This story is based on Pretty Woman.

The flight to King's Landing set the tone for the whole trip. Thanks to some confusion with the meals, Arya ended up with the chicken platter where the "chicken" was questionable at best, and the person sitting next to her had the annoying habit of humming out of tune.

To make matters worse, her luggage was lost. That in and of itself wasn't a problem, they would eventually find it. The problem was that Sansa was all too eager to offer help. "Well, since you have no clothes, then we'll just have to do a bit of shopping."

This was exactly the circumstance her sister could have hoped for to persuade Arya to wear dresses and heeled shoes, when there was nothing but jeans and t-shirts in her bag. She really misses her bag.

"The are the cutest boutiques between here and your apartment," her friend Jeyne Poole chirps. "Oh, it'll be so much fun!"

The two begin to walk away, practically forgetting the very person they'd come to the airport to retrieve, but Arya prefers that they walk ahead. The truth of it is that she hopes they'll forget about her entirely. Yes, she came to the city to spend time with her sister, but if it means an entire week of shopping, then she's ready to take the next flight back to Winterfell.

With her suitcase lost and no clothes but what's on her back, that's exactly what she's in for.

"No luggage," Sansa mutters to a tree of a man with a scarred face and scruff along his jaw. He sneers and turns to slide back into the limo, leaving Sansa and Jeyne standing and waiting for something that will never come, for someone to open the door for their privileged asses. Jeyne makes an exasperated sound and opens the door as though it were a chore.

"You know, Sansa, you really need to get better help than this," Jeyne says when Arya plops in the seat next to Sansa and loud enough for the drive to hear.

The only answer is a sound that's so low, Arya barely hears it. She wonders if her sister meant for anyone to hear it at all. "It's fine."

"We're going to the shopping district," Jeyne tells the driver, and he shifts the car from park to drive before Arya can get the door fully closed behind her. It's fifteen minutes of listening to Sansa and Jeyne go on and on about what clothes would be perfect for which event and the car finally comes to a stop. This section of the city has cobblestone streets and brick sidewalks, all immaculately maintained for wealthy shoppers to travel on foot from store to store. There are boutiques as far as the eye can see, those obviously overpriced shops with their stuck-up staff at the ready to cater to Sansa, her friend, and most importantly their heaps of spending money.

The first shop is filled with white and cream and puffs that makes Arya's stomach heave. Jeyne suggests a frilly gown of gauze that looks more like a wedding dress than a evening gown. One look at it and Sansa's eyes slide to Arya, and her sister shrugs. By the second shop, the one worse than the first with nothing but various shades of pink, was when Arya began to devise her plan of escape.

The shoe shop filled with heels of all heights Arya wasn't willing to wear was the perfect place for a getaway. There were so many people and being the shortest person around, she slipped into the crowd and out the door while Sansa and Jeyne gushed over a pair of pumps that "would go so well with the pink dress."

She was down the road by the time she heard Sansa and Jeyne calling for her, and so she ran…and ran…and ran until the neighborhood changed. The streets were no longer immaculate and the shops were no longer pristine and pompous. No, these shops had seen better days perhaps decades ago with their worn signs and thick layers of grime. The people walking on the sidewalks weren't meandering with heavy wallet and expensive purses. No, these people walk with purpose. They have somewhere to be and that's where they are going. If they need something, they will go into the shabby shops to get it and nothing else.

Instead of the classical music casually drifting out of the boutiques, there is the blaring sound of music, modern music with its hard beats and furious tempo. This is exactly where Arya wants to be. She even follows the music which leads her to the sign made of wood that had to have been older than her, her father, perhaps even her grandfather. The wood has been bleached by too many years unprotected by the sun, and the painted letters have faded long ago. Still, Arya can just make out the words, "The Peach."

Behind the unassuming metal door painted black is a great room shuttered from the daylight outside. The only light are strobes and beams that spray everywhere in time with the music.

The current song is upbeat and light, something Arya's heard on the pop station a few times, but nothing that offends her senses. She sits at one of the unoccupied tables and looks around, noticing how the beads against the curtains of the stage sway. Around her are mostly men, with the odd cluster of women, and Arya's satisfied that her sister would never be caught dead in a place like this. It means she's safe for a time.

