ragnarsson | IC Inbox

[It's a bit past sundown when Letha gets back from her adventures in necromancy... and dragons. The dragons were a little unexpected. Still, ever since she got to the commune all she could think of was to tell Ivar about what she'd been up to, and that couldn't wait until morning. She's pretty sure she won't get to sleep with all this new and exciting information threatening to burst out of her.

The lights are off when she sneaks onto the fifth floor, so he won't be able to see the condition she's in just yet, but seeing as they've slept together (technically) she feels very little shame about crawling onto his bed and poking his chest to wake him up.]

Iiiiivar... Ivar. Psst. Are you sleeping? [At least she's being quiet, for his roommates' sake.]

[Ivar is sound asleep when Letha comes crawling into his bed. He's never one to be troubled by nightmares or guilt from past actions, for Ivar doesn't regret the things he's done. Everything had a reason or goal to achieve behind it. It leaves him to dream only of things he longs for: the family he left behind, the loved ones already gone to the afterlife.

He's awake almost instantly when he feels someone touch him, instincts that are burned into his very bones reacting as he grabs a knife that he keeps to the side of his pillow. He's not even fully awake when he grabs Letha by her hair and pulls her head back, pressing the knife to her pale throat. He blinks and his mind catches up.]

Letha? [He pulls the knife away, the hand in her hair easing up but still tangled in her locks. His voice is harsh, masking the concern beneath it] That was a stupid thing to do.

[She can tell how stupid it was now... but her mind is a bit blank for a moment, like a rabbit in a trap. Even when the knife leaves her throat, she has a blink a few times before she can think with his hand in her hair.]

Well, I'm not dead yet. [She mutters, making no attempt to struggle away from him and just leaning into his hand with a little huff. She's still not completely sure how much affection he'll allow but she's decided she'll take little chances like this when she can.] Come outside with me, I want to talk to you.

[She so close to him, he could smell the flowery scent that always seemed to follow her around. He used his free hand to prop himself up. She was so foolish and never seemed to realize it. But he didn't pull away, letting his hand rest against her dark hair.]

It's the middle of the night. [Grumpy Viking is very grumpy. Never mind that he usually was a night owl.]

Please?

[She's encouraged by the acceptance of her touch, but she'll wait a bit before pushing her boundaries again. Strategically spacing the attempts out so that he won't be too angry at her when she finally goes too far. For now,
she just lets herself enjoy the feeling of him touching her hair and being close. It almost doesn't bother her how close he came to killing her for a second there.]

It'll be quick, then I'll leave you alone. I promise.

[Ivar sighed, running a hand over his face. He flopped back down on the bed, and for a moment, it appeared he was going to roll over and just go back to sleep. Then he groaned and sat back up.]

Alright. Give me a minute. Look the other way.

[Ivar was very self-conscious about the way he looked. Well, specifically the way his legs looked, poor scrawny underdeveloped things that they were. How Margrethe had stared when she first looked at him. This is why no one would ever see him in shorts.

He reached beside his bed and pulled up the clothes that he'd dropped there from the day before. He slid them on and then put on his shoes, putting a knife into his boot for protection. Then Ivar maneuvered himself to the edge of the bed and pushed off, using the momentum to get into his wheelchair.]

Alright. I'm ready.

[The light isn't quite good enough for her to see much anyway, but she looks away for the sake of his modesty and moves off of the bed herself. When she hears the shift of him moving into his wheelchair, she turns back to watch him, casually adjusting the strap of her dress since it had been shifted by her movement on the bed.

With a small nod she leads him out of the room; the hallways are dark as well,
and she pulls her tablet from her bag to illuminate the path while still obscuring herself. It isn't until they're outside that the moonlight really makes it obvious what she's been up to. She's still in day clothes - her dress muddy and frayed in some places, her tights ripped in ways that betray little claw marks around her shins. Her hair had shifted from a braid to a ponytail during the day, and there are scratches all over face and arms.
Even a bruise on her shoulder that seems both recent and very painful.]

