riverviewlogs | Anger is a gift

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Anger is a gift

who: Ivar and you!
what: Fireflies, a chariot, catch-all for April
when: Late April
where: All over the city, the stables
warnings: Possible violence with the red firefly?

These little fireflies are an awful nuisance. Throughout the week, he would get bit by a whole troop of them. Sometimes just one, but if you catch him at the right time, there might be a few overlapping effecting him.

Red
When he gets bit, the obvious question is, "How can anyone even tell?" Ivar's always got a constant simmering state of barely-contained anger below the surface. It tends to come in two forms: the kind that instantly rises to the surface and makes him do stupid things like pick fights with people or attempt to murder them for the most banal of reasons. Or the second kind, which is far more dangerous. He buries it down and it lurks below the surface as he plots, ready to destroy whoever it is that's wronged him. It won't last too long, considering the handle he's already got on his anger, but beware anyone who finds him while he's still got his weapons nearby. Fortunately, this one only lasts about a day before the effects fade and he's back to his usual simmering anger.

Orange
The bug prompting him to be more open and honest hits him pretty hard. Ivar's never been one to hold back precisely what he's thinking, but usually it's veiled by a layer of biting sarcasm. Now, his honesty is much more naked, not really held back by any restraint. He's not going to bite his tongue even if it gets him into deep shit. On the other hand, if anyone has ever wanted to see what lies beneath the tough-as-nails exterior he's constantly projecting, now's the time to make the most of it. This one will last a couple of days before fading.

Violet
This one will affect him the longest, lasting almost the entire week. Ivar's entirely unused to dealing with the softer emotions of life. Vikings aren't big on open affection and love...well, love for him is a complicated emotion as it is. His thoughts during the week seem to be all over the place. He thinks an awful lot of a certain dark-haired necromancer, but oddly enough, he finds others creeping into his thoughts. Several of them are guys and that is definitely surprising. Anyone who catches him during this period of time is going to be in for a surprise. He can be quite caring and affectionate when the mood is exacerbated as much as it is by the fireflies.

Chariot Racing
Ivar takes a trip down to the stables to see his horse. He looked the gelding over, brushing, currying, and digging the bits of muck out of his hooves. Then it was time to do what he'd wanted to for a while. He harnessed the horse to the war chariot from home that had turned up one day. Then he got situated on the seat, slapped the reins down, and took off tearing down the street.

Anyone notice a horse and chariot barreling down at top speeds while the driver cackles like a madman? Yeah, that's Ivar. Best to get out of the way. He's not stopping if he runs you down. But he will stop if he sees anyone he knows, mainly so he can brag about the sweet set of wheels he has now. C'mon, it's ten times cooler than just a simple car.

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Ronan generally wasn't the touchy feely sort but he'd make an exception to ensure he kept his body intact. He slid down next to Ivar and slung his arm around him, not bothering to ask permission first.

"Good call. No one would ever surrender to Ivar the Buster of Kneecaps." Ronan's brow furrowed for a moment. Something about that title was familiar but off, like he should remember something. He shrugged it off a moment later. Latin and Greek were his field and his friend Gansey had covered most other history topics.

He gave Ivar's shoulder a light slap before holding him again. "Let's hear your war cry."

Ivar's brain nearly short-circuited when Ronan touched him. He wasn't sure what was more surprising, the way he was feeling, or the fact he was feeling it about another man. Up until now, he'd experienced this primarily when it comes to women. But as these damn bugs had been proving, there might have been more going on in his head then he initially had assumed about himself.

But that was enough being inside his own head. Ivar never liked to stay there for too long. He started over-analyzing everything. It was a good trait to have when planning out battles and reading opponents. Not so good the rest of the time. He grinned fiercely and slapped the horse's reins, yelling out a traditional Viking war chant. "Skeggǫld! Skálmǫld! Skildir ro Klofnir!" Then he took off at top speeds.

Ronan laughed. The air carried it away as the horse barreled off. Without any hair to blow back, what Ronan noticed instead was the force of the wind itself, not enough to withstand a god damn chariot.

He hadn't done anything like this since he got here.

"Fucking amazing!" he yelled. Oblivious to having provoked any feelings or sensations in his companion, Ronan leaned into Ivar. "What does that mean?"

