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
[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?
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[Reason is hard to come across, it's true. But there's opportunity here. He can see it, blind as he is.]
She desires a truce from all, Starks included, vile things that they are. They are not to be trusted, we both agree.
How would you feel if I did the same, called you a bastard to all who might speak of you to me? Would you like that? It would anger you, would it not?
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no subject
[This isn't a truce. Really! It's just...two blond assholes who have names they don't like and, well. If they can manage to agree to "silence" on it it's...it's an agreement! Yes, that is how he will spin it.]
My sister will not believe it either. This does not mean that we would not call you such just to crawl under your skin and burn you from the inside. However, she listens to me, and will in this regard. Cease calling me that name you've been so loose and eager to share, and I will see to it that at least two here never speak of you as a bastard.
Nor will I lay hands on you again unless it is a matter of life and death.
[These two are the best to try and step into another person's shoes and have some sympathy. Yes. It is known.]
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[Not at all going to mention his whole "truce" with Robb, the ones he's desperately trying with everyone else. He doubts he could ever keep Joffrey's mouth shut, but he doubts he knows much more about Aerys past them calling him the Mad King, and if he does? His sister could dismiss it.
He's too young to really know, Viserys would say. These others, though, these Baratheons...they would have more influence. They were there.]
One of the few things you take joy in is demeaning me? Why, I'm a bit flattered. Your uncle is not here at all times, Joffrey Baratheon, nor will he be. He may threaten to hurt me, but he was not here when this happened, was he?
Imagine it in the kitchen, Joffrey Baratheon. Imagine my not spitting in your mouth. Imagine my slicing you from groin to neck. Will I suffer some consequences? Of course I will.
But, oh, wouldn't it be such a shame to make me a Kingslayer because you couldn't hold your tongue?
Shut your mouth with that title given me wrongly and that you could never understand, and I'll never touch you again. Shut your mouth with that title, Joffrey Baratheon, and see if you can find some joy when my sister and I refuse to believe a word from the mouths of those calling you bastard.
Your decision is one only you can make. But trust me when I say this: what I did to you just now? It is nothing compared to what I can do. I don't need a crossbow to do worse than what you just suffered. Anything your uncle would dare do to me after would be more than worth it. I'd accept it gladly, just to have seen your eyes dim as you realized it could have all been avoided if you'd just kept your damn mouth shut about one thing.
no subject
[He's determined not to let the taunting get to him, because he's lost enough dignity already.]
And I've got one thing on you, too. No matter what you do to me, I've got a home to return to. A throne to return to. This is the only place you have, isn't it? This festering dung-pile of a place, and death. Honestly, I don't know which is worse. I'll never envy you, no matter what you do to me.
no subject
[Oh, but it burns. He's angry, plenty angry. But Joffrey is still so young, isn't he? His sister was so young, too, and his way with words (when he could spin them properly and think it through) had been easier to take because of her lack of maturity. Is Joffrey mature? Hah. Neither is he.
He doesn't worry that what this brat says will impact his sister. He doesn't worry that anything he says or does will hurt her. His worry, yet again, is only for himself. Calling him Beggar King at every turn...
Oh.]
I haven't asked for your envy, nor would I want it. I don't expect you to know what there is to envy of the Targaryens. Still, the more you tell people this, the more it might seem you have some fixation on me. An obsession. You don't want people to think you're more focused on me than is natural, do you?
Again, I am flattered. But you should think on your words. The more you mention me and go into any of my history, the more you might make people think you're far more interested in me than you should be.
Not such a joyous thing to be accused of, either, I would believe. Your choice either way, Joffrey Baratheon. I won't have to put up with you in this house much longer, praise whatever gods your family finds themselves believing in.
[What is a god to an exile, other than either a lie or something that knows nothing but cruelty?]
no subject
And the only interest I have in you is interest in seeing you suffer.
no subject
I trust them both. They would tell me the truth. If something had happened to you, do you not believe that Ser Jaime Lannister would have informed you? It is similar to that.
You've no one here to defend you other than your uncle, Joffrey. He cannot be with you at all times. How will you make me suffer when you've no way to defend yourself, other than a crossbow you do not carry at all times and cannot load quickly?
Think a little. Use your brain.