riverviewlogs | Ronan walks into the month late and with a cup of alcohol [open]

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Ronan walks into the month late and with a cup of alcohol [open]

who: Ronan and open
what: Open log. Ronan drinks and later he shops for his pets and brings along his raven and a dog.
when: Late December
where: A bar (ground floor of Trixie?) and a pet store respectively
warnings: Alcoholism, violence
notes: Can switch to brackets, message me if you’d like a different scenario

a. Putting that alcohol tolerance to good use

Ronan preferred to drink in private, before bed, and with his electronic music playing in his headphones. But moving in with his boyfriend had some drawbacks. His distaste for alcohol was one. As a result, Ronan was out doing exactly the opposite of what he wanted.

He went to a bar in the evening and had to deal with people talking around him. But he was here on a mission: drink as much as possible, as quickly as possible, and then think about nothing. And by God, he was going to do it.

He took a seat and glanced at the person next to him. “What’s that shit you’re having?”

b. Ronan should never name his pets

Ronan had never been in charge of the finances at the Barns. He didn’t handle it at Buttercup Farms either. So he was unprepared for how fucking expensive all his animals were. It was easy to keep Chainsaw happy. She’d eat anything. Dogs and cats? Jesus.

He walked into the pet store with his raven Chainsaw on his shoulder, as usual. But this time he had a dog with him, a young puppy with big paws, soon to grow into a fine dog. He was eating enough for it.

Thorpedo, as Ronan named him, was going to represent all the dogs in the house by choosing toys.

Should anyone be inside the pet store, this scene would unfold before them.

“Hey, mutt. Let’s get your crap.” When they reached the toy aisle, Ronan glanced around to verify no one was there, then grabbed a rope tug. “Hey, Thorpedo. What do you think?”

Thorpedo grabbed it.

“That’s my little shithead.” Ronan rubbed behind his ears.

And if anyone caught him after, Ronan hauled bags of dog and cat food, along with a small bag of toys, to his BMW while Thorpedo, still on a leash, trailed behind, carrying one chew toy and squeaking it periodically.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Irish," Ronan corrected. "My father was Irish. I was born in America. They speak English there. The whole history of the British Isles is a huge fucking mess, no thanks to you pillagers." There was no bite to the words. After all, odds were that Ronan was related to those pillagers. The Irish didn't get their red hair from nowhere.

At that point, Ronan got his drink. He immediately took a huge gulp. "Hell if I know about the stories. You'll have to find another nerd for that."

"Hm. I have not heard of Irish or America," Even using the term 'British Isles' was slightly confusing, but Ragnar assumed he had to mean England. He smirked a little when Ronan called his people pillagers.

"Vikings," He corrected, "We were not pillaging, we were raiding."

He was well aware those two things were basically the same thing, he just liked the term 'raiding' more. It implied more violence.

"Nerd? What is that? A name for your people?" Those born in America?

Oh, Ronan could have a lot of fun with this. Fortunately for Ragnar, he didn't lie unless it was by omission. So he only had half as much fun.

"Ireland’s about two generations after you. The Vikings went and raided, then knocked up my people. America’s a long story.” He didn’t know the specific time frame. “Nerds are people obsessed with something. So you want a Norse history nerd.” He could warn him that it’s often an insult but the possibility of Ragnar walking around asking for a nerd.

“Man, you’re going to need a dictionary.” An idea occurred to Ronan and he flashed Ragnar a grin before pulling out his phone. He then searched for swear words and phrases. Once he selected the most promising list, he held it up in front of Ragnar. “Enlighten yourself, backwards heathen.”

"Knocked up?" He honestly assumed Ronan meant slaughtered.

It was a lot though. New words, new places, future history. Naturally, he wanted to know everything about everything.

"A nerd and a... 'dictionary'? What is a dictionary?" But apparently Ronan had one on him... or one could get to a dictionary on their phone. He leaned closer to peer at the screen, taking the opportunity during the break in the conversation to drain some of his ale. He looked over the screen, but it was just a bunch of symbols that meant nothing to him.

