[Ivar had invited his father over to the mansion to meet his granddaughter. He'd pampered Winter a little more than was necessary during the morning to make sure she was in a good mood. He didn't want her accidentally draining her grandfather of life force because she got into a cranky mood. He dressed her up in a unique onesie complete with a little bow for her white hair. The whole outfit complimented her pale skin and red pupils quite well.
When Ragnar arrived, he had Winter sitting on his lap, looking around her with mild interest. Ivar looked about as proud a father as he could possibly be.]
This is your granddaughter, Winter Istrid Regis Ivarsdottir.
[It was a long name for a little baby, but somehow, it fit her well.]
[If there was one thing that the ruthless and feared Viking warrior Ragnar Lothbrok had a weakness for, it was children. He couldn't help it. He had a soft spot for all kids, but especially his own, so meeting his granddaughter was a big deal.
Ragnar hadn't really expected anything besides a (mostly) normal baby. Sure, Ivar had told him the child had some kind of magic abilities, but he hadn't expected the white hair and red eyes. The hair, he could easily overlook, the eyes... well, those were different.
He held out his hands, wanting to hold her, only hesitating slightly to get a better look at her unique appearance.] Her eyes... did her mother's look the same? Is that common for her people? [Who was he to say that there weren't some races of men with white hair and red eyes. He knew he hadn't met them all.] Come here, Winter. I'm your grandpa. [He offered a warm smile down at the child, cooing quietly.]
[Ivar explained her strange looks as he passed Winter over. He'd known Ragnar would love her. For all the many faults the man had, Ivar knew that his father loved children, especially his own.]
No. Letha had green eyes and dark hair. Winter's something called an albino. It means there's no coloration to her skin or hair. The eyes seem to be a side effect.
[Winter looked up at Ragnar, eyes more interested now. Maybe it was the fact he had an accent similar to his son or maybe it was the fact they shared the same eyes, but her little brow wrinkled in confusion, as if she was trying to place who this new and somewhat similiar face was. Her little hand wrapped around one of Ragnar's fingers. There was just a quick moment where Ivar went tense, but after nothing happened to provoke her powers, he relaxed again.]
[Ragnar took the child and sat her down on his lap, turned so she could easily look up at him and still have a good view of Ivar. Supported by one of his arms, she could play with his other hand, which she immediately started doing, grabbing one of his fingers with both hands.
He was much too distracted by the child to notice Ivar's momentary nervousness.]
Albino. I have never heard of it. [He idly, leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of her head, which immediately sent her hands after his, still relatively short, beard.] Except for her eyes, she does not look so different from what your brother, BjΓΆrn, looked like at this age. Hair like snow. [He switched to speaking to Winter in a quieter voice.] Yes, he did. [He then proceeded to make faces at her.]
[ Athelstan knows that Ragnar has to have his phone read text messages to him but it's better than trying to disguise how he's feeling in an audio or video message. Ragnar knows him far too well to not at least get a hint of distress. ]
Have you ever drank something that was not alcohol that affected you strangely...? Made you do things you wouldn't normally?
[ There's a really long pause because for reasons he's not sure of he's never liked remembering much of the mushrooms that he'd been given in Uppsala. ]
Like those mushrooms that make things strange... but in a drink.
[Ivar's white-hot fury hadn't dissipated at all in the time it took him to get over to his father's house. If anything, it had grown bigger. Ivar was armed to the teeth and looked like he was ready to do battle with Fenrir himself. He let himself in and looked around for Ragnar. Oh, his father was going to regret every bad decision he'd ever made in his life by the time his son was done with him.]
[Ragnar heard the door and walked into the front room, immediately spotting Ivar. His son's body language was all too familiar. He'd been in far too many fights not to recognize it. But he didn't understand it.]
Ivar? [He tone was stern and held a hint of warning, but he hadn't made any move to reach for a weapon or shield yet.]
[Ah, there the philandering dumb slut is. Ragnar will definitely notice that his son's eyes are harder and more angry than he's ever been before. Ivar doesn't tell him why he's there or gives him a chance to explain himself. All he does is pull one of his axes out and throw it right at Ragnar's head while roaring:]
It'd been a long night. He'd been intimate with Ragnar and then that stupid message from Dodger and well... that had been a mess and not at all gone like he'd wanted. He came home and tried to wash away the evidence but the feeling of the sin and the guilt that was somehow morphing into the feeling that Ragnar had sanctioned it without even talking to him. If he were being logical he'd have known better.
