riverviewlogs | Forgive me, hearer, I cannot stay

She had considered tracking him down and just appearing, but... for a variety of reasons, it occurs to her that Marco may not take that well. And despite the many cruel things she's said about him, she has no real ill will toward the man... hell, she doesn't know yet if she should.

Thus, she introduces herself instead by sending a message:

Marco,

Do you have free time today? I'd like to meet while Ivar is away. The thought has occurred to me that, seeing as we will inevitably be competing for a place in his future, we should at least have a face to go with such stakes. And, after all, I have come to believe in equal ground and fair bargains.

Cordially,
Letha Regis - Winter's mother.

It's been a while since she's been so formal, but it seems appropriate given the circumstances.

Edited 2018-02-24 23:40 (UTC)

[As interesting as it would be for her to try that - after all, Marco is paranoid, has been even since before the war - it's a good thing she doesn't. Marco is the sort of person who likes time to prepare a strategy, time to work out what's best in any given situation, what route has the highest chance of success.

So he takes his time to reply to the text. Time that's spent wrapping his head around what he even wants to say, considering how irritated he is that she implies they're going to be competing, how confused he is about whether he wants to compete when he doesn't even really know what either Ivar or him want out of this ridiculously new relationship. Marco doesn't have the greatest track record with long-term relationships to draw on.]

Hey Letha. I've got some time after a lunch with a client. We could meet for dinner if you want. My treat. - Marco

[Marco is also not a big fan of tipping his hand.]

I appreciate the offer, but I can pay for my own meals. Let me pick the spot, and I'll be happy to meet you there.

[So, she's a little annoyed that he didn't play along with her cold civility game, but that's life.

The place that she picks is a rather fancy restaurant with an outdoor seating area; she's picked a spot with a decent view of the sunset and enough lighting for the deck of cards she's set up beside their magically refilling kettle of tea - a deck that is decorated by intricate patterns in gold ink, detailing a weeping eye on the back of each card surrounded by ritualistic symbols. Hmm..]

Your call, Princess.

[And hey, it may not be cold civility, but at least he's using capital letters with her. That's better than he does with most people.

He meets her at the place she picked, right on time - Marco likes fancy, but this is fancy in a different way than he usually goes for, not that he minds much. He wonders
a bit if he's what Letha expected, with his tiny frame, his shaggy dark hair and brown skin and dark eyes, and his brightly coloured clothing, all purples and blues with pops of green. Lifting a hand, he pulls his sunglasses off and tucks them onto the top of his head, squinting slightly at the outdoor seating area before striding over to the table, shoulders square and mouth curved into a half-smile.

Sitting down heavily in the chair across from her, he leans forward, elbows on the table, sizing her up, eyes on her face - he noticed the cards, but right now he's more interested in the girl.]

Hey. Letha, right? I'm Marco.

[Letha, in turn, looks a little more in her element here - her hair is bright white, held back by a few loose braids and a red ribbon. Her skin is pale as paper, and her eyes are blue with red pupils - just like Winter's. Her dress today is something very simple by her standards, but still elegant enough to show off her place in high society. And of course, the heavy eyeshadow she picked up from her time among Vikings makes her stand out pretty sharply.

Her eyes immediately stray to his elbows; even after a year in Varberg, it bothers her to see someone disobeying etiquette like this. Her own arms are tucked neatly to avoid her elbows brushing the table, and she gives him a smile with very thinly veiled disdain. She could understand competition with Lola, but this boy is nowhere near her standards of what Ivar deserves.]

It's a pleasure. Would you like some tea? It's mint and rose - they had none in Norway, so I've taken to drinking it every opportunity I have. [She motions to the kettle with a delicate gesture.] I have to admit I know very little about you. I assume Ivar's told you a fair bit about me, though.

[Marco is no Cassie, but he's more than sharp enough to pick up on the disdain, and that's what pushes him past cool detachment. It's not easy to miss the way his eyes go sharp and hard, the way his face tenses just a little, his lips pressing together. It's not irritation or anger, though, just cold ruthless consideration, as he takes in all the nuances of her body language, the way she's dressed, the way she's moving, where she's looking. Working out what her game is and deciding if he wants to play it or not.

Shifting in his seat, he pushes his elbows further onto the table and folds his hands over each other, eyes still on her face.]

Pleasure's all mine. No thanks on the tea, rose and mint sounds like something my grandma would drink, I'll just grab a latté when the server comes over.

[Breaking his gaze from her, he looks impassively around until he sees one of the employees. Orders a latté with sugar-free vanilla and whipped cream, then turns back to her, head tilted a bit, a lazy smile on his face.]

Nah. I mean, I knew Winter had a mom, but he never really talked about you. Guess we're even, huh?

[Her lips purse a bit when he says it's something his grandmother would drink, as if that's a bad thing. She holds back a retort about how tea is traditional and respectable, because it really isn't a valid enough argument to start something with. Look at that, she's grown.]

How odd. I would have thought he'd have plenty of time to talk about me, but I suppose he must have had his reasons.

