2nd Floor Common Room, Sunday Evening

[swordsandsoccer.livejournal.com]

So as it turned out, Dolf had not, in fact, spotted the gremlin in the storage room at Turtle & Canary. What had happened was that the gremlin had spotted Dolf and embedded its tiny teeth neatly into Dolf's ankle about two seconds before he finished closing up the shop.

The Swede had not cared about the wound on his ankles. Bah! Ankles. He had cooking to do!

And so lo and behold, the Swede - with a charming beard made of cotton taped to his face - was in the first common room kitchen he could find. "HUNGRY?!" he shouted at his audience (which at the moment consisted mostly of chairs) "MAKE MEATBALLS!"

He yanked open the fridge with way too much violence, and began throwing food haphazardly at the counter. While shouting in... not Swenglish, exactly. Dunglish. Whatever. He didn't care. He was SWEDISH. "MELK!" He practically hurled the pack of milk against the back wall, then threw a bowl after it.

Fandom better be prepared for dinner tonight.

[[ so dolf now thinks he's Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time guy. open common room is open. ]]

Comments

[child-of-rer.livejournal.com]

Sov, who today had decided to explore the second floor common room, blinked as they were met with shoting in a mostly strange language by someone who had stuff taped to his face. Still, they decided to be open-minded.

"Hi," they said, trying to sound friendly. "Are you ok?"

[the mun is giggling at fake angry Swedes in Fandom]

[swordsandsoccer.livejournal.com]

"YOU!" the Swede shouted, coming perilously close to shoving a package of ground meat in Sov's face. He rambled something mostly indecipherable (because it was a combination of Dutch, made-up Swedish and English) and ended it in, "DINNER?!"

That was a question, Sov.

[child-of-rer.livejournal.com]

Taking a step back to avoid the meat, Sov then shifted nervously from one foot to the other, contemplating escape. But it sounded like a question had been asked, so Sov tried to be polite and said: "Yes, please."

[swordsandsoccer.livejournal.com]

"TODAY, MEATBALLS," the Swede declared. "YOU, SIT!"

He growled. Hard.

[child-of-rer.livejournal.com]

It sounded like an order, and Sov felt it was safer to obey. They sat down.

"What's meatballs?" they asked in an attempt at conversation.

[swordsandsoccer.livejournal.com]

The Swede waved the meat around. "MEAT!" he shouted, smashing it down on the counter, and tenderizing it with his fists.

And then his head. Twice. Just for good measure. Let's hope that doesn't leave a dent in the counter.

[child-of-rer.livejournal.com]

"Oh." Sov didn't have any further questions on that. "Please, don't hurt yourself."

[rilla-myrilla.livejournal.com]

Rilla could hardly miss the shouting from the common room, and poked her head in to see what the commotion was.

"Dolf?" she gaped. "What is on your face?"

Because the beard was clearly the weird part of this.

[child-of-rer.livejournal.com]

Sov tried to make gestures to Rilla to escape while she still had the chance.

[rilla-myrilla.livejournal.com]

"What's the matter with him?" Rilla hissed.

[child-of-rer.livejournal.com]

"He's a Swede!" Sov whispered loudly. Not that it explained anything, really, but perhaps it did to Rilla.

[rilla-myrilla.livejournal.com]

"I thought he was Dutch," Rilla mused, frowning.

[child-of-rer.livejournal.com]

As Sov didn't know what 'Dutch' was either, it made little sense. "He cooks violently!" they whispered again.

[rilla-myrilla.livejournal.com]

"And wastefully," Rilla said, wrinkling her nose up. "I hope he plans to clean up after himself."

[swordsandsoccer.livejournal.com]

"ROLL!" the Swede commanded, because it was important, dammit.

He shoved a bowl of meatball... paste her way.

Or threw it.

Either or.

[rilla-myrilla.livejournal.com]

Rilla shrieked and ducked from the meatball...stuff.

"That is not polite!"

[swordsandsoccer.livejournal.com]

The bowl-and-meatball-batter-whatever-it-was hit the sofa instead, and wound up oddly pristine. The Swede scowled at her.

"Regular Swedish Meal Time IS NOT POLITE," he said. "STOP SQUEALING. ROLL MEATBALLS."

And then he turned around to grab an onion.

[rilla-myrilla.livejournal.com]

Rilla stuck her tongue out at him when his back was turned and picked up the bowl, walking closer to the counter against her better judgment, and began rolling meatballs.

"I am not eating food that's been thrown," she declared.

[swordsandsoccer.livejournal.com]

"Then you are not eating properly!" the Swede announced, and promptly attacked the onion with a butcher knife.

Yes, the term 'attacked' was appropriate here. That poor onion.

[onlymistaken]

Those noises were difficult to miss, even from one floor up. That voice was rather identifiable too, though it took until Cally was halfway down the stairs from the 3rd floor to recognise it amidst all the growling.

"What is..." The doorway was a good place to stop and stare. "Dolf?"

[swordsandsoccer.livejournal.com]

"BOIL POTATOES!" the Swede yelled at the newcomer.

He was still wielding the butcher knife and looked quite terrifying above his onions.

[onlymistaken]

Certain questions had to be asked. The only reason WTF? wasn't one of them was because it wasn't common idiom on Auron.

"...Why? And what is that on your face?"

[swordsandsoccer.livejournal.com]

"My beard," the Swede yelled, because that was obviously offensive. He held up one of the teeth-skinned potatoes. "POTATOES," he said. "WE BOIL THEM."

[onlymistaken]

Oh...dear. "All right." Cally weighed the likelihood that he was joking against the likelihood that Fandom was being... Fandom, and decided not to make any sudden movements, just in case.

Slow, ginger movements towards the kitchenette, then. "Any special reason why you suddenly decided to grow a beard?" Made of cotton balls...

[swordsandsoccer.livejournal.com]

"Because it is MANLY AND SWEDISH," the Swede proclaimed, and threw the potato at the counter.

Right past Cally.