"What is it?" He looked past the screen at Ronan with a slight smile.

"Impregnated." Though Ragnar wasn't wrong about the slaughter. From what he gathered, the Vikings did like to mix things up.

Apparently, what Vikings didn't do was become literate.

"Are you shitting me? I thought you Vikings had runes!" Ronan knew better, but as a child who grew up in the lap of luxury, even if it was a farm, he took too much for granted.

He pointed to the phone. "This is a list of brand new curses-- swearing-- for you. And it's totally fucking useless if you can't read. Jesus. I never thought I'd tell someone to get an education." Ronan slid his phone back into his jeans. He could have taken the time to change the settings so the words were read aloud, but as far as he was concerned, the phone had proved itself worthless once again.

"Ah. We impregnated your people? The men as well? Quite a feat," He smirked. What a lame dad joke.

He raised an eyebrow at the reaction, nonplussed.

"We do. I cannot read them. Only the Seer has such knowledge in Kattegat," That and runes weren't used to write or record things, that sort of thing would be introduced with the spread of Christianity.

"How did you find it? Can you tell mine to look for them?" He pulled out the phone he'd been given, which had, thankfully, been set up to read everything out loud and take verbal commands. He paused for a moment, "Jesus? He is one of the Christian gods, even though they only have one. You are Christian as well? There are many here. I am surprised."

Ronan rolled with it and added his own terrible joke, which Ragnar wouldn't get. "Oh yeah, you fucked every last one of us. That's the luck of the Irish."

He glanced at Ragnar's phone. "I'm not gonna hold your hand. Figure it out and make it your bitch. They did tell you how to use it." He assumed they did. It'd been long enough that he didn't remember exactly what they included in orientation.

He wondered at how different Ragnar and his son were. Ragnar sounded more curious of than irritated by Christianity. "You'll have to get used to it. Where I'm from, a third of the world is Christian and most of the US-- America."

Ronan did get a puzzled look when he mentioned it being lucky. His puzzled frown only deepened as he misunderstood what Ronan meant.

"I did not ask you to hold my hand... What is it I am asking for? A list of curses? Phone. Look up... List of curses?"

'A curse (also called a jinx, hex or execration) is any expressed wish that some form of adversity or misfortune will befall or attach to some other entity—one or more persons, a place, or-'

He rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, "Stop."

He gave up for the moment. Maybe he would make another attempt when he wasn't in a bar.

"So you are Christian?" His eyebrows raised in surprise at the statistics, "One third of all people? I wonder if that is true for others I have spoken with. Is it also common for people to be 'raised' Christian but now 'it is complicated'. Is it 'complicated' for you?"

He was obviously trying hard to figure this out, his curiosity piqued. Nothing in his tone or questions hinted at any kind of hatred or discrimination.

Ronan hid his smirk by taking a drink. He let Ragnar struggle without comment. When he'd finished, Ronan put his now half-empty glass down. When it came to matters of religion, he took things more seriously.

"You're getting real personal real fast." After that token protest, Ronan indulged him. It was rare enough to meet someone he could talk about this with without getting judgmental in one way or another. "One third of all people where I'm from. It's not true for everyone here. There are like no Catholic priests here."

He dragged one finger along the rim of his glass before leaning back. "I'm a believer but yeah, it's complicated. Isn't it for you?" The question wasn't a trap. He had no interest in proselytizing.

Ragnar put his phone away and leaned in, bright eyes glinting with curiosity.

"Am I?" He asked, even more interested now after seeing Ronan's reaction, "You are talking about your religion?"

He resisted the urge to mention Athelstan, keen instead on hearing about Ronan's views. Christianity, as much as Athelstan tried to explain it, just seemed more and more confusing, which made it more and more interesting.

"Isn't it what for me? Complicated?" He asked before smiling softly. He broke into a wider smile as he answered, half chuckling, "No. I believe in the gods."

He sat back a little and took a drink, "If you believe in your God, why is it complicated?"

