Vikings Make The Worst Patients (OTA)

[ragnarsson]

who: Ivar and you!
what: Someone is the worst sort of patient when healing
when: Later half of May
where: The hospital and communal housing
warnings: Cranky Viking and possible mention of graphic injuries



I. The Hospital

To say that Ivar was angry was an understatement. He was absolutely furious. Mostly at Dodger, but he saved a little bit for himself. He'd almost died, but who cared about that? Dying in battle was no shame. Losing to some arrogant, idiotic mutant, now that's what really had him steamed. He spent the first couple of days alternately sleeping, healing up from the various stab wounds Dodger had given him, and plotting revenge against the older man.

But by day three, Ivar had had it. He wanted out of this hospital and back on the streets. When the doctors stated he had to stay for at least a few more days to heal properly, he went ballistic. They'd ended up sedating him when he'd managed to grab a scalpel and managed to slash up one of the doctors attending him. After that, he'd calmed down, but only enough to promise not to kill anyone while he was resting.

However, this didn't mean he was going to be a model patient. Anyone who was on the third floor of the hospital right now was going to hear a very angry Viking teenager. Ivar could be quite loud when he wanted to be. There were yells, the sounds of something breaking, and then Ivar roaring, "Get out of here!" Following that was a very loud crash as he threw a tray at the nurse making a hasty retreat from his room. He was in a foul mood and everyone was going to know it.

II. Communal Housing

Eventually, the hospital let him leave after the stab wounds had completely healed. His ribs were still on the mend, but there was nothing to be done to help him there. They told him to take it easy for the next five weeks, and that they would mend on their own. One big bottle of painkillers given to him later and he was on his way.

Despite his fury at being confined to a hospital bed early in the month, he was thinking perhaps leaving the place so soon was a mistake. He was still in a lot of pain, though anyone who saw him would be hard-pressed to realize it. There was just the little signs, how he would wince every so often as he wheeled himself back towards the communal housing building, or press a hand to his ribs if he had to move in the wrong direction for too long.

It was slow going, and by the time he pushed open the door of the complex, he was completely exhausted. All he wanted to do was go up to floor five, eat, take a shower, and sleep, in that exact order. Anyone who encountered him right now was going to find a very tired Viking who was nonetheless still as bad-tempered as he'd been at the hospital.

Comments

[aeturnus]

Despite how much Cain had been pushing to be outgoing and getting into other peoples' businesses, he really didn't have a whole lot to fill his days lately. Sure, there was his job but it was easy (and he liked it that way), and there was exploring the city (and there was plenty to look at), but he didn't have his old resources nor his nice toys and he definitely didn't have his brother or his niece-descendant or the twins...

There was a whole lot of not enough going on, basically. So when he saw someone entering the communal housing ahead of him, someone obviously with something going on, his interest sparked. Interest and some pity, although he was conscious of making it look more like sympathy since most people didn't react to pity well at all.

"You all right there?" he asked, making to walk alongside the poor wheelchair-bound guy.

[ragnarsson]

Ivar turned a pair of angry, fierce-looking eyes on the man who approached him. He was in a lot of pain despite his attempts to hide it, both the sharp stabbing sensation of his broken ribs and the dull ache that he felt near constantly in his legs. It was a good thing Ivar couldn't read minds, for the thought of anyone pitying him would send him into a flying rage. He hated that above all else, having been told even by his own brother Sigurd that it was all anyone would ever feel for him.

"I'm fine," he said gruffly, a curious Norwegian accent coloring his words. His eyes were odd as well, the sclera a pale blue instead of the usual white, making his eyes blue-on-blue. It marked what the doctors would call in the twenty-first century as brittle bone disease, the reason he was unable to walk.

[aeturnus]

Cain tilted his head at seeing it, understanding it for what it was and realizing now some of the problem wasn't what it all appeared to be. He doubted that was the whole deal of it, though, because it never was just the one thing. Raining, pouring, et cetera.

"You're capable," he allowed easily, "but that's different from fine."

Not exactly the most persuasive of arguments but he was going to stick around for a while longer. See what else this kid had to say, whether he would accept the offering or continue to shove back.

[ragnarsson]

"Point being? Unless you've got a way to heal broken ribs instantly, you're welcome to fuck off." Ignore the grumpy teenager. He was naturally this abrasive even when he wasn't just out of the hospital after getting into a near-death experience.

He pushed the button for the elevator, but the machine was damnably slow. He was forced to continue to share space with this stranger. Ivar folded his arms, looking very much like he wanted to stab something. Or someone. He really wasn't picky when it came to random acts of violence.