But he couldn't make himself go back to their bed, he ends up drinking some and then going out to his art room. He sketches and he dozes there. He tries to pray but it feels wrong. He actually takes his cross off for a short time but not long before it's back on again.
He's exhausted and troubled and the sketch he's working on is Christ on the cross and crows roosting on it. Again, it's sacrilegious in a way but somehow feels right.
Ragnar had been soundly asleep when Athelstan had gotten the message. He'd actually had a long couple of days with the Guard and the whole situation with Athelstan and Ivar and Dodger still weighed heavily on him. The combination was draining enough that if he was able to nod off, his body would greedily force him to get as much sleep as possible. Though he didn't wake up when Athelstan quietly slipped out of bed and left the house, strange dreams put him on edge enough so that when a strong wind rattled the bedroom window, he jolted away.
It was still dark and by the heavy stillness and silence, his guess was that it was early morning. Grumbling a little, he went to roll over to tangle up with Athelstan and found the bed empty and cold. He sat up a little, frowning as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.
"Athelstan?" He said the monk's name softly, not sure what he was expecting. The man obviously wasn't there. He pulled on a tunic and pulled one of the blankets off the bed to wrap around him as he wandered out of their room. The house felt so still. Poking his head in to check on his daughter first, he then made his way down the stairs. No lights on. No Athelstan.
He forced himself to think rationally and swallow down the rising panic as he quietly opened and closed the back door, going outside barefoot and padding his way across the grass to Athelstan's art shack. Was there a light on? It was difficult to tell.
He eased the door open, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light, and felt a wave of relief.
"What are doing?" He asked groggily, stepping inside to get out of the early morning chill, closing the door behind him. How long had he been out here sketching?
Athelstan felt his shoulders rise slightly when he heard Ragnar. He didnt stop what he was doing, though the empty hand rubbed his forehead.
"Sketching," he answers quietly as if Ragnar couldnt see the and West for himself. He doesnt know why ragnar is awake so early. Its still a while before athelstan would need to get breakfast started and ragnar rarely was awake before him.
[Maybe it's a little late by the morning... but by the time he woke up, he'd been struck by some sort of conscience. Or maybe he was just worried this would come back to bite him in the ass, like teasing Ivar had.]
Do you have a free minute? I wanna tell you something, I- need to the first person you hear it from.
[Dodger's message had definitely come too late, a few hours too late. Dodger doesn't get a response right away. About an hour later, Ragnar messages him back, tone neutral.]
What is it? I could meet you by that dock? The same place as the other night.
[If anything, this time he's genuinely worried about being hurt, and it doesn't thrill him the way it normally would. This isn't punishment for something he'd have a lazy excuse for, this is something he genuinely feels guilty for... and he knows he's more likely to get disappointment than physical pain. That might just kill him.]
I slept with someone that I.. think was your- lover. And it uh- it didn't go too well, I did something stupid. I figure he wouldn't tell you, but I didn't want you thinking I did it to hurt him, I was just...
[Drunk? Stupid? Horny? Trying to help, somehow? None of those are decent excuses, he just groans.]
It's sometime after Dodger's reached out to Athelstan about what Ragnar and Ivar had gotten up to. He's still not sure what to do with the information, though, he's anything but happy about it. He's not made an effort just yet to confront Ragnar and perhaps he wouldn't -- though, the past month is enough to tell that he really shouldn't sit on his feelings.
In any case, he's quietly working away in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. He's mostly running on auto pilot, completely lost in his thoughts.
It was early evening after a day with the perimeter guard when he returned to find Athelstan in the kitchen. Like he often did with Lagertha, he was suddenly hit with an overwhelming sense of love and adoration that he couldn't ignore.
He walked up behind Athelstan, footsteps audible, and slid his arms around the monk's waist and nuzzled into his neck, inhaling as he pressed flush up against him.
"Gyda is not home yet," He mumbled, hand sliding down Athelstan's arm to make him put down whatever he was busy with.
Athelstan isn't paying enough attention to notice Ragnar before he's pressed against him from behind, sparks flying through Athelstan and his stomach butterflies. In normal circumstances he'd have leaned back into him but despite the urge, the enjoyment of the affection he's shrugging Ragnar away from him, pushing his arm when he attempts to stop him mid chopping vegetables.
