of all the seasons, winter befriends me [closed]
Characters: Norway (mythicalism) and Shirley Fenette (assumptio)
Setting/Location: First the inn in District 1, then the rest of Sleepywoods.
Date & Time: Day 0, early afternoon.
Warnings: tl;dr. No really.
Summary: Technically grouped under similar circumstances, Norway and Shirley try to gain their bearings in Willaknapp.
At some point in life it could only be expected that the line drawn between dreams and reality be blurred into some inconceivable mess, even if only temporarily. Reorientation was preferable, but certainly not required, because there were times where returning to normalcy wasn't the best outcome. However, most usually found it all to be disconcerting anyway.
Norway supposed he was suffering from this. After all, there were few instances where he could recall ever being stripped of his birthright and forced to live under a fickle deity with the constant threat of death just a whisper away. Yet for a nation who've suffered through centuries of oppression and dubious equality he'd been unsurprisingly complacent about the whole ordeal, though that was only because there'd been no point on retaliating on shaky terms. In the end, the Nordic had simply pulled his strengths from what was close and familiar: his 'family'. They were the constant presence in his life even when their relations were ever-changing, but during that time it'd been crucial that they remain together.
In a way he'd grown fond of that, for it was the first time he'd been free to live for himself, but in the end he would dismiss it as nothing more than human weakness. There would be a time where he would, once more, bear the burden of his people, and with that his own wants as an individual would matter very little.
That was how it'd always been. Why was change necessary?
Norway awoke with a start, dull eyes gazing listlessly up at the ceiling of his room; or at least, what he originally presumed to be his until realization set in. The Nordic slowly blinked as his surroundings took shape, revealing an interior quite unlike his own. He eventually sat up on the bed, glancing about the foreign room in an attempt to gain his bearings. It was unsurprising that a wave of déja vu strike him so soon, as it'd only been a few months since his last encounter with the unknown.
But already it was all different. All 'wrong', if he could describe it like that. For one he was completely clothed, and what articles were shed had been neatly placed on either the dresser or the foot of the bed. Another was that the accommodations were modest instead of lavish, a setting Norway easily drew comfort from as opposed to the latter. It was all peculiar, and yet none of that mattered compared to his last discovery. Initially nothing more than an idle touch, the Nordic's eyes suddenly widened when the pads of his fingers brushed up against nothing but skin.
The collar was gone.
All at once Norway was hit with a plethora of emotions, ranging from confusion to relief and concluding with worry and near desperation.
... And then it was all gone, and the nation reverted back to a cool and insular state, almost as if it hadn't happened at all. Norway absentmindedly glided his hands through his hair, shifting and reaching for his gloves which laid neatly on top of his hat. In the end there were few things that could move the stoic nation for longer than a moment, and already the Nordic began to calmly sort through the situation. While he had his doubts before, it was now evident that there'd been a dramatic shift, though the blond remained unsure of the actual direction. He felt no change, nothing that assisted in labeling himself as something other than human, but it still felt different as a whole. If anything, it probably would've been best to explore his surroundings before making any conclusions.
The blond was quick to toe on his socks and shoes before clipping on his barrette and adjusting his hat. Upon further inspection he'd gained no other possessions aside from a single book in his collection, one the nation found as peculiar as everything else around him. Norway flipped through the tome once before tucking it under his arm, and with that he finally made his way out of his room.
Setting/Location: First the inn in District 1, then the rest of Sleepywoods.
Date & Time: Day 0, early afternoon.
Warnings: tl;dr. No really.
Summary: Technically grouped under similar circumstances, Norway and Shirley try to gain their bearings in Willaknapp.
At some point in life it could only be expected that the line drawn between dreams and reality be blurred into some inconceivable mess, even if only temporarily. Reorientation was preferable, but certainly not required, because there were times where returning to normalcy wasn't the best outcome. However, most usually found it all to be disconcerting anyway.
Norway supposed he was suffering from this. After all, there were few instances where he could recall ever being stripped of his birthright and forced to live under a fickle deity with the constant threat of death just a whisper away. Yet for a nation who've suffered through centuries of oppression and dubious equality he'd been unsurprisingly complacent about the whole ordeal, though that was only because there'd been no point on retaliating on shaky terms. In the end, the Nordic had simply pulled his strengths from what was close and familiar: his 'family'. They were the constant presence in his life even when their relations were ever-changing, but during that time it'd been crucial that they remain together.
In a way he'd grown fond of that, for it was the first time he'd been free to live for himself, but in the end he would dismiss it as nothing more than human weakness. There would be a time where he would, once more, bear the burden of his people, and with that his own wants as an individual would matter very little.
That was how it'd always been. Why was change necessary?
Norway awoke with a start, dull eyes gazing listlessly up at the ceiling of his room; or at least, what he originally presumed to be his until realization set in. The Nordic slowly blinked as his surroundings took shape, revealing an interior quite unlike his own. He eventually sat up on the bed, glancing about the foreign room in an attempt to gain his bearings. It was unsurprising that a wave of déja vu strike him so soon, as it'd only been a few months since his last encounter with the unknown.
But already it was all different. All 'wrong', if he could describe it like that. For one he was completely clothed, and what articles were shed had been neatly placed on either the dresser or the foot of the bed. Another was that the accommodations were modest instead of lavish, a setting Norway easily drew comfort from as opposed to the latter. It was all peculiar, and yet none of that mattered compared to his last discovery. Initially nothing more than an idle touch, the Nordic's eyes suddenly widened when the pads of his fingers brushed up against nothing but skin.
The collar was gone.
All at once Norway was hit with a plethora of emotions, ranging from confusion to relief and concluding with worry and near desperation.
... And then it was all gone, and the nation reverted back to a cool and insular state, almost as if it hadn't happened at all. Norway absentmindedly glided his hands through his hair, shifting and reaching for his gloves which laid neatly on top of his hat. In the end there were few things that could move the stoic nation for longer than a moment, and already the Nordic began to calmly sort through the situation. While he had his doubts before, it was now evident that there'd been a dramatic shift, though the blond remained unsure of the actual direction. He felt no change, nothing that assisted in labeling himself as something other than human, but it still felt different as a whole. If anything, it probably would've been best to explore his surroundings before making any conclusions.
The blond was quick to toe on his socks and shoes before clipping on his barrette and adjusting his hat. Upon further inspection he'd gained no other possessions aside from a single book in his collection, one the nation found as peculiar as everything else around him. Norway flipped through the tome once before tucking it under his arm, and with that he finally made his way out of his room.