A/N- So, I was finally given the go-ahead by my lecturer to share my game of thrones fanfiction/adaptation piece which accompanied my research paper into the significant effect of Fanfiction on modern literature and film. And this, right here, is that piece. I hope you all enjoy it and that I did our little community credit. There will be a link to the research paper in the comments below.
Synopsis:
The Stanleys are one of the most successful steel producing families in the world, though they are based in the North of England. A rival business (the Lumleys) is growing and spreading from their small client-base in the South of London to a national phenomenon, and the Stanleys are no longer turning a profit. No one is quite sure how they are producing such a fine product for such a reasonable price, but the Stanley family intends to find out. Full of twists and turns, this corporate thriller explores the topics of slave labour and the cut-throat world of U.K. business. This work is based on George R.R. Martin's popular 'Game of Thrones' Novels, and this influence can be seen throughout. The Stanleys are based on the Starks and the Lumleys are based on the Lannisters.
Creative piece:
The room was silent as Mr Stanley paced, his eyes flitting between the thin carpet tiles and the whiteboard which ran the length of the front wall. His hands were unable to remain in one place, moving from his pockets to his face, and then joining together in front of his stomach for a moment, before repeating the cycle.
His daughter was agitated, her face littered with wrinkles where it was usually so smooth. She was still sitting, her legs crossed and her foot bouncing awkwardly where it hung from her ankle.
"Perhaps we should run the numbers again," she started, her voice soft as he glanced over at her older brother. Roger seemed as confused as she was, and her pleading eyes made no difference to his rounded-off shoulders and squared jaw, as he sent her a barely noticeable shrug. "It must have been a miscalculation somewhere," she added, but her father continued to pace, his feet slapping on the floor.
Suddenly his feet stopped, his eyes shifting to her for just a moment before returning to the board. "I did the calculations myself." Sophia fell silent, her breathing coming in one long draw.
"Oh," she answered, biting down lightly on her lip as she considered her next words. "Maybe I should run through them again, anyway. Just in case."
Her father's eyes fell closed, and Sophia felt her entire body tense as she watched him, now standing completely still in the middle of the room.
"Who do you think I am?" he asked her, his voice low as his eyes finally reopened, fixing her with a stare that burrowed its way deep into her body, tucking itself away right between her heart and her lung. "Do you honestly believe I would have called you here if I wasn't completely certain?"
"No, Father," she uttered softly, her fingers linking together in her lap, and keeping her eyes busy. "I just want to help." She flinched, feeling his hand come and rest on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Any words that came to him in that moment went unsaid, passed on through a single touch, and he gave her a short nod.
"We need to find a way to cut costs." Roger had finally joined the conversation, though somewhat too late to save his sister her scolding. "Lowest price on the market and we'll be turning a bigger profit than ever." His eyes narrowed as Sophia shook her head in frustration.
She finally lifted her eyes from her hands, glancing across the wide table at her brother.
"And where do you suppose we cut costs?" The question hung in the air, like a smell that just refused to fade. "We can't cut labour, or we will lose good workers; we can't lower the production quality or no one will buy from us."
She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for his answer. "Unless you're willing to take a pay cut, we don't have much room to maneuver." Roger shrugged again, causing Sophia to release a drawn-out sigh, grumbling as she lifted her fingers to run over her temples.
"I will figure something out, but just," Mr Stanley paused for a moment, shaking his head, "just keep this to yourselves for the time being. I don't need everyone out in the factory panicking." Both of his children nodded, getting to their feet as quickly as they could. Roger was gone from the room in seconds, slipping his phone into his pocket as Sophia attempted to gather up her notebook, and pens, and laptop.
She paused for a moment, glancing at her father, who was pacing once more, his hand rubbing at the hair on his chin as though it contained some sort of hidden magic as if he believed that it would fix all of his problems.
"Tell me if you need help," Sophia uttered, the words slipping from her lips before she could catch them, "I don't want you to take on too much."
Her father stopped moving and faced her, giving her a small, if uncertain, smile and holding his arms out wide in her direction. She was quick to step into him, his arms wrapping around her the way they had when she was a child.
"Thank you," he told her softly, giving her one final squeeze before releasing her from his grip and making for the door, the same way Roger had done just moments before. "You worry too much about your old man," he called back, the words slipping through the crack in the door as it sighed shut, and his muffled laugh echoing under the gap at the bottom long after he was gone.
It often ended like this, he would laugh off her worry as though he had never had a single health scare in his life, though they both knew it wasn't true. God, he had been such a heavy drinker when she was young, and he would overwork himself. In all honesty, it was a miracle he had lasted so long. As she had gotten older, Sophia had taken it upon herself to keep him healthy but he didn't make it easy on her, and even now, she knew that he would be sneaking off to his office for a little tipple before lunch. Sometimes she wondered whether he cared that his heart would give out, or whether, at this point, it would be a relief for him to escape work for once.
