riverviewlogs | July catch-all, OTA + Closed prompts; Name your price. Anything, anything!

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July catch-all, OTA + Closed prompts; Name your price. Anything, anything!

who: Ivar and you!
what: Catch-call for the month of July
when: Throughout the month
where: All over the city and forest
warnings: Pokemon battle and sparring

A) Blitzle Catching - OTA

Anyone who is beyond the city walls, a mile or two into the forest, is going to hear what sounds like a combination of thunderclaps, a forest fire, and horse whinnies. If they go further in, they're going to be witness to a curious sight. Ivar is using his Ponyta Skinfaxi in an intense Pokemon battle with a Blitzle. The Blitzle is dancing backwards, using her electric attacks like Shock Wave to protect herself from being captured.

Ivar's been training hard with his little Ponyta since he captured it. The little foal is not so little anymore. He has begun to fill out with a broad chest and sturdy back, long legs finally catching up to his appearance. He's learned to trust Ivar implicitly, understanding that his trainer will never allow him to fall prey to any danger.

Right now, he's giving out commands as Skinfaxi charges once more at Blitzle. "Use Ember!" A stream of flames erupts from the Ponyta, heading straight for the Blitzle. She dances away yet again, responding with the attack Charge. Ivar's not deterred. He'll find a way to get this little Electric-type Pokemon no matter what it takes.

B) The Futhark-English Dictionary - OTA

Anyone who sees Ivar during more quiet moments of the month is going to notice that he's got a book with him. Odd enough since the Viking has told people he can't read on more than one occasion. This book is thick and filled with the ancient runes system called Futhark that some Vikings had learned to read. It also has translations in English for every word. It's a dictionary, one of the presents he'd gotten during Prijata.

Ivar is diligently spending his time studying the dictionary with a pen and paper beside him. Every so often, he'll lean over, making some markings in Futhark, and then slowly spelling words out in the English alphabet. His letters are slow and laborious, with more than a few mistakes being made. But Ivar is intelligent and willing to work hard, so he keeps at it.

He can be found doing this anywhere: on floor five, outside in a nearby park, even during slow Perimeter Guard shifts. His focus during this time is just as intense as when he's using his weapons.

C) Weapons Training - OTA

Keeping his skills up to the high standards he has requires a lot of practice. Ivar has been using the archaic weapons like axes and swords since he was a small child. To this end, he spent a lot of time at the training center keeping his skills intact. He can be found there at least a few times a week at the bare minimum, using his weapons on various targets. If anyone challenges him to a sparring match, he'll gladly accept.

One thing he's also become aware of how to use is a gun. Thanks to basic lessons from Loki, he's learned how to properly wield one. But he knows his skills are going to take a lot more work to get as good as he is with his other weapons. Fortunately, Ivar has a good eye, accuracy, and a lot of patience on his side. He can be found at the gun range, using one of the provided handguns to practice. Occasionally, he'll stop, and watch those around him. Don't be surprised if you find yourself being watched with a very intense blue gaze from the Viking in the wheelchair.

D) Nightmares on Floor Five - For Bucky

Ivar wasn't much for sleeping at night. He was naturally a night owl, staying up late, and then sleeping until double digits were on the clock in the morning. So he was having trouble falling asleep long after everyone else on his floor had already passed out for the night.

Subsequently, he could hear when someone started moving around in their sleep, and muttering incoherently. He sat up in his bed, looking around for the source of the noise. It was down towards the first set of beds. He saw Bucky not so much moving as thrashing around, sheets tangled around him. Ivar slipped off the bed, not bothering with the wheelchair when he only needed to go halfway across the room. He crawled over, listening to the mutters and moans that seemed to be issuing from the old soldier.

Ivar got over to the side of the bed, pulling himself up into a sitting up position on his knees. He didn't wake up Bucky right away, instead watching him there, his bright blue eyes practically glowing in the dark as he watched in curiosity, wondering where his friend's mind was.

