milliways_bar | Entries tagged with ragnar lothbrok

They're all there:

Teja, in the forge, sharpening a sahs;
Ragnar, by the stables, feeding the goats;
Father Harman, on the steps of Javert's little church, taking out wilted flowers;
Hannibal Lecter, in the herb garden by the kitchen's back door, picking basil;
Galen Erso, by the door of the greenhouse, sorting through a mess of crystals and wires;
Lady Margolotta, in the darkest corner of the bar, knitting baby shoes.

It's Saturday around lunchtime, cats are all over the place and people are doing, mostly, what you'd expect them to do:

Teja's in the forge, working on an axe-blade, his hammer ringing while he sings a war-like ballad to which Egil, sitting by the door in his human form, is listening to with fascination while he throws a catnip ball for the little grey cat Count, who keeps bringing it back again and again, rather like a dog playing fetch. Which he would totally deny doing, of course. He's a cat.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter is sitting outside the kitchen door, de-boning chicken legs. Occasionally, he may drop a shred of sinew for the white-and-tabby cat who's skulking around among the herbs.
Father Pearse Harman is sweeping out the church and putting up palm branches for the Palm Sunday service tomorrow. He's quietly wondering to himself how he ended up with such a calmly parochial vacation reality while trying to keep the tabby cat that's been following him from pouncing on and shredding the greenery.
Galen Erso is in the garden, putting up an array of tubes, solar panels, crystals and wires around some newly planted vegetable and herb patches. The little black cat in the hood of his jumper hangs on as if by some special cat magic, sleeping even while he moves around. He's careful, of course.
Ragnar Lothbrok is out by the goat pen, meeting this year's newest arrivals, still small and sweet. It's an impressive herd they have now, enough to start some serious goat cheese business later in the season. There's a big red cat sitting on the fence, probably hoping for spilled milk at some stage.
Inside the bar, Lady Margolotta is knitting and drinking cocoa in a dark corner, sheltered from all sunlight. The young black cat with the white patch on her chest would never dare grab and chase the ball of wool moving around the basket by Margolotta's feet -- would she?

[[OOC: Back after an overdose of RL -- please say in your tag who you want, or you might get anybody.]]

cook_the_rude

These things happen more or less simultaneously:

Dr. Hannibal Lecter enters the bar from the kitchen, bearing a small tray of autumnal themed cupcakes;
Teja comes in from the back, talking to little Egil, and followed by four cats who hope for a late breakfast, which is provided in the shape of tea, bread, and smoked fish for humans and cats alike;
Galen Erso emerges from the elevator to the garage, smudged, animated and followed by merely two cats, for whom he orders tuna immediately along with his own caf;
the door opens and in walks Ragnar Lothbrok, groaning and flapping his hands irritatedly at whatever he is leaving behind beyond the door before he realises where he is, and orders beer and a pizza;
Father Pearse Harman walks down the stairs, carrying papers and a boxy laptop computer while politely asking the first rat he encounters to provide him with a pot of tea and some biscuits.

[[OOC: Say in your tag whom you want, or you might get anybody.]]

ostro_goth

In the bar today, you find:

a wind turbine engineer who had recently moonlighted as sea rescue volunteer, now carefully arranging a breakfast for two on a tray;
a metal musician who walks in from the the door, followed by a grey cat, to sit down by the fireplace, order a craft beer, and start trying out cords on his guitar:
a vampire in a long black coat, shielding himself from the sunlight by standing calmly in a dark corner;
a biker in full leathers and cut-off vest, leaning against the bar with a beer and listening to the music;
a dark-haired woman in ca. 1910 clothes, folding suffragette pamphlets at a table right next to the window, the sun warm on her hands;
an FBI consultant who steps in from a hot and humid place that stinks of stagnant waters, and sighs with relief upon seeing Milliways.

They are all basically friendly and approachable people, even though you might want to be wary with the vampire.

[[OOC: Teja and Count are alive and don't live in Milliways; Hannibal is from this amazing fanfic. Please say in your tag whom you want, or you might get whoever is just logged in.]]

galen_erso

This morning, several people are going about their business outside the bar, among them:

Teja, who is sharpening a sword in front of the forge,
Father Harman, who is carrying a basket of papers to the church,
Hannibal Lecter, who is preparing a barbecue pit,
Galen Erso, who is tinkering with some pipes in Bodhi's herb garden,
Ragnar Lothbrok, who is feeding the goats.

bigarmy_strangepants

Ragnar Lothbork is getting ready to leave again, now much reassured about the chances and the future of his tiny son Ivar. He's collecting some choice small things from the bar and stowing them in a bag that is, apparently, bigger on the inside.

Also, he will have another hearty meal before he goes. After all, his world doesn't have all those tomatoes and potatoes.

[[OOC: Open forever. Potential content warning for period typical ableism in all and any threads that might occur.]]

bigarmy_strangepants

[[Blood, sex, magic.
Sinric reassures Ragnar about the future of his new-born son Ivar, after having gone to the tree for prophecy, here.
Content warning for sex, eunuchs, and period-typical ableism.]]

bigarmy_strangepants

You did not expect this man, but there is a Ragnar Lothbrok tonight, sitting by the fire and picking his teeth, while apparently deep in thought.

[[OOC: STRONG WARNING for apparently period typical ableism and discussion of child death in all threads.]]

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.

ostro_goth

In this pocket of Millitime, there is a spot of insistent rain around this Saturday afternoon.

Teja is watching from the eaves of the forge as Egil is out playing in the rain, wearing wellie boots and a little sou'wester, chasing fallen petals in the puddles, and carrying insects to safety. All three cats are lined up by the forge-fire, secretly of the opinion that their little human has completely lost his mind.
Father Harman is walking through the woods towards the little church, wearing sensible shoes and carrying an umbrella.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter is in the herb garden, moving potted plants in and out of the rainfall according to some system only known to himself.
Ragnar Lothbrok is fishing. Rain is a good weather for that. Fish bite better then.
Dorian Gray is walking through the woods, barefoot and in shirtsleeves, enjoying the rain just because.
Alex Vause is sitting by an open window, reading a book and listening to the rainfall.

cook_the_rude

Spring has fully sprung, the cherry blossoms have been and gone, and the season is making some people rather frisky and restless. This state of nervous energy has different ways of expressing itself, in different people.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is in the Caribbean inlet, swimming laps -- he seems to have marked out two landmarks on the shore, and swims back and forth, parallel to the beach, in flawless form, just as if he was in a pool.
Ragnar Lothbrok is riding his motorcycle around the lake. He's going very fast and making it roar, which is fun.
Father Pearse Harman is in the bar, has thrown open the windows closest to the piano, and is playing and singing old Ivor Novello songs with a good voice and not much inhibition.
Alex Vause has taken a punching bag outside, has hung it in a tree near the sparring grounds, and proceeds to beat the living daylights out of the poor thing.
And finally, Teja's three forge cats (Myrrh having defected to stay with Bodhi) are chasing each other all through the bar, outside through the garden, jumping in through the windows Harman left open and up a pillar into the rafters, in an obstacle race all around the chairs and table, out again through the back door between the feet of some poor bewildered patron, all the way down to the forge, and up again, weaving among the late tulips and hyacinths and in through the kitchen door, where the rats scatter and scold. And on into the bar once again... They seem indefatigable. Teja, in the meanwhile, is sitting by the backdoor, teaching little Egil to fletch arrows.

cook_the_rude

On Saturday around dinnertime, the bar is full of people. Among them are:

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, eating spicy tandoori dodo with naan and rose water lassi -- at the moment, his entire attention is dedicated to the food, but that might change;
Father Pearse Harman, having fish pie while reviewing his notes for tomorrow's sermon -- he always preaches ex tempore, but likes to have note cards to make sure he doesn't forget a salient point;
Dorian Gray starting off his evening with champagne, oysters and strawberries:
Alex Vause, who is snacking on small bit of vegetables -- tiny tomatoes, little carrots, miniature cucumbers, celery stalks, sliced bell peppers ant that kind of thing -- while devouring a huge historical novel that looks a bit as if it had been left behind by Madame Thénardier;
Ragnar Lothbrok at the bar drinking his way through a flat green plastic bottle with a black label declaring BRENNIVÍN -- this particular Viking may not have discovered Iceland, but he has certainly found Iceland's infamous svarti dauði;
and finally, two cats sitting by the fireplace quietly communicating in feline -- ears and tails, licks and yawns and touches, yowls and purrs and mewls and growls. One of the cats is Myrrh; the other, taller and rangier and wearing a red collar, has not been seen in the bar for a long time and may thus be considered 'some unknown cat' by most patrons. It is in fact Teja himself, using a collar that had been Loki's gift to grant him (and Pyrrha) cat-shape, as he has much to talk about with Myrrh these days.

cook_the_rude

It's late on Sunday morning, almost lunchtime, and outside the bar, there are quite a number of people about.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is walking along the shore of the lake towards the bar, carrying four small dead birds with orange bills.
Teja and Ragnar are working together at the edge of the woods, near the forge, constructing a charcoal kiln. It's that time of year again.
Father Pearse Harman is talking to the last parishioners from today's service at the church in the woods that are still lingering. One of them might have an actual issue they would want to talk about when the others are gone.
Dorian Gray is at the Caribbean inlet, basking in the warmth while wearing only very skimpy swim trunks. At least his contemporaries would find this incredibly scandalous.
Alex Vause is walking around the shore of the lake -- not doing anything specific, just walking and enjoying the illusion of not being locked up.

[[OOC: Open until it scrolls -- say in your tag whom you want, or you might get tagged back by a random charrie. Warning for sexual content in the Ganymede thread.]]

thewidewideworld

Sinric comes down to the bar dressed in heavy furs and carrying a large pack. He stops at the bar, dropping off a small bundle of letters and packages before requesting the last of the tools he needs.

For Ragnar and Athelstan.

For Hannibal, Rae, Emcee, Seimei, Childermass, and Sherlock.

He gives the main room one last look over before pulling his fur hood up and heading out into the snow-covered garden.

In the gloom and falling flakes, he turns towards the mountain and the massive ash tree waiting for him there.

{ooc: reactions only, please.}

thewidewideworld

Sinric sits on the balcony of the bar, a fur coat pulled tight around himself against the cold. The snow is falling thicker and faster now, lacing the trees and the gardens in white.

He sings softly to himself, hands hidden in his sleeves.

Those with a gift for magic might notice a soft net of gold glowing under the skin of his pale cheeks. Even to those without such sight, he looks better than he was, more colour in his cheeks and his eyes look less hollow.

Company would be very welcome.

cottoncandypink

Wilford is in for a nasty surprise when he approaches the Bar. Instead of the drink he orders, he's given a napkin with a very simple set of instructions written on it.

"Like hell."

You've been nothing but trouble. This, or scrub the kitchens. Goodnight!

It takes him a moment to pick his jaw up from the floor. He hadn't been warned about this sort of thing, and isn't terribly pleased about it. He's also not terribly keen to find out what happens if he refuses, like he wants to do. So it's with much grumbling and muttered swearing that Wilford makes his way to the other side of the Bar to figure out what he's supposed to be doing. After a few minutes, he's worked out the specials board at least.

SPECIALS

Sex with an Alligator
An Orgy of Liquors
Wild Squirrel Sex

He has also found a bottle of something roughly the colour of antifreeze. He barely gets the cap off to test the merchandise before the fumes from it send him reeling. The bottle goes on the bar, and the specials board gets a quick revision.

Survive a double shot of the green stuff and drink free.

just_cant_lose

America seems to be having its odd pre-Christmas Christmas dinner day. Jim, not being either American or the type to be thankful for much, is not exactly brimming with holiday cheer. On the other hand, Bar gave him a ~~Christmas~~ turkey lunch without prompting, and who doesn't like a good roast?

The upshot is: there's one distracted genius in a booth, half-eating lunch and half drawing shimmering lines in the air, designing something on one of the devices Karkat made for him. He's vaguely humming, 'All I Want for Christmas' under his breath and one heel is banging a tense, jittery staccato on the floor...but he appears in good spirits, and will definitely let you have his pumpkin pie if you want it. What is it with Americans and pumpkins? He has no idea.

Fair warning: if you try and take the pecan pie, he'll probably chop your hand off.

[OOC: Open until Sunday night! Slowtime is A-OK for any celebrating peeps who still want to play. Happy Thanksgiving, Americans! <3]

the_cupbearer

Ganymede comes in looking rather different than he has been: he's dressed in dark jeans, black boots, a shirt similarly colored with its hood up, face unpainted and unshaven. He sits down with a leather portfolio, making notes in quick handwriting, narrow, slanted and elegant.

It's time for a new identity, though he rather likes the one he has; Ganymede liked to be prepared either way. He sighs, and checks his watch, the hammered metal band glinting in the light. He looks unnatural, sharply featured as he asks for a glass of wine, lowering the deep hood and pulling his long braid, wound with gold, from the fabric.

