riverviewlogs | I don't mind, forget it, there's nothing to lose (OTA)

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I don't mind, forget it, there's nothing to lose (OTA)

who: Ivar and you + some closed prompts
what: Catch-all for August! Amnesia plot and regular prompts
when: Later half of August, the 9th onwards.
where: All over the city
warnings: None

A. Ivarsdottir. Def: Old Norse for Ivar's daughter. - OTA

While Letha seemed determined to hide Winter away like she was some hideous monster, Ivar's attitude was in a complete 180 degree direction. He couldn't have been prouder to be a father to such a wonderful little girl. Because of his impotency, he'd always thought he'd never be able to have children. To get the chance to be a father was more than he ever could have hoped for.

Anyone who might have been worried about how someone so filled with anger was going to be around a child would soon have their fears put to rest. Ivar was as doting and gentle as any new parent, wanting nothing more than to hold Winter close and gaze down at her little oddly-colored eyes.

She was still a little fragile, so mostly he was found with her in the hospital. But every so often, he got permission from the staff to take her outside, provided she was suitably protected from the sun. That pale skin, white as snow, would burn easily without her dressed up. No matter where the location was, Ivar was going to be approaching friends, acquaintances, and let's face it, perfect strangers to brag about his child. "Have you see my daughter?" He asks everyone with just about the proudest expression on his face that he could have.

B. Just fade away. - OTA

Compared to most of the denizens who have been afflicted with amnesia, Ivar seemed to be unaffected by what was taking everyone's memories. He wasn't stumbling around completely unaware of who he was or where the Quarantine was. But there's some subtle details that one might notice about the Viking that show he's not as unaffected as he's pretending to be.

He doesn't seem to use anyone's name in conversation or bring it up until the person he's talking to has done it himself. Five minutes after he leaves them, he won't remember it anyway. Also, in a first for the Viking, he's without weapons. Holding onto them had only caused a deep gash across his palm since he was unable to remember how to wield them properly. All he was keeping were the arm guards Tony had made for him. He figured the blades that could pop out of them were enough to keep him safe if anyone tried to attack him.

Finally, for anyone close that have heard him talk of his family, he seems to have forgotten entirely about one of his brothers, only mentioning three instead of four. This actually is one of the more advantageous aspects. Sigurd has been nothing but a constant torment his entire life, providing a neverending source of anger for the Viking. He's actually much happier not remembering the worst one of his older brothers. All in all, the more perceptive denizens of the Quarantine might realize something's amiss, but to everyone else, he might just seem a touch off.

C. A llama is a made up animal. - For Marco

"...What is that?" Ivar has seen a lot of strange animals in his time here. Heck, he owns a pair of fire and electric horses, for goodness sake. But every so often, there's an animal that continues to surprise him. After all, he's from a time period where very little of the world and its creatures have been discovered. This thing before him is fluffy, has a long neck, and overall is just...weird. He's never seen anything like it before.

He holds out a hand, having seen enough animals to know it was better to let them come to him instead of approaching them in what they could interpret as an aggressive manner. Besides, the wheelchair made some of them nervous. He continues talking to it in a low, casual tone. "So what are you then? Some sort of reject horse?"

Of course, he's never expecting in a million years that this funny looking creature might actually be capable of answering him back.

D. A little family just struggling together. - For Letha.

Ivar had barely been speaking with Letha. He was still furious at the way she was treating Winter. He wouldn't have even seen her at all had he not been coming to the hospital on an almost daily basis to see their daughter. Even then, she was lucky to get more than two words out of him, maybe a question of how the two of them were doing if she was lucky. When Ivar got mad, he could hold onto grudges forever. It could have been worse. If provoked again into a real rage, there was no telling what he might do, no matter how much he loved her.

But when he showed up to see Winter today, she was already being held by Letha, and apparently without any prompting by the nurses. It was such a surprising sight that Ivar merely sat there in the doorway, watching the two of them for a moment. It was such a pretty sight, so normal to see her actually acting as a mother caring for her child. "Well, that's more like it." He wheeled himself into the room and up to the edge of Letha's bed.

