( call it his german blood. actually, don't call it that, but denmark's always been a bit fond of the order that comes from routine, everything on time and where he can find it. it's tidier, and easy to take care of, so when it's six fifteen and iceland still hasn't come down for dinner, he gets a bit worried.
like, what if his economy suddenly collapsed? or maybe there was an eruption? the house is too quiet; denmark goes looking. in a fit of optimism and relief over the end of the war, he'd moved houses a few years ago, from his old fashioned 19th century manor to a new, modern house: small and tidy and in the centre of a neighbourhood filled with similar homes, with a little garden and few extraneous rooms; it's not a long hunt for his territory, the only one currently at home for dinner. (faeroes is at her house; who knows where greenland has gone off to. west indies is not, thankfully, america's problem.) he finds iceland in the sitting room, sprawled out across one of the sofas.
denmark's momentarily a bit annoyed. that's a really nice sofa, designer, and he's mentioned before that feet shouldn't go on it. also, it's dinner, and the herring is getting cold, and he made the dill sauce special. the irritation fades quickly. he doesn't usually see iceland like this, all relaxed and⦠sleeping. (he's not really one for poetics. young lookin', he does think, but that's silly because ice is young.) it seems almost a shame to wake him, but then again, not really, because it is dinnertime.
he bends over the arm of the couch and raps iceland, fairly gently, on the skull. ) Ice, you're twenty minutes late for dinner by now!
ππππ.
like, what if his economy suddenly collapsed? or maybe there was an eruption? the house is too quiet; denmark goes looking. in a fit of optimism and relief over the end of the war, he'd moved houses a few years ago, from his old fashioned 19th century manor to a new, modern house: small and tidy and in the centre of a neighbourhood filled with similar homes, with a little garden and few extraneous rooms; it's not a long hunt for his territory, the only one currently at home for dinner. (faeroes is at her house; who knows where greenland has gone off to. west indies is not, thankfully, america's problem.) he finds iceland in the sitting room, sprawled out across one of the sofas.
denmark's momentarily a bit annoyed. that's a really nice sofa, designer, and he's mentioned before that feet shouldn't go on it. also, it's dinner, and the herring is getting cold, and he made the dill sauce special. the irritation fades quickly. he doesn't usually see iceland like this, all relaxed and⦠sleeping. (he's not really one for poetics. young lookin', he does think, but that's silly because ice is young.) it seems almost a shame to wake him, but then again, not really, because it is dinnertime.
he bends over the arm of the couch and raps iceland, fairly gently, on the skull. ) Ice, you're twenty minutes late for dinner by now!