riverviewlogs | [Closed] I will try and try to change

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[Closed] I will try and try to change

who: Jamie ~~Dodger~~ Kingsley and Ivar Ragnarsson
what: Apologies are in order.
when: During the Butterfly Effect event, and directly following this thread.
where: Floor five.
warnings: Swearing, probably. Not excessive violence for once (hopefully).

--

He'd been in a rage when he left his room, blood boiling quite literally as he dragged his fingers along the wall, scorching marks across it up until he got to the elevator. It was about time he killed that dumbass kid, showed him exactly why he should fear him.

But then something had changed. He'd stopped short, his fire power shutting off as a chill ran down his spine. He'd squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, he wasn't wearing his ratty sweatshirt. It had been replaced by a pristine sweatervest - his sweatervest, what else would he be wearing? He reached up and felt his face - no scars, but why would there be? He'd never so much as been struck before, much less gotten any major scarring.

He continues up to the fifth floor, but he's no longer sure exactly what he's going to do when he gets there. Part of him still wants to yell, to fight, but there's just no point in giving in to someone who just wants to egg him on. But is it safe to try and parley with someone who's tried to kill him before?

Thus there's a pretty nervous expression as he looks around the fifth floor for the kid. God, he really hopes this doesn't end as badly as their last confrontation.

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Ivar is pulling out his axe and making sure he has all his knives prepared. He'd crossed the line with that comment about Dodger's mother. If it had been the other way around, he would have killed Dodger for such an insult. No doubt he's going to his best to do the same. Well, he'll have a hell of a time doing it. Ivar's not going to kill him. He's just going to take that damnable man's tongue out for trying to mess with him.

Then he stops what he's doing and pauses for almost a full minute, rubbing at his temples. He had been furious a moment before but now....he can't remember precisely why. Oh yes, he'd gotten into a fight with Jamie. Though he wasn't sure what he'd said, he knew it'd been very cruel. That didn't seem like him. He could be biting and sarcastic, but he'd long since learned to keep his anger in check.

Well, he wasn't going to enjoy apologizing, but it had to be done. Before he could even think about going down one floor, Jamie appeared in the door. Ivar looked at him with a guilty expression on his face, but he didn't say anything. If Jamie wanted to yell at him, he'd let him. Gods knew he deserved it.

He doesn't know exactly how he knows it, but... he knows the moment he sees the boy, that whatever's affected Jamie has affected him as well. It makes him a little more sheepish, but with some effort he manages to remember what brought him up here. Somehow it feels as if his memories of Riverview are simultaneously there and not there... just like every memory of the version of him that was here is sort of occupying the same space as his own memories, fighting for control.

"My mother was killed when I was eight." This isn't exactly true - his mother is alive, but the version of him relevant to this boy... "I... watched her starve to death to try and save me. And- I'm sorry your past has led you to be a cruel man, but there's no reason for you to drag someone like her into our arguments."

More than anything, he feels like this is the remnants of his anger filtering through, before he fully takes over this particular spot in space and time. He can't say he trusts the boy, not with the sort of tactics he's prone to, but Jamie would rather be showing him how far he's crossed the line than try to cross one in return. Especially not with the thought of what happened to his mother in that other reality clinging to his thoughts.

Ivar's got a bizarre feeling, the sense of two sets of memories in his mind. The first set is rapidly fading, though there is definitely the sense that Dodger has just made a remarkable physical shift. Even his voice sounds different. And don't think he hasn't taken note of that brilliant sweatervest.

He gets the distinct feeling this isn't something Jamie tells everyone. So Ivar shares something in return. "I was never supposed to be alive. Everyone said I should have been abandoned in the woods as a child and my father did try. My mother was the only person to want me around. Then she was shot in the back by my father's first wife. I wasn't there to protect one of the only people I've ever loved." He could remember that much about what he'd been before. In this new version, both his parents were still alive, Ragnar's sense of duty and love for his sons keeping him in Kattegat instead of going on a suicide mission to England. With her ex-husband still around, Lagertha hadn't had a chance to take over, and kill Aslaug.

Time to swallow his pride and get the worst part of this over with, but Ragnar had always taught him that a man knew when he had done wrong, and tried to make amends for it. He looks Jamie in the eye, face full of the type of prickly pride that Ivar had no matter what version of him was present. "I'm sorry for what I said."

He can definitely tell that isn't something Ivar tells most people - he can tell that even without the cynical traces of Jamie Dodger in his head. Jamie's had plenty of training in reading people, both from his pseudo-grandfather and from his training academy. And looking back at what he knows of the boy... he knows they've been given a singularly incredible chance by fate.

