sixthiterationlogs | sjaldan er ein báran stök

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sjaldan er ein báran stök - there seldom is a single wave

WHO: Ubbe Ragnarsson
WHERE: Fountain, Inn, Around the south village, probably the greenhouse, too.
WHEN: Week of January 18th - 22nd
OPEN TO: Arrival closed to Margaery - OTA after that
WARNINGS: Narrative of a drowning

Arrival, Fountain; Locked to Margaery Tyrell

Ubbe can't remember when things started feeling different, just that after a hard, uncertain swallow after challenging King Frodo in one to one combat things went pitch black and suddenly time seemed to speed up. Or was it stopping? He couldn't tell. Soon enough, it didn't matter because a memory played out in his mind like it was happening all over again.

Ubbe, Hvitserk.. stop

But they don't and after a few more feet they look back; a crack resonates before they plunge into icy cold water. He sees her face and as she pushes him to the surface, Ubbe's face breaks the surface just as he does in the fountain, letting out a loud gasp while a hand reaches for something. Anything.

Around town/Inn

Being told he's in a different world wasn't completely grasped. It's an impossible notion, more like a dream. Perhaps a trick. Yes, a trick. But by who? The gods? Was this something Loki, the cunning trickster of the Aesir, was responsible for? Yet, why? And why only him? Where was Torvi and Alfred? Where were the Danes? Where was here?

Ubbe wanders and takes in the structures grouped like the huts in Kattegat. Inside them are as confusing as the outside, with machines that make heat and boxes that contain winter within them. He passes a large see-thru building with plants inside, equally as unsure before entering a Great Hall which looks nothing like one inside. And then the band on his wrist makes a noise and he stares at it.

He's not sure what he's done to upset the gods, but clearly, this is a punishment of some sort.

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Was it luck or fortune that had her close by when the stranger suddenly appeared in the water? As soon as he started struggled, she was quick to pull him up towards the surface, guiding him to the side of the fountain, becoming as damp as he was. She bit her lip, hauling him over the edge until they were both falling back against the snow.

Margaery let out a gasp as the cold air touched her wet arms, shivering beneath her cloak. It had been forgotten in the heat of the moment, her concern for the new arrival outweighing the temperature that she was still struggling to get used to. When she could finally catch her breath, she turned to look over at the young man that she had helped from the fountain. He was large and burly, a Northern looking warrior. What stood out most was his piercing blue eyes, reminding her of another Northerner she had known here.

"Come," she said, getting to her feet, damp now from head to toe. "There is a fire at my home nearby. You can get warm, I imagine you have questions."

Edited 2019-01-18 21:58 (UTC)

Coming to was quite the challenge, even with the feel of the woman's hand on his arm and when he opened his eyes Ubbe expected to see Siggy, the woman who gave her life to save both his and his brother's life. She even looked a little like her once he blinked enough times until her face came into clear focus.

He knew he was beyond cold and before getting up he instinctively wrapped around him to keep from shuddering too badly, but it was too late for that. The thin material he wore might as well have been nothing as he looked to the woman unsurely. She didn't even look familiar to him as being someone from Winchester.

But she had a fire and so he slowly got up, struggling a little as he did and followed her.

"I do not know this place. Am I still in Wessex?" he stammered, getting colder by the second.

She was dressed in her usual garb, a woolen gown (grey like her scrubs color) and her fur lined white cloak. In winter, it was imperative for her to abandon the seductive styles of the Reach for something more practical. And when it was something she crafted herself, it didn't matter how plain it was, it felt like the silk dresses she had enjoyed once.

Margaery was quick to slip off her cloak, holding it out for him to wrap around himself. It didn't matter that she was damp and soaked as well. Her clothes were still better layered than the scrubs they arrived in. He would need her cloak if the wind decided to pick up.

"No, not Wessex. Is that where you are from?" It sounded like a realm from her own world. "I don't know exactly where we are, only that we are bought here by powerful beings we call 'the Others'. This is another realm, another world."

He took the cloak, perhaps a little too quickly and made a vague sound to convey that he was. At least it was now. Kattegat was no longer his home, his mother and at least one brother dead, the other a ruthless King and then another who followed him. Maybe Hvitserk was dead, too, though he was sure he would have gotten word about that if he was.