He reached out a hand, letting it rest upon the skin of Winter's tiny baby-soft one. "I was wondering what it was going to take to get you to come to your senses." As usual, he was blaming everything that had happened solely upon Letha. There would be no apology or soft words coming from him. There never was.

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Ivar's mouth drops open, and for once, he's entirely speechless, shock stamped across his face. For a moment, he thinks he's gone crazy. Then he looks around for the source of the voice in his head, sure it has to be someone nearby. But the only thing that appears to be looking at him is the fluffy creature with the weirdly long face.

"....You can talk?! What are you?" He's assuming the talking factor has something to do with the type of animal. Maybe all llamas can talk. How is he supposed to know otherwise?

Unlike some people, who might decide a talking animal might be the slightest bit dangerous or disturbing, Ivar instead wheels closer to the fluffy beast. This close up, he can see the feet, split into two sections, more like a goat's hoof than that of a horse.

Tilting his totally adorable llama head back and giving it a bit of a shake, Marco stretches out to his full llama height and regards the guy in the wheelchair with a deeply judging llama eye.

<I think the word you're looking for is who, dude, not what.>

Marco says it in the huffiest manner possible, tilting his head to the side and shifting on his hooves, making little clattering noises on the cobblestones.

<I'll have you know that I was a llama the first time I got on TV.>

Don't you judge him, llama-boy. He will judge you right back, folding his arms with their braces on across his chest. "Excuse me for not realizing a funny looking fluffy animal can talk. The only ones I've seen talking around here are humans." He pauses, thinking of Garrus. "Well, human-shaped, anyway."

He looks the llama over, trying to figure out just how he's talking. Psychic llamas are not something that the Norse legends of his home prepared him for. "So who are you? And what? I've never seen anything like you before." Also, can he touch you? Ivar's always been a tactile person and the urge to run his fingers through that fuzzy fluff is awful strong.

<Scuse me, who're you calling 'not a human'?>

It sounds incredibly huffy, and Marco tosses his fuzzy llama hair while he says it, the absolute picture of disapproval. Still, if the guy's talking to a llama then he's probably not a Yeerk, and that's a relief. As much as the Yeerks are toast where Marco comes from, this is a new world and who knows what this universe's version of Yeerks are doing?

<Uh, I guess I'm a llama, right now. But my name's Marco.>

Shifting, he skitters forward a bit on his little llama hooves and peers at Ivar.

<Usually I'm human.>

The Viking just gives Marco a flat look when he gets huffy about not being mistaken for being human. He's got four hooves and a fur coat. Of course Ivar isn't going to recognize him as being human.

Ivar's lips twitch into a small smile at hearing the inherently funny sounding word. "Somehow, that word exactly fits what you look like right now." Okay, Marco's within petting distance right now. Sorry, buddy, Ivar's going to be leaning up, petting your head, and scratching you behind the ears. Hmmm, just as fluffy as he thought he was going to be. "My name is Ivar The Boneless."

Finding out that he's not always in this shape makes something click in Ivar's head. "So you're a shapeshifter then?" Norse legends were full of them, people who had been cursed or granted a gift by the gods to turn into another form. Usually, it was the form of a wolf or bear they were granted, but every so often there was an unusual form granted, like that of an otter.

For just a moment, that flat look reminds him of Rachel, and how she probably would've said "Marco, you're barely human even when you're not in morph." or something equally scathing. That is a thought he chases straight out of his head. Marco's not sentimental, as a rule, so it's always a little startling when thoughts like that catch him like that, off his guard.

Instead of dwelling on it, he tosses his llama head again and as Ivar reaches up, Marco ducks his head, because he has no shame at all, and being scritched behind the ears and on the head feels really, really good.

<Whoa. Your name sounds like a video game character.>

When Ivar asks if Marco is a shapeshifter, he wags his head back and forth in a very human gesture that probably looks a little creepy when a llama does it.