E) Attempt at Killing #1 - For Cain

Ivar was rolling down a mostly-deserted street after a Perimeter Guard shift where he'd been dealing with some nasty things that looked like six-foot tall versions of Japanese hornets. Trying to kill those things had been a fun, if tiring, challenge. Subsequently, he wasn't really looking where he was going. He ran his wheelchair right over the feet of someone when he reached the street corner.

"I'm sor-" Then he looked up and saw who it was he'd run into. His face immediately shuttered. "--Oh, never mind, it's just you." He hadn't forgotten their encounter when Ivar had just been out of the hospital and in a shitton of pain. He'd been none too fond of Cain then and still wasn't.

F) Domesticity, Morbid Style - For Letha

Ivar had promised Letha he was going to get her a nice furry black hide for her bed. To that end, he'd been volunteering a few more hours on the Perimeter Guard shifts, looking for something that would both be large, black, and furry enough while still having a good skull that they could decorate their daughter's room with so that she'd be able to play with it once she was born. Wasn't he just the most thoughtful father, everyone?

After several failed monster killings, he finally encountered something that was rather like an overgrown, six-armed deep, glossy black colored polar bear. It also had the most melodious-sounding enraged roar, so he knew it would have a great skull. He killed it in one blow to preserve the beast as much as possible. He skinned it, cleaned it, and waited a few days for it to dry. Anyone who complained about the smell during this time was promptly whacked with an axe handle.

Then he took it to the house he sometimes shared with Letha, just as giddy as any other sixteen year old presenting their crush with a gift. He burst through the door, announcing, "Look what I have for you!"

G) Gotta Catch 'em All - For Damian

He'd agreed to take Damian to see the lake where most of the Pokemon tended to congregate. To that end, he'd taken a few Pokeballs and some of the food with him in case he ran into anything interesting he wanted to capture, or in case Damian decided he wanted to catch one of his own. Then he met up with the younger teen and set out beyond the wall.

There were few things that could make the tough Viking soften up at all. The thought of a bunch of animals with powers could do it. Ivar spoke to Damian as they went along "Let me know if you want to catch any of them. You can either try to make friends or I can loan you Skinfaxi for a battle." Skinfaxi had of course accompanied them, loyally walking right behind Ivar, occasionally nuzzling him in hopes of getting a treat.

H) Wildcard

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"What was I supposed to do? Let you just lie there having a nightmare?" Ivar crawls back over to Bucky's bed, using the edge of it to pull himself up onto the mattress. The majority of the danger seems to have passed. Not that he was worried about any of that at all. Ivar could be stupidly reckless from a lack of fear sometimes.

He sits down on the edge of the bed. "It's alright. I've gotten worse bruises from sparring with people." He's either remarkably unconcerned with how much worse that could have gone or he just doesn't care. He's more focused on Bucky, wondering at the aftermath of the dreams he'd found himself in. Whatever it was appeared to have taken their toll on him.

Bucky huffs out a breath, carding a hand through his sleep-mussed, sweat-damp hair. The metal fingers of his left hand haven't quite stopped bunching the sheet in a death grip, though. "Yeah, somethin' like that. You shouldn't-" Be around me at all. "Shouldn't touch me when I'm not all here. I just- react." He almost seems deflated now, the fight or flight in his eyes died down to quiet exhaustion.

"I could have killed you, Ivar. It could have been your throat I grabbed." From the height he was at, it should have been his throat Bucky-not-as-himself should have grabbed, but he'll thank whatever god is up there for small favors that it wasn't. "If I was keeping you up, you shoulda just thrown something at me." The distance, at least, would have given him time to fully wake up and stop himself.

Ivar shrugs, reaching out to pat Bucky reassuredly on the shoulder. He seems to care a lot less than his friend does about how close he had just come to death. For Vikings, death wasn't something to be feared. It would come for all and all that could be done was learn how to die well.

"Next time, I'll just poke you with a really long spear." He's only half-joking. If there's one thing that can be said for Ivar's intelligence, it's that he knows how to learn from his mistakes. He wouldn't be caught unawares again.

"So what were you dreaming about?" He asks. It must have been a hell of a thing to provoke such a reaction in Bucky.