As Ubbe followed, the cloak was twisted around and placed over his shoulders, only to realize that there was something attached to his back. As he turned and shifted to see what it was, he asked.

"That does not make any sense. How can you be somewhere and not know where you are?"

It sounded like madness when she reflected on it, but after so long in the village, it wasn't something she paused over any longer. It had been a fact of her life for over two years, though she couldn't explain it beyond this simple statement. They were in another world, but by unknown figures.

"You will find that out for yourself soon." It wasn't an easy thing to stomach, but what choice did she have? She had fought against the Others before and tried to find the reason they were here, but after losing so many, she stopped caring.

"I wish I had more answers for you. It's a strange place where strange things happen."

The thought of an unseen threat left Ubbe as uncomfortable here, right now, as it would if it were happening on a battlefield. So, no. It was not an easy thing to stomach and it was handed to him just like that - cut and dry. That was something he couldn't accept, or understand even given how long the woman had been there for.

It's a strange place where strange things happen.

Ubbe repeated the words silently inside his head. That he could believe having arrived the way he did. What was it exactly that he was wearing? And what was the thing on his back? Everything was beyond strange. But despite that, he found himself asking anyway.

"Yeah? In what way?"

Aside from the obvious? Her amused look asked that silent question. The arrival was strange in itself, but it was hardly a warning for what was to come. There was no preparation for that, and as the methods of the Observers often changed, she couldn't fully predict what they abandoned or what they might use again.

"The plants and animals are like noting you will have seen before." There was that, at least. "Beyond that, odd events occur. Once many people disappeared and reappeared in another part of the forest. We sometimes receive visions or face monstrous creatures."

It sounded more thrilling than it actually was, especially for someone simply trying to survive. "These devices," she turned her wrist towards him, "they sometimes play images of your life on them."

Plants and animals seemed to be the least of his worries, but there had been some skepticism in hearing how people could disappear and reappear elsewhere - no doubt someone's eyes deceiving them. Yet, it would be a lie if he were to say the device on his wrist hadn't made him leery. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

"How can it do that?" he questions, looking at it. Given the absence of answers up to this point, Ubbe knows that probably can't be answered either. So, he shakes his head, clearly overwhelmed and not sure how to even take this all in.

He knows he can't be there for long. Not when there was an army of Danish Vikings moving in to attack.

"Where are you from? Does any of this exist there?"

Thor's taking one of his daily strolls around the village (normally to visually check to see if there is anything that needs immediate attention the forge and its wielders can provide) when he catches sight of a dark green creature moving around. It doesn't take much for him to realize it's another villager, and by the looks of it, a new one. He keeps his distance, knowing that there's a sort of panic that often settles down on the shoulders of those who've just stepped foot in the village, but he keeps an eye on the man as he moves around, pretending to be following a similar route of inspection.

This eventually leads them to the Inn, for which Thor is grateful. It's a place of welcoming, of invitation. There are hearths to warm one's self, food to satiate hunger, and company that's never been anything but pleasant.

As he draws closer, there's something .. strikingly familiar about him. Not that he's met this stranger before, but that there is something about his mannerisms or the way he carries himself that stirs up long-lost and long-forgotten memories, buried deep in the back of Thor's mind. He can't quite place it - after all, it's hard to parse one singular thing from over 1,500 years' worth of memories - but he finds the familiarity encouraging. After a few more minutes of observation, as if on instinct, he offers the stranger:

"Góðan daginn" in greeting as he draws nearer. Surprised by his sudden use of a language he's not used in over a thousand years, he blinks and smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that." He lets out a quiet chortle. He doesn't feel embarrassed but rather confused. With a slight dismissive shrug, he continues, "I can't help but notice that you're a recent arrival. It is a lot to take in when you first get here, but I was shown a great many kindness from the others in the village. I'd very much like to continue that tradition. Can I get you something to eat?"

Ubbe, though he's had very little trouble understanding people, feels something is incredibly off for more than the obvious reasons. The language that he speaks, for example, feels false and yet, trying to explain that to anyone makes him feel mad. He speaks, people speak back. But it feels.. wrong.

So when his attention is pulled by a greeting that feels very much right when it hits his ears, Ubbe finds himself almost grinning. This was someone from his world. Well, almost.

Oh, was he in for a big surprise.

"Ah!" Ubbe moves closer, looking over the other man, holding out an arm to take Thor's forearm. It's that kind of hospitality that he would show towards another Norseman so he gives a solid nod. "Good, though drink would be better."

