::six:: -- Einlita mynd Vetur

[lovespuffins]

[The communicator tunes into Iceland, who is back in the apartment already from last night -- he was glad he had grabbed that bread from the bar when he did. He's once again staring outside the window, watching the violent storm outside. His appearance was normal, besides the red tint evident on his cheeks.]

...Seems like something is against us.

[He mutters under his breath, words scarcely being picked up on the communicator. Perhaps when he says this, he means more than the weather.]

This is not what we need right now...

[If Iceland is about to say more, nothing comes out besides a few coughs. So, he stands up, going to check on Norway, and shuts off the video.]

(ooc: I apologize for the new layout, but you know. more icons.)

Comments

[ action indeed! ]

[lovespuffins.livejournal.com]

[So, Iceland listens to Norway's great storytelling skills.

If he does shiver, Iceland would notice it, given their proximity. If there is still some reasonable space between them, he would draw closer.]

...Yeah--especially the good ones.

[ action indeed! ]

[quietnorth.livejournal.com]

[ Hello, close proximity. And it feels good, a kind of comfort, like a rediscovered childhood bauble. Norway's reminiscing, too, thinking about things as they were. Good things worth remembering. The kind that bring only joy and pleasure when things looked...well, bleak?

He thinks to himself how nice it would be to slip away like this human is, only not in so many words. It's more like he's thinking it is true that memories can bring such releasing comfort. ]

I think so. It's a human thing. Telling tales in dark times, 'nd winter.

...

You read the rest.

[ action indeed! ]

[lovespuffins.livejournal.com]

[Like the old happy times, it felt like--the remembrance of such joyful, peaceful days lingering stronger as ever. The girl, he thinks, doesn't seem to meet a tragic end as it's like she relives her best moments of her life.]

Since they found comfort in stories (like these), which took their minds off their problems.

Alright...

'She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when--the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant's house.'

...

Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.

"Someone is just dead!" said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.

She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.

"Grandmother!" cried the little one. "Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.

But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall--frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt. "She wanted to warm herself," people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.'

...

Even in the frigid, darkness of the night she was able to find happiness.

[ooc: Since the story was short, hopefully it wasn't a bother to put the rest up?]

[ action indeed! ] it's fine by meeee

[quietnorth.livejournal.com]

[ Iceland isn't a bad reader, not by any means, but as the latter half of the story unfolds Norway begins to drift into something that's a bit like sleep, and a lot like living in two time zones several centuries apart.

Leaning into Iceland, he thinks about lighting matches, how nice it would be to be transported just like that--carried away, going in a haze of past bliss. God exists for nations, too, so there is that, and he has a thought a little bit like if his nation were to die and he were to meet Him, it would be nice to leave in different conditions, like they were a year ago. ]

The girl seems familiar.

[ A strange comment, and his eyes are closed. ]

[ action indeed! ]

[lovespuffins.livejournal.com]

[So Iceland sees Norway fall asleep, and he's definitely not the only one tired -- although he's not in quite such a dreamy state like Norway was before he fell asleep.

He places the book somewhere, pulling the blankets over them if they haven't been already, and that's when he closes his eyes as well. But not before muttering a 'Góða nótt', and certainly falling into a peaceful slumber.]