milliways_bar | (no subject)

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A very tall, lanky Viking enters the bar.

Floki's first reaction is genuine surprise, because even though he's been here before, it's been at least four years since any of his doors opened up to the magic place.

His second reaction is...well, more surprise, because what in Hel's name are all these little blocks doing everywhere?

A screen at the bar is even more startling. A voice explains that today is a holiday, and that he has three days to choose to change into another form.

Why would he want to do that? This magic is strange.

But he looks at his options anyway: a spindly robot; an aye-aye; a stork; or some kind of dragon called a Velociraptor.

(Is someone trying to tell him something?)

Fortunately, he doesn't have to make a choice right now, or at all, if he doesn't want to.

These blocks, though. They fit together. Like little bricks without the mortar.

omfg he can build things with them

Floki will just be over here, building all the things.

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"Definitely," she grins, accepting the shears. They feel awkward in her hands - she keeps wanting them to be scissors - but they do the job perfectly well.

"I've never seen a dragon, myself, though that's okay. They really are scary, but they don't usually live near humans, in my world, and stay up in the mountains."

"You have dragons?" he asks, surprised but not surprised. "In my world, they are now mostly legend."

Mostly.

"But just because we have never seen them with our own eyes, doesn't mean they don't exist."

"Oh, they're real. In my world, at least. I've seen nature documentaries about them," she says, matter-of-factly. "Though I've heard there are people who come here from worlds that have legends about dragons without the actual dragons, which is weird. How do they get stories about dragons everywhere without the actual dragons to inspire them?"

"That is a very good point!" he agrees, as he finishes up tying the last knot.

"But-- what is a 'documentary'?"

"A documentary is..." Rae scrunches up her face, trying to figure out how to word it. "It's a video - made of moving images and sounds like on the TV over there," she points at the TV over in its corner of the bar. "But it shows... real stuff, that exists. Images of far away places and cultures and creatures, and tell about them. We watched one in science class last month about all the sorts of creatures that live in the ocean - fish and sea turtles and selkies and sharks and whales and octopi and things - and last year we saw one about how dragons show up in legends and stories from cultures all over the world, throughout history, and how they likely relate to the different kinds of dragons that live in different parts of the world."

Floki is clearly fascinated by this concept. And for some reason, that 'tee-vee' machine had always been turned off during his previous visits, but now the moving images that he sees on it seem like magic. Men in short pants are kicking a ball around in some kind of game right now -- obviously not a documentary. Tearing his attention away, he turns back to Rae, and the boat.

"Today, in honor of this strange feast day, I was given the choice to shape-shift into one of several creatures, one of which appeared to be a dragon! I don't know if I will do it. Have you ever shape-shifted into another form?"

He eyes widen as she shakes her head. "I've never done anything like that."

"I've... shifted things into the shapes of other things, before," she adds, very hesitantly, lowering her voice. This is a secret.

Edited 2015-06-10 04:24 (UTC)

Floki pauses working on the simplified rigging of the boat.

And he leans in, his black-rimmed eyes wide.

"You can do that?" he murmurs just above a whisper.

He knows a secret when he hears one.

The girl nods. "My grandmother taught me how."

"Then that is a very special gift," he says with a confidential nod.

"Are you good at it?"

"It's what I'm best at," she smiles, nodding a little. "Though we only ever did small stuff-changing."

Looking around for something suitable, her gaze comes to rest on the napkin dispenser. Her deft fingers slide a single small napkin out of its hold, and crumples it loosely in her hands, so it is hidden from view.

A moment of concentration later - it has been a few months since she practiced - her hands open to reveal a cluster of tiny yellow-centered daisies, their minute petals bright white, in the napkin's place.

Eyes wide, he exhales a breath in amazement.

His own hands hover around hers, cupping them very lightly for a moment before drawing them away, his gestures light and flitting.

"I have never seen magic like this before. This is truly a skill from the gods!"

The girl smiles and ducks her head, a bit bashful in the face of his amazement. "It's just transmuting, and then only little stuff. My grandmother and all my father's family could do more."

"You don't have magic in your world?"

"Oh, yes, yes, we do have magic," he says, "but I do not know of anyone with magic like yours. But we do have seiðr and the völva, and many others who can do things like cast spells, shape-shift, speak with the dead, and foresee the future. As it is with the gods, magic is very real, though some people who do not understand it will doubt it."

He smiles at her, lowering his voice.

"I am glad that you understand it. The world needs more children who do, so that they may carry it with them their whole lives, and then someday pass it on to others. That is how magic stays alive."

While he speaks, he ties a length of string to one bottom corner of the sail, and another (still attached to the spool) to the other corner. Pulling on these strings adjusts the direction of the sail, just as the rigging would do on a real ship. After testing the sail's mobility, he determines that the model is good to go.