<I prefer the term Animorph, but yeah. You could say that.>

A beat, and then-

<So how strong is your stomach?>

"A...video game?" Ivar knows what videos are now. He knows what games are. He's still not entirely sure what happens when you put the two of them together. But what he does know is that it sounds like he was just paid a compliment, even it was by a weird fluffy llama-thing.

Ivar scratches him first behind one ear and then the other. Finally, he pats the fluff on top of his head. This is a very fun animal to pet. He's not sure what an 'Animorph' is, but maybe it's just another word for shapeshifter in Marco's world.

The Viking grins in a wicked, sharp way at the question. "Strong enough to handle the sight of a man's entrails falling out of his stomach on the battlefield." Although usually, Ivar was the one causing that particular sight.

<Man, if you don't know video games, have I got something to teach you about.>

The scratching is actually super nice and Marco soaks it up for a few moments, but the truth is, he wants to get out of this morph. It's weird and uncomfortable and being in it means he has to deal with the knowledge that he's morphing without meaning to, which is a thought he'd really, really like to avoid. So as soon as Ivar says he's cool with seeing the sight of a man's entrails falling out of his stomach on the battlefield, Marco starts morphing.

<Well, that's graphic. Then again, I can't talk, I've had my entrails falling out of my stomach on the battlefield.>

But even as he speaks, his llama neck is retracting down into his body, his butt is sliding inward, his hind shrinking in a rush even as his shoulders grind while shifting back into arms, thick llama wool receding into warm brown skin, the fur on his head growing out a little longer, going dark, the muzzle withdrawing into Marco's own lips and nose. He shrinks into himself, shrinking to his usual short self. It's his eyes and his hands and feet that change last - dark llama eyes stay dark, but shrink, and his lashes stay as spectacular as they were as a llama while his hands and feet shrink and become fleshy instead of the split hooves they were before.

After a moment or two of final touch changes, he's standing in front of Ivar's chair wearing a pair of athletic leggings and a tight, bright blue t-shirt. Grinning a bit, he waves a hand.

"Hey."

"I've had a thousand years of history to play catch up on. I'd like to think I've been doing quite well." Blame Yuri for any gaps in his pop culture savviness. Russian figure skaters only know so much about what Vikings from the 800s would find interesting.

"You have? Wait, how did you--?" Then Ivar forgets to talk as Marco shifts back. Well, he really wasn't expecting him to turn back into a human being in such a fascinatingly disgusting way. There's something particularly gross about hearing bones crackle and snap back into shapes that they weren't in before. Then the fur gets sucked back into wherever it came from. Good thing Ivar's seen a lot worse or he might be a bit more creeped out than he currently is.

Before he can really stare too long, Marco's transformed back into a human. A male human. Who is good looking. And dressed in very tight clothing. Ivar definitely wasn't expecting this either. Oh dear. There's an expression on Ivar's face that suggests he might have just received a very hard thump on the head. "Ah. Hello."

Marco doesn't respond right away because his llama muzzle is too busy receding into his mouth, teeth grinding as they shift in his jaw. When that's done with, he works his jaw a bit, and grins at Ivar a little wider.

"A thousand years? Really? Man, I've really gotta do some work catching you up. So what's a thousand years ago?" For a moment, he pauses, hands on his hips, sizing Ivar up, "Knight? You look kinda like a knight. Like, you could wear armour and carry a giant sword without breaking a sweat. Look at your arms."

Shaking his head, a smile on his face, he shifts from foot to foot and makes a face as one of them squelches in the mud, "Well, this sucks. Nice to meet you though."

Holding his hand out to Ivar for a shake, he takes a breath and then exhales it sharply, "I'm Marco. The not-llama version."

Marco's words make the young Viking recover his voice, though that slightly dazed look doesn't really leave his face. He's pleased to be pegged as a warrior straight off instead of being judged for being in a wheelchair. Ivar snorts and tosses his head proudly at being compared to an Englishman. "Please. I kill knights on the battlefield. I'm a Viking." Which is a lot better and cooler than just about anything else in his not-so-humble opinion.