[Something about her tone implies that she'd like to think that reason is that Marco isn't important enough. But a moment later, she reigns in that contempt and tries to sound a bit more neutral.]

I've developed a bit of a game when I meet new people - I ask the cards to tell me their past, present and future, and they answer with how accurate I was. [She indicates the cards on the table.] I can't say I've ever had a flawless reading, but I learn quite a bit from the corrections. Would you like to play?

[Marco shrugs off the insinuation that Marco isn't important enough for Ivar to have told him about Letha - he'd sort of been implying the opposite, after all, so he can't blame her too much for trying the same trick on him.]

I mean, I guess? We usually had other stuff to talk about. Never really got into exes.

[It's breezy, and he leans in to look at the cards while she offers to do a tarot reading or something, to try to learn about him.]

Whatever. Why not? I've never had tarot cards read on me before, so...

[Another shrug. What harm can it do? He doesn't exactly believe in magic, not really, even after the stuff he's seen here...]

They're far from an exact science, or even anything a magician would consider true magic, but they are a fun distraction.

[She picks up the deck with a smooth motion and begins shuffling it, neatly dividing it into three stacks and placing them in front of him.]

Pick one with your left hand and shuffle it for me, if you will.

[As he does, her eyes close and she concentrates on his form. She's been seeing snippets of a new power for a while now, and she's finally getting a proper time to practice it... she's doing her best to comb through Marco's memories, although she'll only be able to see a jumbled mess of whatever he's subconsciously thinking about at the moment.]

I don't even really believe in them, but it's a fun party trick.

[Leaning in closer, he taps fingertips against the table, eyeing the cards curiously as she lines up three stacks and puts them down on the table in front of him. Raising a brow, he keeps tapping his fingers thoughtfully, listening to her instructions.

After a measured moment, he reaches out with his left hand, picks up the center stack, and shuffles it, casual and calm, before putting it back down on the table again. He doesn't have any particular sense of her digging through his mind, but he's definitely aware that she's closing her eyes as if she's concentrating. Whether or not it's just some mystical mumbo-jumbo put on, he's not sure, though.

Most of the thoughts going through his mind are...not what you'd think to look at him, or hear him. There's a constant awareness of where the exits are, along with all the rest of his surroundings, a hypersensitive but subconscious attention to the movements of the people around him, his mind in a constant state of looking for threats, scanning for dangers and warning signs. Layered on top of that are a variety of snarky comments about Letha and about the whole idea of tarot cards that he's not saying out loud, and the occasional flash of Ivar's face - the dark, dangerous, beautiful grin or the way his eyes look when he's being sharp and incisive, the way he looks sleeping while Marco brushes fingers through the short sides of his hair.]

Why the left hand?

[She can understand a bit of that vigilance. She had never been exposed to enough hardship in Thornwell or Riverview to understand it, but nights in Varberg had been cold, and she had watched many men die during battles. She had even been pushed to killing herself. It had simply never instilled the sense that there was dnager here - Riverview is very different from Varberg, and that makes it safe.

Perhaps Marco's world is not different enough to give that thought purchase.

What shakes her, though, is seeing Ivar's sleeping face. The intimacy, the knowledge that they share a bed and such intimate touches. Her brow twitches, and Marco's words shake her very suddenly from the images as she blinks back into the present.]

What? Oh. The left hand is closer to your heart - it's the easiest path for your energies to flow into the deck. Like with lightning.

[She pauses for a moment, taking her napkin to dab her eyes before taking away the unused stacks. The stack that Marco picked is spread out so that no card is touching, and each has an equal chance of being picked.]

Now, with your left hand, I'd like you to pick three, place them face-down in a line in front of you. Those are your past, present and future.

[It's less about being different than it is that Marco's had every safe place he ever had taken from him. It doesn't matter how safe he might feel, he's always, constantly aware that what seems safe can become unsafe in a moment, without warning. Better to always be prepared, to always be thinking of which animal would be best to defend himself in various situations, where the escape routes are, where he can go to morph out, to brace himself for pain.

And when he looks at Letha, he sees her as potentially dangerous, just like everything and everyone else in the room. She has tarot cards and she's reading them, and this is Riverview - who knows if she has magic or powers or weapons hidden somewhere, that he doesn't know about? Who knows what she intends to do to him for his so-called competition for a place in Ivar's future? So he notices when she jerks alert, shakes her head, when she tears up and then dabs at her eyes. His own dark eyes catch every moment of it, he wonders what made her cry like that, out of seemingly nowhere.

Something strange is going on. But he doesn't mention it.]

Huh. Makes sense, I guess.

[Tilting his head, he keeps his eyes on her as he does what she asks, picks three cards without really thinking, and puts them in front of himself in a line.]

This should be interesting.

[He cracks a smirk, tilting his head a bit.]

Have at it, Princess.

[There's a twitch when he calls her Princess, just for a moment, where the curve of her smile seems to be holding back a very sharp retort. But she holds her tongue. If there's one good thing Ivar's taught her, it's to pick her battles with some semblance of logic. Instead she gathers the unused cards, stacks them neatly beside her, and turns over the first card.]

