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karlsefni) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thoughtformed2013-07-12 01:34 pm
karlsefni) wrote in thoughtformed2013-07-12 01:34 pm
open log & video!
Who: Thorfinn and you!
Where: Outdoors, AT SOME PLACE??? Somewhere. Pick and choose.
When: morning~noon of june 12th, I am flexible.
I'm sure you're sick of the newer arrivals already, right? Sorry to say that this one won't really help you either. With his getup of thick, medieval winter garb, and how he's a little weird in how he moves—cautiously, with erratic changes between walking forward and then whirling around, as if having heard something, even when it seems like there wasn't any noise at all—he's a glaringly obvious anomaly. To make matters worse, or at least a little more complicated, his fists—which repeatedly move up, poising to protect himself or something like that, before returning to a somewhat-neutral position (as neutral as one can be when he seems like he's on a hair-trigger)—have two shortswords planted in them, and while he doesn't look nervous or panicked at all, the sour expression on his unappealing mug and his alertness might be an indication that he's not afraid to use these at any given time, especially to those who might want to approach him.
There is a point, though, when the faint sound of a cell phone ringing can be heard, and he jumps, startled—wildly swirling around to find the noise, only to realize that it's coming from his own pocket. It's then that he throws the cell phone on the ground, which, incidentally causes the following feed:
* * * video * * *
[ while the feed shows nothing but dirt, you can hear someone cursing. ]
What the hell—[ and then a few footsteps, slow and precise, before there's a pause.
and then the feed shifts, like something's poking the phone. ]
.. The hell is this? [ of course, thorfinn isn't one to listen to people's explanations, and as soon as they had told him he was fictional, he'd blocked off whatever other ~helpful~ explanations they'd tried to give him—so it's not surprising that he doesn't know what this is, nor does he have any hold on the situation right now.
another poke, before there's the sound of steel rubbing against dirt; a glint of metal can be seen when the phone flips over, naturally not of its own accord, but of thorfinn's accord. or his knife, rather, as he's handling the phone with nothing but.
something one can notice when they see the boy is, firstly, that he's dirty and bruised, especially in the face, as if still healing from a fight—but his dirtiness isn't merely just from the fight, but years and years of habit and lack of care. rather than a head of hair, he looks like he has a blonde bird's nest, and his brown eyes are barely visible and glaring at the camera, and it's clear that he has.. absolutely no idea what this device is. secondly, while his expression of apparent continual grumpiness and lack of light in his eyes shouldn't belong to any child, he looks to be physically small enough to be one.
with a squint, he crouches near the device, as if having determined that the strange object wasn't going to harm him, and.. pokes it. with the knife. repeatedly, until one of his pokes hits a button and the phone trills, and he moves back instantly, blinking in bewilderment. ]
What in—Odin's name—!?
[ ... another poke, another beep, and more bewilderment. rinse and repeat. ]
* * * end video * * *
... although while you could certainly take the chance to approach him while he's bemused by the smartphone, you could meet him somepoint else in his grumpy walk.
Where: Outdoors, AT SOME PLACE??? Somewhere. Pick and choose.
When: morning~noon of june 12th, I am flexible.
I'm sure you're sick of the newer arrivals already, right? Sorry to say that this one won't really help you either. With his getup of thick, medieval winter garb, and how he's a little weird in how he moves—cautiously, with erratic changes between walking forward and then whirling around, as if having heard something, even when it seems like there wasn't any noise at all—he's a glaringly obvious anomaly. To make matters worse, or at least a little more complicated, his fists—which repeatedly move up, poising to protect himself or something like that, before returning to a somewhat-neutral position (as neutral as one can be when he seems like he's on a hair-trigger)—have two shortswords planted in them, and while he doesn't look nervous or panicked at all, the sour expression on his unappealing mug and his alertness might be an indication that he's not afraid to use these at any given time, especially to those who might want to approach him.
There is a point, though, when the faint sound of a cell phone ringing can be heard, and he jumps, startled—wildly swirling around to find the noise, only to realize that it's coming from his own pocket. It's then that he throws the cell phone on the ground, which, incidentally causes the following feed:
* * * video * * *
[ while the feed shows nothing but dirt, you can hear someone cursing. ]
What the hell—[ and then a few footsteps, slow and precise, before there's a pause.
and then the feed shifts, like something's poking the phone. ]
.. The hell is this? [ of course, thorfinn isn't one to listen to people's explanations, and as soon as they had told him he was fictional, he'd blocked off whatever other ~helpful~ explanations they'd tried to give him—so it's not surprising that he doesn't know what this is, nor does he have any hold on the situation right now.
another poke, before there's the sound of steel rubbing against dirt; a glint of metal can be seen when the phone flips over, naturally not of its own accord, but of thorfinn's accord. or his knife, rather, as he's handling the phone with nothing but.
something one can notice when they see the boy is, firstly, that he's dirty and bruised, especially in the face, as if still healing from a fight—but his dirtiness isn't merely just from the fight, but years and years of habit and lack of care. rather than a head of hair, he looks like he has a blonde bird's nest, and his brown eyes are barely visible and glaring at the camera, and it's clear that he has.. absolutely no idea what this device is. secondly, while his expression of apparent continual grumpiness and lack of light in his eyes shouldn't belong to any child, he looks to be physically small enough to be one.
with a squint, he crouches near the device, as if having determined that the strange object wasn't going to harm him, and.. pokes it. with the knife. repeatedly, until one of his pokes hits a button and the phone trills, and he moves back instantly, blinking in bewilderment. ]
What in—Odin's name—!?
[ ... another poke, another beep, and more bewilderment. rinse and repeat. ]
* * * end video * * *
... although while you could certainly take the chance to approach him while he's bemused by the smartphone, you could meet him somepoint else in his grumpy walk.
no subject
She hops down to a lamppost some few yards further ahead in his path, staying out of immediate reach of those blades.
"What are you doing?"
no subject
No, she probably isn't, he decides as he brings his knives down. Of course there are people here, this looks like.. well, it doesn't look like some sort of human civilization but maybe something of the gods, and he could buy that this girl wasn't human, maybe. Even so, he isn't about to start answering to anyone when he has questions of his own.
"Who the hell are you?"
no subject
"That's telling. You're new here, aren't you?"
no subject