Contemplative was a strange expression when worn by Ronan Lynch. His face was tight and his mouth stretched in what could have been a smile but more closely resembled a grimace.

"According to the Good book, God and I don't see eye to eye on one or two fundamental aspects of my being. I'd ask Him myself, but He never answers me and I don't have a direct line to the Pope either. I've got to figure out this shit on my own. So--" he waved his hand. "Complicated."

Although Athelstan had never referred to it as such, Ragnar was sure that 'the Good book' had to be the same book that the monk seemed to treasure.

"Why would it matter if you disagreed with your god? Is this not allowed? You must agree with all your god says, or you are not Christian?" He found it fascinating that Christians seemed to believe their god was all knowing and infallible, some sort of ultimate truth, "What is it that you do not agree with?"

"I'm still a Christian, it just makes me a bad one. I think. The Pope-- the head of our Church-- doesn't exactly encourage disagreement." Ronan took another drink to give himself time to consider his next response. He ordinarily didn't favor thinking before speaking, but this touched on one subject he always kept close to the vest.

It probably didn't matter. He was sure Ivar would tell his father all about Ronan and his dream powers. Traitorous snake.

In the end, he decided to just focus on the safe option.

"I'm only attracted to men. That's a one huge hell no for the Catholic Church."

Ragnar's contemplative frown deepened. It almost felt as if the more he learned about Christianity, the less he understood it.

"That is a very strange thing to prohibit. If you marry and have children are you then allowed to be with whomever you want?" It was the only conclusion that he could come to, that maybe such a rule was in place to ensure that people still had children in order to keep the population healthy. It was a very strange decree though.

Ronan shook his head. "Nope. You're supposed to have sex just to make kids. Christians aren't allowed to have any fun."

It was nice to be able to say these things out loud. Once spoken, he felt a lot less bitter. He imagined how absurd it must be to Ragnar and found himself agreeing in this instance.

Very bad Christian, Ronan chided himself.

He tapped his glass and then, with his hand still wrapped around his drink, pointed his finger at Ragnar. "So you don't care about the gay thing at all?"

Ragnar chuckled, thinking of Athelstan, though the monk's vows restricted him even more than.

"This is true. It was difficult to convince my Christian that the gods, neither his nor mine, would care if he were to enjoy life a little bit. Such a strange god to follow..."

Ragnar gave him a puzzled look at the question.

"Gay thing? What gay thing is that?" This was the first time anyone had used the modern meaning of 'gay' when speaking to him.

Edited 2018-01-03 06:51 (UTC)

Ronan should just tell him to ask his phone, but with Ragnar's luck it'd give him the 'happy' definition. So, just this once... "Gay. It's what a guy is when he likes only other men or it can be a woman liking other women."

He lifted his eyebrows briefly. "You know, your gods are pretty damn strange to me. Sacrificing people and tasting their blood? Where I'm from, that's fucked up." He tried not to judge, but he couldn't help it. As a result he mostly tried not to think about it too hard. He didn't need more bloody images he couldn't dislodge from his brain.

"Ah. That... is not the meaning I know of that word," He chuckled softly.

"You do not like women at all? Not even a little bit?" He smirked and shrugged, "No man should have a problem with this, it means more for the rest of us."

He gave Ronan a puzzled look.

"Who told you of our gods?" His smile didn't falter, but he took a moment to think about how to word what he was about to say, "A human sacrifice must be willing. It is an honor to die and join the gods almost as great an honor as dying in battle. Like a death in battle, a sacrifice is dying knowing that they are doing so for their people, their friends, and their family and the rest of the community is also aware of this.

Even so, it is rare that the gods ask for a human sacrifice. For most festivals, an animal, drink, or food is given as an offering."

Ronan stared impassively at Ragnar. Really, he was trying to picture wanting anything to do with a woman. "Less than zero interest. You can have them."

Now, he had much more interest in the pagan religion.

