Came in Like a Wrecking Ball [Sealand] | Do Not Forget Me

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Came in Like a Wrecking Ball [Sealand] Jul 22, 2015 18:06:36 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 22, 2015 18:06:36 GMT -5

It's funny (as in, not funny in the slightest) that the more you don't want to see anyone, at all, for anything, the more they suddenly find excuses to drop by your house uninvited and unannounced. Nor's first attempts to dissuade Sealand's visit had been, well, perhaps some would call them brusque.

Eight minutes earlier:

"..." A flat look at the bright blond kid's big beaming grin of greeting.

"No." The door closed.

(But the kid was, unfortunately, a dogged little punk. Much like his mule-headed father.)

"Go away, Peter."

"Not today, Peter."

"I can't hear you; I've died. There is no forwarding address. Unless you believe in God. But nation-spirits can't die the same way. We are trapped within this mortal—immortal?—coil, doomed to see the humans slaughtered over and over again in an ever-escalating series of wars. Again and again, around and around."

(To ascribe responsibility where it is due, it was probably Norway's spontaneous breaking out into song of the refrain from "The Circle of Life" to augment his musings on the circular existence of nation-states that ultimately incited his nephew to more vigorous action.)

"And it moooves us allllll—Peter, what the hell. Don't just pick people's locks."

(Where did he learn to do that, anyway...)

Thus were the events that led to the present situation. Norway, sitting across from his nephew in his living room that had been invaded by Sealand. Man, that was depressing. He really was out of it. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the stubble of the last few days. He had a lot to do; he couldn't just... stop. One could not afford torpidity in wartime. But as soon as he'd send that message around to the UA saying he was quitting, it felt like the wind had gone out of his sails. He couldn't summon the energy or the care to do anything. He just needed a break, he'd said to himself. But one day became two, became a week, became nine days, and now he was almost at the two-week mark and he'd done nothing but loaf around his house (and get yelled at by Denmark).

He should just throw the kid out. But then Berwald would probably come over wearing that squinchy-browed frowny face of disappointment and Nils didn't want to deal with that even if he didn't care. It was just too much bother to deal with Sweden, and to throw Peter out. Easier to just leave it alone. The kid would leave when he got bored. He'd just have to wait him out.

Then it'd be quiet again, and Nils could sleep, and return to his rumination on Where It All Went Wrong. It was a very absorbing subject of contemplation and required an environment completely free of distractions. Especially lively loud blond kid-shaped ones. Those were the worst, he thought as he gazed at his only nephew, bright and resilient and undaunted.

Last Edit: Jul 22, 2015 22:58:02 GMT -5 by Deleted

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Came in Like a Wrecking Ball [Sealand] Jul 22, 2015 23:08:46 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 22, 2015 23:08:46 GMT -5

Peter probably should have expected his Uncle Nils to do something, soon. He could see that his Uncle was frustrated and tired; Peter had gotten good at reading blank facial expressions a long time ago (he had England for a brother and Sweden for a father). He hadn't really expected what he got, that being that Norway declare neutrality. Not that Peter wasn't happy about it. Actually, it was to the contrary. Peter was somewhere near ecstatic about the fact that he had another family member that was, at least sort-of, on his side in the matter.

Or at least, he was until he realized that nobody else was as excited as he was. Actually, he'd quickly realized that he should probably be worrying more. Maybe his Daddy was very good at pretending he didn't need people, but- no. His entire family, all sides of it, the Nordic ones and his brother, they were all very good at pretending they didn't need people. Unfortunately for them, Peter was perfectly good at that, too, and could recognize the symptoms, fast. He meant, of course, the symptoms of pretending not to need people while secretly being just a little bit depressed. It was a thing everyone seemed to handle a little differently, but they all had it on occasion (and wasn't it just sad that Peter could easily see that?)

So when he heard that his Uncle Nils had basically locked himself in his house, well, Peter figured that it was time to perform the only known treatment to such a condition: force person to see that there are still people who care about them. Peter had gotten better, but he'd forced isolation onto himself, recently, and though he'd un-isolated himself a bit, he still recognized that it was painful. He didn't want his Uncle Nils to feel hurt. He didn't want his Uncle Nils to be hurt by whatever guilt trip his Uncle Mathias would have inevitably tried on him, because even though his Uncle Mathias would actually be trying to be reasonable and not necessarily hurtful, it would probably end up being so, just a little bit. Even if he convinced he didn't care, these things still hurt. (England, looking at you.)