"You didn't know. You were being a kid." He manages that easily, since... the pain of grieving his mother has faded, replaced with the simple feeling of missing her. She must be worried sick, if there's any chance the natives are wrong about time stopping when they come here. "Anyway, I had.. no reason to rile you up in the first place. I just wanted to get in a fight, to get- hurt."

He can't say exactly why he wanted it. He knows... there are very dark things in Dodger's memories, that even he is afraid to think about. It's no surprise that he takes such weird measures to lose himself.

"I should know better than to pick on a disabled person a decade younger than me."

Apparently, fate must have wanted to make sure they both stayed alive, because in another universe, the two of them were probably locked together in a death match that would end up with both of them bleeding out. Instead, they'd both been mellowed out to, well if not better selves, than different selves.

"Don't patronize me." In his usual tone, the words would have come off angry and snappish, the kind that would start a fight right over again. Right now, they're merely said firmly and with a lot more dignity than one would think of a rough Viking. That's the princely side of him coming out. "I'm not a kid and it's not like I didn't know exactly what I was doing."

Ivar knew very well how to manipulate people despite his youth and get certain reactions out of them. He'd chosen the nastiest comments he could think of to rile up Dodger and get him into a fury, wanting to hurt the man in turn for hurting him.

"Well, I started it." He sighs softly, wondering how there could be a version of him out there who would target a teenager... for the fun of it. And worse, he knew for a fact it was one of the tamer hobbies that version of him had. "You are a kid, maybe not a child but definitely not someone a man old enough to drink should be targeting."

Still.. apologies are getting awkward. He's not even sure where that leaves them, having had this mutual epiphany. What will it even mean, in the long run - will they return to being their bloodthirsty other selves, or be stuck with this awkward past over their heads?

"Look... it likely won't help us to spend all day apologizing. Something... is definitely happening here, and while I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, perhaps we should make the best of it to... start over, and find some common ground."

Ivar scowls at Jamie's insistence he's a kid, but if he claims anything to the contrary, it'll just prove his point. Vikings grew up hard and fast. By the time they were twelve, they were considered men old enough to participate in gatherings where only grown adults were found and were able to go on raids.

Now he's forced to deal with feelings. And while this version of Ivar might be better equipped to deal with them than his normal self, that still doesn't mean he even does feelings. So he decides to go with an ice-breaker to get them to move on from this horrible awkwardness of being forced to apologize for things that had been done in the past.

"Are you really only ten years older than me? I thought you were, like, forty." Granted, that had to do with the scruff, scars, and general hard living Dodger had gone through. Jamie looked much more of his age, even though that sweatervest looked like it should be worn by a forty-five year old with a paunch and balding spot with a pair of glasses on the end of his nose.

That actually puts a small smile on his face... there's a sense of humor in there, and bemused as he is, he's happy to see it.

"I'm twenty-five." He laughs sheepishly, "So... maybe more like nine years - you look around sixteen, right?"

Without the scarring, the drug damage, the scruffy excuse for a beard and the eyes of a tired old man, Jamie actually cuts a pretty dashing figure. He has a subtly better body than Dodger, too... maybe that's just the fact that he wears better-fitting clothing, or that he doesn't eat quite like a dumpster to the same extent. And he's definitely more expressive, every thought that crosses his mind displaying clearly on his face as he watches the younger man.

Right now that expression shows puzzled contentment. Despite everything, they seem to be getting along. Who knew.

"I think it's helpful to look older, though. People are more likely to take you seriously."

"That's right. I'm sixteen." Ivar actually looks around his age, but that might just be the hair. It tends to make him look pretty young.

He looks Jamie up and down with a bemused expression on his face. Amazing what actually looking decent for a person can do. He looks, dare Ivar think it, even a little cute. But there are some words that shall never be said out loud and those are definitely them.

"You're really twenty-five? In what, dog years?" Unlike the usual brutal, nasty comments he usually has to say around Dodger, these insults are much more playful, the kind that he tends to use on his roommates or friends. It's really a sign that he's warming up to Jamie. Despite what they've gone through before, it looks like they're going to be able to move past that.

"I don't think it would be worth lying about." A belief that extends to both forms of Dodger; he never sees much point in lying unless there's an immediate, large benefit. Lies are hard to keep track of. "Do I really look that much older...?"

He guesses it doesn't really matter. He crosses his arms and shifts his weight, regarding Ivar with more of that bemused and relaxed expression.

"If I may ask... what is a boy your age doing with so many knives?"