[aeturnus]

That was a look Cain knew well. Angry teen, but one who would follow up on it given the chance. He'd seen plenty, been father to plenty more. Attitudes like that said nothing of personality but he knew he wouldn't get very far while all that was still hanging around.

"Sorry, magic isn't my forte," he said, leaning up against the wall next to the call button. Elevators were definitely too slow. "Have you checked with Gramarye or any number of openly magical something-or-others around here?"

[ragnarsson]

"I'll do that after I've been out of the hospital for more than an hour." His bed was calling to him. He could practically hear it. At this point, he didn't know if he was more tired or hungry. Hospital food sucked. He needed something more substantial. Meat, probably, and lots of it.

He pushed the button again impatiently. When would these doors open? While he waited, he finally took a moment to study the man who seemed to not take a hint. Ivar's mind was always switched on, thinking five steps ahead of everyone around him. He read people, seeing what made them up, but more importantly getting inside their heads, and being able to predict their behavior.

II

[howlongiwonder]

[Just a chance encounter with 2B - the two helped professor Sycamore a while back, but didn't really meet since then, until now.

Ivar being on a wheelchair is normal and not something that is a cause for worry or curiosity, but this time... this time 2B sees that something is different, and wrong.]

What happened?

[So, have a nosy android approach and ask bluntly.]

[ragnarsson]

[Ivar turns towards 2B, recognizing her from the last mission that they went on together. He's clearly weary, having wheeled himself from the hospital back to the commune.]

I got into a fight.

[He says this very flatly and doesn't bother to elaborate. It's bad enough to be in pain, he doesn't want to have to admit he lost to Dodger too.]

[howlongiwonder]

I understand.

[She decides not to press further. Ivar's weariness speaks for itself well enough. 2B still feels the need to say something, though.]

However, you survived and are alive. That's good.

[And didn't suffer any permanent injury either, as far as she can tell. But body parts can always be replaced, right?]

[ragnarsson]

[Ivar begins wheeling himself into the main room of the first floor and towards the elevator. He's tired as all get-out.]

I still have both my eyes, which is more than the other guy can say.

[He considered that a small victory despite the fact he'd technically lost the fight. Dodger was going to get what was coming to him, one way or another. Ivar was already working on revenge plans.]

[howlongiwonder]

Hold it.

[Okay that was a worrying thing to say. To begin with, 2B thought it'd be a fight with monsters like what she regularly gets into - not another human being.

She starts following Ivar, determined not to lose the wheelchair until she gets some answers.]

Who did you get in a fight with? For what reason? Were you ambushed?

[ragnarsson]

The obnoxious bastard called Dodger. He thinks it's good fun mocking someone who can't walk. [All that was true. However, the next part was a complete lie, not that anyone had been able to tell. Ivar was sticking to the story he'd concocted to get him out of trouble and garner him some sympathy. Psychopaths always looked out for number one, themselves, to avoid consequences of their actions.]

He just kept going at me and going at me. I ignored it until it got physical when he tried to get me out of my chair. I pulled out a knife to defend myself with and it just escalated from there. I ended up fighting for my life and stabbed him in the eye. He went crazy and tried to kill me.

II

[yorkist]

She had found it oddly silent about the complex of late, and now she knows why. Elizabeth is just on her way back home from a day at work when she catches sight of him, and moves to press her palm to the door in order to hold it open. Concerned grey eyes meet his, and she smiles faintly as the fact that he is in rough shape registers in her mind. Her free hand tentatively lowers to rest against his shoulder, a gentle gesture she makes unthinkingly, really.

"It is good to see you, cousin." She need not call him that, not really. But it seems to suit, and it gives her comfort to know she has a relation here, however distant. "I had wondered why it has been so quiet of late."

Shifting the hand from his shoulder to the back of his chair, she helps him push himself inside, and pauses.

"If you wish, I can help you get abovestairs with greater ease."

[ragnarsson]

Were it anyone else, Ivar would respond to their actions with annoyance and a gruff nature. But Elizabeth is different. She's kind to him even when she doesn't need to be. That's a rarity for a Viking more used to people showing him scorn and mocking him when they had the chance. For this reason, he reaches up to pat the hand on his shoulder with his own callused one.

"It's good to see you." His words are sincere. There's something calming about her presence. Like her, he also likes the idea of having family here, however distant, while he's so far away from his own.

"It's alright. I can manage." However much pain he was in, Ivar never liked to appear weak in front of others. It was important to him to be able to be independent, even when accepting help would have been in his best interest.

i.

[song_of_ice]

There was word going around about Ivar's brawl and the state he had been left in. It was disappointing how little of a surprise this was. The boy had shown himself to be impulsive and hot tempered from the brief interaction they had over the network. Maybe that was why Jon decided to visit him and see how he was convalescing. There was something about Ivar that reminded him of himself when he first joined the Wall. He was never murderous in that way, but there was the same lack of impulse control.