Hence, Peter. Uncle Nil's porch. He probably should have given some kind of warning, actually. Maybe then his Uncle would have had time to acclimate himself to the idea of hey, your nephew, but instead, Peter got the door slammed in his face a few times. He kept ringing the doorbell anyway. "Come on! Uncle Nils, I came to visit you, don't be like that! I brought- well, actually, I would have brought biscuits except I think I might have inherited a few of my brother's cooking skills and the flour and sugar has better things that I should be using them for- but it's the thought that counts! Imaginary biscuits! I brought imaginary biscuits!"

Nope. Nothing. He rang the doorbell again, and gave an involuntary giggle at his Uncle's dramatic speech. A part of Peter was still thinking, though, that it was ridiculously morbid. Also, hit a little painfully close to home, even with the ridiculous singing. So, when his Uncle was distracted by said ridiculous singing, Peter picked the lock. Uncle Nils hadn't even padlocked the door. Really? Though, thinking about it, Uncle Mathias had a tendency to just sort of break down doors, not bother to pick them, so there was probably no real point... He wanted to cut off he philosophical talk, though. Peter was not here to contemplate his own existence. He was here to cheer his Uncle up, and he would not let him be brought down!

"Why ever not? I could have sworn there was someone dying in here, judging by that caterwaul, or, worse yet, you'd said you were already dead. I clearly had to check!" he said, entirely too cheerfully. He wouldn't normally just pick a lock, true, but really, this was an emergency. And then, before Norway could kick him out, he sped around him into the living room, a shit-eating grin on his face. He'd gotten good at picking locks. This was not necessarily something he was proud of. Still, at times like these, invaluable.

Peter bounced for a few moments in the living room. He frowned internally, though he left a huge smile up. Well. Now that he'd gotten here, he actually wasn't quite certain what to say. It took a moment, then he internally shrugged. He'd just wing it, maybe. The awkward silence stretched on for a few moments more before Peter started with "I've come to talk to you! I just... haven't figured out quite what to talk about yet. Give me a moment? This'll do for now!"

He then proceeded to run up to his Uncle Nils and give him a crushing hug. Smiling, this time a bit more innocently, he looked up at his Uncle and said, quite clearly, "I think you probably need to shave."

Yeah. That'd do.

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Came in Like a Wrecking Ball [Sealand] Jul 31, 2015 12:36:29 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jul 31, 2015 12:36:29 GMT -5

“What will do—agh.” Suddenly he had an armful of blond kid squeezing the life out of him. Nils shrugged his shoulders down from where they’d immediately tensed up and let the kid go about it. He resigned himself to the hug. Even brought up a hand to scruffle the kid’s hair a bit. Good boy.

Snotty brat. Just for that comment, Nils tugged the kid up and rubbed his scratchy cheek all up and down the kid’s own. “Need to shave, do I?” He taunted, unrelenting. “Perhaps I’m growing a beard, ever thought of that? Cuts down on maintenance.” He pushed the kid away and flopped back against the couch. “What I need is coffee,” he announced a moment later.

He got up and loped off to the bathroom in his house slippers. There was a pause. “I said coffee, faen ta...” He meant to do that.

He reappeared and walked through the living room to get to the kitchen. “Ja, det, veldig bra. Hm…” Most of his dishes were dirty, but he found a mug that was clean. And look at that, a box of biscuits that was not yet completely devoured. Wonderful. He filled the mug with the rich dark brew and returned to the living room with his bounty, only to run into Peter again.

“You’re still here…” He shuffled around him and reclaimed his spot on the couch. “Isn’t Sverige wondering where you’ve got to.” The big oaf had been by a couple weeks ago after the announcement of his unaffiliation had hit the fan. Nor wondered if he had been the one to put Peter up to this. Or Denmark. His face darkened, and he dunked a biscuit in the coffee with rather more force than necessary. Over his shoulder, Troll materialized to snatch a biscuit from the box and take a bite of it, sprinkling crumbs on Nor’s shirt. Nils held the box away and glowered at Troll, roused from what would have been the start to some heavy brooding.

Troll had been behaving more annoying and demanding recently. Trying to get Nils to get up at regular hours and get out of the house at least once a day. Trying to get his head back on straight. Not for his own sake; it made no difference to the elves and trolls and others what nonsense the humans got up to. They weren’t even aware that a war was waging right this moment. But Troll could tell that Nils was out of sorts and was trying to do what he could in his own Trollish way.