A lot of drink would make the last couple of days far more tolerable. Ubbe motions to lead the way.

"Why do you apologize for speaking our language?"

Thor reciprocates, gripping at the forearm with ease. It's his preferred method of greeting, long engrained in him from when the gods learned and incorporated the ways of the Vikings into their own livelihoods. He goes through these motions with fluidity and comfortability, as though they're all second nature to him. And, in essence, they are. He'd only started doing fist bumps and high fives and all of that after spending time on Midgard and with the Avengers.

This feels much more like home to him.

"Drink would be welcomed," he starts, voice wistful, "but unfortunately, there's .. really none to be had here." Thor's as disappointed as he imagines his new friend will be at the news. "Though there is a villager here who has learned to distill her own vodka. I've asked her for her assistance in trying to create mead, so long as I can gather the honey. And so long as the honey doesn't cause something weird to happen, like hallucinations or turning purple or something." He vaguely gestures with his had in the air, quasi dismissively. "You know, to be honest, I .. haven't used that greeting in .." He exhales, cheeks puffing out, as he motions for the man to take a seat by the fire. He occupies the one opposite it. "I don't know, over a thousand years or something like that. But there's something about you that .. I don't know .. it's like to picked it out of my brain, like those weird ... claw machine games that Midgardians love so much, even though they're the most frustrating and futile activity."

Disappointment is quite the understatement. Ubbe has never gone somewhere that didn't have at least wine, which seems to be the drink of choice everywhere you go in the kingdom of England. Matter of fact, he can't remember the last time he had a decent horn of mead and that also lends to this sad, unfortunate let down.

Ubbe shakes his head, clearly unsure of what this 'vodka' is. But that wasn't where the baffled look on his face would shift into understanding. No, Thor was doing an excellent job of basically speaking an entirely new and very foreign language.

And the interesting part was that he could understand most of the words.

The son of Ragnar turned his head slowly and stared at Thor. Thousands he could compute. It was the rest that...

"Did you mean to say a thousand, friend?"

Edited 2019-01-22 04:21 (UTC)

“I did!” Thor replies, seemingly unaffected by the implications of such a long life span. If he had a tail, it’d wag itself clean off at the use of “friend.” He blinks a few times, cheerful grin still plastered to his face, as he looks across at the confused man opposite him. It’s only after a few seconds that he realizes why “a thousand” might seem strange to the average mortal, and he lets out an amused chortle, shaking his head at his own ignorance. “Ah, yes, now I see why you were probably unsure if you heard me correctly. You see, I am about 1,500 years old! So a thousand is only .. 2/3 of that? Is it 2/3? I have never been skilled at fractions. Well, anyway, I was 1,500 years old, last time I checked. This place might’ve reset that number back to zero or done something equally as odd.”

He gives that information a second to sink in before suddenly standing.

“Ah, right, no drink to be had, but let me get you something to eat. Hang on, BRB,” he says, starting to wander away before leaning back to explain, “That means “be right back.” ... I’ll be right back.” He goes and grabs the man a bowl of the day’s stew - something rabbit-related, he’d guess, and returns with two bowls and spoons. He holds one set out to the stranger and keeps the other for himself, sitting down in his chair carefully. “It’s very hot, but it’s also very good.” He has since learned to pace himself when it comes to gobbling down food. “Oh, I’m Thor, by the way,” he offers with a friendly lilt and smile, in between rough blows of air onto the bowl of steaming stew. “I don’t have all the answers, but I will do my best to answer whatever questions you might have.”

Edited 2019-01-22 16:55 (UTC)

Poor Ubbe could do nothing but listen. And listen. And keep listening. There's a lot to take in, mostly where it comes to the man's age. As far as he knows, the only ones that could live that long were the...

Gods.

Wait, what?

The spoon he had been holding out for inspection was dropped and Ubbe's fell open a little bit and his eyes grew wide. He didn't just call himself Thor, did he? Though it sounded like it, it could not have been him. Why would he come here? Why would he walk among the people who were trapped here? Ubbe's brow furrowed.

"If you are who you say you are, why do you wish to be here and not among the other Aesir?"