Ivar glanced back at Ronan, just for a quick moment. If he didn't focus on the road, they'd crash hard, and that would end their good time real quick. "Sword time! Axe time! Shields are splintered!" Just the sort of thing to inspire a group of vicious Vikings before they attacked the enemy on the battlefield. He was glad to hear his friend laughing. He didn't seem like the sort to do it often.

They came up on a tight curve. "Hold on!" Ivar leaned to the left as the chariot went around the turn to the right.

Ronan gripped Ivar tighter and brought his body closer as well. For his part, he didn't focus on anything else but the sound of the horses hooves, the wheels and the wind whipping past him-- cold, biting, and beautiful. Ronan's laugh turned manic as they rounded the corner.

"If I didn't have to kill a guy, you'd have me sold on pillaging."

He wasn't sure why he said that, not that he had any qualms about his stance on murder not being a great idea, but he found it hard to care why his words flowed so freely.

Ronan pressed closer against him and Ivar's brain once again did that stutter-stop feeling. He'd never really been this close to anyone he wasn't related to unless he was killing them. And it was very hard to concentrate when he had a handsome man right up against him. Good thing he could multitask as the horse galloped on, nostrils blowing out air harder now.

"Treasure, women, and battle. That's what Viking raids are all about." Something here that no one seemed really understand. It was in his very blood, the need to go out and prove himself, to successfully earn his share of the spoils and spill blood onto the earth. It was a restless urge. The only things that seemed to quiet it were killing monsters on the Perimeter Guard and this, being able to go careening at top speeds in his chariot.

Ronan was distracted enough that he didn't bother with a snide tone at all. "I'm not into the first two. But if you ever want to brawl, I'm your man." Though Ronan probably wouldn't say no to treasure but what good was it to someone who could turn dreams to life?

When it came to a good fight they saw eye to eye aside from the killing. Ronan could let that one pass, given the circumstances. If he were a soldier, he'd probably feel the same way. He wondered how Ivar fought hand to hand, if possible. He wondered if he really wanted to know.

He finally leaned back. "If I ever get my BMW, I'll take you for a ride. Then you can see what Ronan Lynch is all about."

"You're going to regret saying that. I've broken a nose and knocked out teeth sparring with my brothers." Ivar made up for his lack of mobility by being an utterly ruthless and vicious fighter. He also fought dirty, but hey, he justified it as helping to level the playing field disadvantage that was against him. He wondered how Ronan fought. There was a lot of edges when he looked at his friend. People like that fought hard when they had to.

Ivar felt a certain amount of disappointment when Ronan leaned away from him. Damn. He was in so much trouble internally. He'd never felt attraction towards men before and now here he was forming a crush on one like some kid. The thought that he might still be a kid or teen himself never occurred to Ivar. With how short Viking lifespans were, children were considered adults by the time they were twelve. "What's a BMW?"

"You think I haven't? My dad taught me and my brothers how to box. My older brother and I haven't stopped using those lessons on each other." The bite was back in his voice when he spoke of his brother. Declan and Ronan could never see eye to eye. In fact, whenever they were near each other, they couldn't see reason.

Ronan placed his hand on the side of the chariot though he kept one on Ivar, which probably did not help in discouraging Ivar's struggle. Sixteen was a little young for him, and while Ivar's maturity might offset that, Ronan was too single minded a lover to consider it. Devastatingly handsome, Ronan Lynch never realized how many hearts he'd broken or uncomfortably arousing dreams he'd caused.

"A BMW's a car. Tell me you know about those." Ronan didn't think he could explain how they operated to a viking or the sheer power and adrenaline Ronan found in them.

"Sounds like my older brothers and me. You know, at I lost every time we trained with weapons when we were children. So I decided to get better than them." He'd succeeded there. Thinking of his brothers brings up a storm of complicated emotions. "Sigurd and I can't stand each other. I've tried to kill him at least once." He says this a bit off-hand, like everyone has attempted to kill their family members.

He was trying very hard not to think about the hand still on him. He was also not succeeding very well. Really, why had his mind picked this moment of all times to hit him over the head with some revelations about his sexuality? At least he can answer Ronan to distract himself for a moment. "The wagons that move without horses?" That's as close to what he can compare them to.

Ronan had the sense that Ivar wasn't lying. He also had the sense that continuing this association was a bad idea. Ronan wasn't a sensible man. If he were, he wouldn't have the same impulse to commit a little fratricide.

"Sometimes I'd like to but our family's broken enough. He's a shitty brother but he's mine." His own answer caught him off guard.