"The face, not so much. However, in that outfit, I'd say yes." He smirks. Sorry, Jamie, he had to get in a jab about the Mr. Roger sweatervest. He never thought he'd see anyone who would willingly wear one of those.

Ivar looks at the small collection of knives he's got methodically laid out across his bed. He shrugs in a nonchalant manner. "....you never know when you might need to stab someone." No matter if he might be less angry and more balanced than normal, Ivar was still Ivar. A well-prepared arsenal was a focus point for any Viking.

What's wrong with his sweatervest? He glances down at it with a bit of a self-conscious huff, brushing some invisible dust from the knit material. Well, he can't think of any particular comeback, so he just leaves it at that. He doesn't want to open the possibility for more teasing.

"I... can't say that's an entirely good idea." He mumbles in response to the knives, looking them over carefully. Ugh, in some part of him he can still feel them carving into his skin, and he hides a shudder. "If everyone carries knives 'just in case', everyone will have knives. And if everyone has knives, everyone will fear being attacked with knives. And if everyone fears being attacked by knives, they will try to attack others before they are attacked, which will cause others to attack. It's a terrible system."

Ivar snorts at that reasoning, completely unconvinced. He comes from a society where not carrying around a weapon was tantamount to suicide most of the time. He slides one of his knives, the one Tony gave him, into the vest he's wearing, one sleeve made out of chainmail. Why only one? Only the gods know. "The problem is that even if nine people decide to be good and not carry knives, the tenth person will say 'Fuck it' and do it anyway. So then those nine people are screwed and become helpless because they decided to follow the rules."

Of course, Ivar was that tenth person in general, so maybe this whole thing could be solved if he was taken out of the equation. He slides another one into his right boot. No matter if he's not so angry as he once was, he's not going without weapons.

"A fair point." He admits it easily, with a lazy shrug that seems to be the only habit he's kept from his old self, "Where I come from one would need a mess of paperwork to carry that many knives, but I doubt you'd be one to listen to those laws either... and it's not my business to conduct my version of the law here, I don't think."

Although, you know what? That is way too many knives still. And he's watching Ivar with thinly veiled judgement each time that he puts another knife on his person.

Ivar responds to Jamie's comments about his knives by pointedly sliding one into a sheath on his belt. It's the only one that's visible, a reminder to anyone that he is no one to be messed with. Come on, it's only three knives. It's barely enough to stick one in each major organ of a person's body.

"You are right about one thing. I don't listen to things like laws. Or people." He slides off the bed and into his wheelchair in two easy movements. Ivar would do exactly as he pleased and woe be to anyone who tried to stop him. Though honestly, rage tempered or not, the boy definitely needed someone to keep a leash on him.

Well... that actually gets a smile on his face. "I'd noticed that from your attempts to kill me. I'm not sure how many laws there are against what you did to me here, but you'd have broken at least 20 major ones back home." It sounds like an exaggeration, but things get complicated when one is wandering around past curfew and knowingly threatening a mutant.

"So. This begs the question - do we put this behind us and try to be friends, or make an effort to forgot this moment of clarity?"

Ivar has to bite back another apology. They've already forgiven each other for their past transgressions, but it still hurts to think he's done his utter best to kill the man before him. He knows better and his parents raised him not to be a bloodthirsty monster. "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's getting away with things. They would have locked me up if I hadn't been as good of a liar as I was."

Something that had been lost in the transition to his other self, along with that coldly manipulative streak. He considers Jamie's words carefully. He's not sure how long this will last, but he wasn't going to turn down a chance for forgiveness. He smiles, the soft sort of one that his normal self almost never possessed. "I can live with being friends."

That confession gets a bit of a bemused look from him - seriously, Ivar, should you be telling that to a cop? But he has no authority here, so he guesses it isn't really any of his business.

"Friends it is, then... feel free to call me Jamie, but... well, don't be surprised if my other self doesn't take it too well."

He knows that Dodger is particular with names. Too particular with names. Even his first name carried a sour taste for that version of him, and Jamie knows that will cause problems down the line, but... honestly, maybe Dodger needs those sorts of problems.

"He doesn't take anything to well. I've ceased to be offended by anything that comes out of your-- his mouth." Ivar wheels over towards Jamie, the knife on his belt still prominently within view. "Come on," he says bossily.

He wheels himself over to the elevator, pressing the button, and then adjusting his arm brace where it had slipped down over his wrist. It gives him enough time to wonder who else has been affected in Riverview and if any of the changes are as dramatic physically as what happened with Jamie.

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[Closed] I will try and try to change

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