#rp partner | kjollsmithr

[devoutpriest]

kjollsmithr:

“ hm, SOMETIMES yes, sometimes NO. ” an EMPTY answer, words as AIR (as the BREATH of the trickster, of LOPTR) — floki knows it has not answered the priest’s question, and yet, why SHOULD he? is he BEHOLDEN only because he has drawn close to ragnar? he imagines that ragnar would want them NOT to clash SPARKS off each other, but RAGNAR wants MANY things he cannot have, and floki CARES not for making idle CHATTER with an ÚTLENDR, a foreign one who is NOT of them and whose voice, though he speaks their LANGUAGE passably well now, is still LITTERED with the SHRAPNEL of saxon blood, likening to these saxon soldiers who sneered at their runes, he fighting as a soldier with ragnar to bring peace and prosperity and protection to their village. the utlendr was not a viking warrior, he did not think valholl would think he one, the high one would not think that. for one who is not attuned to THEIR gods — IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR KINDNESS, PRIEST, he wants to say, the storm of thundering in his tree body, SCATHING and SHARP of tongue and gleaming COLD of ferine eye, "YOU WILL NOT FIND IT HERE." he shouts sudden, as athelstan continues to smile at his girl, and now wears a norse arm ring, he seeing ragnar give it to after their first battle together. The spit flying acrid from his mouth, and anger in his eyes. "BE GONE FROM HERE, I HAVE NO GENTLENESS TO OFFER YOU, I AM NOT A GOOD MAN, I AM A BEAST IN MAN’S SKIN AND THERE IS NO SOFT PLACE TO LAND AMONG MY BONES, LEAVE THIS PLACE, GO BACK TO YOUR MASTER WITH YOUR TAIL BETWEEN YOUR LEGS."

perhaps THAT is his struggle — that ATHELSTAN is KIND, still, and that FLOKI is NOT, and that against ALL sense, to his great and GNAWING chagrin, he can SEE why ragnar LIKES the priest so much, and it draws his spit acrid and VILE into his mouth. "AM I TO CALL YOU BROTHER, PRIEST, BECAUSE RAGNAR CARES FOR YOU? I HAVE BEEN HERE, I HAVE KNOWN RAGNAR, MUCH LONGER THAN YOU, ...AND YOU CANNOT TEAR UP MY ROOTS AND... DISPLACE ME WITH SOFT WORDS AND PRETTY EYES." he and ragnar planted and cultivated their farm in the village, watered the plants when the roots were drying. “ do YOU always ask so many questions, priest? ”

Such an EVASIVE answer, teasing it was, but that was Floki’s nature after all. It was one that Athelstan could not glean much from, to continue this conversation that he was attempting, with Floki.

He notes Floki's expression go darker as they spoke, even with his girl at his side, her blonde hair like flickering golden flames in the lit sconces in the fire brackets placed in the wall.

“Does it depend on his mood?” He held the impression that Floki did not wish to speak as much with him, as–well, with Ragnar and the others.

“I…”

He is momentarily without words, Why–Floki was stubborn, uncensored, to a certain point. He hears a guttural sound at length from the other as his hands tremble, cutting into the palm of his hand. he knows from norse linguistic it meant ; an anger of invasion. Leaning back in shock at the violent words scritching through the walls of the boatbuilder's body. His body was shaking with anger, the other, alluding athelstan to be an animal.

“Not always, no," his voice trembles, as he whispers. "I only wish to seek to get to know you better. Without all this animosity between us. I do not wish to get between you and ragnar."

[devoutpriest]

kjollsmithr:

head ANGLES atop neck’s column, akin to the eagle that flies across valholl's plains, rolling IDLY betwixt half-wiry, half-SKELETAL shoulders, leaving some vaguely PREDATORY echo in the wake of the gesture, reverberating albeit IMPLICIT; yet, perhaps for helga’s sake, or PERHAPS for his own, floki does not SNAP — reaches, at least, for a SUPERFICIAL IMITATION of aff- -ability, stemming from the GENTLED curl of helga’s fingers at his KNEE, their language without words. BE NICE. they spoke non-verbally in words and actions, her hands soft. SLIGHT tremor in his exhale is a response of its own, THAT MAY REQUIRE ME TO BE SOCIABLE, he thinks -- angry at this stranger for showing affection to his girl, but after a beat or two of RISKY, untrustworthy heart he does nod, at least APPEAR to ease off minutely, GRASPING at the mask he needs must wear, here, and SMOOTHING it onto the harsher, WILDER set of his features, the kohl he dappled onto his face from draugr.

