ragnarsson | IC Inbox

[He doesn't actually smell that bad. Contrary to popular belief, he does wash himself a fair amount of time so as not to give himself away if he sneaks up on anyone. Smelling too strongly either way, bad or good, is not an ideal state for someone who needs to be subtle.

He looks like a rabbit in the headlights of an approaching train when Ivar offers him Winter, taking an instinctive half step back.]

You shouldn't trust me with your kid, there's lines that shouldn't be crossed.

[Sorry, Bucky, he can't help but laugh at the look on your face. It's not often he manages to catch the ex-assassin that much off-guard with a few simple words. He props up Winter into the sitting position, supporting her little neck so she can look around. She's moving her little hand back and forth, the lamb shaking floppily in her grasp.]

You look like I just asked you to walk barefoot across hot coals. I'll take that as a no.

[He doesn't remark on the idea of trust. Perhaps he does trust Bucky too much. But he can't believe anyone would be callous enough to hurt a defenseless child. Even Ivar, crazy and psychopathic as he is, has never slipped that far into dangerous thinking. If he ever had that inkling around Bucky, he wouldn't have hesitated to do everything in his power to put the other man in the ground permanently.

He glances down at Winter, smoothing down a tuft of her pale hair, white without the slightest hint of any other color. Ivar's face softens a little, both with love and sadness.]

She looks like her mother.

Most baby girls do.

[At least he's going on what little he remembers of his family, and the way all three of his sisters had turned out as miniature copies of their mother. It was good, really, they could have done worse than turn out like Winifred Barnes.]

But she ain't her Ma, she'll do better things and you'll raise her up to be good.

[He didn't know Letha, but since his overwhelming experience with her has been of her hating her baby and then abandoning both baby and father to go to a world that's not even hers, he doesn't think she was particularly good.]

I don't know about good.

[Ivar knows he's not a good person. He's excellent at being a good Viking, but here in this place, everything is so different, and most would consider what he does to be terribly bad. All these months later, he still finds it hard to acclimate to the new culture sometimes. To raise a child up, instill in her the values of the Viking culture, while teaching her how to blend into society with her strange powers, it's a daunting task.]

I'll try for good enough.

[Winter drops her lamb, making a small, soft squeak of distress at losing her favorite toy. Ivar leans over to the side and picks it back up, letting her grab a hold of it again. She seems to find comfort in the soft feeling of the stuffed animal against her own body.]

Pretty sure that's what all parents manage.

[There's no such thing as a perfect child, after all. Nobody ever grows up to get it all right and be good all the time, there are going to be mistakes and there's going to be bad things in their future.]

As long as you do the best you can, that's all you can offer her. Any mistakes she makes after that are her own to make.

You know, for someone who doesn't have their shit together most of the time, sometimes you have good advice.

[He means that in the best way possible really. Winter's starting to squirm around, fussy in the way that babies get when they're tired, but are too stubborn to admit sleeping is a good idea. Ivar presses a kiss to the top of her head, gently holding her against his shoulder while he strokes her back to send her to sleep.]

I do get worried sometimes what might happen if someone decides to get to me by hurting her.

[If Bucky was worried about what might happen if the teen lost control now, he hadn't seen anything yet. Any harm to Winter, and Ivar would see the whole city burned down, and corpses strewn everywhere before his rampage was through.]

Maybe try not to make so many enemies, then.

[It's almost a tease, the hint of a smile at his lips as he stands up. He can see Winter giving him the out that he needs to get away again, out of a building so trapped in on all sides.]

Looks like your kid wants to take a nap, so maybe I should leave you to it.

[Because he's always the loudest person around...]

[Solid advice, though Ivar won't take it. He's just born to be angry and subsequently piss people off. Winter starts to settle down, her breathing becoming light and easy. She'll be fast asleep in just a few moments.]

Why don't you stay for a few minutes? Have a beer and some sandwiches in the kitchen?

[You know, he a couple of normal people instead of being a crazy teenage Viking and an even crazier ex-assassin.]

No.

[A part of him feels a mild pang of regret for refusing, but he doesn't want to stay within four walls at a house he doesn't know and hasn't scouted out properly. So he takes a step back towards the door.]

Not this time.

[And then he's gone, abrupt and swift, just like that.]

[Rey knows she has a training session with Ivar, and as much as she doesn't want to cancel it, she has to. She needs to go to the library, and with her friends arriving, she needs to do some research.

So she's calling him now.]

Hello, it's Rey. I know we have training today, but could we do it on another day? Things just came up.

[And then the voice function turns into full on video with Rey holding the device to show her thick brown hair down. It's not in its usual style, and it actually goes past her shoulders a bit. It's also clear that she hasn't slept well.]

I'm really sorry about this.

[Ivar's getting ready to head on down to the training center when Rey calls. He's a little disappointed that he won't get to spend time with her, even if he's unsure why he feels that way.]

That's alri--[Then he notices something.] Oh! Your hair. It's different.

[Brilliant observation, Ivar.]

[Rey's eyebrows knit together in confusion. Why would he be bringing up her hair?]

My hair?

[She clearly doesn't realize the video option was pressed by accident. Her hand runs through her hair and then it dawns on her that it's down...and he can see it.]

I pressed the wrong button on this.. [A silly mistake on her part and now she's placing the phone down to free up both of her hands.]

My hair is down, that's all. I haven't had the chance to put it up yet.

[He comes to the realization she didn't mean for him to see this just as she figures out she pressed the wrong button. It makes him feel a little like he's walked in on something he wasn't supposed to see.]

I've never seen it down before.