Ivar glances down, noting the lack of footwear. It seems odd that a shapeshifter wouldn't be able to shift his shoes as well as his clothes, but what does he know?

When Marco offers his hand, Ivar shakes it, his own callused and scarred from long years of dragging himself around solely by his hands. There's a pair of futuristic arm braces Tony made him that he's wearing, an odd anachronistic touch to the rest of his clothes. If a scarlet tinge runs across his face at the contact, it's nothing. Really. That's his story and he's sticking to it.

"A Viking? For real?"

Marco's voice rises at the end, and he's immediately leaning in, peering at Ivar as if he's picturing him in a helmet with a giant pair of horns on it. Which he is, honestly, though he's not gonna ask about it - he figures the guy's been asked that by every single person who ever found out he was a Viking, and also figures that considering Ivar could probably break his back like a twig, he's definitely not going to be the latest one to ask.

"Man, you're right. That is so much cooler than a knight. I mean, I saw knights, they all had really bad teeth and nasty skin. You, though..."

Leaning in and down a little, Marco squints a little as his dark eyes search Ivar's face.

"Good skin, good teeth, a great haircut, and really pretty eyes. So Vikings? Obviously superior."

Marco gives Ivar's hand a good shake - his own grip isn't as strong as Ivar's, not by a long shot, and his hands are soft, without a callous at all. He notices the braces while he's shaking, and raises his brows.

"These definitely do not look like standard-issue battle gear, though."

It's a good thing Marco doesn't ask about the horned helmets. If Ivar had a dollar for every person that had asked him about that, he'd currently have about ten dollars. Really, he had no idea how this stereotype had even gotten started. Vikings didn't even tend to wear helmets into battle, for they were too cumbersome.

Then Ivar's gaze drops down, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than the cute guy that's close in front of him. He's not used to people noticing the way he looked beyond his legs, so to suddenly have a barrage of compliments coming his way makes the usually fierce-spirited Viking turn a little shy.

He doesn't look up as he answers Marco. "That's because the English only get a bath when it rains outside." Fun fact: the Norse were the only culture of Europe at the time to care about hygiene. Vikings took regular baths, washed their hair, and generally kept themselves a lot cleaner than the rest of the cultures at the time.

The disabled Viking visibly perks up and lifts up his blue eyes again, their usual iciness not at all present. Armor, and by extension weapons, are something he's an expert on. "They were given by a friend here. Tony Stark. He's completely crazy and unstable, but he's good for creating a lot of fun weaponry."

He pulls out the dagger that goes with the braces. "Watch." He expertly throws it into the wooden post of a nearby stall. The dagger neatly embeds itself up to its hilt. Ivar raises up one of his braces, making a 'come hither' motion. The tech in the dagger activates. It wiggles back and forth for a moment before it goes flying back through the air, returning to Ivar's hand.

There's something that's maybe just a little thrilling to Marco's ego about an actual Viking looking shy as he blushes down at the ground after a few compliments. He can't quite help the way his shoulders go square and his grin goes a little triumphant - the reaction isn't why he said it, but it's sure a nice result.

Ivar still isn't looking up when he says that the English only got a bath when it rained outside, and Marco is abruptly laughing. It's a good joke, and Marco loves those, especially when it's aimed against a group (English knights) that he's still a little sore at, after that horrible time travel debacle.

He's still laughing, dark eyes dancing with amusement, when Ivar looks up at him with that bright expression and explains how he got them. Some crazy guy who's good at creating weaponry. Marco notes down the name, because Animorph or not, weaponry is always useful. Then he's paying attention to what Ivar is doing, how he flings the knife at a wooden post and then gestures with the braced hand, and the knife flies back to him, landing neatly handle-first in Ivar's palm. Marco can't help it, he lets out a slow, impressed whistle.

"That is so cool."

Shaking his head a bit, he shifts from foot to foot, glancing around, shaking one of his feet to get some of the mud off, "So, I've got to ask, what does a Viking do for fun around here?"

