[It isn't often Ivar gives into self-pity. He already has gotten enough of it from other people to last a lifetime. But the combination of mushrooms, alcohol, and his own mind seem to have played a cruel trick on him. Right now he just wants to wallow in the fact that apparently the gods must've forgotten to give him powers.]

Knives are something tangible that I can feel in my hand and throw. Exactly what am I supposed to do to conjure up magical powers, hmmm? Do you have some experience being a sorcerer in what I am sure is your colorful past?

[They've never spoken much of their time before they had arrived in Asgard, but Ivar's sure anyone as odd as Klaus has led a life that was never dull.]

Perhaps I am merely defective as I've always been.