I wanted to tell you about what I found in the woods. Just... without disturbing your roommates. There's a lot to tell you, and- I'm rather excited about it, it was rather... thrilling.

[She'd never seen real, honest-to-god combat before, and... even if it was against a very weak enemy, she still feels excited in a kiddish way. Almost like she's back to being a kid, dreaming of being a soldier.]

[Ivar stays moody and quiet as they go outside. He's still a touch sour about being woken up out of a sound sleep. Running a hand through his hair, which looks unusually fluffy since he didn't have time to take a brush to it, he finally notices what she looks like. Jeez, she's been put through the wringer.

Something unusual rises up in the back of his mind, an emotion he doesn't really know what to do with. It's concern, though it's so foreign he can't even recognize it. His lips quirk into a small smile.]

What happened? Did you get involved in a war?

[Whatever she's been doing, it's clearly been active.]

No, but... well, a lot happened. [Where to start...] I made some new acquaintances, and went to a commune of sorts outside of the wall, and... something had killed off all these people, they were just lying around on the street. And well, that's why I was there, to speak to them. And as it turned out they were all poisoned, because this- I suppose it was some sort of dragon- anyway, it was living in the well and it was all slimy with this poison that was leaking out of its skin, so I suppose that's what poisoned everyone. And it was huge! [She raises her arms, starting to get more animated with the story and getting on her tip-toes in some attempt to explain exactly how big it was.] Nico had every corpse in the commune raised to fight it but it still wasn't enough, and it was a mother too, because its babies were around and I fought one of them. And it ripped up my tights, but I killed it. [This comes with a sort of vague motion of chopping its neck off with a sword - she's almost signing out her story as much as telling it now.] And... I got rather sick afterward, actually, but I don't think I was poisoned. I've just been... off balance.

[And around here she pauses, waiting for him to praise her or... maybe yell at her, she expects a bit of both. Any sane person would yell at her, but she hopes somewhere in there she's charmed him enough with her excitement that he won't be angry.]

[Ivar watches her, his face impassive and showing no emotion. Even his eyes look shuttered off, but she should be relieved that the iciness that accompanies his anger doesn't come. He shakes his head as she finishes, not exactly smiling.]

I don't know if you're the most foolish woman I've ever met or the most unpredictable.

[But she's not getting off just with one of his almost-insulting compliments.]

You really need to think these things through. What if you had gotten seriously hurt? Are you willing to risk your daughter?

I was helping people, Ivar.

[And this time she wasn't trying to help, she really did help. Still, she takes pause and her hands move nervously to her belly to run comforting circles over the fabric. She can't deny that Ivar has a point - if the mother dragon had gotten any closer to her...]

I didn't know it would be this big of a job when I went in. But I'm fine, and she's fine. [And there's a slightly pause here, until her eyes light up mischievously.] And if you're not careful I might start to think you're worried about us.

[Ah yes, the age-old flirtatious line shared by every Regis since... ever.]

Helping. Right.

[That's a healthy dose of sarcasm in his flat tone. He very well remembers what happened last time she decided to help him capture Skinfaxi. But she was alright and so was her child, so he couldn't chide her too much.

He's thankful it's dark, which hides the flush that spreads across his face at her flirting. He sounds a little more gruff as he protests.]

I'm not. I just would hate to see you die again from doing something stupid again. That would be what I would have to say at your funeral. "Here is Letha Regis. She died doing something stupid she shouldn't have been doing in the first place."

Edited 2017-04-19 02:56 (UTC)

[Her lips purse at his... what, attempt at a joke? It isn't funny, in any case. But she's heard so many quips like this, even before she proved them right, that she can almost brush it off.

Almost, but simply saying 'I won't die' has gotten old. She leans down, getting herself to eye level with him.] If I did die again, would you admit you missed me?

