Outside, late morning

[bigarmy_strangepants]

Today, a very, very drunken Viking is roaring around the lake on a bright red motorbike of aggressive angles and sleek curves. He mostly follows the path, but he also jumps over rocks and cheerfully skids in the mud.

In the morning, waking up still drunk from all the rum and vodka and whiskey of the night before, Ragnar felt the need to do something fun to forget how horrid everything is, just for the moment; and apparently, all the alcohol had given him access to some part of his lizard brain that remembers motorbikes, and how to ride them, from his other self. He had wandered down to the garage and happened on Jay's workshop, and immediately fell in love with the two red Ducati Paningale; and as there seem to be enough of them, it's probably not so bad if he borrows one?

So, now he is racing around the lake, his long braid flapping behind him, recklessly making his way up towards the mountains, and back towards the bar, rinse, repeat.

Of course, that only works for so long. In the end, Ragnar hits a rather big rock all wrong, and flies right into the lake together with the bike, making a big splash.

After a bit, a wet Viking comes swimming to the shore, largely unscathed; but the poor Duc is drowned and lost. Ragnar wades out to the shore and then wanders towards the bar to dry up and replenish the alcohol in his bloodstream.


[[OOC: Incident was arranged with Jay-mun -- and you can catch Ragnar while still riding around the lake, or after he comes out dripping wet.]]

(no subject)

[clayforthedevil]

Bahorel is sitting against a tree at the edge of the woods, jacket folded neatly beside him. He's facing the mountains, sketching the late-day shadows-- or what they might be if the mountains had a very odd city sprouting out of them. That the lighting is earlier in the day than it was when he went into the woods doesn't especially bother him; it only makes an interesting study.

His sleeves are rolled up and his arms are covered with scrapes that look like he's been arguing rather enthusiastically with the trees, but he's singing cheerfully bloody songs and in a very good mood.




((ooc: probably insta-slows, but open until morning!))

(no subject)

[hate_gettin_older]

At a table not too far from the bar, Edgar is glaring at his plate as though it's insulted him.

Seriously, what.

(no subject)

[onceholyknight]

Michael comes through the front door carrying a bundle in his free hand. It's made up of slashed and tattered grey wool, somewhat bloodstained, and what looks like the corners of soiled bandages poking out of it.

He heads straight for the fire and tosses it in, then sits down with a sigh.