"So, all of them are totally cool with being sacrificed? They're not pressured or anything?" Yes, that was skepticism in his voice. Not that he doubted people would die for their religion. After all, Catholicism had a long list of martyrs, not to mention Jesus himself. But life wasn't so simple.

"My teachers told me some. I read about them, too. If I hadn't, I would've told your son to fuck off the moment he talked about knowing what human blood tastes like."

"It is as I have said. They are asked and they must agree or else the gods will not accept them and we will all suffer the consequences. It is fast and nearly painless, or it should be. It is also one of a very few ways to impress the gods outside of battle. And it is not a choice made lightly, as you can imagine," He pointed out, thinking back to the very fresh and raw memory of his good friend volunteering to be such a sacrifice, "Everyone dies. Having a meaningful death is the best one can hope for."

Being reminded that Ivar had bragged about tasting human blood lightened his mood a little, making him chuckle and roll his eyes a little.

"I do not doubt it. It tastes the same as any other blood. Whether it was from a sacrifice or during battle, such a thing is almost unavoidable. I believe he was trying to get a reaction out of you," He glanced over at Ronan with a smirk, eyes glinting, likely resembling Ivar's very closely at the moment, "Did it work?"

Given the circumstances, Ronan wasn't so sure Ivar couldn't tell the difference. Who would expect a flower to bleed human blood? Or was it all a lucky guess in the face of a bizarre occurrence.

Having considered the moment, he finally answered Ragnar. "Not the way you think." His reply was almost flat. He was too used to Ivar's creepy stare to be unnerved, not to mention everything else in his life.

He took a drink and when he spoke again his voice was more casual, for Ronan anyway. "You know, your sacrifices are still pretty fucked up. But if that's what makes you happy. One thing I don't get-- why do your gods want them?"

Despite the strange wording, Ragnar knew without a doubt what Ronan meant. He still disapproved. In truth, it had been a difficult thing to accept when he was a boy and it had been equally as difficult to try to explain to his son when he first attended an event where a human sacrifice was given.

"'Want' is not the right word," He studied his glass of ale, "The gods give us many things... if we ask for them. They bring rain to our crops, they make our lands fertile, they keep our children well, and they favor us in battle. It is a trade we make. We ask the gods for these things and therefore we must give them something in return. Many gods do not want human sacrifices, but that is for the Seer to say. He, or she, is the one the gods speak to."

"They only talk to the seer? God, those higher powers just never give us the time of day." And he took another drink. “How do you decide something like that? ‘Hey, we gotta kill someone today. Hope one of you’s cool with it or we’re all fucked.” His voice turned dark.

It was a different sort of sacrifice, but a friend had died for him, and somehow this had all become an inadvertent reminder of it. It all turned out alright-- mostly-- but he didn’t want to remember it. He motioned to the server and gestured to his glass, a silent request for a refill.

He smiled softly to himself before slowly shaking his head.

"... No. And yes. People like the Seers and the Völva they are special. Different. They have a link to the gods and the gift, or curse, of prophecy. But our gods are known to disguise themselves and walk among us. Sometimes to test us, sometimes... just because they can. The gods will also show signs to people. If they are willing to look and listen," He paused to down the rest of his ale so that when the server came over they took both glasses and brought them both a refill.

"It is funny. That is... very close to the speech we get," He smiled as he brought his new drink to his mouth, "Is that so strange?"

One word was enough to distract Ronan from his ~~sulking~~ sudden melancholy. "Völva?" Ronan couldn't, or rather wouldn't help himself. He was nineteen, crude, and sometimes irreverent. It took a great deal of effort not to laugh at how similar that word sounded to something else entirely. "Völva," he repeated, shaking his head and smirking.

"God, maybe that's where it comes from," he muttered. "Shit. That's great."

Oh, wait. They were having a serious conversation. Right.

"I don't think so. There are only so many ways to sell you on sacrificing yourself." Ronan pulled his drink closer. "So, the gods ever give you a sign?"

Ronan walks into the month late and with a cup of alcohol [open]

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