He could hear his shouts from down the hall, a few nurses darting away in a mix of fear and frustration. There was one man who was having his arm stitched from having been slashed, indicating the sort of mood Ivar was in. He wasn't wise to see someone that was acting like a cornered animal, but Jon was never wise.

There was the sound of a crash as he neared Ivar's room, a nurse bolting out and nearly running into him. He stepped inside without any fear, pulling a chair to sit next to the boy's bed. "It's not smart to push away the people trying to save your life."

[ragnarsson]

Ivar's foul mood had not abated in the slightest. However, what he was running out of was things that were close at hand to throw. Good thing for Jon, because Ivar had unerring aim, able to draw a stripe of blood from a man with an axe without otherwise touching him. He looked bad-tempered as Jon entered and appeared to be debating the merits of beaning him in the head with the water cup on the side table.

He turned to look at the man with his curious eyes, the sclera light blue instead of the usual white, making the entirety of his eyes except for the pupil completely blue. Despite his weariness, there was an air of fierce wildness that hadn't lessened in the slightest. "They're not helping. They're hindering."

[song_of_ice]

It wouldn't the first time someone took their anger out on him. There was at least nothing hard or sharp to throw at him. It was why he wasn't afraid to pull up his seat next to Ivar's bed. He doubted he could calm Ivar, but he would at least try, for the nurses more than anyone.

"How are they hindering you? If they let you leave, what are you going to do? Bleed to death?" It wasn't a pleasant sensation. "You won't be much good as a fighter if you are weak and badly injured." Speaking of. "Who taught you to fight? Did they teach you why control is important?"

[ragnarsson]

"There's nothing for me they can do here that I can't do for myself." Except, you know, actual medical care instead of remedies that were about a thousand years out of date. Ivar was beyond giving a damn. He was furious and in no mood to listen to anything resembling reason.

At the question of who taught him, Ivar's face went guarded and shuttered. Old memories from childhood pressed in, not many of them good. "Anyone who would teach me." Most Vikings weren't willing to give the time of day to the poor crippled kid, let along think he'd be any good at fighting. Ivar had to push just to get people to teach him things like swordplay. Then he pushed himself to get as good as he could possibly be, even better than others in some cases.

Ivar snorted at the mention of control, giving Jon a withering stare. "Clearly, you've never seen Vikings fight. Control is the last thing on our minds in the middle of battle." There's a reason the English coined the term berserker to describe their warriors.

[song_of_ice]

"You can stitch yourself up and recover without anyone's care?" He didn't know very much about the medical practices of this world. Maesters, he was familiar with them, but these doctors and nurses? He didn't trust them any more than Ivar did, but he knew that there was no sense in fighting those that could heal him.

"I can teach you more." He needed a place to channel his aggression and sparing might be the means to keep Ivar from getting into anymore fights. This last one had lead to the hospital bed, the next? He didn't want to consider it.

"No, I haven't, but I see the results. Lack of control leads to vulnerabilities in battle, a place where your adversary can strike. Control can be your shield."

[ragnarsson]

"I'll survive. They've already done all they can." He definitely had no idea why they kept insisting on changing the bandages on a daily basis and making him take all these pills. Maybe if he had any idea on how infection worked, he might be more willing to listen to the people trying to help him. Or maybe not.

The offer to teach him was received a little better than anything else thus far. But Jon's next words made Ivar's anger rise back up to the surface. He went back to sarcasm to get his point across as he folded his arms.

"Gee, that's wonderful advice. Try it on someone who actually cares." Sorry, Jon. He was in no mood to listen to what he saw as a lecture right now. It was hard to get Ivar to listen to anything when he was in a mood like this.

i

[amelioraate]

Despite the fact that Tony had been spending more time buried elbow deep in wires and metal over the last little while, he still managed to hear about Ivar and, well, despite the fact he was still ninety percent sure that the kid was going to kill him in his sleep (or at least try), he was a little concerned. Just a little.

After taking an actual nap and shower, Tony made his way over to the hospital to pay the viking a visit, a small robotic dagger in his hands. He had made it much in the same fashion as he had the bracers, and had made it able to be recalled much the way he said he would; with a simple voice command, or arm movement, from Ivar. Nothing too fancy, no nanites that allowed it to change shape like his armour did (though, he was thinking about that, there was potential for that kind of technology being turned into a simple dagger, but Tony still wasn't fond of weapons for the sake of weapons. The dagger was a gift of sorts, the bracers defensive, that was how he justified it).

