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Sep. 1st, 2013 11:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trulyoracularThis is a fucking shambles.
Olaf isn't sure how it happened, but somehow Anders is trying to corral him back to his apartment, they have no sign of Yggdrasil and Olaf is beginning to look and feel his age. Ninety-three years old is definitely not the same when you don't have the body of a young god. Olaf reaches a hand out to steady himself, peering through newly terrible vision to try and determine which of the three doors in front of him leads to Anders' bedroom. Though his sheets might be rife with the sexual conquests of many a local, Olaf doesn't know that being vertical is the better choice right now.
"Boy," he rasps, trying to get Anders' attention, but the little prick is off being concerned with his own affairs. Honestly. "Leave me to do things on my own," he mutters, drifting his way forward towards door number three, which he thinks is the one that leads him away to his temporary bedroom.
He sees a horizontal surface and lets out a sigh of relief, making his way straight for it.
Every minute makes him feel like things are getting worse and the universe is practically barking at him until all he can think about is Yggdrasil and life and Odin. So consumed with finding a place to lie down that Olaf doesn't even think about the door he'd wandered through.
It's open. It stays open while Olaf reclines on the comfortable, lovely, perfect couch, tugging for a non-existent blanket because it's too damn cold. Why's everyone got to keep their places so cold these days? In his day, they heated up the room with a good fire so no one felt like they were in an unhospitable environment. Progress, Olaf scoffs. More like brutishness. People should heat their rooms (or their lobbies, in this case) to make sure everyone feels properly at home.
[Olaf currently looks roughly 70 years old]
Olaf isn't sure how it happened, but somehow Anders is trying to corral him back to his apartment, they have no sign of Yggdrasil and Olaf is beginning to look and feel his age. Ninety-three years old is definitely not the same when you don't have the body of a young god. Olaf reaches a hand out to steady himself, peering through newly terrible vision to try and determine which of the three doors in front of him leads to Anders' bedroom. Though his sheets might be rife with the sexual conquests of many a local, Olaf doesn't know that being vertical is the better choice right now.
"Boy," he rasps, trying to get Anders' attention, but the little prick is off being concerned with his own affairs. Honestly. "Leave me to do things on my own," he mutters, drifting his way forward towards door number three, which he thinks is the one that leads him away to his temporary bedroom.
He sees a horizontal surface and lets out a sigh of relief, making his way straight for it.
Every minute makes him feel like things are getting worse and the universe is practically barking at him until all he can think about is Yggdrasil and life and Odin. So consumed with finding a place to lie down that Olaf doesn't even think about the door he'd wandered through.
It's open. It stays open while Olaf reclines on the comfortable, lovely, perfect couch, tugging for a non-existent blanket because it's too damn cold. Why's everyone got to keep their places so cold these days? In his day, they heated up the room with a good fire so no one felt like they were in an unhospitable environment. Progress, Olaf scoffs. More like brutishness. People should heat their rooms (or their lobbies, in this case) to make sure everyone feels properly at home.
