Joffrey Baratheon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bratking) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
asgardeventide2014-02-19 06:32 pm
bratking) wrote in asgardeventide2014-02-19 06:32 pm
video // Joffrey and Viserys
[Red is Viserys]
[Orange is Joffrey]
[The only view is of a door - the door to Viserys Targaryen’s room, to be exact - cracked slightly open, with a bucket on the rim.]
Just wait for it. [He whispers, not wanting to alert Viserys to his scheme.] He’s going to throw a fit.
[“Going to”? He’s quite already there if the way the door flies open is anything to go by. It flies open, the bucket of paint falls, and a stream of gold pours down over him, covering his head and dripping down his clothes, ready to pool on the floor. There’s no screaming at this gold over his head, every ounce of air in his lungs briefly punched out of him. The way he backs up against the wall is quick and panicked, as if he’s just had a bucket of hideous, venomous insects and snakes poured all over him. It happens quickly, and if one listens well enough between the sound of him hitting the wall and the gasp for air, they might just be able to pick up on two words rushed together:
Sweet sister.
He goes still the moment he spots Joffrey, though. Remarkably still for someone who’s so prone to being restless, which might be warning to someone else, but. Well.]
You.
[Joffrey is in the middle of a laughing fit, and takes a few seconds to catch his breath.] You should have seen your face! How pathetic!
[Far too still to be trusted, and it’s a miracle Viserys manages to remain as such when that hideous (to his ears, probably the same to everyone else in Westeros) laughter rings out. Pathetic breaks every bit of patience he has and what’s more pathetic, really, than a man launching himself at a boy a full decade younger than him? For someone covered in gold paint, it seems effortless to do as much, like some scrawny football player finally getting his chance to shine by...tackling a child to the floor.]
[Joffrey yells and hits the ground with a thud, limbs flailing about in a misguided attempt to land a blow on his attacker.] Get off of me, you brute!
Brute? Me? [He is apparently really good at this—has Joffrey been suffering this all along? Limbs flail and Viserys moves to grab at his wrists, to pin him down, ready to bodily stick him to the floor if he has to. How pathetic indeed.] Your father was the brute—hold still, hold still or it will be much worse. Hold still or I'll spit in your mouth!
Don’t you dare talk about my father! [He struggles more, despite the advice he was given.] I should have brought my bow and shot you instead!
[Good advice, too, because all that struggling does is earn him a smack, and it looks like it will only get worse before—]
[Joffrey lets out another high-pitched yell, before realizing that he’s still filming this. Not wanting to let the world see his continued humiliation (this was supposed to humiliate Viserys, after all!) he shuts the feed off.]
[ooc; takes place shortly after this post. They'll both be responding separately from their own rooms; please specify in the subject line if you only want to direct the reply at one of them!]
[Orange is Joffrey]
[The only view is of a door - the door to Viserys Targaryen’s room, to be exact - cracked slightly open, with a bucket on the rim.]
Just wait for it. [He whispers, not wanting to alert Viserys to his scheme.] He’s going to throw a fit.
[“Going to”? He’s quite already there if the way the door flies open is anything to go by. It flies open, the bucket of paint falls, and a stream of gold pours down over him, covering his head and dripping down his clothes, ready to pool on the floor. There’s no screaming at this gold over his head, every ounce of air in his lungs briefly punched out of him. The way he backs up against the wall is quick and panicked, as if he’s just had a bucket of hideous, venomous insects and snakes poured all over him. It happens quickly, and if one listens well enough between the sound of him hitting the wall and the gasp for air, they might just be able to pick up on two words rushed together:
Sweet sister.
He goes still the moment he spots Joffrey, though. Remarkably still for someone who’s so prone to being restless, which might be warning to someone else, but. Well.]
You.
[Joffrey is in the middle of a laughing fit, and takes a few seconds to catch his breath.] You should have seen your face! How pathetic!
[Far too still to be trusted, and it’s a miracle Viserys manages to remain as such when that hideous (to his ears, probably the same to everyone else in Westeros) laughter rings out. Pathetic breaks every bit of patience he has and what’s more pathetic, really, than a man launching himself at a boy a full decade younger than him? For someone covered in gold paint, it seems effortless to do as much, like some scrawny football player finally getting his chance to shine by...tackling a child to the floor.]
[Joffrey yells and hits the ground with a thud, limbs flailing about in a misguided attempt to land a blow on his attacker.] Get off of me, you brute!