Thor's already trying to bargain with the piping-hot stew in his lap, attempting to take tiny sips and being alarmed, every time, that it's still too hot to eat. He blows out a few puffs of air when he remembers to, but being susceptible to the temperatures of foods is still something with which he's coming to grips. He's hungry, and he only knows that in order to stop the hunger, he must eat. His mouth and tongue hurting while attempting to do so is still a bizarre phenomenon for him.

"Oh, your spoon!" he exclaims, carefully balancing his own bowl of stew in order to lean down and pick up his new friend's utensil. He's concentrating particularly hard on both of these things at the same time, and when he sits back up with the retrieved spoon in-hand and also a dry, not-spilled-on lap, he beams brightly. He holds the spoon out to his friend. His smile fades a bit at the mention of the other Aesir.

"Believe me, I would return to Asgard if it were an option presented to me," he explains with a gentle sigh. "In fact, I was on my way back to Asgard in an attempt to save my people from my stupid sister and Ragnarok when I wound up here instead. It's a long story having to do with the Devil's Anus, and the Grand Master, and my brother, and all of these other things. I have tried calling out for Heimdall and the Bifrost, but he has yet to hear me. Either I do not exist where he is and so he cannot locate me, or—" Thor stops himself, glancing to the stew in his bowl. He still cannot let himself entertain the idea that the worst may have befallen his best friend, his people .. all at the hands of his sister. "Well, to answer your question, I didn't ask to come here, nor did I wish to, but I am at the mercy of whomever's brought you here, just as you are."

He desperately wants to understand; his mind trying hard to take everything in where it comes to the larger situation. But also at the power that can bring in the Gods. Rather one of them. Certainly, if it can get Thor here, it can get the others here, Baldur and Freya, even Tyr. What about Odin?

Could this be a trick played on them by Loki? No, it couldn't be, why would the Trickster bring him there? Or any of the others he had met so far. Though, if Ubbe really thought about it, that explanation was the best one yet. The mention of Ragnarok only makes things worse. Had it happened? Was that the reason they were all brought here?

Ubbe puts the spoon down and looks into the steaming bowl like it held answers.

"And that is it then?" he finally looked up, a fierceness in his eyes that wasn't there a moment ago. "You plan to just sit and wait for someone to find you. You are Thor! Do something!"

Thor's spoon is halfway between his bowl and his mouth when his friend finally begins speaking again, and his eyes glance over to him to see a fire in his gaze that takes the Aesir by surprise. He still can't quite put his finger on why this man seems so familiar, that itch at the back of his mind still gently tapping on his skull, but the strength in the man's gaze is a bit more of a struck match in the dark. Thor finally puts things together, especially as the man continues talking.

His new friend knows of him. Of the other Aesir. And not in a way that suggests he'd heard stories at some point in his life as some of the others humans he'd met on Midgard, but rather in a way that suggests a .. deeper belief. The passion in his voice, the incredulity and encouragement at the God of Thunder and Lightning struggling to eat hot soup and not do something greater, better in an attempt to escape or, at the very least, understand what's brought them all here ..

The match grows until it's a blaze in Thor's mind, and his expression slowly changes into one of utter delight and euphoria like the rising of the dawn. He nearly drops his food in his excitement.

"You! You're a Viking!" Thor exclaims, spilling some of the hot liquid onto his lap. He lets out a string of profanities in Old Norse as he clamors to place the bowl down on the small end table beside him, then shakes his hands off to both cool them and get rid of the spilled soup still coating his skin. "That's why — I was sitting here, thinking and wondering to myself why you seemed so familiar, like I'd met you before or something. Which is weird, right? Because how could I have met you before? I mean, there are people here that I knew from my life before I came through the bunker, but I didn't recognize your face or anything, and yet I felt like I knew you somehow. But now I get it! You're a Viking! I can't speak for all of the Aesir, but I loved you guys! You were all so tough and strong and scary! In a good way! — Intimidating, that's the word! But in a good way!" He can't stop grinning from ear to ear. "But you're right, I am Thor .. and you'd think that would mean something here." He glances up with a roll of his eyes directed towards their captors. "As it is, my stupid sister, Hela, destroyed Mjolnir before I arrived, but —I've been stripped of my powers even so. My brother, Loki, is here, as well, but his powers have also been taken. It seems that all who've arrived here have been turned mortal, if they weren't already."