“ mm, it is said, ” he concedes, a statement of FACT more than aught else — PERHAPS read as a certain false and GUILEFUL modesty, in the absence of OVERTLY expressed pride, but floki does not LINGER, does not dwell. (the PRIEST will think what he WISHES — floki has his boats, and helga, and his TRUER friends, and the opinions of a wayward, LOST, christian are little or NOTHING to him.) he hates the christian for the persecution of their kind, they reading their tome called the bible and setting forth with their flaming torches to burn ancient temples and altars the aesir blessed on plains like idavoll. still, a PART of him notes the slightly irksome OBVIOUSNESS of the statement — who ELSE but HE would build such ships, he who has had sawdust and splinters littering his hands, his skin, since he had BARELY reached the age of ten-and-two, he who KNOWS the depth and speed of their waters, the rocks that LITTER the shore, how broad and sturdy a sail must be to SEIZE their northern winds and make BEST use of them? (albeit, in the SAME breath, the vague irony that kattegat’s boatbuilder is as INTIMATE with the seas as he might be with a lover, yet cannot SWIM, HARDLY escapes his notice. he likes the beauty of the sea, feels the waves as he sails on his ship. ) “ thor may beat his anvil, but he takes more PLEASURE than you might think from ships that do not BREAK. ”

SUCH MODESTY… Was it not? Each time that he thought to speak to Floki, while he suspected evident suspicion on him, there was also an aura of mystery shrouded within as well.

When Athelstan thought to do so, he once or twice examined the boats more carefully, admiring the intricacies woven into them, to be so immensely sturdy. “True. It’s almost like a TEST of strength, isn’t it?”

The mention of Thor made a wry smile form across his lips. Thor was felt most POWERFULLY, rattling his bones to the core now, the god of thunder and rain, an ambiguous yet welcomed force to be RECKONED with, descended from the almighty Heavens, just like what he used to feel with God.

“Does he oft like to beat his anvil–that is, create wild, unrelenting storms–when your boats are out in sea?”

[devoutpriest]

kjollsmithr:

the HOLD of floki’s eyes between dark lashes and shadowed, diluted kohl may seem CALMED enough — he is SOFTENED as yet, COMPARATIVELY speaking at least, by helga’s STEADYING at his side, and WHEEZES his laughter, his pointed jibes, as well as ever when in company; but the air of a patient, POISED beast may yet LINGER in the shadows woven around elusive, RECLUSIVE, frame when he grows quiet, RETREATS into himself. (whether he IS the beast or only EMBODIES him for other, greater, ends — THAT needs must be answered in the mind of the PERCEIVER.) in between PLAYFUL retorts and CLINKING tin of wrought mugs, mugs of soup wine ; and eating chicken with his hands, bearded lips TWITCHING diversion, some part of him more DISTANT watches the scene entire from a corner nearer to the ceiling — silent, STILL as some gaunt GARGOYLE; and perhaps there is something UNSETTLING, intentionally or not, in the SUDDEN flick of his eyes toward athelstan’s address, ABRUPT movement when he shifts to meet hollow, IDLE chatter,

as though TUGGED at his spine and shoulders by some INVISIBLE skein of thread of his OWN making. (he sees the DOUBT in athelstan’s mind now between ONE god and SEVERAL, and THAT sets floki just as wary as the other’s closeness to ragnar, and the WARMTH with which the former priest greets helga when given half the chance. not a JEALOUS man by nature, not without PROVOCATION, but still his thought is LESS than charitable, albeit unspoken — SHE IS STILL MY WIFE, PRIEST.) He recognises athelstan's rough attempts at speaking norse, it sounding foreign to his ears. “ as well as it ever goes, ” he returns, even so — SUPERFICIALLY affable enough, even perhaps teasing, but LURKING beneath his tone is something BARBED and PROWLING as yet; he trusts ATHELSTAN no more than athelstan trusts HIM, and has FEW qualms in making that adequately evident to any and all concerned. “ BETTER than your SMALL TALK, hm, PRIEST? ”

“Heh,” He breathes in mild amusement, Floki didn’t seem to have changed at all, speaking what came to his mind, a brutal yet HONEST truth this was.

The boat-builder was DIFFICULT, whereas others seemed to take Athelstan in more readily, with the foremost being Ragnar and Gyda.

Even, he felt more comfortable around Floki’s Helga, she was sweet, and did not seem to harbour any ill will for him no longer, if she’d EVEN held them at first. And he now smiles more gently, GENUINELY to her, seeing her happy smile ; he inclining his head towards her, before looking back at Floki.

How--HOW could he make Floki see that choosing gods wasn’t all that simple, it wasn’t a matter of black and white like Athelstan used to think.

He now no longer felt like these Pagan Gods were FALSE, as previously thought & to be left to the devils to worship.

“That is true,” He now admitted, smiling as if agreeing to the rather craftily well made jab. “You have me there.”

“I am pleased to hear that it’s going well, though, in any case. You were the one who built all these boats to withstand POWERFUL storms across the sea, in MULTIPLE occasions, I hear.”

[devoutpriest]

kjollsmithr.

ATHELSTAN COULD SENSE THE SUSPICION rising off in waves, from this intriguing Trickster. Apparently carefree demeanour aside, he giggling mischievously through his painted face, there was a SERIOUS undertone to him.

To be honest, Athelstan was quite scared of Floki, still. No, that wasn’t the right word. More, on EDGE, YES, that was it. Should he shake his hand in initial meet? As he then shook his head quickly, remembering the other had a skapraun disdain for Christian ways. Ragnar trusted Floki though, but Athelstan just couldn’t quite yet.

Even with more extensive knowledge of the Pagan language now, Athelstan COULDN’T shake off the feeling that Floki was WATCHING carefully, waiting for him to slip up.

And now, he attempts a smile towards Floki, although if it looked forced, he did not know.

“How is the boat-building going for the skipför, Floki?”