"I know she is not home yet," he says quietly and he somewhat wishes she was, it would buy him more time.
[The advantage of Dodger's powers in situations like this is that he can be carefully sure that Ragnar is alone when he approaches him next. It's been weeks, and those weeks have been hell for him... it's about time he did something productive.
Dodger enters Ragnar's house in the morning, invisible, but Gyda and Athelstan are around throughout the day. He stays out of their way, makes very little noise, and just observes them. Gyda goes to school, comes home, asks to go to a friend's house. Athelstan and Ragnar have their lilting romance, which makes Dodger bristle a bit each time he sees them together. Finally, Athelstan leaves to go to his art room and Dodger decides it's as good a time as any to make a move.
Ragnar is in the kitchen when Dodger becomes visible, sitting on the counter as he has been for a few minutes now. His appearance has changed drastically; his hair is shorn in an undercut, he has a few new piercings in his left ear, his ratty hoodie has been replaced with a hooded leather jacket, and the arm that Ragnar and Ivar had cut up is now covered in half-headed, stretched skin with warped tattoos. Most startlingly, his eyes now glow with an ethereal light, and have the sharp slitted pupils of a snake.]
[Everyone went about their day as usual, oblivious to Dodger's presence. Ragnar spent the day doing chores, taking care of the goats, doing a few repairs, helping Athelstan wash the clothes since neither of them particularly liked or trusted the washing machine, and cutting some wood. In the afternoon, Athelstan excused himself in order to catch the afternoon light while painting, leaving Ragnar to himself.
Dodger's sudden appearance is met with a wary stare, though nothing seemed to actually startle the viking. He mentally went over all the weapons he knew were in the house if this devolved into a fight, but he wasn't planning to make the first move.
He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, a neutral mask of vague confidence now firmly in place.]
[He's quiet for a few moments, blinking passively before he speaks.]
Slept with a naga.
[It's notable that his tongue also looks different, but since it's within his mouth the difference isn't immediately noticeable. Still, he seems to be slurring his words just a bit.
He's silent for a while longer, still trying to decide exactly what angle to come at Ragnar with.]
You knew I could've hurt Athelstan since the day you met me. Why didn't you ever tell me about him. [It's barely an accusation; there's nothing they can do about it now, it's just a detail that bothers him.] If I knew he was important to you I could've kept away from him.
Athelstan isn't expecting to walk into anything abnormal when he comes home but immediately he's noticing the burnt smell. Worry comes to the forefront of his mind because, of course he's been worried that Dodger would burn down the house.
"Ragnar? What happened?" he asks, as soon as he catches sight of the other's form there and at least there doesn't appear to be anyone else there.
Ragnar had only ever lived in relatively simple, wooden houses. A singed wall meant knocking out that area and replacing it, but this house, this very modern house, was quite a bit different than anything he was used to.
He'd poked at the burnt wall for a bit before finally deciding to give up for the moment to take care of his burns. His wrists were, by far, the worst. The skin looked raw, somewhere between second and third degree burns, the outline of Dodger's hands could just barely be made out. He'd done his best to simply bandage them, unsure if he really needed to go see a healer for some salve, or not.
Going back into the kitchen, it really struck him how much the place reeked of charred wood and... flesh, so he was opening some windows and had just finished propping the door open when Athelstan came in.
Ragnar looked at the charred wall, the cracked dent in the wooden floor, and then back to Athelstan, "What do you think? And... I really do not need you to rub it in right now..."
That was the closest he could come to admitting that Athelstan had been right. Not even that he'd been wrong... just that Athelstan had maybe been more right than Ragnar had.
Athelstan instantly catches sight of the burns and his eyes widen further. "He was here..."
He didn't want to believe it, even if he knew that Dodger would never leave well enough alone he had still hoped that maybe he would be wrong. The damaged floor and wall could be dealt with later he is more concerned with what are clearly burns on Ragnar and he's quick to move over to him.
The house feels all the more unsafe again, he'd been lulled into a sense of security before, letting himself think maybe he's overreacting even though he knew better. "He will never stop, Ragnar," Athelstan murmurs and then says something that he probably wouldn't have thought of about anyone else and the Athelstan that Ragnar knew would have never said. "You should have killed him when you had the chance."