"There, now! I think this boat is seaworthy! Or rather, lakeworthy, at least."

"My world has spell-casters and hex-slingers and charm-twisters and stuff-changers," she smiles, a little guiltily, like a child saying words that perhaps she shouldn't say. "And seers. Shape-shifters, too, but they're usually weres, not magic-handlers. Ward-crafting is really important, because they offer all sorts of protections for people and their homes. Like home wards against theft, or against something catching fire, and personal protection wards against injury or danger. Magic is pretty much everywhere."

"My mom doesn't... really..." her mouth twists slightly and she shakes her head, not wanting to speak ill of her mother. "Mom wouldn't want me learning it. She doesn't know about my grandmother teaching me."

Rae smiles lightly at the boat and its maker, and follows along towards the lake. "It's a really pretty boat. How much wind d'you think it'd need to go?"

Floki nods, as all of those things are familiar to him. He himself has never practiced them (at least just a few of them of them), but he knows people for whom it is an art and a way of life.

He wouldn't want to speak ill of her mother either, but in a world full of magic, he doesn't see why she should object. "How come your mother doesn't want you to learn about it?"

With the boat cradled in the crook of his arm and the string gathered up, they make their way to the lake. They make an odd visual pair, the stork-like Viking loping along with a little flame-haired girl beside him.

"A pretty boat for which you have made a very pretty sail," he adds. "It should not take much of a breeze; but it should also be able to ride the natural ripples in the water. Let's see..."

He gives the string to Rae to hold, unwinding a good length, before carrying the boat out to where the water is several inches above his ankles.

Rae doesn't answer his question immediately, but holds onto the string, watching him carry the little boat out into the water. This isn't something that is talked about, not something easy to put into words.

"Because..." Dad could do it, and we left him because what he was doing was putting us in danger. And... she wouldn't be happy, knowing I could do it, too, even if I'd never put us in danger by it. I'd be in a lot of trouble, if she found out, and she wouldn't let me see my grandmother again."

What she doesn't say is this: And I don't want her to leave me, too.

Floki carefully sets the boat on the water -- and it floats perfectly. It doesn't even tip this way or that. After making sure that there are no leaks, he wades back to the shore and crouches by Rae's side as she speaks.

He huffs a sympathetic sigh into his mustache.

"It makes me sad to hear that, child. I wish things were not so for you. But you are with your mother now, and you must make her happy if you are to keep seeing your grandmother. You have a beautiful gift that should not be denied."

The boat bobs merrily on the rippling water, tugging lightly on the strings as if eager to float away.

Floki reaches over and unwinds more string, before cupping Rae's hands in his.

"Pull the strings to turn the sail left or right, and see if you can catch a breeze."

She doesn't say that she hasn't seen her grandmother in months, ever since the Wars began. Since the postcards from her father stopped, as well. She doesn't know what happened to her father's family, just that they disappeared from the world, and she is not allowed to ask her mother what might have happened to them. The bit of magic she had done for Floki was the first bit of magic she has done in quite a while.

Rae tugs the string, angling towards their right, searching for a breeze. The variable weather of early summer lends itself to their purpose, and after a few moments of searching, the little sail lifts slightly, and the boat begins to bob in a more purposeful way, intent on following the breeze.

Rae beams at it. "Got one!"

"Ooh, look, yes, very good!" Floki hoots, pointing.

Their spirits are lifted by the little boat wanting to sail away on its own.

"I built a real version of this ship back home, but I have not tested it yet. Ragnar and I will do that soon before we sail it to England. But this is a very good sign indeed!"

"That one will work even better," she nods and grins, sure. The boat tugs on the string, eager to explore. "I'm glad we got to try this one out, even if it took four years."

Or a couple of weeks, depending on which way one is facing.

He unwinds more string, feeding it through Rae's fingers, letting the boat drift more freely.

"Better late than never," he agrees cheerfully.

"I think I will leave it here with Lady Bar, to give to Gyda to look after. Do you know her? She is Ragnar's daughter, and I myself think of her as my own niece."

"I know Gyda!" Rae beams at him. "We're both in the Milli-scouts, and played in the Pseudo-assassination game together."

"Oh!" he chirps. "That is good! She mentioned the Milli-scouts to me, but-- what was this Pseudo-assassination game? And who won?"

(He can't resist asking.)

"Every player's given stickers, and a target from among the players," she explains, grinning. "You don't know who's targeting you, just who you're targeting. You gotta put a sticker on them that says 'Assassinated!' before they either figure out you're after them, or without them getting away. If you get stickered, you're out of the game. If you sticker someone, you inherit their target and keep playing."

"It came down to Dorian and me, in the end. We assassinated each other and couldn't tell who'd gotten who first. He won overall because he had the higher score, but I won among the Milli-Scouts. Got a Master Pseudo-Assassin badge for winning - has a ninja on it."