Sophia bit down on her lip as she gathered the last of her work from the table, stashing it away in her back and swinging it onto her shoulder as she took a final glance around the conference room. It was strange to think they could lose it, were business to remain so poor. Sophia and Roger had practically grown up using the offices as their personal playground until Annie was born and their mother gave up work for good. Even some of the employees had grown up here. Some of them would come in with their parents for the first time when they were no older than a year, and then when they were ready to start work Mr Stanley would secure them a place in the factory.
She pushed through the door, a smile on her lips as she remembered running races through the halls when they had been small. Back and forth, driving old Nancy almost potty as she attempted to keep up with her boss' children. They were lucky her heart hadn't given out with all the running she had needed to do.
The family had always teased that Annie was trouble. The kids claimed she had ruined their perfect playhouse, and taken away all of the fun of going on days out to work with their Father. As she got older their mother had been disappointed to learn that she had no interest in business of any kind. She wanted to be an artist, though she didn't know the first thing about painting, and she wanted their parents to dish out a hefty sum to pay for her tuition. Their father was rather fond of the idea. His little Annie an artist, and of course, he had given her the money with little hesitation.
On occasion, when work was taking its toll on Sophia, she would wish she had been the one with the exciting career choice. Not that she hated her job, heavens no, but sometimes it could be boring. From the day she had been born, until the day she would die, her life would be Stanley's, and steel, and slogging through another eight-hour shift in the office. Once or twice, in her teens, she had considered doing something drastic, dropping everything and heading off to some African country to teach some poor orphaned children to speak English, or meeting some random man and running off to elope. But her little sister had beaten her to it, and there was no way her mother would accept having another "extreme" child in the family. Besides, Sophia struggled to change her hair colour without consulting about seven people on what would be the best decision, and even then, the usual decision was to keep it the same as it had been for the last 10 years.
Roger, though a businessman through and through, was far more exciting than Sophia could ever dream of being. He had often been brought home to their parent's house, full to the gills with booze and god knows what else, with a police officer, or one of his more responsible friends, helping him to keep his feet. But their parents said little, if anything, about it, and he had got away without a single warning.
Sophia often wondered if her siblings ever considered their actions. The worry they caused their mother on a weekly basis, whilst sweet, reliable, Sophia was left to reassure her. Yes, Roger would be coming home in one piece, he always did. And: No, Annie wasn't going to end up homeless and starving just because she wanted to be an artist. And finally: Of course she was stopping her father from eating unhealthy foods at work, they all knew his heart couldn't handle it anymore. It was the same reassurances every time, and yet, Sophia couldn't bring herself to avoid her mother's hectic phone calls. It wasn't like she didn't know who was calling; the phone would ring at the same time every Friday night: 8 on the dot. But something about the repetitive ramblings brought her comfort, something she had rarely received directly from her mother in her childhood, and the constant chatter made her empty flat seem a little less empty.
By the time Sophia reached her office, she had racked up a total of seven new emails. Thank you's from the assistants of business partners and reminders of meetings from her own colleagues. The usual. Her job was tedious at the best of times, and there was no doubting just how boring her 'work friends' could be.
"Miss Stanley?" The voice of Sophia's assistant was shrill and urgent and often came as a bit of a shock. She had garnered a bad habit, over the few months she had been at the company, of not knocking before barging into the office. Sophia glanced up at the woman, who was flustered and pink in the face. "There's a Mr Lumley for you on line one. He says he knows you."
Sophia frowned slightly as she reached for the phone. "Thank you, Pamela," she paused watching as the lady nodded and backed out of the room before pulling the phone off of the hook and lifting it to her ear. "Sophia Stanley's office, how can I help?"
Jacob Lumley was the stereotypical posh schoolboy. He was eloquent and handsome, and he knew how to take a compliment better than anyone she had ever met. He had been that way since he was 12 years old, and by the sounds of it, nothing had changed.
"Soph, how have you been?" She had always hated the little nicknames he would use with her, as though it was his right to be her friend, even when she was uninterested in having him anywhere near her. Sophie fought back the urge to groan and hang up.
"Jacob," she murmured, "what can I do for you?" She lifted her hand to her temple, rubbing at the ache that was beginning to form in the front of her skull.
Jacob laughed an airy and lyrical sound which Sophia had never enjoyed. Even when they were in school, that laugh had always been aimed at her, there to pick up on any bad fortune that were ever to fall on her.
"Perhaps I'm just calling to catch up with one of my oldest friends."
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