Good morning, starshine~!
WHO: A Dane and an Icelander with questionable taste
WHEN: September 9, in de morgen
WHERE: Sindre and Valdi's apartment of wondrousness.
WHAT: Lessons in gratitude. And cooking. And Charades.
( The world says hello. )
WHEN: September 9, in de morgen
WHERE: Sindre and Valdi's apartment of wondrousness.
WHAT: Lessons in gratitude. And cooking. And Charades.
( The world says hello. )
Comments 9
Valdi watched him with little- scrap that, no interest whatsoever. What Søren did was none of his concern.
Well, not until a few seconds later, when his brain finally woke up enough to piece together exactly what had just happened.
Søren was up. Søren was up and in their kitchen. Søren who was meant to be asleep on the couch (Valdi had avoided the main room for that reason) and who had rathe just stepped out of Sindre's room.
Sindre who was....still asleep. (Since when was Valdi ever up first?)
Suddenly the Icelander cared a lot more about their neighbor's business.
A once vacant expression turned to confusion as he followed Søren into the kitchen, making a quick mental note to keep Puffin in his room and far away from delirious, loud Danes.
Valdi stopped by the kitchen door,
"What were you doing in my brother's room?"
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He opened his mouth to give a (slightly edited) answer for why he'd been in Sindre's room only to remember (or rather, rediscover) that...he...couldn't.
...the chemical cocktail of curiosity yesterday had been a bad idea.
So the best he was able to manage was an ambivalent shrug before giving the kitchen a brief once-over. Looked just about the same as his, if a bit bigger. Meaning it would do just fine for his purposes. He turned to fix the Icelander with a smile.
"Time to get to work, kiddo."
This whole body language thing got easier all the time.
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Søren opened and closed his mouth like a clueless fish and Valdi began to wonder if he really had hit his head one too many times, before recollecting Sindre's off-handed mention about his lost voice.
Well at least the Dane would be quiet during his stay here.
In retrospect, he probably didn't want to know what Søren was doing in the bedroom anyway. Or why he was standing in the kitchen rubbing his hands together and grinning like an idiot.
Right. at. Valdi.
The body language was hard to mistake. "You. Me. Kitchen."
If the Icelander felt vulnerable before, he was just about ready to flee the apartment now.
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Better than flailing like a moron and looking like some idiot version of the boogeyman or some shit like that.
He shot a quick look towards Sindre's still-closed bedroom door and then began to rummage through the kitchen drawers as quietly as possible.
Silverware. More silverware. Sharp pointy things and other useless cutlery that probably hadn't been used for a good five years. Oven mitts--did that one have pink bunnies on it?--, and a drawer of random crap.
...fuck.
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What.
Valdi tripped, stumbled and flailed into the kitchen, mentally cursing at himself for getting out of bed that morning.
He was even more confused when Søren released him to rummage through the kitchen for....something?
"What are you looking fo-" Oh wait, right, Søren couldn't talk. As if that wasn't obvious enough by now.
Without another word Valdi took his cell out of his pocket, searching through it until he found the Memo option and then holding the device up to Søren.
A part of him urged strongly against letting the Dane anywhere near his phone, but that part was subdued by morning tiredness and debilitating naivety.
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He typed out a brief request for the notebook and pen Sindre had mentioned, because this whole Type Things Out On A Much Too Small keyboard had never really suited him.
...besides, he had nice handwriting.
(Not that Sindre had beat it into him after having to read too much of Søren's veritable chicken-scratch in high school.)
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Valdi took the phone and nodded, turning without another word and heading from the kitchen back into his bedroom.
He had no idea where this apparent notebook and pen was, but he had enough of both for classwork anyway- anything so Søren could get his point across quickly and leave him alone.
Returning to the kitchen he flipped through his workbook to a blank page and handed both items to the Dane.
(Most of the notes were written in Icelandic, except for questions that were actually checked, and this annoyed his tutors to no end)
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'Do you know how to cook?'
The Icelander was fixed with a look expectant of an answer and a cheerful smile. It really didn't matter one way or the other; if the kid knew how, it made the morning go a little more smoothly.
If he didn't, he was about to learn. Sort of.
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Somehow Valdi knew it would come to this, although the reason was beyond him.
"Mostly seafood, but there's not much available here." The stalls at the fish market didn't seem to appreciate him asking for shark or whale.
"Why?"
Surely Søren knew how to feed himself, so again; why the hell was Valdi being dragged into this?
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