Desperate to avoid his own revelation there, he focused ever more on the present. For the first time, he noticed the slight tension in Ivar's body. He wasn't entirely sure that adrenaline accounted for it. He hoped whatever reaction Ivar was having wasn't over talking about attempted murder. But it would not surprise him.

"Close enough. You'll see when I get it back. Roll down the window and it's like this but 100 miles per hour of the best hell's got to offer." Unsettled but how acutely aware he was of his hand on Ivar, Ronan forced himself to stare ahead.

It wasn't his car but as he said, it was close enough. He'd better enjoy it while he could.

"That's the truth. I don't always like them, but they're all I have left." He would have done anything to keep the shattered remains of his family together. Though the circumstances had been terrible, he'd been glad to have them all together in England. What would happen when they were done waging war on the Saxons was anyone's guess.

Had Ivar been clear on just how aware Ronan had become of their relative positions, he would have pretty much curled up and died. He could barely think of how to act around members of the opposite sex he liked. Being around a man he liked was a whole other game. At least he could makes excuses for why he was acting the way he was. It had been a thrilling ride, after all. "I'll hold you to that offer." Ivar would love being inside a car tearing through the streets.

Eventually, Garth was puffing and snorting like he was played out, so Ivar slowed him down to a trot, then a walk. He turned the horse to the left, heading down the street in the direction of the stables. "Did you enjoy yourself?" He found himself caring about the answer a little more than he thought he would.

Now that they weren't racing through Riverview, Ronan removed his hand from Ivar's body. With little room inside the chariot, they remained close but the awareness of their proximity entered the back of Ronan's mind.

His grin faded into a sharp smile. "It's the first time I felt like myself since I got here." He lightly punched Ivar's shoulder. "Look me up next time you do this. Hell, I might even asnwer if you call."

The device that gave him access to the network fell under the category of 'phone' to Ronan. Phones were, in his mind, the greatest abomination on Earth. Seeing as they weren't on Earth, he could make an exception if it involved chariot racing.

Garth's gait slowed as they arrived back at the stables. He was going to need a good rubdown after pulling the chariot through all of the streets at top speed. Ivar was reluctant for such a moment to end. It was the happiest he'd felt in a very long time.

He turned to look at Ronan, smiling back. "Next time will be even better." He wasn't about to spoil the surprise, but Ivar was training his Ponyta Skinfaxi to pull his chariot. If Ronan thought galloping around in a chariot was awesome now, just wait until there was a horse on fire pulling it.

Ronan was reluctant to end this as well, but that horse needed a breather. One of the many reasons he preferred cars, especially his. No engine to worry about.

Once they had come to a complete stop, Ronan sprang easily from the chariot. Great ride or not, most wild animals didn't do well in confined spaces.

"A surprise? Don't keep me waiting." Normally, he might have left. And normally, his acid tone might have returned to his voice. Instead he gestured to Garth and continued speaking casually. "Need help with him?"

"If I told you now, it wouldn't be a surprise." Ivar slid from the chariot seat, shifting over until he was at the very edge of it. Then he scooted over, crawling a few feet over to where he'd parked his wheelchair.

"Sure. Grab a damp rag, will you?" Ivar started to unhitch the horse from his harness. He'd need a good rub down, hoof cleaning, and plenty of water after a run like that.

Ronan had made no move to help Ivar get to the wheelchair or to offer. It could be that he was just and ass and yeah that was probably a factor, but he knew how fiercely some people wanted to claim their independence, even if they were shit at it. He also knew that some people would rather bite the hand that fed them. Ronan was a little of both.

What Ronan did was to grab the rag as asked. A minor miracle under normal circumstances, but he had a soft spot for animals.

"Is he from your home, too?" Ronan's body language changed around the horse, doing his best to reflect ease and not the simmering anger that so often wound his muscles tight.

Ivar was also one of those people. He was prickly and stubborn at the best of times, clinging fiercely to the little bits of independence he could claim as his own. He never asked for help and would have been insulted if it was offered.

Ivar picked up a hoof pick and started to get to work on the left front hoof of the horse. He had a innate talent for getting animals to do what he wanted. Perhaps they could sense he was a little bit feral just like they were. Garth lifted up his foot and Ivar began to meticulously clean out the much that had accumulated. "He is. Garth and the chariot were a gift from a very old friend so that I could go into battle with the other Vikings." Floki was a mentor to Ivar, more like a honorary uncle than simply a family friend. He'd been loyal to Ragnar, Ivar's father, his entire life, and had watched out for his son when he'd just up and left one day.

