Stavanger Bay floating for life

now that he was closer (and assuming he still had his eyes, who knows, stay tuned) rannveig had a chance to assess the man. if he was smarter and maybe less prideful, he would have backpedaled from his aggro-crag posture (it was a front, anyway). mostly because while rannveig was tall, this man stood like a mountain -- he might be out of his element inciting the range of what appeared to be a swarthy ranger.

well, it was too late for take-backs, and rannveig was nothing if not someone who stuck to his guns. "what?!" he replied, feeling the fur on his spine bristle.. that was not a hecking answer! he had asked first!! "that's not how it works. you're supposed to offer me something, not the other way around. i've got what you want, i assume, which is a pack. SO, bro - what do you have to offer? i'm not the boss, but that doesn't mean i won't judge the shit out of you if you answer that wrong." rannveig of course, would refuse to acknowledge that anyone but ford was his captain. blame it on his sailor blood, or the fact he came from an intractable line of dipshits. "so, again -- who are you, and why here?" god, upset and overwrought rannveig is no fun to write and probably even less enjoyable to thread with.