The genius rounds the corner of the hospital floor, a smirk tugging at his face as he hears the yelling. The smile falters when he sees the nurse looking harried, Tony pauses long enough to make sure that she is okay (spends a few moments outside with her, soft words and smiles because god damn, being a nurse is a tough deal) before he makes his way into Ivar's room.

Leaning against the door frame, Tony tosses the dagger idly in his hand as he gives the teen a look somewhere between amused and annoyed. It's a look he got himself many a time.

"You know, I think you actually have worse bedside manner than I do, and I don't know if it's horrifying or impressive." Mostly the latter, but whatever. "If I give you this, promise not to throw it into someone's throat? Because I can totally wait to give it to you."

[ragnarsson]

Ivar's sour mood has not dissipated in the slightest. He's become the holy terror of the hospital and the nurses seem to be drawing straws now to see who will deal with him. The fact he tends to throw something with unerring aim anytime someone comes through the door is probably why.

He's winding up to throw the next thing within arm's length (this time, a bottle of antibacterial solution) when Tony stands in the doorway. Like an angry dog chained up, he's just as willing to bite friends and foes alike. Then his expression changes when he sees Tony has brought a gift in the form of a new weapon with him. He certainly knows how to get on Ivar's good side.

Like most psychopaths, Ivar can entirely change his mood and demeanor when he wants something from someone. In this case, he sets the bottle back down, and sits up straighter, expression brightening. Anyone who hasn't encountered the angry young Viking would be hard-pressed to connect the same one throwing things and yelling to the charming looking one that's now staring at Tony intently. "Is that for me?"

[amelioraate]

Being kept in a place like this never did anything for anyone's moods, and Tony was fairly sure that the independent and somewhat unstable Viking was all the more prone to cabin fever. Seeing the state that the nurses were in only confirmed that and wow, Tony was going to get them a fruit basket or something because they looked like, Hippocratic oath or not, they were just going to let Ivar go.

Half expecting something to be hurled at him when he appeared in the doorway, Tony looks a bit surprised when nothing comes. He was ready (well, mostly, he was wearing his armour in stealth mode, giving him the appearance of being in civilian clothing), but more than pleased he didn't have to try and clean the suit later on. He laughs and enters the room, filing away how easy Ivar goes from infuriated to amused.

It is both childish and-- terrifying.

"It might be for you, if you think you would like a dagger that can be called back much like your battle axes." Tony lets the knife flip easily in his hands once more before tossing it to Ivar. "As long as you promise not to harass the poor nurses anymore. I will smuggle you in a bot to throw that at if you leave them alone. They are not deserving of your rage."

[ragnarsson]

Childish and terrifying was the Viking warrior in a nutshell. He was so often self-possessed with (fake) confidence and with that occasional wiser than his years bit that it was easy to forget he was still only sixteen years old. Some aspects of a teenager, no matter what era they were from, were consistent across the board.

Ivar eagerly grabs his new gift, spinning it across his palm to test the balance and weight. Of course, being a Stark creation means it's pretty much perfect already. He lets it spin from his left palm to his right, picking it up in his dominant hand. Without warning, he tosses it just past Tony's head, almost close enough to graze his cheek. But Ivar's not mean enough to draw blood from the person who just gave him a gift. It embeds itself neatly in the wall.

Ivar smiles, his mood definitely improved from what it had been five minutes ago. This is definitely the best way to deal with the temperamental Viking: use gifts for bribery to get him to promise to behave. "It's a deal." Getting to take out his aggression on a robot was a lot better than the poor hapless nurses who'd had to put up with his temper tantrums the past few days. He looks to the dagger in the wall. "How does it come back?"

[amelioraate]

More often than not, Tony did find himself forgetting just how young the Viking was; it was easy enough to do when the boy before him was more bloodlust and rage than much else. Even Tony at that age was-- well, more innocent in a sense. There was more awe, less of a jaded veiw of life, but he also grew up incredibly privileged and he is aware of that. Not many were given the life he was given, no matter how you might argue for or against the Starks.

When the knife whizzes past him, Tony merely sighs and give Ivar a flat look, like he really had hoped that the Viking wouldn't do that, but also knew that he probably was. Tony couldn't blame him though; it was like giving him new tech and telling him not to take it apart.

"For now, hold out your hand wearing the bracer, palm up and flick your wrist towards you. Almost like a come here motion, but shorter." Tony holds out a hand and demonstrates. "You can technically train it to respond to something else. Well, program it, but I went with something easy for now."

Training would imply AI and that-- wasn't something Tony wanted to add to any kind of anything right now thank you. Especially not a dagger gift for a Viking. That seemed to just be asking for trouble. "And, as for the bot, you want it to look like anything, or is a weird mechanical spider okay with you?"