Marco's got a good laugh and Ivar's pleased he was the one to cause it. He finds himself wanting to hear it again. Gods, but he's cute. Ivar hasn't crushed this hard since he first arrived here in Riverview, back when just about everyone looked good.

Very few people have ever flirted with him, especially not caring about the fact that he can't walk. Even Letha hadn't been able to put aside that fact. Speaking of which, he's trying remind himself that he does have a girlfriend that he loves quite a lot. But he's young, hormonal, and frankly, monogamy has never been a strong suit running in his family.

He grins at Marco's question. "I'm on the Perimeter Guard, so it's always fun when a monster breaks through." Might as well combine work and play. "I killed this one about a month ago with one blow. It looked like a black bear with six legs, but it had the best roar I've heard in a long time. His fur's on my bed now."

With Ronan, it had taken a ridiculously long time to figure out his feelings for the man. This time, either because Ivar had realized that he could in fact feel the same thing for men he felt for women, or just because he had felt an instant connection with Marco, he recognized what he was feeling right away. Oh man. This was just going to get him in trouble.

The fact that Ivar can't walk barely registered with Marco, really. After all, the closest thing he'd ever had to a girlfriend had been Colette, who was in a wheelchair herself, and not even morphing had been able to change that. It hadn't changed his interest in her, and it doesn't change his interest in Ivar. So far, he's one of the coolest people Marco has met yet, especially because he's from a cool part of history that Marco doesn't know much about.

And, well, he's got pretty eyes. Marco hasn't quite registered that whole 'can feel the same way about men as women' thing, at least not on a conscious level. Somewhere, deep down, he's probably aware, but Marco's never been really big on admitting that kind of uncomfortable thing to himself, especially not when he'd been a famous millionaire back home and the pool of girls he could easily date had widened from zero to thousands. But it still lingers somewhere in his subconscious, maybe a little closer to the surface now than it usually is.

"Perimeter Guard? Cool job. They asked me if I wanted to be on it when I got here, but I didn't feel like doing more fighting after home."

Marco's smiling broadly, and it's obvious he doesn't disapprove of Ivar being on the guard at all, in fact, he really does think it's pretty cool.

"Oh man, a six-legged bear? I'd love to acquire that. I wonder if there are anymore out there. Hey, you want to grab something to eat together and talk about it? Once I grab some shoes and a decent shirt, anyway."

Putting one hand on his hip, he grins down at Ivar - not that far down, though, despite the fact Ivar is sitting down, because Marco's not the tallest or broadest guy.

"Not that I mind talking here, but my feet are getting a bit cold."

It's a rare moment to see the Viking this loosened up and knocked off-kilter. He acts so beyond his years that ending up like a typical teenager, awkward and shy as he talks to a cute boy, never happens. And Marco, with his dark, long-lashed eyes and messy hair, has been more than enough to get him completely unbalanced for the whole conversation.

"There's a lot of crazy animals out there in the forest. I got kidnapped by this giant bird that could enchant people with her song a few months ago." This was Ivar's life now, where he ended up in fights with a mutant using elemental horses, gets turned into an alternate version of himself, and when he went on missions outside in the forest he ended up getting birdnapped.

When Marco invites him to lunch, he smiles again. "I'd like that." He's trying very hard to sound cool and collected, but really, it's obvious that he's rather eager to continue spending time with Marco. Ivar's always been terrible at hiding his emotions. Frankly, he's going to be a little disappointed that Marco's going to be changing out of that shirt, but maybe now Ivar will be able to focus a bit more.

"I've got some questions for you while we eat." Marco kept blithely dropping bits of information about himself that didn't quite add up. He talked as if he was from the same modern era most of the people here, but he'd mentioned seeing English knights. Then there was that little detail of his claim of getting eviscerated, yet here he was, standing whole. Now he had even more questions, wondering what he meant by acquiring. And why didn't he have any shoes on?

"Whoa. Seriously? I have never heard of a bird that can enchant people with her song. Sounds kind of creepy. Actually, a lot of the stuff here seems pretty creepy."