Brute? Me? [He is apparently really good at this—has Joffrey been suffering this all along? Limbs flail and Viserys moves to grab at his wrists, to pin him down, ready to bodily stick him to the floor if he has to. How pathetic indeed.] Your father was the brute—hold still, hold still or it will be much worse. Hold still or I'll spit in your mouth!
Don’t you dare talk about my father! [He struggles more, despite the advice he was given.] I should have brought my bow and shot you instead!
[Good advice, too, because all that struggling does is earn him a smack, and it looks like it will only get worse before—]
[Joffrey lets out another high-pitched yell, before realizing that he’s still filming this. Not wanting to let the world see his continued humiliation (this was supposed to humiliate Viserys, after all!) he shuts the feed off.]
[ooc; takes place shortly after this post. They'll both be responding separately from their own rooms; please specify in the subject line if you only want to direct the reply at one of them!]
no subject
[Never here when Viserys needs him, nothing new.]
private 4 the sake of your tiny babby pride
excuse his pride is fully grown like a dragon with no flame
dying charmander pride
You've begged for nothing here. No one assumes you have. Your sister has traveled for a long time without your presence. She wishes to keep you closer now that you have been reunited.
[ That's a lie and Jorah knows it. But he would rather an annoyed Dany on his hands than an enraged Viserys. Important decisions. ]
do you know what happens to rude people jorah
I've been called a beggar by Stannis Baratheon already. He assumes. Joffrey assumes. Robb Stark. It has traveled. My name in Westeros is not mine any longer, and they think they know, that their assumptions are founded.
[Robb must think of him as much. He knows it. He's not the smartest cookie in the tool shed, no, but he knows what begging is and what it isn't, and he knows that begging doesn't always include the word "please."]
Now you, Ser Mormont, assume incorrectly. You do not know what I have done since I came here, who I have talked to, and what I have said. We have talked, but I have not reported to you as if you are in charge of me. You are not.
I've been begging since I found Westerosi here with the knowledge that they would tell my sister things they should not. Privately, we have spoken. There are many kinds of begging, Ser Mormont, and I have done much of it. For her.
It seems, in one way, we are both the same. I doubt you would like to think of it as such, would you? Being the same as I. We both do much for her. Does she know it? Is she ordering you to do this?
[To anyone else, he wouldn't say as much. Then again, the only other people here he knows in any real fashion are Dany and Ser Jaime. The latter saw it close, saw what Viserys' mother tried to hide and refused to truly believe, what he buried, what he never told her.
And even though he's lied and will continue, he knows Ser Mormont saw it firsthand. He's spoken to him about it. What his sister may have told him about Viserys since their death, he does not know. It's possible this may be taken as him seeking pity. But if he truly wanted pity, comparing the two of them was a poor way to go about it.
Mad he may be and trying to fight it off after death, but here's one truth. If he wanted pity, he'd be talking to him like he's talked to Stannis: every time I ever begged, it was for her. Always for her. Ser Mormont would probably never believe it. This, what he's done since being here? It's true, and hopefully he can believe that much, same as he believes Viserys to be no dragon and definitely his father's son.]
they get flayed
Oh, and Viserys?
STOP
BEING
SO
DIFFICULT!!! ]
I have been given no orders. [ Just keep an eye on you. The rest is certainly for her, though he was not ordered to treat Viserys in any particular way. ]
Would they not call you a beggar if they found you seated on the Iron Throne? You are their enemy. Whether you beg or not, they will call you a beggar until the day they die because that is how they've been taught to see you.
Accepting something you have been offered is not begging.
either way, sausage is involved. eyyyyyyyyyy
[He'd do it, too. Or have someone else do it for him. Not so unlike someone else there, is he?
What would she care for how he was treated anyway? She certainly didn't care as she watched his wrist broken and saw his sobbing, his terror, saw his begging and calling her by the name he essentially gave her. What reason would she have to order anyone else to treat him with what, kindness?]
You are not ordered, but your offer is not truly on my behalf. It is not genuine. Are you begging for her favor now, Ser Mormont?
Had I a crown for this title, I'd give it to you gladly. You could still use some lessons on it, however.
[a crown a crown all he ever wanted was a crown
that wasn't melted to his head]
I will talk to her about the matter. You need not concern yourself with me, or pretend that you do.