you'll no longer fear when your heart's turned to gold

[emgoldened]

WHO: Viserys Targaryen and YOU
WHERE: All over
WHEN: Month of February
WHAT: Stuff and things - first meetings, reunions, you name it
WARNINGS: Well his canon is what it is and Viserys is harsh to women, especially verbally...will update if there needs to be more here!




NONAH 006;

So. He's definitely dead. He's also not quite sure what sort of beyond this entire set up is. It's...nothing he'd ever been told, or been hinted it, or even imagined. The world was completely different. His ancestors were not sitting atop bejeweled thrones waiting to welcome him into their arms and tell him the future of their name. No comfort for his end, for his sister becoming a kinslayer. No reassurance. No horses, either, no sun, no dirt, no savages...something far more confusing and stranger and awaited, and for once in recent years? Viserys was rather cooperative and quiet. A magical feat to be sure, for when he was taken to his new "home" (ha-ha-ha) and began to find his footing, even a little bit, that shock slid down into his belly to join the rest of his nicely marinated bitterness. He'd be back in regular form sooner rather than later. He wasn't about to change out of his rotting clothes, which would help, tattered once-black top with a three-headed red dragon being the most notable thing on him.

He had managed to find the place while empty. That won't last forever. And his new roommates can come across him in a variety of ways. Perhaps he's turned the water faucet off and on in the kitchen, staring at it in an angry sort of confusion. Perhaps he's doing the same...in a bathroom that is not his. Or more invasive still: opening, inspecting, and trying to make sense of hygienic products most men would flee from. Perhaps he's standing in front of the TV with nothing but static on, or a really terrible infomercial about Tupperware, confused but amazed. He may be in the hallway, turning the lights off and on, seemingly offended by their mere existence. Or something else. Anything is possible.


PICK A CITY ANY CITY;

He is...trying. A little. There is some effort happening here that does not at all involve taking off the symbol of his family. So the clothes are a bit tattered and worn, and perhaps a little musty, so what! They are far, far better than anything this world has to offer. But. He is still trying. Trying to make sense of vehicles, and the many people, and places, of dogs and cats, of ice cream and other sweets, of hamburgers and foods he'd never have in the lands he was meant to rule, of the tall buildings, of just about everything there was or was not. So he can be found in quite literally any given situation, either looking grumpy and confused and standing out due to his whole everything, or perhaps causing a scene by nearly getting hit by a car. By offhandedly telling a hot dog vendor his food tastes better than horse meat, and getting some looks for it. Or worse than horse meat! Sky's the limit here, have a ball.


THE MESSIAH IS MY SISTER AIN'T NO KING MAN SHE'S MY QUEEN; CLOSED

And then, in this world of impossibility, he sees an impossibility that is familiar. A shadow hits the ground that he has seen in his dreams only. Looking up, he knows, despite knowing there are no more dragons—not those sort, anyway. From the reactions of those nearby, he also knows he isn't the only one who saw that. Who saw a dragon.

He followed. Like he'd heard the cry of his own child, Viserys kept an eye on wings and one ahead, and ran. Past any city he may have been near, into longer grasses, through shallow waters, it didn't matter. Suddenly he had all the energy and stamina in the world. Who can know the heart of a dragon, if not another dragon?

He worried he'd lost him, until he reached a steep slope. At the bottom of it was, yes, a dragon. A real dragon. So very dark in color, reminding him of a smaller Black Dread, stories and paintings running through his mind more than real fear. He was a Targaryen, he had nothing to fear. He knew. The dragon would know, too. That's how they were in days long past, anyway — surely that would be the same now?

His feet moved slowly, his heart beating just the opposite. Only when the dragon turned and noticed him did Viserys stop. Dead in his tracks, open-mouthed, in awe, hair and eyes a very very familiar shade...but the man himself, perhaps not familiar at all. Perhaps not having made the best decision here but still taking another step forward, for once looking every bit as humbled and submissive as he'd demanded of his sister.

Comments

heropa;

[carbonfrozen]

Turns out, being able to pilot the fastest ship in the galaxy and being the current record-holder for the best Kessel Run doesn't necessarily translate to being the greatest taxi driver of all time. Han would be a fairly good taxi driver, anyway, if it wasn't for the fact that one of his brand-new abilities essentially means that the taxi he's driving is now just as finicky and sensitive as the Falcon.