Ivar's lack of care about his near death experience perplexes Bucky. He's not sure what to think about it. Has Ivar just accepted the eventual possibility, or is he underestimating what Bucky can do when he's out of his head? It's... concerning, but he also can't really process it right now, still shaken and clammy from the nightmare.

He quirks a slight smile at the idea of poking him with a spear instead, knowing a weapon would also trigger his combat instincts, but he doesn't remark on it, and the smile fades quickly.

"Things that happened. Things that didn't happen."

If this is the only concerning thing Bucky's found thus far about the young Viking, then he's been doing a much better job at hiding the instabilities and insanity that plague his mind than he thought.

Ivar snorts, rubbing his left leg. "You're as infuriatingly vague as that other you that sleeps in abandoned buildings. Next you're going to tell me it's none of my business" Every time Ivar asked a question about what had come before he arrived here, he was met with either a variation that he didn't need to know or just sullen silence.

Oh, there's plenty more, but it's always a little worrying when someone is that unafraid of death. Bucky lifts his head from his hands to look over at him, expression dull and a little far away. "I probably should. It isn't any of your business," he responds, voice a little rough.

"You spend much time around Barnes?"

"It's three o'clock in the morning and I'm sitting on your bed with bruises on my back. It's my business now whether you like it or not." Was he perhaps pushing a bit of guilt on Bucky for throwing him across the room? Maybe, but only because he thought he might get the results he wanted. Ivar was a terrible little manipulator when he chose to be so.

"More than he likes me to, I think. I find him...interesting." There was something that kept drawing Ivar back to his strange companion time and again, a complicated set of emotions that couldn't really be summed up in words. The feeling seemed to be mutual, what with all the times the ex-assassin had suddenly dropped down next to him on a deserted street.

Wow, okay, the kid knows how to strike a low verbal blow. Guilt is definitely one way to get to Bucky - he has enough of it as it is, an impossible weight on his shoulders that he carries with him every day. This is just like him, though. Grow fond of somebody and get manipulated. Bucky visibly cringes a little as he looks to the side, unable to meet his eyes, exposed in the wake of his nightmare.

"Interesting is a bad word for us." It comes out a little hard, the words a little stilted. "I don't know what all he's been through, but I- I've killed a lot of people. I've seen a lot of people die." He scrubs his palm over his eyes. "I thought I saw Steve die, once. In handcuffs. It doesn't go away, even now that he's back."

In a way, the teenage Viking can't help the way he acts. With no empathy to guide him, he tends to only ever look out for one person, and that's himself. People are just chess pieces to be moved around, at least until they start seeming more real to him, enough that he sees them as more than just tools to be used. He hasn't yet reached that point with Bucky yet.

Ivar's tempted to ask 'Is that all?' when Bucky mentions killing and dying. He doesn't get it, for that's what makes up Ivar's entire world and mindset. He knows it's not always the same for others, but once again, he's reminded just how different he is from everyone else in the Quarantine.

But watching someone you care for die...that he can relate to, all too well. His eyes go somewhere far away, back to England in 816. "My father made sure to send me away before they killed him. I wanted to stay till the end, but he wouldn't let me. I'm not sure if it would have been better or worse to see it happen."

"That isn't something you want to see. You can't forget it," he rasps, voice still rough, looking exhausted somehow. More broken down than the usual way he holds himself with his shoulders back. "I relive that moment in my head knowin' there was nothing I could have done, but also knowing that I wasn't there with him."

He scrubs a hand over his eyes tiredly. "We thought he was dead for a full year."

"Can't forget it anyway. Odin himself came to tell us he was dead. It was the most terrible thing I've ever heard in my life." For once, the Viking doesn't sound angry or tough, as he's warranted to be. He just sounds sad and lonely, a kid lost without the one person he needed the most, the only one who had ever believed that the poor crippled kid could be more than what he was.

He pats Bucky again on the shoulder with a heavy, callused hand. "At least you got him back. That's not so bad then." He would have gone to Hel and back again if he thought there was ever a chance of getting back those he had lost.

