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discedo_logs2010-02-19 12:06 am
kongeriget) wrote in discedo_logs2010-02-19 12:06 am
Entry tags:
Wesertag, part II
Who: Denmark and Germany
Where: Outside
When: After Norway's death and America's post.
Rating: PG-13 to R?
Summary: Germany regains his favorite protectorate.
the log:
Really, for once, there was nothing to say. Denmark had thought fresh air would help, which was a load of shit, really—it was the middle of winter, for fuck's sake, winter, and he'd heard people stopped feeling the cold but he wasn't. After five minutes of wandering, he was shivering to the bone, shaking, freezing, and it wasn't even a distraction so that was a bust. He wasn't going anywhere, just wandering, and he thought vaguely he should head towards his fort-shed-shack and turned aboutface—then realized he was lost, cold, in the dark, and it seemed so dramatic that he sat down on his ass and huddled a bit and laughed, but it died fast and didn't go anywhere in the meantime.
Dead. Norway—Nor—was dead. He had been taking care of him, and he was dead. He had done everything right—everything!—from blankets to finding food to even skipping a meal or two, missing out on comfort, to keep Nor healthy. Done the right things, said the right things, asked permission and listened and everything he'd normally forget or ignore, and Norway was dead anyway. Which didn't make sense, because Norway was a country, and— and Norway, more than that, Nor, his best friend, ex, the only one who had never willingly left him.
He scraped himself back to his feet, shivering and at the same time burning, numb and boiling, and noticed for the first time he was coatless. The dead revived at the hospital— he'd go there instead of his shack-hut-fort, there to greet Norway and—and—and, well, yell at him, sure, for doing this without permission, for causing this, for going off and die and leave Denmark alone, again, saddled this time with human emotions and no connection to his people to ease it.
He was headed in completely the wrong direction, of course; he didn't notice.
Where: Outside
When: After Norway's death and America's post.
Rating: PG-13 to R?
Summary: Germany regains his favorite protectorate.
the log:
Really, for once, there was nothing to say. Denmark had thought fresh air would help, which was a load of shit, really—it was the middle of winter, for fuck's sake, winter, and he'd heard people stopped feeling the cold but he wasn't. After five minutes of wandering, he was shivering to the bone, shaking, freezing, and it wasn't even a distraction so that was a bust. He wasn't going anywhere, just wandering, and he thought vaguely he should head towards his fort-shed-shack and turned aboutface—then realized he was lost, cold, in the dark, and it seemed so dramatic that he sat down on his ass and huddled a bit and laughed, but it died fast and didn't go anywhere in the meantime.
Dead. Norway—Nor—was dead. He had been taking care of him, and he was dead. He had done everything right—everything!—from blankets to finding food to even skipping a meal or two, missing out on comfort, to keep Nor healthy. Done the right things, said the right things, asked permission and listened and everything he'd normally forget or ignore, and Norway was dead anyway. Which didn't make sense, because Norway was a country, and— and Norway, more than that, Nor, his best friend, ex, the only one who had never willingly left him.
He scraped himself back to his feet, shivering and at the same time burning, numb and boiling, and noticed for the first time he was coatless. The dead revived at the hospital— he'd go there instead of his shack-hut-fort, there to greet Norway and—and—and, well, yell at him, sure, for doing this without permission, for causing this, for going off and die and leave Denmark alone, again, saddled this time with human emotions and no connection to his people to ease it.
He was headed in completely the wrong direction, of course; he didn't notice.