He's also been cruising around in it the whole day, only occasionally doing his job, getting a feel for the city. It's in a particularly less crowded spot that he very quietly tries to pull off a stunt that's actually kind of tame, for his sensibilities—right now, he just wants to see what his car is capable of. So he lifts his foot off the pedal, brakes hard, and drifts around the corner.

Okay, so far, so good. He rights the car again and—

—slams hard on the brakes, skidding to a stop. What in the hell? He slams a hand down on the horn, rolls the window down and pokes his head out to take a good look at this guy who's just nearly gotten hit what the hell.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" he yells, irate.

[emgoldened]

Viserys startles more at the horn than nearly being hit; for a moment, Han simply has a wide-eyed, long-haired man staring at him like he's got several heads. This does not vanish when the vehicle opens, slightly, and the man is...this man is mad at him? But Viserys was here first! It's this moron who should be getting yelled at. He should be yelling at himself!

Viserys does not consider that this man, right now, is behind something capable of causing great harm with little effort. He does not stop to consider this man may be very large and strong and ready to smear this strange ground with anyone who crosses him. No. Viserys only feels a lifetime's worth of Unfairness in a shouting stranger, and without considering anything about this situation, reacts like a foolish young king insulted, storming closer if need be so he can be very kingly about this whole situation.

He slaps Han in the face.

[carbonfrozen]

Han's been slapped in the face before, and he's certainly been shot at plenty of times, but it still takes him by surprise when the guy he's yelling at marches up to him and gives him a stinging slap in the face. Clearly he didn't take into account just how offended someone would get if he started yelling at them in middle of the street.

But along with that shock, as he's reeling back in his seat, comes a deep sense of—well, not rage, more like offense, because: first this guy nearly gets himself hit by a car that should very well be obvious to him, then he's got the nerve to go and slap Han? He's the one at fault here!

The angle's too awkward to be able to punch the guy, as much as Han might like to, but there is a car door between them. So Han unlocks the door and swings it open with all his might, aiming to smack Viserys to the ground.

nonah 006

[glowsferatu]

It's late afternoon, he may have already been exploring the house for a few hours, when someone unlocks the door. While Kanaya is busy staying at her phone, Ashiah skitters in first, wandering into the kitchen. So it is that Viserys meets his first housemate, a four-foot-long giant white grub, staring at him with her big black eyes as he plays with the faucet.

She clicks something at him, then turns behind her to click and chatter at the door. Who knows if it's even any kind of language, there's just a fucking huge bug staring at him. "There's strange man doing what?" ask a voice from the other room. Ashiah trills back in response. He's wasting water, mom, you're always telling her not to waste water. How come he gets to?

Soon enough, another figure appears in the doorway, this time an entirely too tall grey woman with short black hair and orange horns. "Uh..." She screws up her lips, furrowing her brows. She has a knife in her purse, but she isn't sure she'll need it. He looks a bit scrawny, if it comes to it. "Are you...supposed to be here?" She really wishes they would receive some form of notification when they've been assigned new roommates. Encountering them for the first time is always so awkward.

[emgoldened]

There's a huge fucking bug staring at him.

Viserys stops the water and takes a step back when a huge fucking bug enters the room, one hand going to his heart. His shock is minimal; he's more thinking over all the creatures he was told of and saw in pictures, what of bug-like beings? It speaks. Sort of? It communicates, at any rate, but who or what to...?

He's very very dead and nothing in tales of old could have prepared him.

"I've been told I live here now," he manages after a few seconds of openly staring. His words, however, are confidently spoken, no inappropriate pauses. Their appearances are new but he isn't actively horrified or concerned over it. Not yet. "Are you supposed to be here?"

How would he know, she could definitely be a home invader.

[glowsferatu]

At least she's already established that she has a key, she could dispute which of them is a proven home invader. Still, she'll take his word for it. It's about the right time of the month for new arrivals, especially with Aerith having just returned,

"This is where I've lived for nearly a year. So, I suppose that would mean we'll be living together. Yours will be the room that's unoccupied, of course. Have you been upstairs yet?"

