[ Norway may be oblivious, but he isn't. He smokes, and watches the water lap against the boat, dark curves against a dark wall; listens to it, and thinks about the day so far. Norway knew more than he expected him to, and, when he thinks on it, he likes it. ]
[ For now, though, he's happy and alone on-deck, singing old folk songs to the night, smoking as he pleases. He wishes he'd brought his pipe, and wishes he'd brought beer along, but still - it's not bad at all. He almost wants to strip and go for swim, just for something to do. He's wide awake, despite the calm ocean air, the lazy roll of clouds and lap of waves, and he's feeling restless. If he still believed in it, he would think the night was feeling just as unsettled as he was. ]
[ He sings ancient songs to the night, to the ocean, and at last ends up singing a song that isn't old at all - simply nostalgic. And perhaps he feels a bit lonely once he's singing it, but he would never admit that. ]
[ It only makes him smoke more, sing a bit more loudly. ]
[Blackness. Norway comes up, and then: blackness. That's what he sees. He looks up at the sky, knows it should be bright, knows he left it that way, so why isn't it? Well. At least it doesn't feel like a storm. Settled on that, he turns his thoughts once again to the singing. It has become louder now, clearer.]
[He listens to it, listens to him for a little while. Norway knows that voice sure enough, but this is new. He wouldn't have thought Netherlands the sort. Then again, he tells himself, there was a time you didn't think much of him at all, did you.]
[It isn't any of his business to interrupt him. By all rights he should go back below deck and let him be. But there is a hint of loneliness in that voice - though perhaps it is only Norway's imagination - and as the song draws to a close, Norway draws toward him, stepping carefully but not quietly, wanting to be heard, but not wanting to startle him.]
[ He hears it, then sees what he assumes is Norway, and he's glad for the cover of darkness - because now he's blushing at being caught like that. He only sings when he thinks he's alone, or when he's really, really drunk. ]
Didn't think ya were up. [ Frowns to himself. ] I - I didn't wake you, right.
[He slinks closer, carefully, until he's beside him. Looks up at Netherlands in the dim light, finds himself bothered by the fact that he can hardly see him, and moves a bit closer. Just a bit closer, until they're slightly touching.]
Glad it was just you. Ain't usually a good sign, hearin' voices singing out on the water in the dark.
Comments 196
[ For now, though, he's happy and alone on-deck, singing old folk songs to the night, smoking as he pleases. He wishes he'd brought his pipe, and wishes he'd brought beer along, but still - it's not bad at all. He almost wants to strip and go for swim, just for something to do. He's wide awake, despite the calm ocean air, the lazy roll of clouds and lap of waves, and he's feeling restless. If he still believed in it, he would think the night was feeling just as unsettled as he was. ]
[ He sings ancient songs to the night, to the ocean, and at last ends up singing a song that isn't old at all - simply nostalgic. And perhaps he feels a bit lonely once he's singing it, but he would never admit that. ]
[ It only makes him smoke more, sing a bit more loudly. ]
Reply
[He listens to it, listens to him for a little while. Norway knows that voice sure enough, but this is new. He wouldn't have thought Netherlands the sort. Then again, he tells himself, there was a time you didn't think much of him at all, did you.]
[It isn't any of his business to interrupt him. By all rights he should go back below deck and let him be. But there is a hint of loneliness in that voice - though perhaps it is only Norway's imagination - and as the song draws to a close, Norway draws toward him, stepping carefully but not quietly, wanting to be heard, but not wanting to startle him.]
Reply
Didn't think ya were up. [ Frowns to himself. ] I - I didn't wake you, right.
Reply
[He slinks closer, carefully, until he's beside him. Looks up at Netherlands in the dim light, finds himself bothered by the fact that he can hardly see him, and moves a bit closer. Just a bit closer, until they're slightly touching.]
Glad it was just you. Ain't usually a good sign, hearin' voices singing out on the water in the dark.
[His tone is light, but he's only half-joking.]
Reply
Leave a comment