[It's a nice length, perfect for braiding. Which is starting to give him a bit of an idea...]

Why don't you ever wear it other than that style with the three buns?

[It's not that she doesn't want anyone to see her with her hair down, it's just...something she's so used to.]

Surprised by the length? [Teasing a little, her hands smoothing out her hair, reaching for her hair brush. Nevermind the fact that Poe nor Finn have seen her with her hair down.]

It keeps my hair out of my face. I don't want it getting caught on anything. [And having it pulled or yanked by something....and because well..] It's a style I've worn since I was a child.

Yes, it looks longer than I thought it would be.

[Long and thick. For someone living in the middle of a desert, she'd done a good job of keeping it from turning into a rat's nest.]

You haven't changed it up since you were a child?

[Tsk. Someone's never lived. Ivar, like most Vikings, are used to the intricate hairstyles of home, something that comes from living in place where there's very little to do for fun. He only keeps his hair short for purely practical reasons. He's already got enough disadvantages in battle without an enemy coming up and yanking his hair back so they can slit his throat.]

What can I say? I'm full of surprises. [More teasing, sort of concentrating on talking with him, and doing her hair. Her hands working on the first bun.]

Yes, it's the only hair style I've had. Like I said, it keeps my hair away from my face. Didn't have time to try a new style, nor did I want to.

[It's who she is. It's her over all look. It's...one of the few ties she has to her family.]

Why don't you change it up today?

[The words come out a bit impulsively before Ivar can even really think about them.]

I can show you a new style that I bet you'd like.

[A Viking that knew how to do intricate hairstyles? Ivar was just full of surprises. Besides, he'd learned how to do them a long time ago. It helped keep the dexterity of his fingers, always something need when throwing a knife or pulling back on a bowstring.]

Come again?

[The notion of changing her hair style is...it's something she hasn't considered before. Surprise is clearly written on her face. Not because she doesn't doubt he could do hair (because he seems like he knows more than her just from the get go), but he's willing to.]

...Sure?

[She has no idea what exactly she's agreeing to, but it can't be bad right? Forget that she said she couldn't see him today, hence the initial call, but he's completely disregarded that.]

Good! I'll be right over.

[The idea she might at all be hesitant or not precisely understand what he's going to do never crosses Ivar's mind. He just sort of steamrolls and does his own thing regardless.

He gathers up some necessary supplies, puts them into a bag, and heads on over to the communal housing. He rides up to Rey's floor and wheels himself in. He looks her over with the same way a general looks over a new potential soldier.]

Alright. Let's get started again. Brush, please.

O-okay?

[She sounds so unsure at the moment, wondering what exactly lead to her cancelling plans to suddenly having Ivar come over to her room. Maybe she should ask Poe or Cisco if this was a common thing that people do; doing each other's hair...

She doesn't have much time to dwell on it as Ivar is at her door, letting himself right on in...and why is he looking at her like she's about to go into battle?]

I already brushed my hair out. [But she gives him the brush and undos her first bun. Rey moves to sit on the edge of her bed, that way she's not kneeling or sitting on the floor.]

You don't have to do this, you know.

Well, I'm brushing it out again.

[He says bossily. He takes the brush and begins to stroke it through her hair gently, making sure not to catch on any stray tangles that might still be present.]

I know. But I want to. It's been months since I've had the chance to do anyone's hair.

[The last time had been long before he'd come to Riverview. It had probably been one of his brothers, Hvitserk maybe, who had woken up late, and had very little time to get his hair into the usual intricate patterns that the Ragnarssons seemed to favor. Ivar had helped out.]

[There's a huff from Rey, sitting there with her legs crossed. It's...surprising how gentle he could be--with his daughter, with her hair. It's striking to know he has this side of himself, and then there's the side that enjoys battle.]

This is something you'd do often?

[She's curious how often he's done this, and already picturing that he'd do the same with his daughter when her hair is long enough. And she wouldn't admit it out loud, but there's a strange sort of...relaxing quality, having someone brush out her hair.]

[Ivar finishes brushing Rey's hair out. He looks it over with a critical eye, picturing the different styles he could do. He immediately discards anything that's too simple. She's had enough simplicity with her three buns.

Finally, he decides on one that looks fancy and intricate enough, but one that he won't have to spend hours on. He begins to divide the sections of hair, tying off the smaller ones while keeping the larger pieces in the middle for the French braid.]

Often enough. Almost all Vikings, men and women, wear their hair long. It was boring as a child not being able to play with the other children, so I had to learn new things to entertain myself with. Hold this, please.

[He takes the feathered piece off the first stitch and pulls it forward over her face. His fingers work quickly, able to easily section off pieces of hair and braid them back in.]

[Rey has no idea what he's thinking. To her, her hair is...simply her hair. It's something she's used to handling on her own, and when she has to cut it, it's done with a blade. Oddly enough, it's starting to dawn on her that this is the first time she's letting someone touch her hair and do something with it...

Odd, very odd.]

Make sense, then why do you keep your hair short?

[Well, she suppose it's still long enough to braid, or maybe it's not. Either way, she holds the piece that's now in front of her face.]

[Ivar couldn't have said why he'd decided to do this. He rarely examined why he did anything. He said what he wanted and did what he wanted at all times. Right now, this was what he wanted to do.]

Practicality. I'd like it longer-- hold this-- [And he hands her another section of feathered hair.] --but that's too much of a disadvantage on the battlefield. Someone can yank it back and slit your throat, or grab hold of it and smash your head forward.

[Ivar had actually let it grow ever-so-slightly longer since coming to the Quarantine, but it still didn't go past his neck. Just long enough to sweep back into his usual style.]

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