He certainly doesn't look like he's had a proper bath in a while, unless his hair is supposed to be that greasy. And the clothes certainly speak to a new arrival with nothing to change into. Perhaps she should do something about that, once the introductions are out of the way.

Ashiah clicks and chirps before skittering out of the room, making her way to the stairs. Kanaya snorts back a laugh, of course he's touched all of her things. The toys of a little grub are definitely the most fascinating thing for him to encounter here, she's sure.

She extends her hand to him. "I'm Kanaya, by the way."

nonah.

[jalan]

It's cold, out here, much colder than Essos seemed like it could ever be, with particular exception to the starving, exhausted nights spent on the Wastes. But this is a different kind of cold, coming in damp and buffeting off the sea, and in the sky, it's colder still. Daenerys is dressed in defense of this climate in her green woollen coat and lambskin gloves, a circle of braiding holding her hair off her face, with the rest allowed to whip and tangle in the wind with flagging silver.

This is what Viserys might see first as she emerges from the shadow of a wing. In contrast to his deliberate and slow approach, she has her hands on Drogon's scaly hide as she inspects old scrapes and punctures, some healed, some lingering just through the use of his own wings. She straightens up, pat-patting Drogon's broad neck, before she follows his gaze.

Her chest tightens, like her heart is being strangled within her. The ghost of her brother, dressed in rags, slowly approaching.

Drogon huffs, angling his head to take note of her reaction with one red-gold eye, spines and scales rippling in agitation as if to begin puffing himself up, to become bigger, and frighten back the thing frightening her, but she's quick to sure up her posture and transmit confidence, reaching out and touching the edge of his wing, all the way unable to keep her gaze off the man who is unmistakably Viserys Targayren.

[emgoldened]

Drogon is a fearsome sight to behold, but the image of his sister, now seeing him, stops him in his tracks. He stares. At her, not Drogon. His spine straightens and he lifts his chin. She has seen this a million times before and can perhaps now recognize it for what it is — false confidence. The posture of a man who knows himself royal but has time and again done everything in the world that isn't regal at all, and has to bury that down, to keep up airs he's just as noble as his name implies.

"Is that my sister? Is that sweet Daenerys?"

His question is a little too genuine to be rhetorical; he's new, so new to this world, and already she's upsetting what little footing he'd found. Always so good at that. She'd been doing it ever since she was born. And there he was after, to take care of her no matter what means were necessary.

Finally, he starts forward again, steps slow, shaking hands betraying any pretense of being put together. She looks different. Older. Beyond him, beyond his time with her, the time she ended, and that unsettles him. His world had once revolved her and hers around him; what was he if that was not the case, and without an Iron Throne for him to warm?

[jalan]

Realisation, a shock of cold to the system, now quickly turning to meltwater in her veins, and dismay shines out of her expression without filter before she puts steel back into her spine, her jaw. Her eyes. She hand grips the edge of Drogon's wing a little tighter when another clicking dragon-purr emanates out from the hulking beast, as if to take strength from him before she moves forward.

She is normally more elegantly dressed than today, but today was a day of dragon riding. She wears sturdy boots, the ground crunching damply beneath her soles, and the hem of navy blue wool blusters a little in the wind.

Not far. She stops when she's cleared Drogon's shadow.

She'd sent a prayer, once, that Rhaegar might one day arrive from the Porter. She'd betrayed her own principles by imagining Drogo, once, and being within the circle of his arms. It would be a lie to say she hadn't entertained the thought of Viserys appearing before her, but strictly with the context of do not.

"Did you see him?" she says. Her voice has changed, too. It has a quiet edge, no more of a warning than a sheathed knife in a belt, but sharp where it rests all the same. "Flying."

nonah!

[pullback]

Victor is so happy they've given him a stipend. Because that straight up went to buying books. He's laden down with books ranging from a few 'how to internet' sort of books, a medical textbook, and some poetry. He's walking back to his house, bogged down with bags of books when he spots King Dragon over here, looking at a hot dog and also looking out of place.

Privately, Victor's thankful that this man in his tattered clothes is diverting some attention from Victor's very out of date clothes. He watches Viserys for a moment or two, debating whether or not he wants to talk to the man. Every fiber of his being is saying 'no, leave him alone, just go back to your house.' But...he would like someone to complain with about the Internet (how does it work?)

