Ragnar caught her mock glare out the corner of his eye, as to which he responded with a wicked grin that pulled at the scarred portion of his face as his muscles complied beneath marred platinum silver fur, distorting the what was supposed to be disjointed raven marked there. He might have believed it was a genuine glare if she had not chuckled a few seconds later causing him to hum tunelessly with delight. In a way, he understand their inability to accept that he truly was as dangerous as he claimed to be that he was not, for the sake of it, claiming to be that way to scare them. If they wanted a witness to it they could find Bazi, in truth, because she had witnessed just how ruthless he could be when he had sacrificed a baby cougar, rather heartlessly to Odinn for his own success. In a way, Ragnar had been doing it a kindness but that hadn’t been his true motivating point. The simple fact of it was that Odinn had wanted the cougar cub, commanded his devout follower to take it’s life, and Ragnar wanted to ensure his success. The mercy he had bestowed upon it had merely, though Ragnar had more or less sort of lied out his ass to Bazi about it, a happy coincidence.
Thistle’s opinion about him might have changed in that instant if she had known what he had done, but Ragnar had no intentions of telling her because the truth of it was he didn’t want her to realize what kind of monster man he truly was and decide that she could do better. The fact of it was that Gavriil, hell even Kennedy probably were much better for her than Ragnar; but he loved Thistle and for whatever it was worth, she had him, however helplessly. Letting her go wasn’t an option - had never really been an option.