The reaction is one that could have scared Ubbe out of his seat, but it was also one that was pretty appropriate given it was Thor. And yet, there's a perplexed look on the Viking's face that spells out a vague sense of confusion. Mostly in that his god, the one God he admired most as a young boy and who he wanted to be as strong as, was nothing like what he imagined him to be. Not the son of Odin that came to tell him of the death of his father, Ragnar.

But he was Thor! There couldn't be more than one of each of the Gods, could there?

It was fixating on that thought that Thor speaking of Hela and Loki that once more, Ubbe stares at the God in certain befuddlement.

"Hel," he pauses for a long second, trying his best to work it out in his head. Vibrant blue eyes move to Thor, one brow knitted together with the other. "Is your.. sister?"

Another beat.

"Not the daughter of Loki?"

Thor, you're about to see someone have an existential crisis. Choose your words wisely from here.

When excited, Thor can't help but ramble a little bit, but seeing his new friend's reaction makes him fall silent. He realizes that he's perhaps shared a tad too much, a tad too quickly, and he can't help but feel sympathetic. He knows it's all a lot to take in, and Odin knows that if it hadn't have been Bruce who found him in the Bunker, Thor would've lost his mind.

So when Thor catches sight of that perplexed expression, he purses his lips, willing himself to stay quiet to allow the man enough time to sort through whatever it is he needs to sort through. Thor's met enough of the others to know that there are quite a few stories about him that have survived through the centuries, though he's not sure if that's what's happening here. Or what stories this man might be trying to reconcile in his silence.

"—Oh," Thor starts. It's his turn to try and untangle the mess in his brain. "She's— Uh, she's—" He can easily tell that he's treading on precarious ground. The poor man looks as though he's one word away from complete disaster, and Thor would like to avoid that at all costs. "Hel and Hela may— they may be two different people?"

Leonardo has been exploring every part of the villages he can. He is very intrigued by how little life is in the north side, but he is thankful as it means he's staked out his new workshop at the forge there. The other one is very busy, wonderfully so!, but he likes his own space. He just has to figure out what to actually do with the space and what projects to start. But he does like going for walks to clear his mind, even if it is still beyond cold here compared to what he's used to.

The painter spots another another man on his way out of the greenhouse, which is wonderfully well kept, and since he is always friendly, he smiles and waves. "Greetings!" This whole place is so strange and wondrous to him, but Leonardo has found that the people in it are beyond fascinating. Each one has a story and a world that he wishes to crack open and dissect.

Not many, up until that point, had stopped to talk with the Viking, Ubbe noticed. The ones who had surprised him with their hellos were offered a nod in return or, depending on how modern the greeting was, been altogether ignored, though not on purpose.

It's the wave that catches his attention out of the corner of his eye and Ubbe slowly turns to look on his other side, wondering if the man was speaking to someone else; to which the Viking turned back and called out.

"Are you speaking to me?"

"Yes, signore, you, hello!" Leonardo took the time now to catch up with Ubbe, as he was a far distance behind, and he was not as quick on his feet. He did have a habit of meandering slowly, lost in thought. He was clothed in a jacket, a hat, gloves, and a scarf, almost overdone in how properly he was prepared for this weather. His face was still rosy red, because no amount of layers truly kept him warm. It would take time.

"Are you new? You are looking around as I did, with fresh eyes." Leonardo observed people well, outside of when he read them horribly wrong, but he assumed the better end of the two options whenever possible. "I am Leonardo."

He was truly missing the furs he'd wear back home. The wool coat Ubbe wore now felt tight on him, didn't have a hood and wasn't doing much to deflect the chill. It all made the Viking that much more frustrated with this new situation.

"Ubbe," he sniffed and went back to look at one of the houses. "Looking around doesn't make any of this make sense. No one has answers, either."

Well, he got an explanation that nothing around here made much sense. It seemed to be the answer to every question.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ubbe!" He had a truly impressive profile that Leonardo admired when he looked to the side. He was quick to observe and admire people's faces, as his creative mind never stopped painting even without any ability to do it. No brushes, no paper, no paint, only his imagination, but that he had in abundance.

"No, not any answers that make sense. For example, we are in the future! Time travel is possible. There are extraordinary beasts with biological capabilities I have never seen." His eyes were wide, his tone enthusiastic since he found their situation very curious. "There are cats that intoxicate your body through a touch. It's truly incredible. Also have you seen the electricity? The lights that have no need for fire?"