Mustering up his courage, Victor walks up to Viserys and gives him a small nod.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one attempting to adjust to this brave new world."

[emgoldened]

He is just so baffled by the idea of dog meat in a bun. He is even more baffled by all the additional fixings. Lines of red, yellow, white, chopped up bits stuffed within it, what is this? How can a place filled with flying carts sleep at night when it sells dog on the side of these dark, hot roads? Twenty steps forward and two back.

His hot dog does, in fact, have a little bit of everything on it. It is a stacked weenie. Sour cream, all of it. He holds it a bit away and stares as though the dog might come back from the dead and bite his hand. But no such thing happens...well, it might, with his new company. Not that he knows. Viserys recoils at first. Then, spotting the man's garb and truly understanding his words, he holds out the food further for proper inspection.

"It is dog." No, it's not. The vendor's face reveals he has already gone over this. "Dog in bread. It is common."

Some attempts may be better than others with this whole adjustment thing.

De Chima

[song_of_ice]

Silver hair. Having met Daenerys, it was hard to mistake Targaryen features for anything else. The man was unfamiliar, but that was not a surprise. For a moment, Jon wondered if this man was the prince that had stolen his aunt, the Targaryen prince that had started Robert's Rebellion. But there was little reason to speculate. Before he could even begin guessing fully, the man had stepped into the road.

A car came barreling from around the corner, its horn blaring as it raced closer to Viserys. Darting forward, Jon knocked the man out of the way, collapsing against the sidewalk as they both narrowly avoided being hit. Ghost waited until it was safe to cross before bounding after his companion.

"You should watch where you step here."

[emgoldened]

He kept meeting pavement, and the pavement won each time. Asphalt was truly a pain in the ass.

Viserys was all ready to start griping about how everyone else should watch where they stepped because he's the king, but he barely got a whiny half-syllable out when he spotted Jon. Jon, and the beast crossing to join him. One hand braced on the ground to push himself up, he never made it much further. Purple eyes flickered from Ghost to Jon and back again. Lips parted, Viserys had the look of a man who'd seen a...well, ghost.

"You have a direwolf."

Blunt, confusion thin, his eyes still firmly fixated on Jon. Why did he have a direwolf? Why did the symbol of Usurpers follow him when he didn't look like a Stark? Well, not fully a Stark. Viserys was struck in the gut by features he once knew, and idolized, and missed for many years, long before anything else.

[ heropa ]

[ididntsaybanana]

Kaito is wearing his traditional Baron uniform, which is a red and black classy outfit with a red button down shirt under a grey vest and a jacket with flair. He's always been about class, after all, considering he'd died in this uniform. So while Viserys' clothes look mangled and torn, they still catch Kaito's eye- maybe it's the fact that they seem almost medievil ( something he has a fancy towards ) or maybe it's just the fact that he looks rather awkward and out of place, but whatever the reason is enough for Kaito to smoothly walk over, smirking as he does.

He then arches a brow and crosses his arms, asking, "You've eaten horse meat?"

[emgoldened]

Good that Kaito he's wearing something classy; when Viserys spots his outfit, he doesn't sneer outright. Not the sort of clothing he is most familiar with, but he can recognize different garments that mean something. Or so he thinks. Kaito's smirk likely helps, since everyone knows higher class individuals are also the ones who smirk the most, since so many of them are jackasses.

"Not because I wanted to." There's the sneer, the disgust. If he ever ate another bite of horse meat it would be too soon, rest assured. "Horse meat isn't worth the effort of chewing. Neither is this."

But he would have definitely eaten this sub-par hot dog without complaint years ago, if it was all he had. Shh.

Maurtia Falls or somethin aight aight aight

[reek]

In a sense, Theon still feels the same way as Viserys. He’s been here for two months, but he’s overwhelmed, frustrated, and almost angry with his modern surroundings. He can only take so much of that out on Jon Snow. He’s complied with their clothing, their food, and some methods of transportation, but a lot of it is just too much. The recent blackout proved just how reliant people are on these luxuries, and Theon refuses to end up like them. He keeps everything he learned back home in mind, going over basic things like building a fire and the best way to bring down a wild deer, just to assure himself that he doesn’t forget.

He hasn’t met Dany face to face, but he does know the Targaryen look: silver hair, lilac eyes. Viserys fits it to a T.

