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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.
no subject
His opinion on Viserys is that…well, he currently has none. He knows nothing of him, beyond the whispers that he’s grown just as mad as his father while he begs in Essos. That doesn’t seem to be quite right. Not yet, anyway. Sure, he comes across as a little unhinged, but grow your nails a little longer, then we’ll talk.
“Theon Greyjoy,” he begins, smirking amusedly at the look on Viserys’s face. He has that effect on people. “Son of Lord Balon Greyjoy and heir to Pyke and the Iron Islands.”
His title isn’t nearly as grand or lengthy as Viserys’s, but it only seems fitting to match title for title. They’re both a little full of themselves, and it’s with good reason. They’ve grown up with the promise of becoming something great, and both have been denied such things.
"You're aware that Robert is dead, aren't you?"
no subject
Theon might be able to relate to a Targaryen's joy at the death of the Usurper, might not find it strange or disturbing for him to delight in that particular man being no more. Some deaths called for celebration instead of mourning. The Usurper's was one of the many Viserys would have loved to have seen to personally. If not for his own dying, he would have. How grim.
"Yes! I have heard. His dog's bastard informed me."
But wait, Theon isn't his sister, does not know the usual Viserys Targaryen terminology for various folks throughout Westeros (coming soon in pamphlet form).
"He called himself Jon Snow."
And he had beautiful Rhaegar features Viserys is doing his damnedest to dismiss forever.
no subject
A certain someone’s name is brought into the mix instead.
“Jon Snow?”
He lets out a bark of laughter, but at the same time, his expression turns somewhat sour. It’s pretty obvious that he and Jon aren’t the best of pals.
“Jon Snow wouldn’t know his own ass if it punched him in the face. I’m surprised he got that much right. What else did he tell you? On his best day, he's nearly as bright as that hot dog vendor back there."
no subject
"Is that so?" Ass punching. Yes. That as an amusing image, especially to the inner child. "He told me his father, and that his father taught him right. Have you dealt with him personally or only heard stories?"
Tell him everything, Theon. He is all ears for babyfights. He is your new best friend. Isn't that something? Since neither of these two have ever had a friend before. Wow!
no subject
He sounds bitter, and he scowls at his own words. He feels no hatred for the Starks, but being brought up with them caused more trouble than was ever necessary. If Balon had never rebelled, Theon might not be his heir, but he would be a proper ironborn captain. And maybe if he had forced himself to hate the Starks rather than allow himself to grow soft, he wouldn’t have ever gotten wrapped up in the whole let’s-take-Winterfell-and-make-dad-proud-of-me situation.
“How much has reached you from the Iron Islands? Do you know of my father’s rebellion?”
How could that news not reach across the Narrow Sea?
“That was the outcome. His last heir was sent to Winterfell as a prisoner, and I can think of no worse punishment than being raised alongside Eddard Stark’s miserable bastard.”
Have you seen Jon's face? He frowns all the time. Will he never smile? It’s so frustrating.
no subject
Viserys laugh a little as he says it, clearly approving of the gesture. Of course he does. Burning and Lannisters deserved to happen way, way more often. Like, constantly, until their entire house was gone, and also Viserys' family held the Iron Throne and King's Landing once more.
Ah, to sleep, perchance to dream of such a future.
His easy, obvious pleasure retreats after, though, turning to a displeased frown followed by some thought. How did one take an ironborn and raise them so far from the sea? That idea by itself was simply obscene; no wonder the Usurper and his flea-bitten cads dreamed it up.
"How horrible." This is coming from a guy who grew up exiled with a baby he had to take care of so it's safe to say that growing up Stark is something Viserys views as Fuck That Noise. "Shocking you are in one piece."
Physically, anyway.
no subject
At least that is enough to bring a ghost of a smirk back to his face. He’s still a proud Greyjoy, and the burning of the Lannister fleet had been a fantastic beginning to a hopeful rebellion, before his brothers were killed and the Iron Fleet was smashed and Aeron was taken prisoner. He had only been a boy when it had happened, but he can recall it all well enough. In the end, Robert merely had more support. The islands couldn’t match the entirety of the North and Westerlands. Balon’s aspirations were way, way too high.
“Why shouldn’t I be in one piece?”
He comes across as more than a little defensive. As much as he hates the idea of his upbringing, he still can’t bring himself to hate the Starks. Would Lord Eddard have truly beheaded him if he had been given the chance? That question still haunts him, and the invisible noose that’s been around his neck for ten years still chafes, but he still can’t bring himself to feel any true malice toward the Starks.
“They wouldn’t have dared. After years of ignoring the Iron Islands, they didn’t suspect that the Iron Fleet might have been rebuilt, bigger than before. My father would have crushed them.”
Even he can’t make himself believe that lie, but it does help him feel a bit better. TFW dad doesn't love you. Do you know that feeling, Viserys?
no subject
"I sincerely hope that he does." It would take far more than meeting a few who didn't seem like horrible human beings for Viserys to change his mind on that. Too long in exile, too long left with his mind to wander and rot in furious humiliation. "One day...Lannister, Baratheon, Stark, Arryn...they all must fall."
Uh yes he does. TFW you wanna kill people for Daddy but your sister does everything better. Sigh.
no subject
Theon has a hard time agreeing with him when it comes to the Starks, though. It’s a cruel sort of irony. For all of his adult life, he’s hated the thought of being expected to be grateful to his captors, but he can’t find it in him to hate them for it.
“Arryn is close to fallen as it is,” he responds, wanting to veer the conversation away from the Starks. He can hate the Arryns far more easily. “Jon Arryn is dead. His only heir is a sickly young boy. If he lives long enough to takes his father's seat, I would be very surprised."