The Six of Cups - nostalgia, naivety, and reunions. The sweet cordial of childhood memories.

[Her painted fingernails press against the card, which shows two children sharing a golden cup between them, five more stacked in front of them. Her eyes close and she presses her ability a bit further, speaking those keywords with emphasis and straining for a clearer focus on the memories it makes him think of.]

[Marco can see the retort on her mouth just as clearly as he would've heard it if she said it, and his lips twitch a little, in an amused sort of way. For a moment, he has a vivid memory of Rachel - beautiful and blonde and amazonian, giving him that same sharp smile as she viciously tore into all his worst insecurities, remembers how much he'd loved it.

When she flips over the first card, citing childhood memories, Marco huffs a laugh in his throat, shaking his head.]

Last thing I need to think about, thanks.

[But they're there, in the back of his mind. His mother's beautiful face, with her dark eyes and all her shiny dark hair, the way she'd smelled, how it felt to be held by her. The gut-wrenching loss of her when he was only 11, the sense of abandonment by his father after she'd died. Like losing two parents, his only living one a zombie in a bathrobe staring at the TV. The blur of taking care of himself for so long, taking care of his father before even hitting his teens. The thrill of joy and fear at realizing his mother was alive but in the hands of the enemy, the gut-wrenching pain at knowing he might have to kill her in order to save the rest of the world.

But he doesn't say any of it.]

Hard pass. Next card?

Edited 2018-03-28 05:55 (UTC)

[In all honesty, it makes Letha hesitate. She had grown up surrounded by family, and found it a bit suffocating. Her mother had been strict and reserved, which had made her butt heads with Letha quite a bit, but she hadn't considered that a childhood could be as harsh as this. Not only that, but Marco and his father would not have been able to speak to Marco's mother after her death, and that seemed dreadful, even if Letha had often wished not to be expected to keep in contact with her dead relatives.

She's once again reminded of how much she misses her brother, who she can no longer speak to from here. She had spoken to him nearly every night after he died, and sometimes she worried if it annoyed him...

Once again she snaps suddenly out of her thoughts, and her prickly smile softens into a sympathetic frown.]

I'll keep my thoughts to myself, then.

[She flips over the next card, which features a young boy holding up a large gold coin with a star engraved on it.]

The Page of Pentacles - progress, planning and potential. A growing awareness of earthly needs.

[She has a prickle of fear that this card will bring up more memories of Ivar... but surely Ivar is a bigger part of her life than he is of Marco's.]

The first sign of Letha's arrival is not Letha herself - rather, her new pet. Nico will first feel something akin to a giant cat tongue scraping across his entire back, followed by a harsh pull on his soul, as if something is attempting to shove it out. Thankfully, Hades' blood keeps it in him, but... he will find himself temporarily unable to move, with his nerves standing on end. The culprit appears shortly afterward, letting out a howling laugh that sounds suspiciously close to a villain from an old 60's cartoon.

"Oh, what did you do this time?" Letha follows behind it, wrapping her arms around the fluffy purple ghost in what is both an affectionate hug and an attempt at restraint. "I'm sorry, he thinks it's funny to pull people out of their bodies. Jabber, say you're sorry."

Honestly, Letha seems to take this about as seriously as Jabber does - about as seriously as a dog confusing someone's leg for a fire hydrant.

Frozen in place for a few seconds, Nico doesn't know how to respond. Mostly because he's never felt that kind of sensation before. But as the feeling fades and he's able to move again, he's relieved to hear Letha's voice. He's not exactly pleased with the ghost-like creature floating nearby, but he feels no urge to cause it harm. Not when it's apparently Letha's pet. So he huffs and pouts a little, giving Letha a look.

"What is that thing?" he asks, tilting his head to better regard it. In a way, it reminds Nico of Ed's pokemon and he wonders if it's another type. If a ghostly one.

"He's a Haunter!" She answers proudly, scratching Jabber's fur on the top of his head affectionately. Her hand goes.. slightly through his head, just enough to be unsettling. "It's a ghost Pokemon - a boy named Ed helped me catch him."

Jabber responds with another laugh that would make a Scooby Doo monster proud, and wiggles out of Letha's grasp to float around Nico's head.

"You can pet him if you like, just be careful... he does like to try and play with souls."

It takes a while for Letha to work up the nerve to speak to Lola again... of course it does, over a month passes before she even considers it. But Ivar is gone and her hair seems like it's going to stay white for the forseeable future, so there's no time like the present. Weeks after their confrontation.

It seems almost on purpose that Letha picks the same table at the diner as she did in her child form, thought it was a pure coincidence over a year later by her count. She has a hood up when Lola approaches, but even when she pulls it off it may take a moment to recognize her - seeing as she's paler than normal, her eyes are blue and her hair is currently a pair of curly white braided pigtails. Even her eyelashes and brows are white, which stands out sharply against her makeup - the magic refuses even her mascara to hide it.

"Do you have a break soon? I do plan to order something, but I thought I might treat you while I'm here." She's doing her best to act casually, like she isn't just a little terrified of Lola rejecting her and tossing her out.