Which is what Peter was trying to do. Maybe. In a Peterish way. Nils found it too difficult to calculate which way was more annoying. He stared into the black depths of his coffee and found no answers to the meaning of life or to his future (probably because he was supposed to use tea leaves, according to China and Japan) so he shrugged and took another drink.

@sealand

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Came in Like a Wrecking Ball [Sealand] Aug 3, 2015 20:07:36 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Aug 3, 2015 20:07:36 GMT -5

Peter blinked up at his Uncle and declared, quite certainly, "You could be, but you'd look very silly with a beard." He really would, Peter realized, trying to imagine the man with one. It seemed altogether wrong, and also rather ridiculous. His Uncle Nils was too, Peter wasn't certain, but certainly not the sort of person that would look good with a beard. Plus, Peter wasn't going to be fooled. He was pretty sure Uncle Nils just felt awful and lazy, or something similar to that. When you felt awful, Peter had found, you tended to do things that just made you feel awful-er. But that wasn't good for you, not one bit!

Peter couldn't smother a giggle, though, when his Uncle got up to go get coffee before walking in the wrong direction. Even though Uncle Nils's house was a place Peter was only rarely at, Peter knew the layout very well. He was good at figuring out where to go, especially when he was indoors. He knew perfectly well that his Uncle was walking in the wrong direction. It was just kinda funny, though, so why mention it? It was clear that the man hadn't had enough sleep lately, anyway, and that this was clearly a symptom of that fact. At least he didn't react like Peter did when he had no sleep. That would have been amusing, but overall, probably worse for the situation at hand.

And if Peter had heard his Uncle curse in Norwegian? He kicked his feet and grinned. He assumed Uncle Nils had no idea that Peter had mostly understood what that one meant. Norwegian and Swedish were similar languages, and Peter always figured there was nothing wrong with trying to learn another one. It hadn't gone but so well, but Norwegian and Swedish were similar enough that he could understand the former using his knowledge of the latter, assuming that whoever was talking talked pretty slowly. It was actually similar with Danish, too. And if none of his Uncles knew that he could mostly understand them when they didn't want them to, well, Peter wasn't going to complain. (Finnish, however, was in a completely different language group, and much to Peter's chagrin, was basically absolutely nothing like Swedish. Oh well.)

He remained exactly where he was, watching his Uncle with an amused expression, as his Uncle Nils walked back in the other direction to go actually get some coffee. He peeked around the corner. Oh, good! His Uncle seemed to have some biscuits anyway. Peter probably wasn't going to eat any, though. He might eat a few, but recently, he'd found that he'd completely lost his taste for a lot of particularly sweet things. He'd been secretly glad Uncle Mathias hadn't had any candies or anything, because Peter didn't want to admit that he hadn't eaten any in long enough that the last time he'd had one, he hadn't been able to eat it, not with the amount of sugar that was in it.

Then his uncle came back in the room, stopped, and stared at him. Peter beamed up at him. Even if his Uncle Nils thought he wanted him gone, Peter wasn't going anywhere. Instead, he grinned up at Uncle Nils and said "Nope! He might be my Daddy, but I don't live at his house the majority of the time or anything. He probably knows where I am more than most people, but..." He shrugs. "If that was an attempt to get rid of me, though, it wasn't a very good one. I'm not gonna leave until I've cheered you up some, so that's that!" He put his hands on his hips, still beaming, looking his Uncle in the eye. He wasn't leaving until his Uncle felt better, no matter what he did!

As his Uncle sat down to brood, Peter considered simply going over and poking him, but got momentarily distracted by the biscuit Peter could have sworn he saw floating. Oh, no. Not his Uncle's weird "magic" thing. That bugged Peter so, so, much. See, Peter was very, very certain that it was not, in fact, magic, because, as cool as magic could be, Peter just couldn't wrap his head around that. It had to be something else, something explainable, something that he could fit into science and progress and didn't rely on fate and already-was. He thought magic could be cool, but somewhere he just... hated the idea, really.

So he ignored it for the time being, and instead looked at his Uncle, who was drinking coffee and staring into the mug in an overall odd fashion. Peter shrugged and said "So," he began, "did I ever tell you about the time Lad and I got expelled from school, despite Daddy never having found out we enrolled in the first place?"