewhat mollified when Jon sensibly pointed out that they could leave the windows down so that the warm summer breeze could dry them out. Then Sansa suggested they stop to get milkshakes along the way, and really, who could stay mad after that?
Theon had declared himself in charge of the radio, and immediately chose a station that was playing, of all things, a Spice Girls marathon. Arya had groaned, as was expected of her, but she knew the words to Wannabe as well as anybody (and better than some), and might have contributed a zig-a-zig-ha or two under her breath. (Only Gendry and Sansa knew of her deep and abiding love for that particular girl group - she was the Scary Spice, duh - but they would never tell on pain of actual, probable death.)
And so, music sorted, and with the promise of milkshakes to look forward to, they set off for home.
Yeah. That had been a good day.