Dolores's memories are... skewed, Lola remembers them, but the context is all weird, so that connection is lost. Lola, however, is good at faces. And coloring changes that would influence others recognition do not have the same impact on someone who studies make-up and hair for fun. So while there's a brief moment taking in the coloring, it quickly fades into recognition.

Which is obvious, Lola's hair turned that stormy thundercloud gray once she figured out it was Letha. Because she was mad, she was mad and that didn't go away easy. But... she sighed, she could at least hear her out. "We can talk when your order's up. What'll you have?"

"Thank you."

Her tone is the most genuine it's been in their entire time knowing each other; Letha may be selfish and playfully thoughtless, but she understands that it takes a lot to hear someone out when you'd rather tell them to fall off a cliff.

"Do you think I could have a strawberry milkshake. And something very large and meat-heavy to eat, I'm starving."

She doesn't quite remember what things are anymore, but it's one of those days when she forgot to eat the day before and plans to make up for it by eating a huge amount all at once.

Lola scribbled down some things, and wandered offer. She'd need a little time to calm herself down, vent to some of the other wait staff in the back. Lola's always trying to make others feel better, and she's always giving people chances to talk. Doesn't mean she isn't bitter, angry, and wishes she was a little less perfect in all the worst ways.

Eventually she comes out, large serving tray filled with dishes. Well... normal sized serving tray but she's rather petite. She hits up a few other tables with their meals before she makes her way over to Letha's table. Strawberry milkshake (which is blue, but details), and a big juicy steak, side of mashed potatoes. It was, incidentally, the most expensive meat option on the menu and she would expect the largest tip possible.

...Lola's still not happy with Letha, you can't expect her not to try to maximize the end result. "Alright, I'm here. Talk."

If that was an attempt to spite Letha, it barely registers. Since coming to Riverview the first time she had unfortunately had to learn the actual value of money, but her husband was a banker and she'd caught onto the concept well enough. Still, she is and always will be a big spender, and Lola is a friend no matter what rift is currently between them; she'll be getting a wealthy tip no matter how this meeting goes.

"I was hoping you'd take something for yourself, as well - I would have happily paid for it."

But she isn't going to press the issue. She instead takes a moment to assess whether she wants to deal with the propriety of silverware, before she begins pulling the steak apart with her bare hands, idly popping bite-sized chunks into her mouth as she speaks.

"I believe we had a bit of a misunderstanding, last we met. You see, I was under the impression that what you were implying was that you had taken Ivar off of my hands, and that was the reason I was no longer welcome. But I heard from Ivar that he's not seeing you, but someone named- what was it- Marco. Odd, how no one seemed to think it important to tell me about him, isn't it?" Her tone is casual, but there's still a bit of an edge in her tone as she speaks about Marco. "But if your problem with me isn't based in wanting Ivar, then I don't see why we were fighting. My only desires are to have Ivar and Winter back in my life, and I doubt that should get in your way at all."

Even with all of that talking, she's already halfway done with her meal by the same she's said all of that... she really was hungry.

Lola wondered why all her friends, family, any sort of connection was with someone in some need of help. Was that her? Here, at least, everyone was some flavor of misfit toy. Never going to make a Christmas happy on their own, because they just didn't fit. Trains with square wheels and dolls that didn't look quite right. How Letha missed it, the clearly obvious, and instead found an insane conspiracy theory to latch onto?

But before Lola could process any of that she showed a face mixing revulsion with confusion. Because, to Lola, Ivar was never a potential romance. He couldn't be, he was spoiled, forever, by another version of him sleeping with someone Lola could not stand. Another version of herself. So the very concept just boggled and disgusted her to the point it caused her hair to go a little green. A sickly color right out of Wizard of Oz. It would take a moment for Lola to calm down and try to explain in ways Letha might understand, how she monumentally fucked up and it would never quite go away.

Unlike that steak.

"First off, if this was about me, I'd have gotten over it in a few months. I don't really hold grudges for myself. If this was about Ivar, I never would have gotten so mad in the first place. The two of you proved quite well he can take care of himself." Lola's managed to calm herself down enough to relax, lean back, and not scream. Which... was way better than she expected going into this. She kinda knew it'd always happen, but she hadn't really planned it out. "You don't get to run off through a portal leaving your baby behind. No matter who you have looking after her. And just breeze back in and act like you didn't do anything wrong."

"Also what Marco and Ivar do only matters to me if they do it on any of the living room furniture, or in my kitchen." Lola didn't really register that Marco's name was important to bring up last time, it wasn't her business. Also it wasn't really Letha's business either. And it certainly wasn't her place to out Ivar to Letha after Letha vanished. But mostly she didn't think it was an important detail, so two of her housemates were dating, no big deal. "I didn't even bother to mention my love life since you left, something that's actually mine to tell. Which also would have told you I wasn't with Ivar. Something that won't happen in a billion years and if he's the last man on ear-
this moon."

"She's a baby. She won't remember me being gone."

