kongeriket | open rp post

norwa...y..... | look at this edgy and hip prompt did i do it right

trickstering 2014-01-20 04:18 am (UTC)(link)

[ Norway is hardly forgetful, or so he tries to tell himself. It does not stop him from forgetting. He cannot remember when he first stepped foot on his land, or even much before he discovered his neighbors; he has lost touch with his oldest language. Stories are gone due to a dying oral tradition, and who can recall what used to be said of their old gods?

They create new stories to replace what is lost. It is hardly as warm in his mountains as it is in Denmark's flatland, but the summer this year is insufferable even as night falls. He can hardly stand to remain inside, so he hikes to reach fresh air.

In front of his face shimmer the vapors from the sun as it starts to hide behind the hills. He sighs in a sort of exasperation and steals a saying that Denmark has taken to: ] Loki must be herding goats today.

[ It might be something against reason, but there is hardly a better explanation for this onslaught of heat than Loki's wandering upon the earth. Perhaps an acknowledgement will send him away. ]

[ He is stuck, is the best explanation he has been able to come up with. It is something like a rope that binds him to this house, the house he lived in, the house he died in; should he try to leave, he is tugged back.

It angers him when he has already been so furious. If he is forced to stay in this house then it must be his house, even decades later as realtor after realtor tours and sells it. He has driven all buyers away within a week; more often he can send them off while they are still considering with leaky faucets, moaning pipes, and strange smells.

This one, though, has managed for a month. Grantaire has tried his usual tricks, and he does not seem to mind the clanging pipes and only takes out his trash when the smell of rotting flesh wafts through his home. He only shows irritation when his belongings start to go missing one by one, but its frequency only causes him to--buy magnets.

Grantaire does not understand, but the words on the refrigerator now read: and you will see-k death/to release you, in va-I-n/you will live in you-r pain. Some improvisation had to be made, but the point comes across in the end.

He is sleeping now (the realtor called him Enjolras), so Grantaire takes his chance. The curtains in his bedroom fly open to reveal the rising sun and his covers are torn off to sit on the floor. He cannot harm Enjolras; his control ends with the objects of the house, like they are connected. ]

[ He couldn't say for sure what had possessed him to purchase the house, but he had known he'd fallen in love with it as soon as he'd stepped foot through the doorway. His realtor had been prattling on about the 'character of old houses like these' but Enjolras had immediately ignored him, waving the man off and wandering to sit alone in the living room, staring out the windows and admiring their fantastic view and- yes, for all its faults, he had decided to call it home.

A house as old as this he knew would have it's quirks, he'd had to replace some of the piping the first week he'd lived there when one of them had burst- but he had taken these matters in stride. The strange noises, and weirder smells didn't particularly bother him, either. It was only when certain items that he was sure he had left in their usual places began to go missing that he truly began to question.

He'd spoken with Combeferre about it at length, much to his eventual embarrassment, and had promptly dropped the subject of having a haunted house, with the promise to keep it just between the two of them. Still... It had been a suggestion by Jehan- not to him, but he'd overheard a conversation between the poet and Courfeyrac about the inspiring and impulsive fun of word fridge magnets, and, well... thereafter the idea had spawned naturally.

He might have been dreaming something, but it all fled him as it felt as though cold water had just been poured over him, and with a gasp he jerked awake, grimacing at the glare of sunlight and groaning as he tried to reach for blankets that were not there. ]

Petulant! [ He mumbled sleepily, rolling onto his side and curling in on himself as he hauled his pillow out from beneath his head, to pull it over his flyaway, wild gold curls. Too stubborn against the morning light to let it, or the cold rouse him. ]

[ Grantaire could admit that his efforts had begun to weaken. He had never been the driven type and Enjolras clearly had far more dedication than Grantaire could understand. It was now more that there some simply nothing to do but this. He had entertained himself for decades, and now he'd been allowed something new. He certainly did not appreciate being called petulant--irritating someone for joy was definitely not childish.