All the same, he is reaching to grasp an uninjured part of Ragnar's arm and pushing him toward somewhere to sit down. "You're terrible at this," he murmurs, indicating Ragnar's attempt at treating the burns.
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When Ragnar arrived, he had Winter sitting on his lap, looking around her with mild interest. Ivar looked about as proud a father as he could possibly be.]
This is your granddaughter, Winter Istrid Regis Ivarsdottir.
[It was a long name for a little baby, but somehow, it fit her well.]
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Ragnar hadn't really expected anything besides a (mostly) normal baby. Sure, Ivar had told him the child had some kind of magic abilities, but he hadn't expected the white hair and red eyes. The hair, he could easily overlook, the eyes... well, those were different.
He held out his hands, wanting to hold her, only hesitating slightly to get a better look at her unique appearance.] Her eyes... did her mother's look the same? Is that common for her people? [Who was he to say that there weren't some races of men with white hair and red eyes. He knew he hadn't met them all.] Come here, Winter. I'm your grandpa. [He offered a warm smile down at the child, cooing quietly.]
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No. Letha had green eyes and dark hair. Winter's something called an albino. It means there's no coloration to her skin or hair. The eyes seem to be a side effect.
[Winter looked up at Ragnar, eyes more interested now. Maybe it was the fact he had an accent similar to his son or maybe it was the fact they shared the same eyes, but her little brow wrinkled in confusion, as if she was trying to place who this new and somewhat similiar face was. Her little hand wrapped around one of Ragnar's fingers. There was just a quick moment where Ivar went tense, but after nothing happened to provoke her powers, he relaxed again.]
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He was much too distracted by the child to notice Ivar's momentary nervousness.]
Albino. I have never heard of it. [He idly, leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of her head, which immediately sent her hands after his, still relatively short, beard.] Except for her eyes, she does not look so different from what your brother, BjΓΆrn, looked like at this age. Hair like snow. [He switched to speaking to Winter in a quieter voice.] Yes, he did. [He then proceeded to make faces at her.]
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Have you ever drank something that was not alcohol that affected you strangely...? Made you do things you wouldn't normally?
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Like... bad water? Are you sick?
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Not that kind of strange, Ragnar...
Like...
[ There's a really long pause because for reasons he's not sure of he's never liked remembering much of the mushrooms that he'd been given in Uppsala. ]
Like those mushrooms that make things strange... but in a drink.
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hdu with this cute tag
>:3
Re: >:3
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Ivar? [He tone was stern and held a hint of warning, but he hadn't made any move to reach for a weapon or shield yet.]
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You are a fucking idiot!
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But he couldn't make himself go back to their bed, he ends up drinking some and then going out to his art room. He sketches and he dozes there. He tries to pray but it feels wrong. He actually takes his cross off for a short time but not long before it's back on again.
He's exhausted and troubled and the sketch he's working on is Christ on the cross and crows roosting on it. Again, it's sacrilegious in a way but somehow feels right.
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It was still dark and by the heavy stillness and silence, his guess was that it was early morning. Grumbling a little, he went to roll over to tangle up with Athelstan and found the bed empty and cold. He sat up a little, frowning as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.
"Athelstan?" He said the monk's name softly, not sure what he was expecting. The man obviously wasn't there. He pulled on a tunic and pulled one of the blankets off the bed to wrap around him as he wandered out of their room. The house felt so still. Poking his head in to check on his daughter first, he then made his way down the stairs. No lights on. No Athelstan.
He forced himself to think rationally and swallow down the rising panic as he quietly opened and closed the back door, going outside barefoot and padding his way across the grass to Athelstan's art shack. Was there a light on? It was difficult to tell.
He eased the door open, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light, and felt a wave of relief.
"What are doing?" He asked groggily, stepping inside to get out of the early morning chill, closing the door behind him. How long had he been out here sketching?
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"Sketching," he answers quietly as if Ragnar couldnt see the and West for himself. He doesnt know why ragnar is awake so early. Its still a while before athelstan would need to get breakfast started and ragnar rarely was awake before him.
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@dodger//audio
Do you have a free minute? I wanna tell you something, I- need to the first person you hear it from.
@ragnar; audio
What is it? I could meet you by that dock? The same place as the other night.