She grimaces, wiping her fingers on her napkin as the last of the steak disappears. That's the sort of speech that had made Ragnar so cautious of her, isn't it. But it's hard to think of a better way to word it, when Lola has to put the image of Ivar doing things with his mystery cavalier.

"You saw me after she was born, I thought you'd understand. I was losing my mind in that house. Winter wouldn't let me touch her, Ivar wouldn't let me be away from her, I kept seeing my husband in the crowds when I left the house. I'd lie awake at night and think about leaving her beyond the wall, or gouging Ivar's eyes out, and I couldn't stand the thought that I might actually do that one day. I thought if I left, at least everyone else could enjoy her. She was supposed to be the one thing left of my home, but she only served to prove what a failure I was, I couldn't take that." She drains a portion of her milkshake haughtily to give herself time to breathe. "I thought perhaps now that I'd had... time, to regret, and mourn, I could try my hand at being what everyone wants of me again. But now everyone tells me I'm not allowed to have her back, because I left the first time. As if I've ever hurt her in the past - it was always her hurting me. I thought someone might appreciate that I'm accepting that burden again. And I would think if Ivar wanted to be rid of me, he would at least have the courtesy to give me back my child to which he has no claim, but I have to assume he's keeping her out of vanity. Since he can't make his own."

She's already plenty sullen, having lost the chipper mask that she was trying to keep. She'd much prefer to act like she's above all of this, but she is hurting deeply, struggling with all sorts of problems she's never had to confront before... things that getting everything on a silver spoon definitely didn't prepare her for. And she can't help one last petty remark.

"And anyway, he can't be doing anything with Marco, he's only done anything with me. It wouldn't work otherwise."

"I remember you calling her a monster. Because she's different. And that I didn't understand then."

Sadly, Letha, Lola can't understand. Her own burden is to know what being the girl abandoned by her mother feels like. And even if Winter is too young, so what? It doesn't changed how it happened. "You left Ivar with a baby, which he loves and cares for because he loves her and cares for her. Whatever in his past left him as messed up as he is hasn't taken away his ability to care about children. He spent nights caring for her, feeding her, buying those ugly but kinda cute dresses he puts her in. And you're surprised he won't give her back? And surprised he doesn't want you back?"

There's a level of disbelief at the end, given how Letha talks about Ivar, Lola does understand that's just how the two have always been. A hair away from murdering each other. Or, is it manslaughter? Lola doesn't get the difference. The point is that she doesn't get how, after leaving, Ivar might hold some reservations. Because unlike Winter, he can remember. And unlike Winter, this is not his first betrayal. "I'm glad that you were a blushing virgin when you and Ivar did anything, because you couldn't possibly do anything with Ivar if you did things with someone else. Sex is actually kinda easy, once you know all the parts involved."

"Well, maybe I wanted to treat her the way Ivar does. I was excited before she was born, I was ready for it. She was going to be trained to fight monsters, and speak to the dead, and Ivar and I would get married and everything would be wonderful forever." She huffs. "And she's beautiful, isn't she? She looks just like me the way my hair is right now. But if everyone kept telling you you were holding a puppy, and you could plainly see a rat in your hands, wouldn't you feel like you were doing something wrong? Like you were broken, somehow, for not seeing what everyone else did?"

She purses her lips.

"I cannot explain everything that is wrong with my daughter because I don't know all of it. Healers are- scary stories that we tell at night, like changelings and imps. They're parasites, they latch onto the mind of those around them and make them fear death. Make them willing to do anything a healer wishes, so long as they are promised a few more days of life. It's a disease for the natural order of things, and I birthed one. And it's all my fault, because I was communing with the dead when I wasn't supposed to and I got myself wrapped up in a fate worse than death. My daughter is the way she is because of me, that's why I couldn't bear to be near her."

Her eyes lock onto the table, and she ends up grabbing a spoon and shaping what's left of her potatoes into abstract shapes instead of eating them. And then, at that last comment, he glances around before focusing on Lola.

"I don't have to spell out the problems with that, do I? I bore another man's child before I slept with him. And his... manhood, doesn't work. It's weak, like his legs. It would only work with a woman, I would think."

"I don't really hold Winter, but she looked like a baby. I mean sure, I look in her eyes and I see all those expressions that prove she's alive and real, but she's a baby. Nothing more, nothing less. She really likes the feeling of my healing power and when Ivar tells her stories. Like a baby." Lola didn't like babies, not really. But they were alive, and that's easy enough to respect.

Lola's trying to get something out of the big speech about healers but all she got was 'blah blah weird necromancer bigotry' and self hatred. It wasn't like she could say 'that's stupid' no matter how much she wanted to. Instead, she got an out with the last comment. Lola's eyes went wide, and then she leveled a cool glare.

"I'm not Dolores, but I do have her memories, about sleeping with the other Ivar. I know what he is and isn't capable of. I'm sure he and Marco can figure out some enjoyable activities that are none of our business." Stop reminding Lola she has these memories, she'd rather not bring them out unless she has to.

"It's my business, at least, if not yours."

If Lola isn't going to listen to her necromantic bigotry, she'll just have to cling onto the pettier argument. While she pointlessly stabs at her potatoes.

