Kahdeksan ♰ Action

[ex_finnish_604]

[If you were to ask someone that's spoken to Finland more than once, they'd agree that he's almost always smiling or overreacting to something pointless. However, nobody can smile forever, and Finland isn't an exception. Despite being the "odd one out" of his family, he did share some of their traits. The infamous Nordic lineface wasn't one of them, but if one happens to be anywhere between Brady Lane and Mitchell Road (precisely house number 1450), they'll have the semi-rare opportunity to see Finland with a straight face.

He's more so pondering than upset, yet he's walking with his eyes to the ground, not to mention that he's carrying a rifle on his back. It may take him a moment to respond, but you're more than free to bother him. Something just doesn't seem right.]

Comments

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

[ Really, if Finland is the odd one out for not having a lineface, so is Denmark (he's also not terribly fond of that metal music). But today, sick as he is, is the clear exception. All his conversations blended together in his head, a half-forgotten blur already - even his argument with Finland. The pain is lesser, thanks to some magic, but the high from that has worn off; he's only half conscious, lying on the living room sofa and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

He doesn't even really make the effort to scratch the persistent itch. ]

[survived]

[It seemed like it took weeks to reach Denmark's doorstep, but though he hadn't realized it, Finland had been walking at an incredibly slow pace the entire time.

He hesitates for a moment before ringing the doorbell and giving a small sigh.]

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

[ He doesn't really respond, although he hears the bell. He's had enough socializing for now, which is a worrying thought in itself.

The puppy—Gave, Sweden's birthday gift to Denmark—however, barks and runs at the door, paws scrabbling at it like he's trying to find a way to pull it open for the guest. He barks several more times. ]

[survived]

[After a moment of hesitation, he extends a hand and slowly opens the door.]

Danmark? You're here, aren't you?

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

[ He is, in fact. The couch is laid out so that the head faces the door and the tail goes straight; it's immediately visible when opening the door. Denmark is lying so that his head is closest, and facing away. He doesn't respond, although—again—he hears and is aware. Still feeling a bit cold towards him, and without the motivation to bother. Maybe Finland will think he's asleep and leave.

Gave, meanwhile, barks and runs around hyperactively, glad to see a guest. ]

[survived]

[It's only natural for him to scoop up the puppy, stroking its fur as he makes his way over in Denmark's general direction. He's no doctor, but he can't help but be a bit shocked at how awful Denmark looks.]

Hey, Danmark?

[He opens his mouth to begin another sentence before hesitating and choosing not to keep silent at the very last moment.]

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

[ It's a larger puppy, and getting bigger; he's a farm dog breed. He wriggles happily, at at rate, squirming and trying to lick and sniff.

Denmark finally responds, sort of, glancing from ceiling to Finland and back again. Then to Finland. His breathing is fast; not gasping, but too quick for his overall stillness. ] Not in the mood.

[survived]

Can't you at least talk to me? I already told you that I'm trying to help.

[He idly begins scratching Gave behind the ears.]

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

[ Feeling spiteful, or just tired, he doesn't. But then again, Denmark was never that great at keeping quiet. He goes back to the ceiling-watching as Gave enjoys the scratching. ]

How's the weather?

[survived]

The same as it always is here. Sunny and mild.

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

Huh. [ Just a sound, really. Back to staring at the ceiling (the puppy is wriggling and being friendly and hyper, and will continue to be both). ]

[survived]

[After another few minutes of petting the puppy, he releases it and sets it on the ground. Silence continues hanging in the air before Finland naturally breaks it.]

You look bad.

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

[ Gave scampers off, probably to go bother the cat. Denmark glances sideways over at Finland again. He's not normally prone to sarcasm, not usually getting it, or trying to, but— ]

Tak.

[survived]

[On any other day he'd raise an eyebrow to that.]

Now's not the time to gain a sense of humour. You're basically bedridden. Don't you want to move again?

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

Already moved out of bed.

[survived]

So you're really stubborn enough to not let anyone take you to the hospital?

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

Ain't no goddamn point. [ Snapped, tiredly, looking back sharp at Finland. ]

[survived]

So you're resigning to death? You're just going to wait until you die and suffer all the while?

[He adjusts his expression to match Denmark's.]

You're stupider than I thought.

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

[ He struggles to sit himself up a bit, wincing and clenching as it hurts his stomach. He gives up once he's an inch or two higher, glaring at him—hotly, not cold. ] Won't have ya talk to me like that.

[survived]

You can't stop me if you can't even sit up. Why can't you accept help every once in a while? Nobody can do absolutely everything on their own.

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

[ He takes several deep, slow breaths, then tries again, yanking himself up before the pain can hit him completely. It does then, of course, and he clenches his mouth hard, sitting up, face screwed, head thrown back at the ceiling. Pure stubbornness. Look—he can sit up. ]

[survived]

[And all too quickly he raises his voice without warning pushing Denmark's shoulders down toward the couch again.]

Are you kidding me?! Lay back down, idiot!

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

[ Unexpected. It's his stomach that's white-hot with pain, not his shoulders, but at this point the jolt enough is cause for pain. He automatically balls up his left fist and takes a swing at Finland, but it's weak, loose, not well-aimed. ]

Don't ya— [ He's lost his breath, and can't finish his sentence for catching it. ]

[survived]

[The reaction was half expected, half surprising. He misses Denmark's fist by leaning slightly to his right, but even still, he feels a bit guilty. It takes a moment for him to cast his eyes toward the ground.]

Sorry.

[atvaere.livejournal.com]

[ He has to take a minute before he can reply. ]

The fuck are ya doing here.

[survived]

[And bluntly:]

I'm either going to take you to the hospital or shoot you. It's your choice.

[kongeriget]

[ He's silent, just staring, and then the corners of his mouth twitch up. ] Shoot me?

[survived]

[Oh God, he's smiling back.]

I brought my rifle with me.

[kongeriget]

Don't make me fucking laugh, it hurts too much. [ Still smiling, but the colder edge is creeping in. ]

[survived]

[It only takes a second, maybe two, for his expression to neutralize once again.]

I'm being serious, you know. I'm not going to let you suffer. You have to do something.

[kongeriget]

There's nothing to do. [ He almost mentions that someone magically neutralized what there was to neutralize - even if the failure itself wasn't repaired - but bites that back, staring almost thoughtfully up at the other. ]

[survived]

Well you can't just give up, can you? You're stronger than that.