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!]
text/private forever > you mean besides will?
traitors
thieves
He really needs to stop with those words. He's getting a little...obsessed.
Dug a grave, has he? It's one of the few things he excels at, alongside beating the hell out of people smaller and weaker than he is when no one is around to protect them. Hold my tongue about the truth and you'll hold yours about lies? Hah. Oh. He can't even say it. Bless this writing function.]
Does your ability to sympathize have to do with your asking about something terrible happening to your family that they have yet to learn about?
[He had absolutely nothing to say to that, but, well...Robb, buddy, there's two Targaryens in Asgard. One is great. One is mad. Don't ever forget it.]
voice/private well yeah will too
do the creep robb, but add some bacon to get to his level
That's a pity. [Viserys Targaryen is not the person to talk about pity. He doesn't have the ability to give any or feel it for anyone else. Robb may see this as him trying to save face so he'll keep his mouth shut about that One Thing, but there's at least two people here who could see it (if it was public) and know exactly what those three words really mean.] Hopefully they learned of it from you and not any others here who might be cruel about it. [Like him, if only he knew.] Are you threatening me, Robb Stark? Some of them have learned it already, you say. Is that meant to be a reminder that we share, in this way, a similar situation where words can do great harm?
[He haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaates it, oh God does he hate it. He hates any comparison that can be made between them. But this is private. This is not in view. This is not...Ser Jaime can't see this and
well, he'd rather him, of all people, not have anything that he could use against him.]
he's never getting to will's level then sobs
A reminder, and a promise that I mean to keep. [Because he has the best track record with those.]
he'll teach him how to make non-people bacon this is your chance to shine
Not just Dany. All of them. The last member of a dynasty, or he was once.
Kinslayer. Kingslayer. Still: Targaryen, and must never doubt their family's rights, must never doubt that perhaps their father needed to surrender the throne. Not in some magic world, not home, never.]
You don't need to remind me, Robb Stark. There is nothing wrong with my memory. [Yes, there is, there is, there definitely is. It will get worse. Would have gotten worse if he lived, and even worse if he took the throne. It couldn't be stopped, no that wasn't true.] I'll not mention it to your mother again, nor your sisters. [The little one, she's very sweet, he doesn't think will go over well. Nor will it go over well that he mentions it when they're speaking privately. What are you saying, Targaryen, what are you saying to my sister? He'd ask the same. Demand it.] Surely you won't bark or bite at me for anything I might say against the Baratheons?
[Bark and bite, together. He has a feeling that Robb is probably not words words words. He has a feeling that he might just be a man who knows how to use a sword. A Stark who knows how to bite, something he really doesn't like at all. All he can do is bark.
Does everyone back in Westeros know that as much as they know about his begging?]