"I wasn't gone for that long... and now he's gone, by his own choice, for who knows how long. He won't even let me near my child when he isn't here to be the better parent." She purses her lips again, and her shoulders slump before she pops up with another burst of anger. "Why did he move on so fast? I never even met Marco, I left for three months and suddenly they were lovers. We were perfect together, how could he just forget and move on as if it didn't even- you have healing powers? Wh- since when?"

That just sort of... hit her, right at that exact moment.

Lola, for once, isn't going to pick a fight she can't win. Which would be trying to explain how much Ivar's love life isn't her business. Nor will she focus on how much time Ivar and Letha had before they got together either. Cause Lola was here for that too.

"He's a viking, I don't think he really knows how to dwell. Some people just move on, it didn't take me long to move on from Yuffie either," Not that that was very serious. Or a thing Lola got to tell Letha about. As to the other topic.

"You weren't here when I finally figured out why I was tired all the time. If I focus on someone their injuries heal faster. Or, in Winter's case, she giggles. It's a thing I do." Lola wasn't exactly the same Lola she was months ago either.

Letha is about to state that she didn't know Yuffie either, but... yes. That's Lola's point, isn't it. Just how much has Letha been missing because she forgets that other people's lives don't revolve around her?

That's a pretty startling thing to consider, and she quickly decides to forget about it.

"So... you're immune to her. Because you can.. heal." She's definitely not happy with that, but... well. "Do you know how to stop yourself? There's someone else here who is the same sort of creature that Winter is- well, not exactly, but something very similar. We talked briefly about- turning Winter's powers off, so that I could approach her safely. That sort of thing." She pauses, "I don't mean to do it without Ivar's permission, of course."

"Never really tested, I don't hold her. But she likes to drain life energy, and I can sorta send life energy too her. In a controlled way I guess?" Lola was dismissive and generally quick in her words on this, it was an irritant, nothing she liked to focus on. Stupid magic nonsense, and Lola hated stupid magic nonsense. Her stuff was stupid science nonsense, and that was merely marginally better.

"I can handle my own powers," except when she can't, but that isn't nearly so common. "If they can help handle Winter's powers, and Ivar's okay with it, it isn't really my business. And I have enough to do with my time."

Like, this break, that she planned to spend pouring over business textbooks and other learning aids. But she was here, instead, trying to hash out a bunch of things that were either not her business, or wouldn't be solved in her dwindling break.

Winter is getting close to seven months - which means that she almost resembles a human being now. She's gained a wispy puff of white hair, and her blue eyes are usually bright and engaged with the world around her. Seeing as she's Ivar's daughter, she has come to Ragnar's house fully equipped to be pampered. That means toys, pacifiers (including one for teaching her to chew food and her favorite one which has a toy lamb attached to look like she's kissing it), various different pre-portioned meals and snacks, copious amounts of baby formula with a full audio-recorded explanation of how to use and clean the bottle, and many, many, MANY cute outfits.

Thankfully, she was sleeping when she was delivered, but now it's morning and it turns out that Winter is rather fussy without Ivar in clear eyesight. From the moment that she wakes up and sees that her crib is in an unfamiliar room, she has been making a hiccuping noise of suspicion, and trying to lift her out of her crib? Well, that may end up being a task in and of itself. But it's nearly 8 o'clock, and Ivar's instructions were very clear - breakfast happens at 8. Someone will have to convince her that eating without her father is safe.

There's no set routine with Thor and Ragnar. The plan was, if the baby cries, someone will get it. Ragnar knows more about what he's doing than Thor, who is here primarily to be supportive and to hold Winter when they need someone who can stand to hold her for longer periods of time.

Not to say he isn't enjoying it, but he's a little haggard when Winter is fussing in the morning. He approaches the crib with a smile all the same, baby breakfast in hand as he leans over.

"Hungry, are we?" Obviously that's the only reason for her to be fussy. Thor sets the food down and leans in to hoist her up, unprepared for her to fight him on that.

The moment that Thor touches her, Winter begins to fuss. Not only does she begin wiggling away with all the strength her little body can manage, but she immediately tries to drain his energy - an attempt that really has no effect on him, if only because he has so much energy to take. This is not Ivar, and Ivar is the one that greets her, so she's intent on leaving.

When her attempt to escape inevitably fails, she lets out a shriek as if she's in pain, hoping that will trick him into letting her go.

She feels a bit safer, having asked Athelstan to brief Ragnar on the fact that "Cinna" is not a Mercian fortune-teller, but in fact the mother of Ivar's child. She'd like for this meeting to happen later, when she's figured out exactly how to turn her hair dark... but maybe it will help that she's currently albino, she doesn't know.

She announces herself with a knock on Ragnar's door, but... her attention strays quickly, and by the time one of them answers she'll be petting one of the goats, speaking to it like a baby. "Hello! Oh, you're simply gorgeous, I could steal you... which one of these is your mummy? Or did he buy you this small? Oh, you're so lovely, yes you are..."

Now if only she could learn to show this much affection for her actual human child.