[Ivar holds her gaze steadily without saying a word. It's hard for any Viking to express their emotions and doubly so for him, the one who can't properly express how he feels. With most people, he feels such a disconnect, like they're less real than they should be. He wouldn't care if any of them died or if he'd decided to kill them. Letha is different. The feeling inside him when he's around her is something he can't put a name on yet.

Finally, he breaks eye contact with her, looking off to the side when he finally answers.]

I might.

So you would.

[You can't fool her, Ivar, she's grown up with nothing but cool and vague responses like this. The prickly moment fades, as if she was never bothered by it, and a smile spreads over her face. Although... it's tinted with a bit of nerves. For all this dance of theirs, she still hasn't gotten a clear grasp of his feelings for her. Just that he wants her safe, and would be sad if she died.]

I didn't just come here to brag. [She sort of blurts it out, trying to fill silence and clear out the thoughts in her mind.] I've been thinking- all day, about what you'd think of my fighting, and... I wanted you to be the first person I saw when I came back.

[Ivar doesn't even know how he feels about her himself. He enjoys her company and is usually happy to see her. Does he like her? Well, that's the hard part for him to grasp. He's never really felt this way about any woman before, so he's a bit blind as to what he's supposed to do or act. He's feeling his way through the dark here.]

I would have liked to see you going up against Jǫrmungandr's spawn.

[She was no shieldmaiden, but Ivar knew that she could handle a sword well enough. He reaches out, grasping the end of her ponytail between his fingers. He rubs them through her dark locks.]

[There's enough light, low as it is, that the red on her cheeks stands out against her pale skin. Ivar may be blind, but Letha has only one man to base her experience on and that may be a bit worse. Her feelings are stronger than they had been for Aristeo, and she's bolder knowing this is her choice... and it almost hurts that he seems to keep teasing her without making his stance known.]

You'll have to come along... the next time I try to dance with death.

[She reaches up to touch his hand, her fingers tracing over his skin before slipping into the spaces between his fingers. There's just a tiny moment of hesitation, before she guides him to touch her cheek instead. To touch her as much as he would let her convince him to.]

I'll need to be there to protect you. You'll do something stupid and I'll have to rescue you.

[Then she guides his hand up to her cheek. Part of him wants to flinch back. Part of him wants to trace every contour of her face until he knows it all. She's making it very clear how she feels about him. He's never had anyone show any interest in him. Always, he's just an object of pity. Frozen with indecision, he thinks of what his brothers would do with an attractive woman in the middle of the night. Then he discards most of what he remembers because he's not that bold. Still, he's got one thing he can do comfortably.

The hand on her cheek moves down to curl around her neck, gently pulling he closer to him. He uses his free hand to push himself a little out of the wheelchair so that he can rest his forehead against Letha's. His eyes close and he lets them rest that way.]

[When the gesture comes, she's not exactly sure where he's going with it. And when she catches on, it feels odd.. because she's never been the taller one involved. Not to mention it being a rare gesture in the first place, in Thornwell. Still, Ivar is being calm and affectionate, not just allowing her affection, and that's enough to make her heart flutter.

The angle is a little awkward for both of them - she's leaned down enough for her belly to pull her off-balance, and she doubts it's comfortable to hold himself out of his chair like that - so she pulls away slightly after a moment. As she does, her hands move to cup Ivar's cheeks, and she presses a kiss to his forehead. If only they were in bed, these affectionate touches would be more accessible... but she has no excuses to get him there. None except for how empty her bed feels now that she's had a taste of being beside him. Her cheeks are scarlet with that thought, as she stands back up and sort of lingers with her fingers affectionately tracing his skin.]

I trust you to protect me... more than anyone else.

[Ivar sinks back down into his wheelchair, his arms trembling a little, but not from the effort of holding himself up. That was a much more intimate moment than he's ever shared with a woman. Just pure sex didn't even come close to it.]