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[If anything, this time he's genuinely worried about being hurt, and it doesn't thrill him the way it normally would. This isn't punishment for something he'd have a lazy excuse for, this is something he genuinely feels guilty for... and he knows he's more likely to get disappointment than physical pain. That might just kill him.]
I slept with someone that I.. think was your- lover. And it uh- it didn't go too well, I did something stupid. I figure he wouldn't tell you, but I didn't want you thinking I did it to hurt him, I was just...
[Drunk? Stupid? Horny? Trying to help, somehow? None of those are decent excuses, he just groans.]
...I feel like a fucking idiot.
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In any case, he's quietly working away in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. He's mostly running on auto pilot, completely lost in his thoughts.
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He walked up behind Athelstan, footsteps audible, and slid his arms around the monk's waist and nuzzled into his neck, inhaling as he pressed flush up against him.
"Gyda is not home yet," He mumbled, hand sliding down Athelstan's arm to make him put down whatever he was busy with.
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"I know she is not home yet," he says quietly and he somewhat wishes she was, it would buy him more time.
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action;
Dodger enters Ragnar's house in the morning, invisible, but Gyda and Athelstan are around throughout the day. He stays out of their way, makes very little noise, and just observes them. Gyda goes to school, comes home, asks to go to a friend's house. Athelstan and Ragnar have their lilting romance, which makes Dodger bristle a bit each time he sees them together. Finally, Athelstan leaves to go to his art room and Dodger decides it's as good a time as any to make a move.
Ragnar is in the kitchen when Dodger becomes visible, sitting on the counter as he has been for a few minutes now. His appearance has changed drastically; his hair is shorn in an undercut, he has a few new piercings in his left ear, his ratty hoodie has been replaced with a hooded leather jacket, and the arm that Ragnar and Ivar had cut up is now covered in half-headed, stretched skin with warped tattoos. Most startlingly, his eyes now glow with an ethereal light, and have the sharp slitted pupils of a snake.]
We need to talk.
[It's not a request, it's a command.]
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Dodger's sudden appearance is met with a wary stare, though nothing seemed to actually startle the viking. He mentally went over all the weapons he knew were in the house if this devolved into a fight, but he wasn't planning to make the first move.
He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, a neutral mask of vague confidence now firmly in place.]
What has happened to your eyes?
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Slept with a naga.
[It's notable that his tongue also looks different, but since it's within his mouth the difference isn't immediately noticeable. Still, he seems to be slurring his words just a bit.
He's silent for a while longer, still trying to decide exactly what angle to come at Ragnar with.]
You knew I could've hurt Athelstan since the day you met me. Why didn't you ever tell me about him. [It's barely an accusation; there's nothing they can do about it now, it's just a detail that bothers him.] If I knew he was important to you I could've kept away from him.
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"Ragnar? What happened?" he asks, as soon as he catches sight of the other's form there and at least there doesn't appear to be anyone else there.
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He'd poked at the burnt wall for a bit before finally deciding to give up for the moment to take care of his burns. His wrists were, by far, the worst. The skin looked raw, somewhere between second and third degree burns, the outline of Dodger's hands could just barely be made out. He'd done his best to simply bandage them, unsure if he really needed to go see a healer for some salve, or not.
Going back into the kitchen, it really struck him how much the place reeked of charred wood and... flesh, so he was opening some windows and had just finished propping the door open when Athelstan came in.
Ragnar looked at the charred wall, the cracked dent in the wooden floor, and then back to Athelstan, "What do you think? And... I really do not need you to rub it in right now..."
That was the closest he could come to admitting that Athelstan had been right. Not even that he'd been wrong... just that Athelstan had maybe been more right than Ragnar had.
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He didn't want to believe it, even if he knew that Dodger would never leave well enough alone he had still hoped that maybe he would be wrong. The damaged floor and wall could be dealt with later he is more concerned with what are clearly burns on Ragnar and he's quick to move over to him.
The house feels all the more unsafe again, he'd been lulled into a sense of security before, letting himself think maybe he's overreacting even though he knew better. "He will never stop, Ragnar," Athelstan murmurs and then says something that he probably wouldn't have thought of about anyone else and the Athelstan that Ragnar knew would have never said. "You should have killed him when you had the chance."
All the same, he is reaching to grasp an uninjured part of Ragnar's arm and pushing him toward somewhere to sit down. "You're terrible at this," he murmurs, indicating Ragnar's attempt at treating the burns.
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