Theon doesn’t really care, but he stops all the same when he overhears Viserys's loud remarks to the hot dog vendor.

“Chances are that it is horse meat.”

He would know. He worked there for an entire week. It was the week from hell, by the way.

[emgoldened]

Viserys can build a fire. He cannot bring down a wild deer, though, so there is one thing he won't mull over as he tries to adjust to this weird world. Congratulations, Theon! Someone worse than you from home has finally arrived! Treat yoself to something nice.

Viserys barely has time to look at the source. Theon did work there for an entire week. And the man behind the little booth? He recognizes Theon. Theon's words do not please him, not at all.

"Shut your mouth, you little shit!"

He picks up a handful of sauerkraut and launches it right for Theon's face. Viserys has now forgotten the possibly horse meat hot dog held in one hand. He's too focused on this clash of street kings.

De Chima

[turned_to_steel]

Sansa is waiting to cross the street when she hears the sound of brakes squealing and tries screeching over the road just a few feet away from her. Not that she really knows what the sound is but it's startling nonetheless, causing her to suck in a sharp breath as she instinctively steps back like she might run at any second.

Then she hears yelling.

Stepping forward curiously, she stops near the edge of the sidewalk and focuses on the man who is causing a scene right there in the middle of the street. There is something about the shade of his hair that gives her pause but she doesn't make the connection yet. She simply stands there, wearing her black dress and cloak, her hands clasped in front of her while she tilts her head to the side. Her own hair is nearly back to its own red shade now, the black having been washed out for days now. It's certainly something she won't do again unless she absolutely has to.

But yes, right now, she is focused on the scene unfolding before her.

[ooc: Let me know if this doesn't work!]

[emgoldened]

He'd been struck crossing the street. He'd sworn he had the right light this time. And, in actuality, he had. He'd just had the misfortune of being clipped by a driver in a hurry who didn't care about potential bruised fingers and sides. So what? They had places to be! A passerby takes to Viserys, though, and causes the outburst.

"No! Do not touch me! You do not touch the dragon!"

He keeps having to say this. People don't know. They should, but they don't, and his usual pride is starting to tint with irritation. Here his name, the only thing in the world that ever meant anything, has been reduced to nothing. It's enough to double down on the madness. But the older lady takes this as just a tantrum, and grabs his poor reddening hand anyway. Some of his hot air deflates.

"You hold the hand of a king, you know. I am a king."

Of course you are, young man, she agrees, tutting and talking about creams, pain relievers.

Viserys, having just moments prior seemed ready to tear her head off, frowns. The way she extends his arm allows a three-headed dragon to come into plain view from where Sansa stands. And, just as his house becomes obvious, he looks away from this woman fussing over him, skipping right past Sansa but perhaps not on his glance back around, if she shows signs of recognition...

Nonah

[dachizone]

Gentarou arrived prior to the blackout and, with all that action around and the repercussions that followed, there wasn't much time for him to go see all the places he could go with the porters. Nonah was the first off his checklist and, as he was heading back to the porter to go home to Heropa with a bag of snacks for his roommates, that's when he noticed the weird blonde dude in the dirty, torn up clothes looking pretty confused.

"Hey, bud. You need help or something?"

[emgoldened]

Finally, his outsides reflect his insides: super confused. In his hands he holds a grocery store's flyer. Deals and specials, and then all the coupons, the discounts, the buy-one-get-one's. Viserys stares down at them in confusion and something close to fear. He has no idea what half of this means, and he can read. He can. The words and the odd symbols (dollar signs) are making him question if he can read. But he can, but what does it mean. Gentarou is a blessing for sure.

Viserys looks at him long enough to assess that he is likely fine, not here to kill or steal, and then holds out the paper. One hand points earnestly to the page covered in Valentine's Day treats, with hearts all over the place, and wine, and pictures of couples and pasta recreating the Lady and the Tramp set up...it's a little overboard, honestly.

He doesn't ask. He just waves his hand a bit. What the hell is this? What is all of it. He needs so much help.

He needs so much help outside of this, too, but. Even qualified individuals would have Trouble with that.

