Post by dutchsushi on Dec 26, 2012 13:55:18 GMT -6
Everything hurt.
Lars was no stranger to physical pain, the typical aches and bruises that accompanied him through history, clinging to him like a disease.
Though recently, the Dutchman comes to the upsetting realization that almost everyone in the house wants his head on a silver platter. As he makes his way up the rickety stairs that whine beneath his heavy boot, he heaves a sigh of frustration. To be honest, he could care less.
Lars thought he was a friendly person, but his idea of 'friendly' was being aloof and standoffish and that sat perfectly well with him.
The ash blond opens the door to the infirmary, grimacing as its filled with outdated first aid kits and sporadically spread needles and bandages. A bruise on the side of his face ached and throbbed when he was hit by Norway. The discoloration only saddened him, since his face seemed to be Lukas' favorite spot to lay damage on
He hadn't talked to the Norweign, approached him, wrote him, done anything to him for centuries. So he can only wonder if its some kind of sick joke that of all the female nations, he goes after his sister ?
Over his dead body.
Which. if he keeps up the fighting, that date may come soon.
Lars approached the cabinet and opens it, some dust popping out that causes him to sneeze into his shoulder. He moves empty bandaid boxes out of the way, sighing with sheer annoyance and slamming the door shut. Sadly, his own stregnth causes the cabinet door to just fall off of its hinges onto the floor.
"....." He merely sucks his teeth, and opens up another drawer and coming acros some bandage.
"F*cking finally."
He takes it out with ease, runs some ice cold water over it and pressing it against his face. It does nothing to help with the bruising, not that he was expecting it. And the scratches on his knuckles would have to be tended to, the gash on his upper arm. Lars was a mess.
And everything ached.
Lars was no stranger to physical pain, the typical aches and bruises that accompanied him through history, clinging to him like a disease.
Though recently, the Dutchman comes to the upsetting realization that almost everyone in the house wants his head on a silver platter. As he makes his way up the rickety stairs that whine beneath his heavy boot, he heaves a sigh of frustration. To be honest, he could care less.
Lars thought he was a friendly person, but his idea of 'friendly' was being aloof and standoffish and that sat perfectly well with him.
The ash blond opens the door to the infirmary, grimacing as its filled with outdated first aid kits and sporadically spread needles and bandages. A bruise on the side of his face ached and throbbed when he was hit by Norway. The discoloration only saddened him, since his face seemed to be Lukas' favorite spot to lay damage on
He hadn't talked to the Norweign, approached him, wrote him, done anything to him for centuries. So he can only wonder if its some kind of sick joke that of all the female nations, he goes after his sister ?
Over his dead body.
Which. if he keeps up the fighting, that date may come soon.
Lars approached the cabinet and opens it, some dust popping out that causes him to sneeze into his shoulder. He moves empty bandaid boxes out of the way, sighing with sheer annoyance and slamming the door shut. Sadly, his own stregnth causes the cabinet door to just fall off of its hinges onto the floor.
"....." He merely sucks his teeth, and opens up another drawer and coming acros some bandage.
"F*cking finally."
He takes it out with ease, runs some ice cold water over it and pressing it against his face. It does nothing to help with the bruising, not that he was expecting it. And the scratches on his knuckles would have to be tended to, the gash on his upper arm. Lars was a mess.
And everything ached.