He tightened his lips so as not to laugh at the way Enjolras's hair stuck up in all directions, and instead started shaking the bed to imitate a large earthquake. ]

[ Enjolras groaned when his bed began to shake, but stubbornly continued to keep his head hidden away beneath his pillow. There was no going back to sleep, not like this- but he could not allow this interloper to think he had won, either. ]

You know, there are a lot of people who pay good money for vibrating beds. [ He muttered it to the seemingly empty room from beneath the sanctuary of his pillow, grumbling as a particularly turbulent rock had him rolling to sprawl on his stomach, one foot bracing against the wall so as to keep himself from knocking into it. ]

Edited 2014-01-20 08:14 (UTC)

[ Grantaire was not used to people talking to him, at least not without being strange about it. Enjolras spoke to him like a person and not some malevolent spirit--which he told himself was rather stupid, since by now he was more the latter than the former.

He stopped the quaking and considered the pillow on Enjolras's face. He could, in theory, force it down until he lost his breath. The thought occurred to him and passed just as quickly, and instead he grabbed onto the pillow in an attempt to toss is across the room, or simply see whose strength could win out. ]

[ Enjolras instinctively tightened his grip on his pillow as soon as he'd felt it start to shift, his foot drawing away from the bed in favour of pulling up his knees, and rolling back onto his side. ]

It's too early. [ He (did not) whined, clinging to the pillow and willing to put up a fight for it. Why, at this point, was still a little beyond him- as he was fighting with some strange entity that he himself had called petulant, but was now being just as childish in the way he was trying to cling to his pillow. ]

[ No one had ever fought like this with him before. There were other methods people had used to get him to leave the house, but it was impossible to separate them. Of course, no one had ever physically resisted him before.

He gave up and huffed, something that caused the windows to form ice. After a few moments of peace for Enjolras, his alarm started to go off. It was definitely not the time he'd set it for, but Grantaire thought it was a good trick. ]

[ For a few long moments, Enjolras enjoyed the chilly peace of having won. A smug smirk curled at the corners of his lips, and he closed his eyes to drop off to doze once more. Not for long, it seemed, as his alarm began to blare and no matter how he might have wished to refuse it, he had to roll off of his bed to shut it off. Because Enjolras was the sort of person that if he did not have to make some sort of physical effort to reach his alarm clock, he would hit snooze, and wouldn't get up.

When he staggered out of bed to the alarm clock, he squinted at the blaring red letters, before groaning, and squinting around his room. ]

That is a foul trick. [ He muttered, shutting off the alarm and yawning, stretching where he stood, arms reaching over his head and back bowing in a slight arc, before carding his fingers through his hair and slumping his shoulders a little with a groan. ]

Fine, you win. [ He mumbled, before shaking his head and moving to pad out of the bedroom, and into the kitchen. ] At the very least you could've put coffee on.

[ Grantaire had a smirk of his own on his lips when Enjolras admitted defeat. Once Enjolras left the room, though, he realized there was nothing more for him to do in the bedroom. Really, he'd gained nothing from the victory. Instead he followed Enjolras into the kitchen.

He wasn't sure why Enjolras was, presumably, joking with him. It was almost nice, he felt, but that was ridiculous. He was no longer human. To show that, he pointed a spatula in the direction of the refrigerator to highlight the words there. ]

[ Barefoot, Enjolras padded over to the fridge. Not because he'd been directed- no, but because it held his second favourite beverage next to coffee. Tired as he was, he had to lean in towards the fridge to properly make out the small font upon the fridge magnets, his vision still fuzzy with fought for (and interrupted) sleep. He mumbled the words aloud as he read them, before casting a glance over his shoulder into the vicinity he thought 'R' might be.

He had no idea, really. But he glanced, all the same. ]

That's what you woke me up for? [ He asked irritably, unable to stifle his yawn as he groaned, forehead listing to bump into the fridge as his eyes drooped once more. He looked almost as though he could have fallen back asleep just like that, listing against the fridge with his eyes closed. But he sighed, leaning back and away to haul the fridge door open, reaching for the carton of milk and bringing it up to his lips, taking several large gulps before sighing, and moving to sit at the kitchen table, carton still grasped in hand. ] It's rather... morbid for breakfast conversation. And it overlooks the fact that there are plenty of good things to look forward to in life, as well.

[ He waved his carton of milk into the empty air, as if to emphasize his point, before bringing it back to his lips to drink a little more. Who needed cups, anyway? ]

[He does not forget, but his memory is not as long. Sometimes it seems the stories they tell are older than he is, but he knows he has heard the tales change with the season and what is left is few and far between. There was a time when he was too proud to concern himself with the talk of mortals, and a time he was too wrapped up in his own machinations to care but the days seem longer now and the time less filled and there are moments he longs for a home he cannot return to (though he is loathe to admit it,) and there are moments those forgotten stories seem to add only insult to that injury.