Maurtia Falls

[baetiful]

Hair of Targaryen platinum and downtrodden clothing. It could be a coincidence. He has a friend with bright pink hair, so anything goes in these universes. But as Baelish gets closer to the scene Viserys is creating, the Targaryen symbol is unmistakable. Which one is this? Did the porter flip a coin and give them a crazy one?

A car had collided against a pole in an effort to avoid hitting Viserys. And so, the driver is yelling. Viserys is probably also yelling. And Petyr Baelish approaches the situation to diffuse it as best as he can.

"Do not fear, my good man. I will pay for the damages to your vehicle, plus get you a ride to wherever you are going." Littlefinger whips out a business card from his ambassadorial office along with a crisp hundred dollar bill and hands it to the driver, which seems to satisfy him enough to gather his things and start heading on his way. But not without first tossing one last insult to Viserys. And regardless of how Viserys responds, Petyr looms over the Targaryen brother's shoulder.

"People have no respect for royal blood in this world, do they?"

[emgoldened]

They're all crazy, Baelish. The trick is learning which sort of crazy each one is. Only then can he properly manipulate and move them around. It's a challenge!

Viserys is a few seconds from going crazy, however, so it's a damn good thing Baelish steps in when he does. Viserys can recognize a man who knows where and what he's doing and is more than content to stand aside in this regard. He doesn't even respond to that last word other than shooting the driver a deranged, hate-filled look, the sort that would end with torture or decapitation or being pulled apart if those platinum locks were beneath a crown. Said look is transferred to Baelish over the shoulder he looms at, lilac eyes an unmistakable addition to the hair, the three-headed dragon. Baelish did indeed find himself one of those exiled children half-forgotten across the sea, now planted into a brand new world. And, for the moment, despite his Good Deed and Honey Words, Baelish was being viewed as potentially the same as that driver: an enemy.

"No, they do not. This world is soft. I've yet to see a single head atop a spike since I arrived." No wonder people are driving their cars like idiots! No warning about what will happen if they almost hit royalty! Gosh. "Who are you?"

idk maurtia falls?

[compensates]

Daenerys had actually informed Tyrion quite recently that he was not the only one who had aquired a brother this month, but in a world where people do all sorts of odd things to their hair, he doesn't actually immediately recognize the man causing a slight commotion at the cafe. The waitress seems a bit frightened of him, but she keeps trying to show him to his seat so he can order a la carte instead of simply buying the first dish that comes out of the kitchens. Tyrion looks simply because there's something happening — it's not as though he's the only one — and then he wonders at the familiar fashion.

And then he sees the Targaryen symbol and it all comes together.

Probably he shouldn't do what he's about to do — Dany wouldn't approve. But regardless Tyrion approaches and, with a placating smile up at the waitress, attempts to intervene.

"Come, my Lord," he says slightly coaxingly. "Share a table with me. They'll bring your food to you if you let them." And Tyrion can pay for it, which is also probably relieving the waitress a great deal, even if Tyrion is also still in the clothes of Westeros, Dany's pin jammed firmly over his heart.

[emgoldened]

Viserys is close to storming out, all blustering wind compared to his sister's lightning, her torrential downpours, her flooding and fires. Those winds die to a chilled breeze when he hears and sees Tyrion, jaw tightening, uncertain whether to form a short-lived twister or just calm down. At least he has the decency to refer to him with a title, but even in death, he should be a king.

He'd think this all possibly a grand coincidence if not for that pin. So is it insult, then, or has there been a movement throughout Westeros the likes Viserys should have seen but never will? He knows this game, what he does not know is why.

"Yes."

His acquiescence is only for those watching eyes, now realizing the scene he's made. He's been wearing the face of a man ready to spit fire and eat metal for part of his talk with the waitress, it's only natural to take a bit to smooth that out. Surely the face he makes at Tyrion is just leftover of that and nothing else, the rest of the cafe might think. Except...that seething, impotent hatred does not vanish once they sit and are left to themselves. He does not mellow and thank Tyrion for his quick mind, does not begin to unwind. Quite the opposite. He just looks all the angrier. And something else, something a keen eye like Tyrion might pick up on: fear. Subtle but there, rage doing its best to mask it.

He says nothing, simply stares at Tyrion, lips curled. It was suggested he come. He came. A Lannister and a Targaryen sharing a table? More likely than he'd have ever thought.