Edited 2018-02-25 01:15 (UTC)

Athelstan is still not sure that this is the wisest thing. He does think that they need to know Letha better and he wants to help her -- so long as she is willing to put in the work on herself. She seems so, perhaps, he knows that Ragnar still has a lot of hesitance about the whole thing but he said he would give her a chance and he would behave if nothing else.

He had spent a good deal of time cooking the dinner. Gyda was out, having knowing vaguely that there was going to be a dinner and that Ragnar was not particularly happy about it. Athelstan comes to the door shortly after the knock but it's clear that Letha is already distracted. He waits a few moments before clearing his throat.

"Would you like to come in? You can bring a baby goat with you if you like. They're a good pacifier for Ragnar."

He doesn't care if Ragnar heard that or not.

Like oaths, hospitality was one of those strangely emphasized values. Being a bad host was worse, in some cases, than taking another person's life... especially if that person was a slave. So, despite being very unenthused about the prospect of meeting Letha. Not only had she lied to him on their first meeting, but he'd also heard plenty of terrible things about her from Ivar himself.

After a moment, Ragnar trailed after Athelstan, walking up just in time to hear what he'd said, which earned the monk a discreet jab to the ribs.

"Welcome to our home, Letha," He stated in a tone which could almost be mistaken for welcoming. Almost. His emphasis on her name, however, was blatant.

"Can I really?"

She's not waiting for Athelstan to reconsider that - she takes the smallest and fluffiest goat she can reach, and gathers it into her arms like a teddy bear as she walks over to greet Ragnar with a bright smile.

"I must apologize formally for the confusion - I used a pseudonym while in Norway, and chose to keep it here to spend some time detached from Ivar. It was childish, I'll admit, but I believe it was smarter than barreling head-long into his life after so long apart." She offers a gesture somewhat like a curtsy, except that she can't lift her skirt up with her arms full of goat. "And while I admit I knew who you were from the beginning, I must make it clear that I never meant any harm in my deceit. I have far too much respect for you to try and trick you without good reason... and I'm very grateful that you've allowed me to see your home, it is really quite lovely."

Despite the obvious care taken in choosing her words, she does mean all of it and it's accompanied by a charming and genuine smile. Though, out of sheer curiosity she can't help adding:

"Have you learned yet if my reading came true? Is Athelstan the man you were fated for?"

Athelstan nodded to Letha's question and ignored the jab to his ribs, though it almost drew another smile from him. He watched the two of them carefully and stayed quiet as if he was trying to make sure that Ragnar would keep his word about behaving. So far, so good, as good as he could ask of Ragnar anyway.

The question she poses has him raising an eyebrow at Ragnar before he's retreating further into their home to make sure everything's ready to be served on the table they had. Of course it is but he figures that Ragnar and Letha have a few things to get out of the way.

Letha's dazzling smile is met with a fairly stony expression from the Viking.

"Mm. Convenient that you have decided to apologize now... when we are caring for the child you abandoned," Ragnar pointed out coldly, ignoring both her compliments and her questions. Athelstan was not only naive, he tended to be deeply sympathetic as well. It was something Ragnar had always admired in him, but that didn't mean those qualities were wearing off on him in the least bit.

"The table is through there. Just follow Athelstan," He stated begrudgingly, closing the door behind her before heading into the kitchen and dining area himself.

"I cannot help the timing of my apology, Ragnar." She replies pleasantly, with a bit more edge than she need to. "The past cannot be changed, we can only seek to improve our future."

She does notice that he's ignoring her... and she wonders if it's simply to be stoic, or because her reading caused something unpleasant. Well, no use worrying over that now. She allows herself to be led over, awkwardly standing by the table until Athelstan is nice enough to pull the chair out for her; even after her time in Norway, she still hates the impropriety of seating herself.

"Will it be alright if I feed the goat?" She asks innocently, as it bleats in the general direction of food. "I haven't the faintest idea what's healthy for them..."

Athelstan isn't particularly surprised that Ragnar's behaving the way that he is which doesn't make anything about this at all easy. He waits until everyone's seated before taking his own and he shakes his head at the question. "Not inside," he says with a smile and then glances at Ragnar with an expression that says 'you're not playing nice.'

The food is rather simple, meat and vegetables and there's a choice of alcohol or water -- since he didn't know what Letha would prefer to drink. "Sometimes the best way to improve the future is to own the past mistakes."

"No. Of course not," He said flatly in regards to the timing of her apology.

He'd opened his mouth to also tell her not to feed the goat inside, but Athelstan beat her to it. Goats were simple creatures, when you put things in one end, things tended to come out the other as well. And nobody wanted that in the house.

Ragnar took a drink before starting to pull the meat in front of him apart, not using any utensils. Forks weren't a thing yet where he was from and even if he had been exposed to them in Riverview, they would still strike him as a little pointless. In between bites, he alternated vaguely annoyed stares between Athelstan and Letha.

Letha, who had been just about to offer the goat a leaf from something, immediately pops it in her mouth instead when Athelstan tells her not to. See, she can be a good kid. The goat protests, but getting shushed and petted seems to work well enough to dissuade it.

