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Entry tags:
[open] december catch-all | u better watch out
1 | COLD WEATHER, WARM COMPANY
[When it comes to his artistry, Andersen enjoys drawing attention. He's a natural at being obnoxious and persistent, both traits that've helped him get his foot in the door when he'd still been alive. But for the smaller, mundane things - like say, helping a soup kitchen - Andersen prefers to keep quiet. Art is meant to be shown off. The little joys of life are best enjoyed as they come.
He helps distribute soup and in cleaning up. He's dressed in plainclothes versus his usual flashy attire, complete with a hat to better disguise his features. But as he moves onto the next table, he finds himself in a bit of a pickle. His cart's broken down. How's he supposed to haul all these dirty dishes away? Andersen puts his hands on his hips and sighs.]
... God still thumbs his nose at me, I see.
[Oh, Andersen. Dramatic as always.]
2 | OUT OF THE CITY
[Andersen can offer two things: medical aid and entertainment.
(a) His medical knowledge is limited to magical means and the most he can do is to heal surface wounds and to ease pain. Anything more serious will have to go to better-versed healers. He's a fussy practitioner, one who grumbles as he handles his patients with attentive care:]
How long have you been hobbling on this? With the way it looks, I'm surprised it hasn't been worn into a stump! Do you think you can power through illness? Moron.
[For all his bark, Andersen is ultimately kind. He demonstrates this when a child in line begins to tear up at the thought of getting a shot. It isn't his problem - hell, he isn't even going to see the kid, that's for whoever's giving out the shot - but he speaks to her in a warm and gentle way.]
That's it now, wipe those tears away. When it's done, come show me your bandage and I'll reward your bravery.
[(b) His entertainment is storytelling, of course. He spins tales about giants and trolls; about peasant children who discover their inner potential; the tragedies of common household objects. Andersen is in his element, especially with the old spinters, who enjoy trading stories with him. It's quite a sight to see what looks like a chubby-cheeked 10-year-old being fawned by a gaggle of grandmothers. When he's done, he retires with his own little bottle of scotch.
But every now and then, he'll sing. He does it when he thinks no one is listening, his voice clear and sweet:]
Jeg hørte orgelets brusen
og vidste min ven var nær.
Først nu forstod jeg rigtig,
hvad kærlighed er værd.
Men knapt et år derefter
drog vennen bort fra mig.
Jeg så ham aldrig siden,
thi søbølgen blev hans grav.
3 | GOOD TIDINGS WE BRING
[When the night is at its darkest, Andersen goes out for a walk. His breath trails from his mouth like mist, and he seems rather pensive. He soon arrives at the grand Bright Wall, its presence a shimmering white stroke. Its light illuminates some of the crouching forest beyond, throwing the greenery into sharp relief like a Baroque painting.
Andersen takes out a pack of cigarettes, courtesy of Dantes, and lights one up. It's only when he's breathed out the smoke that he notices he has company.]
Hey, have you heard of Årsgång? [With the cigarette tucked between two fingers, he gestures at the dark foliage.] They say that if you take a walk in the woods at night, you can risk your life to see the future. A fair gamble, don't you think?
[When it comes to his artistry, Andersen enjoys drawing attention. He's a natural at being obnoxious and persistent, both traits that've helped him get his foot in the door when he'd still been alive. But for the smaller, mundane things - like say, helping a soup kitchen - Andersen prefers to keep quiet. Art is meant to be shown off. The little joys of life are best enjoyed as they come.
He helps distribute soup and in cleaning up. He's dressed in plainclothes versus his usual flashy attire, complete with a hat to better disguise his features. But as he moves onto the next table, he finds himself in a bit of a pickle. His cart's broken down. How's he supposed to haul all these dirty dishes away? Andersen puts his hands on his hips and sighs.]
... God still thumbs his nose at me, I see.
[Oh, Andersen. Dramatic as always.]
2 | OUT OF THE CITY
[Andersen can offer two things: medical aid and entertainment.
(a) His medical knowledge is limited to magical means and the most he can do is to heal surface wounds and to ease pain. Anything more serious will have to go to better-versed healers. He's a fussy practitioner, one who grumbles as he handles his patients with attentive care:]
How long have you been hobbling on this? With the way it looks, I'm surprised it hasn't been worn into a stump! Do you think you can power through illness? Moron.
[For all his bark, Andersen is ultimately kind. He demonstrates this when a child in line begins to tear up at the thought of getting a shot. It isn't his problem - hell, he isn't even going to see the kid, that's for whoever's giving out the shot - but he speaks to her in a warm and gentle way.]
That's it now, wipe those tears away. When it's done, come show me your bandage and I'll reward your bravery.
[(b) His entertainment is storytelling, of course. He spins tales about giants and trolls; about peasant children who discover their inner potential; the tragedies of common household objects. Andersen is in his element, especially with the old spinters, who enjoy trading stories with him. It's quite a sight to see what looks like a chubby-cheeked 10-year-old being fawned by a gaggle of grandmothers. When he's done, he retires with his own little bottle of scotch.
But every now and then, he'll sing. He does it when he thinks no one is listening, his voice clear and sweet:]
Jeg hørte orgelets brusen
og vidste min ven var nær.
Først nu forstod jeg rigtig,
hvad kærlighed er værd.
Men knapt et år derefter
drog vennen bort fra mig.
Jeg så ham aldrig siden,
thi søbølgen blev hans grav.
3 | GOOD TIDINGS WE BRING
[When the night is at its darkest, Andersen goes out for a walk. His breath trails from his mouth like mist, and he seems rather pensive. He soon arrives at the grand Bright Wall, its presence a shimmering white stroke. Its light illuminates some of the crouching forest beyond, throwing the greenery into sharp relief like a Baroque painting.
Andersen takes out a pack of cigarettes, courtesy of Dantes, and lights one up. It's only when he's breathed out the smoke that he notices he has company.]
Hey, have you heard of Årsgång? [With the cigarette tucked between two fingers, he gestures at the dark foliage.] They say that if you take a walk in the woods at night, you can risk your life to see the future. A fair gamble, don't you think?
no subject
Books are quite essential. [Mirrors...not so much. When suffering from the cold they cannot imagine that the humans wish to look at their frosty faces through a mirror.] Are you sure you wish to give all of these books to them? Can I keep some for myself?
[They haven't picked up the box yet, no, they've crouched down and are actively rummaging through the books.]
Ah, this one is about animals.
no subject
You're not the one in need of books.
[Nevertheless, he doesn't protest. If anything, it seems he's almost interested in what someone like Enkidu would choose. He gestures at the book.]
Can you read? No, no. What I should ask is... were you ever interested in stories to begin with? What I recall from the Epic is you and Gilgamesh being tremendous knuckleheads.
no subject
[Yes, Andersen, you are going to be a cat dad. Knuckleheads? What are those? Allow Enkidu to blink a couple of times.]
I am aware humans have told Gilgamesh's story and my part in it. But will you define that word to me? Knuckleheads?
no subject
What's a knucklehead?
Andersen clicks his tongue.]
Idiots. Morons. Those with muscles for brains instead of grey matter. Many of them are heroes, you know? A hero is someone blessed with gifts, curses, and a dash of foolishness. That's what I've concluded from my observations.
no subject
[They do not mind fighting, after all, it is the sole reason of their existence.]
If I did not know about the stories you've created for mankind I would have called you an annoying child.
[Slowly they gather some books.]
Heroes fight with a purpose. That can be fighting itself. It can be for their land. For their friend. For others. Humanity. And every hero fights the way they fight. [They shake their head.] You sound a little like a knucklehead yourself.