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!]
voice;
text;
[WHAT HE DOESN'T KNOW...]
voice;
text;
How you even managed to learn to walk, I will never know.
voice;
text on his end forever, etc;
Though what you have must be tainted, your mother being what she is.
[What, not who. Oooohh.]
no subject
1/2
PRIVATE!!!
doesn't believe it]
Why are you being called a bastard?
no subject
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Because you took Eddard Stark's head? Was that the reason?
How ridiculous.
no subject
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[His double grandfather. Not that Viserys will believe it.]
My sister desires a truce. She spoke to me of it before she spoke to anyone else. [She told him, didn't ask. Still mad about it.] You'd have none of it, would you?
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
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voice;
I had thought that I made it perfectly clear you were not to address me as such, abomination.
voice;
[Because the best person to ask for an objective opinion from is one of the people involved, right?]
voice;
And you believe that a known oath-breaker, and one of the individuals involved would speak his infamy?
[ Yet more teeth grinding. ]
Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps your mother got you off of a halfwit fool, instead.
voice;
[Well, that describes Tyrion too, but...no. Let's not talk about Tyrion.]
My father is Robert Baratheon and you're slandering his name every time you try and say otherwise.
voice;
If your father was truly my elder brother, then tell me something, boy. Why i is that neither you nor your siblings have any trace of his look about you. Shireen has our colouring, as does Edric Storm.
[ ...though it had been sometime since he said that name, he remembered it far too well. ]
voice;
voice;
[ For the Baratheons were all stubborn by nature. It only stood to reason that their look would be much the same. ]
voice;
[Good luck explaining genetics to him.]
voice;
I will find a way.
[ He has half a mind to scour that library, now. After all, it is hardly as though he has much else to do in this realm. ]
voice;
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