There is safety in forgotten words, he knows this. News from the states was harder pressed to reach such remote areas and he'd less thought of being arrested as a terrorist on the spot. His name had not the weight it might have once so it is forgotten. Another villain harassing a far off land.

Of all of Migard, perhaps this was the part he should've laid claim. Pretended some kind of ancestral link norse lands where his father (what irony that both the lie and the truth were here apt) had fought. And perhaps for this moment of quiet there is a beauty he does not begrudge, and it seems as much the land of gods as that of men, seems as untouched and untainted as realms not yet ruined by the glory of progress.

He is there for a very long time, but it is easy to lose track of time in the mountains, heat or no. It's the sound of those words that pulls him from his meditation, and his lips curl into a smirk in spite of himself at the expression. There was some power in recognition, some mirth to be hand in the idea of an old believer. Whether he believed or not was not the point - the language was a legacy.]

Goats? I would scarce deign that the trickster god could be roped into such boring work.

[ Grantaire had moved behind Enjolras in order to watch him read the words. He was proud of himself, remembering a poem from long ago. He moved just as suddenly, though, when Enjolras seemed to look straight at him. It was strange to be looked at, even if he wasn't seen.

He kept his distance, then, as Enjolras moved about his morning. Enjolras did seem rather tired; perhaps tomorrow Grantare would force him awake a little later.

That Enjolras kept optimism so early in the morning was enough to make Grantaire rethink that idea. In all his years of being stuck, he had never wished to be alive again. He could not speak, so he made his point by instead flinging the magnet that said nothing on it right to Enjolras's head. ]

[ Norway hardly moves to acknowledge the other presence. It is not strange to find hikers about, rather it is strange that there are not more. Perhaps air conditioners trap them indoors now; a shame that they would miss this sunset. At the very least, he can find respect for a stranger who is out. ]

What else can he do when he's run out by the rest of 'em? [ That is how it's always been, if he recalls. Loki is chased out of most halls and unwelcome, so where else would he go? Why he herds goats, there are some explanations. Most just acknowledge his presence in the air. ]

You think he prefers milking cows? [ That is, would he stay invisible in the air as the newer generations think, or find physical form on the earth as was so common centuries ago. ]

Maiden's work.

[It's a quick, dismissive answer though the hint of amusement remains despite the reminder of the way it's "always been." Maybe it would have phased him in a different context but the current renders it harmless enough and there's something about this stranger that he finds easy enough to continue talking to.]

Besides that would almost make it sound as if he'd do something useful!

[For so, too, the tales had told stories of his relative uselessness, as well as reasons for which he was not so beloved as the others. Why pray to a God who can offer so little?]

[ He turns at that to catch sight of the stranger. There is something that has caught his interest. It is rare that people will discuss the former gods--myths now. Mention them in passing, yes, a way of connection to the past; never a discussion because what does it matter? ]

Depends on who it's useful for. He's clever enough for his own sake. So he's gotta have a reason for coming around, don't he?

What would you imagine that reason is?

[ Enjolras had closed his eyes in the process of drinking from his milk carton, and so was caught off guard by the word that tapped him in the forehead, before falling to the floor once more. He grunted a little, before setting down the carton, and reaching to bend over, and collect the word off the floor. Upon reading it, the roll of his eyes was obvious. ]

I suppose it goes without saying that I fully and heartily disagree. Why would I want to wake up every morning if there weren't dozens of things that I enjoy waking up too? [ There was a tiny, wry curl to the corner of his lips. Almost a smile, though not quite. Smiles he made or spared for other's so rarely, so it was no surprise that this was the closest he came. ]

[ Grantaire found that just as irritating. He simply couldn't understand. He knew Enjolras worked with politics, he'd found that much from the papers that were scattered around the house and the books that were stacked neatly. If Grantaire learned anything from television, it was that politics were still as much of a mess as they had been in his own lifetime.

There was a part of him that did want to understand, though. He shifted through some of the words on the refrigerator until he cleared a space and put a simple, What ? down. Not for repetition, but for examples. ]

open rp post

norwa...y..... | look at this edgy and hip prompt did i do it right

grantaire | you brought this on yourself

no you've ruined everything

)8!!

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oh good im doing my job

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