The song changes to something with a heavier beat and the curtains of beads separate to reveal a man with shaggy black hair that hangs way past his brows. He flips his head back to clear the way for his eyes that are even bluer than Tully blue—the color most of Arya's siblings inherited from their mother.

"Like what you see?" a woman's voice breaks through the blaring song with a tray in one hand. She places napkins on Arya's table with the other. There's something about the woman that's familiar but Arya's sure she's never met her. And then the woman explains everything when she adds, "My brother's one of the best dancers here…next to me." Arya gets a wink with her explanation before the woman asks for her order.

She doesn't want to drink, but she doesn't want to leave either, so she orders a beer which is something she can nurse for a long while.

He continues to dance on the stage, surprisingly agile for a man as wide with muscle as he is tall, and her drink arrives minutes later. The woman swishes her curly black hair all the while her blue eyes, the same blue as her brother's, flits between the stage and Arya with a mischievous smirk.

Arya's not sure what to make of the woman, but when the man finishes his set and heads back all the while picking up the articles of clothing he'd taken off on stage. His sister calls to him from the side and he takes the steps down and off the stage instead. They're talking, and her head tilts in Arya's direction before he turns his head.

There's something in the way he struts towards her. It exudes too much confidence as though he's trying too hard, which makes Arya curious. Why would a man that size, that build, not be confident in his own skin. He's undoubtedly strong.

Without asking, he sits at her table and his eyes land on hers. There's a smirk on his face, not the same one as his sister's but one that feels as though it's a mask that he's putting on just for her. "So my sister says you like what you see?"

At that, Arya rolls her eyes and exhales a sound of exasperation. Whatever game they're playing, she's not playing it.

"Can't undress fully during the day. Those are the rules in King's Landing. But for a price, you can see it all for yourself." There's a struggle within her to either bark out a laugh that he just said that, or gasp in shock that he's a prostitute. She'd heard about strippers taking their job to the next level, but she'd never seen it for herself. Eventually, it was the bark of laughter that won out.

It's effect was immediate. The confidence the man exuded faltered for a moment, only a moment before he glanced back at where his sister stood, collecting whatever was left of his ego and pride and hid behind the grin he wore before…that mask he hid behind.

"I can tell you that if you take me home with you, you won't be disappointed." The way his eyes dart down to his lap makes it more than obvious what he means, and Arya rolls her eyes at that too.

"Please," she scoffs and turns her head to look at the next person to walk onto the stage. She's a busty thing and it's a wonder how she can remain upright while swinging those around.

Suddenly, Arya has a thought that's as scandalous as when she decided to date Jaqen H'ghar, almost twenty years her elder and the son of the most notorious crime lord in Westeros.

"On second thought, I think I will require your services."

A smile spreads across his face, and he stands from his chair. "Then let me get dressed and we can go."

She watches him leave her table after she nods, and he stops for a moment to give his sister a look before disappearing behind a curtained door to the side of the stage.

His sister stands there and locks her eyes on Arya, that grin reappearing slowly as she makes her way to the table with Arya's check in her hand. "You won't be disappointed," she says, setting the piece of paper on the table before spinning around and leaving, her black curls bouncing as she goes.

Arya knows she won't be disappointed because the plan is solid. Sansa will be shocked to see her sister with a stripper/prostitute. And even if she isn't there, the staff at the hotel—most likely swanky and obnoxious because Sansa arranged the reservation—will be horrified to have such a visitor. What will they do then? Turn away a Stark?

She leaves a silver bill on the table just when the man comes out from the back. His jeans are worn but not by some designer or manufacturer trying for a look but because he's probably had that pair for more years than he should. It doesn't matter with the way it hugs against his narrow hips and muscular thighs. Even though he's nothing but a way to get a reaction out of the people around her, she can't help but notice how well he wears the t-shirt tucked neatly into his jeans.

The moment he stops at the table, his eyes drop down to stare at payment and tip, the crisp copper star. His eyes go wide and immediately race up to find Arya's. There's shock and a little bit of awe there before he reins them in for a more casual look. "Ready?" he asks, and Arya nods. Both walk out of the bar while the man's sister holds the money in her hand. No one in this neighborhood pays with stars. People in this neighbor have barely ever seen one let alone spent one in a bar. She smiles in the direction of where her brother leaves with the little rich girl and thinks they might be able to pay rent this month.