Ronan paid attention to how Ivar worked. While Ronan already had knack for dealing with animals, there were a few gaps in his knowledge that he'd like to fill. Ivar, rightfully, had not only skill but confidence in it.

Ronan also took the time, while helping him up, to appreciate the horse-- or Garth. He was pretty sick of the girly, sometimes flowery names at Buttercup Farms so he nodded in approval at the name. He preferred Chainsaw but still.

"Hell of a gift," he said. "I'd hate to face both of you in battle."

Ivar always gave his animals strong names. Garth meant 'Defender' in the Norse language and that's what he did for Ivar, helping to defend him in battle by pulling his chariot in battle.

Ivar put down Garth's left hoof and went around to the other side, lifting up the right one to start in on it. "You'd end up dead if you did," he said conversationally. Ivar didn't suffer his opponents to live very long.

He turned to look at Ronan and there was a strange look on his face as he did so. It was something Ivar was completely unfamiliar with, but that Ronan might have recognized. It was definitely the look of someone gazing at their crush. "I feel like you would have made a good Viking."

Ronan laughed at Ivar stating he'd be dead. If he weren't on a chariot, then yeah, probably. That was what happened if you fell off your horse back then. Otherwise... well, they wouldn't find out. It'd be a shame to get into a real fight with Ivar. He wasn't that bad.

Ronan grinned. "I'd have made people shit their pants. Ronan the Night Horror. Nah, man. You wouldn't want to see me as a Viking. The world's safer with Ronan Lynch." He was a creature who brought monsters into this world and he's seen others do far worse with that power.

He looked back at Ivar, smiling, and also missing the way Ivar stared at him. Ronan should have, but it didn't occur to him as a possibility. It also didn't help that he'd steadfastly ignored any of his admirers until his boyfriend came along.

When Ronan looked at Ivar, he had a look on his face that was affectionate. That was something in and of itself for Ronan Lynch. There weren't many who impressed him.

Ivar liked hearing Ronan laugh. It struck him again that Ronan didn't seem like the type to smile much or be outwardly amused by much. He was tough, bred from the same sort of stock that Ivar himself came from. It made it all the better that he could induce such emotions in his friend.

"True. Better to carve your own path out as yourself. That's what I'm doing." He'd end up in the history books for what he'd end up doing. Right now was only the start of what people would record about Ivar The Boneless

The look of affection was good enough for Ivar. He was used to having to fight for every scrap of what he wanted to get from people his entire life, emotionally or physically. To have affection so freely given was gratifying, even if he didn't fully recognize why he craved the emotion.

Ronan wasn't in the habit of being free with his laughs or affection, but races always put him in a better mood and the company was better than he'd had in a while. The fireflies did their part as well. There was more to honesty than simply speaking the truth.

It didn't change his body language that much though. Case in point, he slid his finger across his throat in the timeless gesture of slitting one. "Carving's a pretty way to put it, Barbarian." Ronan might not approve but it was in line with his dark humor. "I'll look for your name in the old Norse sagas when I get home."

Ronan didn't realize that not only would he find Ivar, but it would a short search.

"You'll find me there, even if it's just a mention as being a son of my father." Ragnar Lothbrok had been one of the most famous Vikings in the world, doing things no other Viking had done before. Even so, the Seer had prophesied that his sons would become even more famous and achieve even more than he had. Ivar was well on his way to doing that.

Suddenly realizing how much he was focusing on Ronan, Ivar got back to the task at hand, busying himself with finishing up with Garth's hooves. He was mostly rubbed down, so Ivar combed out his mane and tail. All that was left was to get him back in his stable. Ivar led the now-placid horse back over to his stall, where he happily began to munch on the hay in there.

Ronan thought of asking about Ivar's father. But parents were, as a whole, a touchy subject for him. He'd rather not ruin the day. If Ivar wanted to talk about it, he would.

"Don't disappoint me, man. The 'son ofs' are the most boring part. Either you conquer the shit out of some people or you name a kid after me to make all the reading worth it." Ronan thought he had a great name but he doubted a Viking would think so, given how Irish the name was.

Ronan admired Garth for a few more moments. He didn't say anything. He wasn't one for overstatement unless a variety of curses were involved. He slowly turned back to head for outside.

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Anger is a gift

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