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

Entry tags:

[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 It had been replaced by a pristine sweatervest - his sweatervest, what else would he be wearing?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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Closed] I will try and try to change

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject