Ye Olde Sunday Multipup Post

[ostro_goth]

 Over the mountains, a thunderstorm is gathering; in an hour or perhaps even just thirty minutes, it might be pouring down. But as yet, people are about, among them:

• Teja, who is wandering the woods and the lakeside looking for canine activity. So far, he has found the traces of a veritable pack and several humans with them, but somehow he suspects that Buster the Inept was not part of that merry outing. Furthermore, he found two dead demonic rabbits, but they were too far gone for him to see if they were killed by a dog. Also, he doubts that Buster would be able to kill these creatures. When it starts raining, he will make his way back to the bar.
• Father Pearse Harman is on the lawn, having afternoon tea complete with scones and cream. He is reading a book with it, and ignoring the weather so far. He is, after all, English.
• Dr. Hannibal Lecter is two tables over, on the lawn as well, with coffee and drawing utensils. He is drawing dogs in sepia pencil.
• Ragnar Lothbrok is in the bar-room itself, ordering things from the bar which he stows into two rather small bags. He has a paper on a table which he looks at from time to time. Apparently, the Viking is planning to leave.
• Lady Margolotta is sitting in a dark corner of the bar, far away from the windows, checking things off in a large ledger. The table around it is covered in papers that look like lists.

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric comes down to the bar, carrying a handful of books to return when he spots Ragnar. "Beloved?" He says softly, running a hand down Ragnar's back. "Time to move on?"

{ooc: on my way to bed but had to get the ball rolling.}

[bigarmy_strangepants]

"Yes."

Ragnar hands him the piece of paper. It's not a list, it's a note from Athelstan -- telling him in sparse words that he's gone back to their world.

"He left. I didn't even see him before. Now I'll go and hurry back to him."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric nod, opening his arms to Ragnar. "He left me one much the same." He offers Ragnar what comfort he can in the hug. "You will reach him."

[bigarmy_strangepants]

"But how will he be when I finally get to him?" Ragnar says, softly. "He was doing badly enough here, and there, with that King..."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric takes Ragnar's hands, looking him in the eye. "He will need you, but on his own terms. Let him guide you."

His eyes colour softly gold. "That king is more like you than you know."

[bigarmy_strangepants]

"No," Ragnar says. "I doubt it -- he threatened Athelstan with crucifixion!"

[thewidewideworld]

"And you never threatened Athelstan when you first took him as a slave?" Sinric asks archly.

[bigarmy_strangepants]

"Not like that," Ragnar says. "Not pretending to be his friend, and then dealing out death threats like lightning from a blue sky."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric doesn't answer that, in his mind seeing a young monk on his knees, a rope around his neck and Ragnar advancing in him with a knife in hand. That Ragnar cut the rope and not his throat didn't change the fear Athelstan felt in that moment. Or after, when Ragnar's temper turned mercurial.

"He will be safe till you reach him. Even content in a way. But he must be allowed to choose his own path. He will walk by your side only as a free man."

[bigarmy_strangepants]

"Yes," Ragnar says. "I can see that. He needs to leave that English tyrant on his own volition."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric frowns and hugs him tighter. "I understand why seers are so vague. It's hard to explain what I see, or how the threads tangle. But that English tyrant, he will play a great part in your futures, both of you. And not always as an adversary. I know you can't believe me now, but you will understand one day."

[bigarmy_strangepants]

"I still don't trust the man as far as my little Sigurd can throw him," Ragnar says, doubtfully.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric laughs. "Nor should you." He reaches up and kisses Ragnar's forehead, standing on tip-toes. His hand covers the tattoo on Ragnar's arm as he does.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim - half of whose face is one giant bruise - drops into a chair next to Hannibal, and puts his feet up on the one opposite. He's still in chill mode, wearing shorts, T-shirt, and a pair of battered old Converse.

'I met your boy.'

[cook_the_rude]

"Oh, did you?" Hannibal says, looking up from his drawing of the dogs. "I suppose that wasn't him?"

He gestures at the bruised part of Jim's face.

[just_cant_lose]

'Is that the sort of thing he'd be likely to do? He didn't seem the type.'

Though, yes, obviously capable should the need arise.

[cook_the_rude]

"Not likely at all," Hannibal says, "but capable of. Of course. What else would be the point?"

[just_cant_lose]

'I didn't think his ability for violence was the reason you liked him.'

Blah blah. He waves a hand, and quite fancies a cigarette for the first time in months.

'No, it wasn't him. Did you see him?'

[cook_the_rude]

"I did," Hannibal says. "It was very good to talk to him. There is nobody quite like Will."

[just_cant_lose]

'Mm.'

Jim does not sound convinced.

'He's reticent, isn't he? Is he like that with everyone, or just people he doesn't trust?'

[cook_the_rude]

"He doesn't make eye contact, unless he really trusts you," Hannibal says. "That's what he is. Very socially awkward, right until the moment when he gets into professional mode."

[just_cant_lose]

'Is he autistic?'

Jim would be interested to see Will in professional mode.

[cook_the_rude]

"In a way," Hannibal says. "On the spectrum, in some way. He's got a natural empathy that enables him to put himself into anybody's shoes. Including some very bizarre killers, so that is how he ended up doing what he's doing."

[just_cant_lose]

'But he didn't see you, until you showed him?'

That has to be disappointing.

[cook_the_rude]

"Showing would have been far too crude," Hannibal says. "I allowed him to discover me."