Ivar "The Boneless" Ragnarsson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ragnarsson) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2017-08-14 10:52 pm
ragnarsson) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-08-14 10:52 pm
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.
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 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.
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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."
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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.
no subject
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?"
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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.
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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."
no subject
"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?
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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."
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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?"
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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?"
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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.
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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."
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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.
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"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?"
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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."
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In fact, right now, he's mostly occupied with enjoying making a new friend who isn't a fan or an Animorph.
"No. More now than back when I got the power to morph, but not a huge number. It's a technology created by the Andalites. Aliens. They live in space, like, out among the stars, and they kind of look like blue centaurs with scorpion tails. Anyway, one of them gave the power to me and my best friend, and a few other kids, so we could fight a war against invading brain slugs from outer space."
Marco shrugs, avoiding eye contact just slightly because 'fight a war' and 'alien brain slugs' is nowhere near explaining how terrible things had been during the war. And honestly, he doesn't want to right now.
"No kidding. I don't think I've ever had honest-to-god ale, but I could probably use one right now. Anyway, pizza with every topping including the absolutely nasty anchovies, and a cherry Coke, coming right up!"
Marco heads over to the counter, places the order for the two of them, and when the cashier hands him the drinks and says she'll bring the pizza out when it's done, Marco winks at her, grins, and heads back to the table, flopping down in the chair across from Ivar, taking a sip of his own.
"Cherry Coke. Truly inspired choice. I wasn't even sure they had it here."
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He sips a little of the Coke through the straw. "I assume that's where what you were saying about seeing your entrails on the battlefield came from." Lovely talk for a lunch chat, but then, they were both warriors. Clearly it didn't matter to either of them.
"Sounds like you came from quite an interesting world. I came from a war myself. My brothers and I were fighting in England against the English kings. We'd just finished blood-eagling one when I got pulled here. When I go back, I've got another kind and then a queen I've got to kill." Ivar's ambitious. He's not going to stop until he's gotten exactly what he wanted, which is revenge on anyone who has ever hurt his family.
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"Man, trust a Viking to go right there, straight to the entrails. Yeah, that's definitely where I saw them. And I've seen them more than once. Not something I want to deal with literally ever again, but it sure was a thing that happened."
A pause, and then he raises his brows, "I'm almost scared to ask, but what is blood-eagling?"
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When Marco asks what blood-eagling is, Ivar grins. There's something a little unhinged about the way he looks. "A very cruel method Vikings have for killing people. It's so brutal that it's only been performed on two people in living memory. You tied a man to two posts and then take a red hot knife, plunging it into his back. After you peel away the skin and muscles, you take out an axe, and break apart the man's ribs. If he's still alive at that point, he'll suffocate from feeling his lungs actually ripped out of his back." He pauses in the gory description as the pizzas arrive at their table. Picking up a slice, he casually adds on, "My brothers and I did it to the king who murdered our father," before he bites down into his slice.
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"That's the thing about morphing. You change forms, and you get restored to default. Any injuries you have, they're gone. It's like a reset button. Boom, no more guts in your hands."
While Ivar is talking, Marco picks up a slice of his own pizza and takes a bite, only to completely stop chewing when Ivar gets to the gritty details. By the time Ivar's done talking, Marco is sitting there with a half-eaten slice of pizza in his hand and his mouth hanging open.
"Well, there goes my appetite."
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Ivar grins at Marco, before biting pointedly into his slice again, speaking around a mouthful of pizza. "Hey, you asked. Revenge and war is never a pretty business." Vikings were used to the brutality of battles. In fact, they counted on it to be able to get them to the halls of Valhalla. At least Marco hadn't puked. Some Vikings did that just watching a blood-eagling. Swallowing down a slice, Ivar reaches for another one.
"So how did you come to know about knights? You don't talk like someone from my time. You're more from the same time as a lot of other people are here." He means the 2000s, though he's noticed there seems to still be a variety of years even then that people come from.