When Ivar agrees to go to lunch with him, Marco grins at him and ducks his head toward some of the shops down the street, before walking off. He figures with arms like that and being a Viking, Ivar would probably be more irritated than relieved by an offer to push his chair. Marco strongly suspects that Ivar probably hates pity about as much as he does, so he doesn't even want to give the impression that he might pity him.

And Ivar looks really cute, smiling at him like that, looking all excited, and Marco can't help but puff out his chest a bit as he walks along the path, pausing only to make sure Ivar's coming with.

"Let's make a deal. You tell me cool stories about Viking battles and culture and stuff, and I'll probably answer most of your questions."

A little wink, and he lifts a hand to scrub at the hair at the back of his neck, glancing around at the front of the shops. When he sees one that looks promising, he pauses, glances down at his feet, and makes a face.

"Okay, do you want to come in with me or wait out here? I'm gonna have to work some magic to get them to let me shop without any shoes."

"It wasn't a picnic being held captive in a giant tree, I'll tell you that much." Also being made to feel about as useless as he could possibly be wasn't any fun either, but no need to bring down the mood by mentioning that. It had been bad enough at the time, sulking because he knew there wasn't anything he could do to help the situation besides sit there and wait to be rescued.

Ivar's arms were powerful enough to keep up at the same walking pace that Marco had. It helped that he was matching it against someone who was a little shorter than average. Then Marco goes and winks at him, leaving Ivar to try and remember again what the word monogamy is meant to represent. "That sounds like a good deal. I'll tell you whatever you want to know." Ivar did have a lot of cool stories to tell. Like most Vikings, he had a talent for spinning tales. There wasn't much else to do during long winter nights where the snows were six feet tall. It was one of the few hobbies that Vikings appreciated that didn't involve violence or death.

"I'm going to see how you're going to charm these people into not throwing you out." He just wanted another excuse to stay close to Marco. "And that's my first question. Why no shoes? Is it a shapeshifter thing?"

"This is starting to sound like a video game." Marco says, grinning a little, and then laughs abruptly, "Which I still have to teach you about. There's a few of them in the entertainment area on my floor, but man, as soon as I have some spare cash..."

A shrug of his shoulders, and he shoots a glance at Ivar, rolling along beside him effortlessly and when the Viking offers to head into the shop with him, Marco grins a bit, gives his slight frame a bit of a shake, and pushes his fingers through his hair, mussing it up. Walking into the store, he puts on a bit of a distressed expression. A few minutes and a very realistic and elaborate sob story about being a new arrival who had no idea shoes were a thing in this universe and the trials of not knowing where a footwash is in this town, and Marco's set. Having already purchased a pair of socks and an oversized black zip-front hoodie made out of some kind of soft, warm material he's never felt before, Marco is safely perusing the wall of sneakers and flip-flops, glancing over at Ivar with an expression like he just remembered something.

"I owe you an explanation about the shoes, don't I?" he says, picking up a pair of blue-and-purple sneakers and plopping down on one of the benches that are there for trying on shoes. Cleaning what remains of the mud off his foot with a wipe that the cashier so kindly provided him, he makes a face and then pulls on his socks before sliding his foot into the sneaker to make sure it fits.

"The only stuff I can morph...um, shapeshift...is skintight stuff that stretches. You can't wear shoes or a watch or anything like that. I could maybe pull off skinny jeans with spandex in them, but mostly it's totally unglamorous leggings and leotards and tight t-shirts. Anything else gets totally shredded, and it's not worth it."

The shoe fits fine, so he slides a second one on, then jumps to his feet and heads over to the cashier, paying for the shoes before heading back to Ivar, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"I'm totally gonna buy you lunch, anyway. So, first question. What do Vikings like to eat?"

Ivar tries not to smile as Marco spins his tale for the clerk behind the counter. That might give the whole game away. Plus, it's interesting to see Marco turn that charm on someone else. Not that Ivar isn't already half-enamoured with him anyway. Between the mysterious nature of shape shifting and his general nature, he finds the Animorph fascinating.

