[He would deal with Dodger, but that, as he'd stated, was none of Ivar's business. Whatever self-destructive bullshit Dodger was pulling, Ragnar was acutely aware that he'd ended up as some kind of collateral damage, which was enough to piss him off.]
So... all of this is about your mother? Or is it about Dodger? [He rolled his eyes.]
Maybe it was just sex. I married her though, did I not? [He raised his hands, shrugging.] You have told me yourself, she became my wife. So, I provided for her and made you and your brothers legitimate and provided for you and them.
Clearly, I care for no one but myself.
Are you out of knives yet, Ivar? If so, get out of my house. And if you have more, then hurry up. I have better things to do.
Oh yes, such a good father. So good he abandoned his children for ten fucking years!
[If he wanted to sit up there on his high horse and act like he could do no wrong, he could do so knowing he had been a shitty father. Ivar threw his last knife with an almost contemptuous air before whirling his chair around.]
I hate you!
[That right there is probably the sharpest knife he has in his arsenal.]
[He was far too angry to feel guilty about something he wouldn't do for another two decades. This time he barely dodged the knife, which was something of a mistake as it barely caught the lobe of his ear and, like any head wound, it immediately started bleeding profusely despite the cut being small and shallow.
He didn't say anything, but Ivar's words stung. A lot. He didn't hate Ivar. How could he? He was his son. He loved him.]
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no subject
So... all of this is about your mother? Or is it about Dodger? [He rolled his eyes.]
Maybe it was just sex. I married her though, did I not? [He raised his hands, shrugging.] You have told me yourself, she became my wife. So, I provided for her and made you and your brothers legitimate and provided for you and them.
Clearly, I care for no one but myself.
Are you out of knives yet, Ivar? If so, get out of my house. And if you have more, then hurry up. I have better things to do.
no subject
[If he wanted to sit up there on his high horse and act like he could do no wrong, he could do so knowing he had been a shitty father. Ivar threw his last knife with an almost contemptuous air before whirling his chair around.]
I hate you!
[That right there is probably the sharpest knife he has in his arsenal.]
no subject
He didn't say anything, but Ivar's words stung. A lot. He didn't hate Ivar. How could he? He was his son. He loved him.]