Truly, this must all be magic, but magic and science were very similar.

A lot of the things that made Leonardo excited were items Ubbe was not exactly eager yet to explore more of; his mind still occupied with the larger situation. Sure, there had been plenty of people who had done their best to explain, including Thor, one of his Gods, but they all seemed so.. at ease with the upheaval.

"I do not understand any of it. That or this," he motioned around them. "What sort of power has the ability to do any of this that isn't the Gods. Is this a reward? A punishment?"

Ubbe shook his head, clearly not of the same mind as the man standing next to him.

Leonardo considered the question seriously. For all his enthusiasm, he was a philosopher and scientist, so he did think about the bigger picture occasionally. It was simply so much for him, and he was only able to take one thing at a time. "I suppose the answer would be an entity more powerful than the deities we know. Perhaps the deity of the deities?" He had never really gone that far before, because while he was not religious, he did believe in God and/or a higher power.

He winced. "I can feel the church's displeasure from here. They would strike me down for such blasphemy." But they were not there, and he was free in many ways. And confined and controlled in many others. Leonardo hoped to return home soon, for all the gloriousness of this unexpected visit.

"I can see this being a reward, but only if everyone was from a very bad place before, my friend Alistair had that problem. And a punishment, most certainly, for those of us who have a life waiting for us." Leonardo therefore had no helpful answer at all. It was a shame. "There was a theory that we are scientific created versions of ourselves and not real, but that seems very unlikely.

Such talk is familiar to him and only recently so since arriving in Wessex. Alfred spoke of the church and his God and Christianity often enough that he learned while in the company of the King. And of course, he had lessons once he and Torvi were baptized into the faith.

"But how do we not know unless we let our minds consider that possibility? Does your God not permit you to be curious?"

He knows his Gods could see his converting to Christianity as abandoning them but he also knows that his Gods would never leave him. He still felt close to them in ways not many would understand.

Ubbe shook his head, not understanding what this "scientific created versions" of themselves meant.

"What do you mean?"

Leonardo smiled wryly. "Well, the Church certainly does not encourage curiosity, no. They want obedience." He was no fan of the church, despite living in its home country, and adhering to the laws that are religious-bound. Laws that kept him from living his own way, but that was how these things went sometimes. "The Bible does implicate that God wants obedience as well, despite giving man free will. The freedom to pick, but hopefully pick what is acceptable to him. Or so they say."

He shook his head. "One can ask the question all the same. If an entity exists, certainly someone must have created it, and so on, and so forth. Can it spring out of nothingness? Most likely not, but who knows. It is far beyond our certainty."

Leonardo didn't understand it much either, so he frowned, furrowing his eyebrows, considering. "They say there is a way for these people in charge to copy us. Create versions of us who look the same, act the same, think the same. As replacements."

Kat was in the green house when she noticed a shadow walking along its edge. It wasn't uncommon but she was finishing up and thought to investigate the image reflected in the glass. Winter was in full spring but the plants were trudging along thanks to the humid warmth of the green house.

She was dressed in a hoodie and a pair of shorts. Her hair was cropped around her shoulders while a star marked the center of her forehead. Kat was wearing shorts and beneath that a pair of black stockings that kept out some of the cold. Her boots came up to her knees while a bag rested around her waist.

She didn't exactly fit in with everything here but she was happy not to be wearing scrubs.

Kat pushed open the door of the glass house and paused when she spotted Ubbe. She didn't know him. "Hello. Were you going into the green house?"

He wasn't exactly sure where he was going or that he could even go in. It was a sight to behold and one that had him staring in wonder. How was it even possible to have a hall made completely of glass? Staring was hard not to do.

At least until he saw the young woman moving around inside. Ubbe watched until she came to the door and asked him the question.

He shook his head, clearly unsure of whether he was even allowed to go in. Was he interested in what was inside? Oh, yes. But the viking wasn't going to assume anything while being still brand new to the settlement.

Kat watched him, her brow furrowing at his head shake. It wasn't so unusual for her not to know someone but she was surprised when he didn't speak. Was he new? He seemed to understand her well enough.

"You're welcome to go inside. This is the green house for the inn. The glass allows more durable plants to grow through the winter." Kat had noticed that some of the gentler plants were weakening which was why she came out to check on them every day or every other day.

"Are you new?"