He doesn't pay too much attention as Marco selects some clothing and shoes. Shopping holds very little interest for the Viking. Most of the time he's in clothes reminiscent of those he wears at home, dark colors with some light chain mail attached at the shoulder. Why just one shoulder? It was a mystery. He does tune in when Marco starts explaining why he can't do shoes when he shifts. "Makes sense. As much as anything that involves turning into another animal does." What he didn't mention is how very pleased he is that he can only morph skintight clothing. It made for a nice view.

"I'm partial to pizza." One of the best inventions of the modern era in Ivar's opinion.

After he finishes paying for the shoes, he's already heading to the door. Casually, he holds it for Ivar and then slips out behind him, squinting up and down the sidewalk. Funnily, he's not a lot more confident in his body language and general demeanor now that he's wearing shoes and a hoodie than he was looking ridiculous in his tights earlier. After all, he's had a lot of years to get used to looking ridiculous in public.

When Ivar mentions pizza, Marco is grinning at him abruptly, "Wow, all these muscles and brains too?"

Marco winks a bit, then waves a hand down the street, "Well, lucky for you, I found this really awesome pizza place and it's about two blocks that way. And it has actual real tables so we don't have to discuss Viking culture and morphing on the sidewalk."

Ivar ducks his head again for a moment when Marco winks at him. Seriously, when is he going to stop feeling off-kilter with every other thing this shapeshifter says? This is an awful way for a Viking unused to soft emotions to be feeling. His eyes, normally hard with a fierce light, have lost some of that habitual anger in Marco's presence. It's something that's been happening a lot more since he came to Riverview.

At least this time he isn't completely struck dumb, and is able to answer in turn. "Terrible combination to possess, I know. Almost as bad, I suspect, as having a witty tongue and being able to shapeshift."

Ivar can smell the scent of the pizzas wafting down the sidewalk as they approach. "I must warn you that I can eat an entire large pizza by myself." All that energy to wheel himself around and wield a weapon designed to split open a man's skull with a single blow had to come from somewhere.

Honestly, Marco's really enjoying making Ivar react that way. Truth is, he's had a lot of girls swoon at his winks and flirtations, but there's something totally different about a ripped Viking reacting like this. Marco can see it clear as day when Ivar ducks his head a bit shyly, with his blue eyes all shaded by his lashes, and it's...well, surprisingly enough, a bit of a thrill. Grinning a little when Ivar turns the compliment around on him, Marco gives him another little wink.

"What can I say, I am extremely charming and totally adorable. Seriously though, I think I only know one other guy with arms like that who's smart too. He shapeshifts too, though, totally unfair."

When the scent of pizza wafts through the air, Marco's stomach growls, and he glances over at Ivar as the other teen comments that he can eat an entire large pizza by himself, "Perfect. I can too. We won't even have to share unless we want to. What do you like on 'em?"

It's only a half block more to the pizza place, and Marco waltzes in like he owns the place, gestures at one of the tables and pulls a chair out of the way so Ivar can pull up.

"And what do you want to drink? Coke? Sprite? Ice tea?"

Ivar definitely agreed with the assertion that Marco was charming and adorable. The confidence he seemed to radiate was especially endearing to someone whose own self-worth was as fragile as a house of cards and just as likely to crumble. The Viking was going to have to keep on his toes around this one, lest he lose his head completely. Good things never last in his life, especially when it comes to people. "Can everyone shapeshift into animals where you're from?" It seemed like something that might be possible, after the types of people Ivar had met in Riverview who all had various powers.

Ivar has a ready answer when Marco asks what he likes. He's been experimenting with all the different kinds since he came here. "Everything." When he says everything, he definitely means it, from pepperonis all the way down to the banana peppers. "Even those little fishes." He means anchovies.

"Too bad they don't serve ale." He's dead-serious about that, despite clearly being underage by Earth's drinking age limit. Ivar could likely drink anyone in Riverview under the table. It was a Viking thing. "I'll take a cherry Coke."

I don't mind, forget it, there's nothing to lose (OTA)

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