Feel free to bother him.

thewidewideworld

OOM: Sinric encounters a group of northern Vǫlva who take him in. And in the cave under the earth, at the base of the tree, Sinric begins to dream.

{ooc: mentions of ritual sex, no explicit descriptions.}

Across all of Milliways there is a shudder, as reality unwinds and reforms. Those possessed of magic will feel it most acutely.

In the forest, there is a new tree. An ash, huge and ancient. As if it has been there since before the beginning of time.

And bound to its branches is a naked man. Shivering and blue with cold, blood dripping over his bare skin as his bonds cut in.

Blue black lines are painted on his skin, echoing the tree, echoing the earth.

There are names on his lips, whispered over and over in a babble.

Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan. Ragnar. Athelstan.

His eyes are unfocused, as if they see through, as if they see more. More than this.

In the forest, there is a tree. In the tree, there is a man. In the man, there is the whole multiverse - past and future and present. Every thread of was, will be and could be.

And by the look of him, it might be killing him.

(ooc: Sinric is currently on a hardcore seer’s spirit journey. His body might have made it to Milliways but his mind is still traveling. As a result he will see things, know things about the future or past of the people he interacts with. Feel free to PM me if there’s something you do or don’t want him to bring up.)

is_the_motion

Bonnie is in a booth, with various fabric designs and a sketch pad, trying to come up with some new biker gang colours. Which isn't easy, seeing as they don't yet have a name.

She's been taking suggestions from the kids, which have so far either been too tame (Bunny Rubber) or possibly not family friendly (Scythe of Satan), so she'd be up for more appropriate suggestions.

Sad as she is to leave the Iron Scorpions, this designing a new kit business is pretty fun.

bigarmy_strangepants

Ragnar Lothbrok is sitting at a table by the window, slowly making his meandering way through the repair manual for his motorbike. There is something wrong with it, and finding out doesn't become any easier when you can't read all that fluently.
Teja, on the other hand, seems rather unconcerned today -- he is sitting by the fireplace, playing his harp and occasionally throwing shiny chestnuts for his cats to catch and play with. When the chestnuts are exhausted, the cats bring them back and put them by his feet to throw again. They're not playing fetch, of course, because they are cats.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter is at the piano, quietly improvising. He has found a theme and is putting it through its paces -- now it sounds like Bach, now like a ragtime, and then again like some grandly bombastic piece by Beethoven, with an infusion of some ancient children's song.
Father Harman has finished his Sunday service and is having a quiet cup of tea by himself, watching the fish in the fireplace without a book or any paper between himself and the world, for once.

intoaman

Diaval comes through the door in his raven form, turning to a human half way and landing neatly on his feet. Smoothly. Very smoothly.

He looks... different. More together, more mature. Not older really, just more solid. He orders himself a mug of hot chocolate and heads outside to sit on the step, watching the leaves start to colour and fall.

Company is most certainly welcome.

guppy_sandhu

The circle of chairs is out. In the middle is a table with a wide selection of food, but most notably a big apple pie, the smell of which is wafting pleasantly across the bar.

Behind the circle, on the wall, is a large sign.

LIFE SUPPORT
OPEN TO ALL

Do you have worries here or at home?
Thinking of counselling or just looking for an informal chat?
Just want some free food?
Come and join us!

[ooc: Open until the next one, all tags will be picked up by at least one of the LS crew :)]

thewidewideworld

Sinric's in his favourite spot by the fire, a notepad balanced on his knee. He's been working on this list for an hour now and is getting nowhere with it.

He rips off a page and carefully folds it into a origami chrysanthemum. After a moment's consideration, he tosses it into the fire. He lingers, watching it catch, flare and burn.

He looks back to the pad, pushing his hair back from his face and starts again.

Distractions would be most welcome.

notapilot

It's that time again. Sam puts up the notice on the board and leaves flyers with Bar (as well as asking her politely to translate for anyone who asks).

Fight Club Outback tonight:
Rules are simple
1-Fight friendly; this is for testing skills not grudges
2-Be honest with skills and abilities
3-Break off the fight if it's getting serious
4-Square areas are for sparing with weapons
5-Circle areas are for sparing hand to hand
6-Any area (square or circle) that also has a triangle is for teaching

There are enchanted/high tech weapons available for use that will heal when they strike. (Weird, yes, but I've tested them so I know it's true.)
Security and Infirmary staff are present, but please try not to need us. This is for fun and not grudges.

[OOC: See this backroom post for OOC rules. Feel free to contact me via DM if you have questions or concerns.]