[ OOC: continued/reposted from tdm — lmk if you'd prefer any tweaks before bringing it over here! ]

There was an odd edge to the man's own language, the way the vowels and consonants fit in his mouth, the sound of someone who had only recently pulled English together. The accent wasn't close enough that she could immediately pinpoint its origin, since it was muddled through time or distance or both -- but that nagging familiarity still means she's glad that he asked.

"Sweden," Brigitte says; and then added for specificity, her voice canting into the melodic up-and-down lilt of her own language: "Göteborg. How about you, where are you from?"

[ Looks good to me! ]

It was hard for the Viking's eyes to not widen in interest at familiar names.

"I know it," Ubbe replied. "My mother, Aslaug, was from Götaland."

Saying the name brought her face back and he looks down, realizing he had almost forgotten what it looked like. "But I grew up in Kattegat."

Now, that threw her for a loop. Brigitte stopped her half-hearted working with the snow, and a snowball tumbled into the messy remains of her angel. She looked more closely at Ubbe, now sizing him up in a way she hadn't bothered doing before, the man catching her interest for an entirely unexpected reason.

No one she's met so far has been from her exact world, nor even a Sweden in any version of Earth. No one's even come close.

"Göteborg is right on the coast of the Kattegat," Brig blurted out in genuine surprise. She was even from the same place his mother was. "Men din accent låter annorlunda?" she added, switching into Swedish as she asked: But your accent sounds different?

On the coast of the Kattegat. Well, that didn't sound good for his birthplace. How had things changed so much that it was no longer the city he last remembered it.

His brow furrows. "Kattegat is in Norway," Ubbe tells her and after a beat pause, he looks away, eyes shifting distantly. "My brother, Ivar, is King."

At least for now, he is; his brother Björn was heading back to take it from him before Ubbe arrived there.

King Ivar. She doesn't remember the names of the Norwegian kings all that well, but even casting her mind back as far as she can, that name doesn't ring any bells. It had been impossible to tell Ubbe's origins at a glance, since they're all dressed the same in scrubs and scavenged clothes, but maybe...

His accent is so odd, all loose and muddled. It's like Middle English brought across to modern English: mostly recognisable and intelligible if you focus, but it's slightly off. So that makes Brigitte finally pause and ask, her head tilted: "What year was it? Where you're from."

A beat, then: "Wait, and does that make you a prince?"

There is something in the way Brigitte looks at him that feels as if she is as confused as he is. With the way she asks the question, Ubbe is certain that his answer isn't what she'll expect, especially given the calendar she's used to using. But before he can tell her, she was moving on.

"At one time. When my father was King of Norway." he sniffs, looking off into the trees remembering that day when his father returned some seven years after attacking Paris for the second time. "My father was Ragnar Lothbrok."

He looks back and sniffs indifferently.

That name, then, finally pings some faint and ancient recognition. She doesn't know those particular sagas quite as well, but--

"Oh," Brigitte says, with surprise noticeably seeping into her voice. "Then you're... old." After another beat, she realises how rude that sounded, and quickly clarifies: "No, not in that way, but... your time period is much older than mine, and I'm from your future, I guess? That's interesting."

'Interesting' is a massive understatement, but Brigitte's mind has crashed a little, trying to parse this. Most of the people she's met so far have been from a world entirely different from her own, or within seventy years of her or so. Not a thousand years removed.

Ubbe's brow furrows, clearly offended by being called old when he was only twenty-five years, even if he had married twice by the time he arrived in the settlement. Björn was much older than him and seen so much more of the world.

But at Brigitte's explanation, his brow didn't lift quite yet. There was still the matter of understanding what she meant by being from his future.

"How is that possible?" he dares to ask, knowing full well that might create more confusion to this otherwise baffling puzzle.

Brigitte shoots him a wry look, her boot scuffing slightly in the snow as she erases the edges of the angel she'd made, a little sheepish about the childishness of it, the fleeting moment of whimsy. "How is it possible for you to wake up drowning in a fountain, in a village with objects and tools you don't recognise the function of? A lot of impossible things can happen here. As best I can understand it, people are kind of... pulled here, to this place, from their own worlds."

A consideration, reaching for a metaphor that he might recognise:

"Like traveling between Midgard and Niflheim, or something. In the old myths?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

sjaldan er ein báran stök - there seldom is a single wave

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tdm continuation

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