ᴠɪᴄᴇʀᴏʏ sʜɪᴛʜᴇᴀᴅ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emgoldened) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2017-02-05 09:36 pm
emgoldened) wrote in maskormenacelogs2017-02-05 09:36 pm
you'll no longer fear when your heart's turned to gold
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.
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.
nonah!
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
But oh. It's dog. That explains it. He can't help it: Victor wrinkles his nose slightly at the idea of eating dog. Because if blondie says that it's dog, he'll take him at his word for now. The stand does say hot dogs, after all. He'll just add 'hot dogs' to his long list of things to inevitably research.
"That must be why they pile so much on top of it. I can't imagine dog tastes all that well to begin with."
Says the person who lived poor in the middle of London in the 1890s. Victor's had some pretty questionable street food in his time, he can't judge.
no subject
He looks at Victor, then the definitely dog, then Victor again, and this time it's as though he's finally actually seen him. He laughs, smiling wide, and jostles the dog in a bun to move around some of the pile. There's so much that a few bits of green and yellow-white fall to the ground. Condiments upon condiments, weighing at least half the meat itself.
"Must be! What a clever man you are." Unlike Viserys, who has issues in that area. "You imagine well. Only horse meat is worse than dog."
Never gonna stop hating on horse meat.
no subject
Of course...soldiers knew how to dress, right? Stand at attention and make sure your boots fit and all that nonsense Victor's only heard about in passing. This man obviously doesn't. Why would someone willingly wear rags?
"Are the toppings any good at least? An awful dish can sometimes be saved if it's dressed well." Stated as if that's a total fact and not something Victor "I cook like a bachelor" Frankenstein has just made up on the spot.
no subject
He looks back down at the pile up of condiments and, without asking, plucks up a plastic spoon from the vendor. This is fine, since it's a plastic spoon, and he could have had one anyway, but Viserys seems rather the sort inclined to just. Pluck things up. Without asking. Because begging only gets you so far sometimes.
Instead of answering about anything being dressed well, he hands his wiener over to Victor. And the spoon. He can make of it what he wills.
no subject
"Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I've already eaten."
Because that's what this is about, right? Here, have this food made of dog because I don't want it and we don't want the food to go to waste. The plastic spoon...well that's something else entirely (and it's currently getting pocketed) but that has to be the logical reason for the hot dog, despite the fact that Victor just said he imagined the hot dog didn't taste well.
Eventually he will learn not to apply logic to this situation. But as is, choo choo all aboard the critical thinking train.
no subject
A passing dog sits and stares up at the two of them. Viserys watches it, frowning. The idea of a dog eating dog hits him for a second but doesn't sit poorly. That's just how the world worked. He placed his wiener on the ground for the dog to tear apart instead, and it did so with great zest. Good.
"Do you think it knows?" He tilts his head. "Perhaps the man was not lying, and it is beef, and the dog knows that."
CHOO CHOO aboard some train or other, yes.
no subject
"Dogs do have a more developed sense of smell than humans," Victor explains, as he watches the dog eat the hot dog. Because okay, this is their conversation, sure, why not. "While I suppose it is possible to trick a human into cannibalism, I doubt it would be possible for a dog."
Maybe. He thinks. Victor's a doctor, not a vet, he only knows the bare minimum about dogs. It's something he'd ask Ethan about...only Ethan's not in this world, is he. Damn.
no subject
"A more developed smell but not a more developed sense of morality." The word is sour on his tongue, rolled out like leftover, stale, tart candy. "Would a dog care as people might?"
Might he says. Because of course he does, look where he comes from.
no subject
"I don't think we'll ever know the answer to that question—that is, unless we ask a dog. Perhaps someone here has been gifted the ability to talk to animals?"
It's said in a slightly teasing tone, but the sad thing is, that's a totally valid possibility with this world.
no subject
"Would that be a gift?" He gestures toward the telephone poles (not that he has a damn clue what they are) with their various pigeons perched, at the sidewalks, the benches, all scattered with feathered foes. "Look. See? They are everywhere. You'd never have a moment's peace."
You could definitely know when spiders and roaches were about, though, and that would probably be handy.