While Letha can appreciate silverware, she's always had a startling appetite for her size, ever since the Riverview portal fished her out of that space between death and whatever unknown is beyond it. Choosing to coincidentally never be looking up when Ragnar glares at her, she goes about ripping her own meal up and eating it with a pace that seems to imply she hasn't eaten in years. This, and also systematically pushing the goat's head back whenever it tries to sneak a sample of the greens.

"I do have to admit, it's a bit like meeting a legend... one of the first nights Ivar and I spent together, he told me about your capture of Paris. I can tell it to you if you'd like." She laughs softly. "I don't mean to flatter you like my false prophecies did. But your son truly loves you, and I must admit I'm happy to know you live up to his image of you."

She glances at Athelstan.

"He never mentioned you, though, before I left. You mentioned that you knew him as a child, didn't you?"

She's probing, more than anything - if either of them choose to speak she will close her eyes as she listens, practicing the new ability she's picked up lately. She'll be able to watch bits and pieces of whatever memories they focus on, even hear parts of them if the memory is strong enough.

Athelstan eats less heartily than the other two, mostly he does find himself anxious about the two of them and the awkwardness weighs on the meal and on him. It is after all his idea that they would do this. He is starting to second guess whether it is helpful to anyone that is involved.

"He was likely not old enough to really remember me," Athelstan frowns. He doesn't know exactly whatever it is that happens to him happens -- Ivar's alluded to enough that he knows that something bad must have happened before Ivar was really very old. He remembers Ivar, as a very young baby and toddler that was constantly under Aslaug's supervision, and she was not very fond of Athelstan for more reasons than he could likely count. He did not mention that much. After all, there is still plenty that Ragnar doesn't know.

He glances at Ragnar then before turning his attention to the food, not particularly keen on being the topic of conversation especially in this manner.

"Time is a strange thing here."

"I would prefer you did not," He really couldn't put into words what the difference between prophecy and simply being told his future... interpretation, vagueness, the chance that the prophet had misread things. But being told the events that would transpire as easily as someone could tell him about past raids felt... unwise somehow. Like he was tempting fate. He still hadn't asked Ivar what the boy's mother's name was. He simply knew it was not Lagertha.

Ragnar's gaze flickered over to the monk before returning to his plate, not wanting to think too much about the reasons that might be behind Athelstan not being around as Ivar grew older... while Ragnar had been. It was likely nothing good.

It was obvious that Athelstan wasn't exactly keen of this topic either.

"Apparently I lived up to expectations only in some areas. In others, I failed miserably... According to Ivar," She hadn't been here while Ivar had been screaming and throwing knives at him earlier that month.

He's quiet a moment, staring a hole through Letha for a stretch, "What is it you expect to get from this, Letha? Ivar has left so you are chasing after those who are close to him?"

"It certainly is." She answers Athelstan, with a nod of understanding to Ragnar.

If she knew how things would be going in Riverview the night she left, she would do things very differently. And perhaps that would be tempting fate to make her new future much, much worse.

As the two of them speak, she closes her eyes and casts her attention of each of them in turn. The images are jumbled at first, but she manages to tune in on a few... a sickly baby Ivar wrapped in furs, a cold-looking woman that she assumes is Ivar's mother and, as she turns her attention to Ragnar's memories, she sees a scene in this house. Ivar losing his temper, throwing knives, yelling at Ragnar. She purses her lips as her eyes open... she couldn't focus in quite well enough to know what it was about, but she makes a mental note to ask Ivar what happened.

"Ivar hasn't left, he's coming back." Her tone is a little too snippy, and she clears her throat before her expression softens, "I... didn't have much of a plan, if we're being honest. I just wanted to talk to you, about- letting me care for my daughter while Ivar is away. I know it would be going against his wishes, but I believe as her blood mother I have some say in her life, and I want- a chance to prove that I can do better than I have."

She hadn't thought to exchange any contact information with Ed, nor does she have any good reason to talk to him, so she's sort of glad she just happened to run across him. She's been out and about, by the looks of it - her hair is held back in a ponytail, now finally returned to black and decorated with ornamental braids, and she's wearing the lightly armored dress she'd worn when they explored the church.

She's also followed by Jabber the Haunter, though he only makes an appearance once Letha is about to catch Ed's attention; Jabber suddenly becomes visible right between them, rushing Ed, popping his eyes and tongue out with a loud and cartoonish yell of triumph before disappearing again just as they're about to collide. Letha puts her hands on her hips with a loud huff, shaking her head as if chiding a misbehaving dog.

"Trying to scare people to death again... are you alright? You wouldn't be the first person I'd have to put back in their body."

And it is entirely possible, given that Jabber is involved, that Ed might currently be temporarily outside of his own body. Either way, she'll be able to see and speak to his ghost, so it isn't a big concern for her.

Forgive me, hearer, I cannot stay

For Marco; @necromantica // text

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animorphs is wild wth

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For Lola

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For Thor and Ragnar; two nords and a baby

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For Ragnar and Athelstan

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For Ed