It is quiet at the Basque gypsy camp, where Viggo's friends have set up temporarily in the outskirts of Paris. They are passing through France on their way to Portugal, and he is grateful he has managed to meet up with them before they pack up and move on. Poking the roaring fire with a stick, Viggo finishes the last spoonful of his stew before ( Read more... )

Viggo walks along the market, whistling a tune as Thierry pads beside him silently. He finally finds a good spot and lays out his cloth, next to the woman selling embroidered cushions. He takes out his art folder, and squinting around his surroundings, he wonders if he might make a sale today.

( Bending down, Viggo starts arranging his paintings... )

[OOC: In case you find the scenario in this post familiar, here's an explanation. Liv-mun and I decided to style Viggo/Liv's first meeting in the same manner that Aragorn met Arwen. Instead of singing a song in Elvish, Viggo sings one in Danish. It is an actual Danish poem I found here by Sophus Claussen. The actual poem does not have the name ' ( Read more... )

Traveling seems to be in my blood, for my Danish father met my American mother while he was trekking across Norway. He took her back to Denmark, where I grew up with my two brothers and cousins on a large farm where we always seemed to have everything we needed. Life was beautiful; we would play and help out around the farm in the daytime, but at ( Read more... )

( Another sunny afternoon by the river, and Viggo is sketching the scenic view, unaware that someone is watching him. )

Viggo is sitting by the banks of the river, his keen eye roving around his surroundings, looking for something to focus on and maybe sketch out. Thierry sits patiently beside him, his tongue hanging out as he follows Viggo's eye. Two young mademoiselles walk past, but they do not catch Viggo's interest. Then, his breath hitches and his pencil ( Read more... )