"Yeah, I guess it would be," he says, a little distantly. It brings back his own father's death, suddenly, standing at the front door and finding uniformed officers behind it instead of his dad home from training maneuvers. They were no Odin, sure, but he can picture the feeling. "My dad died when I was young too. It's rough." He's had enough time to get over it, normally, but everything right now feels raw.

He relaxes just a fraction at the touch of a hand to his shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, we got him back. He went through hell, but- he's here." Unconsciously, his eyes flick across the room, to where Steve would be sleeping on the other side of the floor.

"Does it ever stop hurting?" He asks, his eyes wide and curious, making him look a lot younger than sixteen. It's only been about six months since his father died. Some days, Ivar wonders how the hell he's even going to get out of bed knowing he's never going to hear his father's voice, or look into the blue eyes that looked so much like his own.

Encouraged by the fact Bucky didn't immediately shrug him off, he rubs the back of his neck, right at the spot where the muscles of the neck and shoulder connect. It's what his mother used to do for him when he was having one of those days where everything seemed as bad as it could possibly get. He'd had a lot of those days growing up. "Guess that's what everyone always fears no matter who they are. Losing the ones we love."

"Give it time," he says after a few moments, trying to puzzle out an answer. Is he over the death of his father? Yeah. Worse things have happened, as terrible as that sounds. "It fades. Til it's somethin' in the background, a phantom ache you only feel when something reminds you." Like this conversation. This dismal, bleak conversation in the middle of the night with a sixteen year old. Jesus, what's his life become?

He breathes out, closing his eyes, allowing the contact. It's grounding, actually, keeps him from retreating further into his own head. "Yeah, no matter how much you've seen, that's what's terrifying, losing someone you love."

"I'm still waiting for that to happen." He can only hope it will happen eventually, that the distance between what had happened, and where he was now would eventually heal the hole in his heart. Ivar was a strong kid. He'd had to be, growing up the time and place that he did. That will to live would see him through.

"Sometimes, I think that was the real meaning behind the prophecy my mother made before I was born. Not that I was never going to walk, but that I'd never be able to hold onto those that I care about." This was the kind of talk one only got into in the dead of night. The superstitions of the Vikings could be dismissed as nonsense in the cold light of day, but when the rest of the world was asleep and the shadows crept in, they seemed just a little more real.

"It takes a while," he admits quietly, unwilling to admit that it took a few years, for him. He knows that Ivar will get through this just like he did, but these things can't be rushed. Only time can mend the rifts left behind by losses.

Bucky looks over at Ivar after a moment, silent in the face of those bleak words, and breathes out softly. "I don't think that's true. Everybody dies at some point, you know? But that ain't you not holding on." He nudges a hand out, taps Ivar's chest just over his heart. "Long as you remember 'em in here, you're never really letting go."

Ivar digests those words carefully. It's not the first time he's been told to keep the memory of those that he loves alive. "I'll see them again eventually. In Valhalla." He's determined to end up there after he dies in a glorious fashion in battle. Then he and his father can speak of their deeds together.

He stifles a yawn, covering his mouth. This talk has been interesting, but it's also the middle of the night. Though, by now, more like early morning. "If you think you're going to be alright, I'm going to head back to bed."

"Yeah, I'm sure you will." It's a nice thought, anyway. But he smiles slightly when he spots him yawn and pats his shoulder once. "Go back to bed. I'm fine. And next time don't sneak up on me like that."

He won't be getting back to sleep tonight, but he's not going to mention that either.

"Sure thing." Despite his overall flippant nature in the face of death, Ivar wasn't stupid. He could learn from his mistakes. He wouldn't be waking Bucky up again like this anytime soon.

Sliding off the bed in one fluid movement, he crawled back over to his own bed. Climbing up into it, he gave Bucky one last look, as if confirming to himself that he was going to be alright. Then he lay back down. Within a few minutes, he had fallen fast asleep.

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July catch-all, OTA + Closed prompts; Name your price. Anything, anything!

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