We should go back inside. It's late.

[It's a retreat, something that's a product of his mind not knowing how to deal with the situation at hand. When Ivar doesn't know how to deal with a situation, he has to think, analyze it, and approach it from all angles until he knows exactly what he's going to do. There's too many emotions involved right now and he has to dissect them.

Without waiting for Letha to answer, he turns his wheelchair in an abrupt manner that makes the wheels scrape harshly against the ground, and he goes back inside.]

[She knew Aristeo long enough to know those retreats by heart, but something still feels a bit heavy in her chest when he suddenly turns the chair and she has to pull her hands back to avoid the handles in the back hitting her.

She hates to be left alone like this, given time to analyze, and overanalyze, and panic, and think of every mistake she might have made. After being allowed such intimate affection, she knows she isn't going to sleep tonight.

The door is already closing behind Ivar by the time she thinks to go inside herself, so she silently lets him make his escape and wanders reluctantly to her own bed.]

It begins as a premonition. Just the feeling that someone's watching him as he wheels around town. Every time he turns to look, there's nothing there... but maybe every once in a while he'll catch a glimpse of dark hair or ribbons catching in the wind. Maybe he'll hear a giggle... right behind him.

Of course, Letha doesn't have the patience to keep out of his sight for very long. But she does seem to be playing a game of walking just behind his wheelchair, and running around to keep behind him each time he tries to turn the chair around. Ironically a disadvantage he only has because he isn't crawling.

Finally she's had her fun, and she pops up beside him to lean against the arm of the chair. She doesn't recognize him at all, but he looks like a storybook hero, and her eyes are shining with excitement. And he will see a little girl with a bright red ribbon in her curly black hair, dressed in the finest and gaudiest black dress that money can buy, green ribbons and silver trims lacing throughout it. And despite her rich appearance, her dress and knees have dirt and scuffs from running around and causing trouble.

"Why does your chair have wheels, mister?"

It seems, no matter when in her life she met Ivar, her first impression was doomed to be an insensitive comment about his condition.

Ivar's got no patience with kids. Maybe if he hadn't been at the tail end of his brothers, he'd be more used to the runts, but unlike Ubbe and the rest, he's never had to contend with younger siblings. So he's really not amused by the glimpses he keeps catching of a little girl with clearly nothing better to do with her time than follow after someone who wants nothing to do with her.

When she finally pops up next to him, he stops moving. Where are her parents so he can properly chew someone out about letting their child bother someone who just wants to be left alone? Well, it looks like she's a free-range child, so he's on his own. He's in the wheelchair that Ronan made for him, which means black and it's covered in spikes, looking quite like he's going to impale anyone who gets too close.

His voice is completely deadpan and dry with sarcasm as he answers. "They're for running over the toes of cheeky little girls who ask stupid questions."

"Well then, if I see any I'll warn them."

She says this with a cheeky grin, fully aware of what he meant and simply ignoring it. Her curiosity is far more important than his comfort, as far as she's concerned.

"Are you very lazy? Or do your legs not work? Have you hurt anyone with it before? Wouldn't it look better with skulls on the wheels? Then it would truly be a threat. Oh! Are you a guard? Or are you simply very rude? My brother says it's very prudent for guards to be rude. But most of my family are rude without needing to be. You seem like a guard, though."

It seems she'll be happy to keep rattling off questions and unimportant facts until he stops her.

"Don't you have anything better to do than bother me?" Ivar groans. But apparently she doesn't as the nuisance begins to rattle off a list of questions a mile long. He waits for her to run out of breath so that he can get a word in edgewise. And waits. And finally, Letha stop for the briefest moment. What a nosy, impudent little child.

"My legs don't work, and if you ask any other questions about them, I really will run your feet over," he snaps out, voice brittle with anger. "And I'm a Perimeter Guardsman, so I can act however the hell I want, because I'm what's keeping your idiot self safe from the monsters that want to eat you."

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