[ it’s hardly a surprise that a well-renowned olympic skater such as himself would have never held a fishing pole in his life. there’s, of course, the fact that his grandfather had gone ice-fishing, but that’s hardly the point. The point is that viktor nikiforov is holding a fishing pole all wrong, hands positioned in all the wrong ways, eyebrows furrowed, and lips pulled into a taut half-pout. ]
Hmmm… something must be wrong.
[ it sounds strangely pensive, one hand climbing up to clasp at his chin. ]
Perhaps with more feeling? More gusto?
[ he’s narrating it aloud, very cognizant of the fact others are around. purposefully, he drops his hand from his face to rest it on his hip. ]
You seem like the local expert. [ and now he’s turned to you, a charming smile sprawled across his face, blue eyes sparkling with flecks of mischief. ]
🌟 02. ALL THAT GLITTERS… IS PROBABLY GOLD
[ despite the oddities that this new world brings, viktor seems as happy as a clam to be crouched over, garbed in an oversized but stylish coat and scarf combination, rummaging through the underbrush. his expression remains stern and focused, hands pushing aside branches. ]
Gold, gold, gold, where are you …. [ the words almost have a lilting characteristic to them, the irony of it indeed amusing the hell out of him. occasionally, the light catches his right hand in such a way that it sparkles, effervescent, gold like the branches and berries he seeks.
does it catch your eye? do you think you’ve finally tracked down the elusive berries? ]
viktor (yoi!!!)
Hmmm… something must be wrong.
[ it sounds strangely pensive, one hand climbing up to clasp at his chin. ]
Perhaps with more feeling? More gusto?
[ he’s narrating it aloud, very cognizant of the fact others are around. purposefully, he drops his hand from his face to rest it on his hip. ]
You seem like the local expert. [ and now he’s turned to you, a charming smile sprawled across his face, blue eyes sparkling with flecks of mischief. ]
🌟 02. ALL THAT GLITTERS… IS PROBABLY GOLD
Gold, gold, gold, where are you …. [ the words almost have a lilting characteristic to them, the irony of it indeed amusing the hell out of him. occasionally, the light catches his right hand in such a way that it sparkles, effervescent, gold like the branches and berries he seeks.
does it catch your eye? do you think you’ve finally tracked down the elusive berries? ]