So much had changed since Kipling had met the strange man by the lake that she had seldom thought of him after their meeting. Other pressing matters had been clouding her thoughts, like surviving and then after that came joining the Sunspire which arrived with its own bundle of new responsibilities. It felt good to know she was no longer alone like before, but she remained uncertain; especially since she’d done a good job of ripping ties so soon between her and one of her packmates.
Her brief fight with Fang hadn’t left her with much physical consequence, a simple soreness in her neck that had healed fairly quickly. Surprising herself she’d done a lot more damage to the hybrid even if it was slight, and yet he’d let her go with barely anything. And with that release she was gifted a wave of doubt and guilt. Kipling assured herself she’d done right, to put him in his place after his nasty little threat and yet a part of her was hesitant to find the action she’d taken as just. Something wasn’t linking right, and it haunted her to point of driving the she-wolf away from her own packlands.
At first, she wandered with no real destination, and then the scent of the sea caught her attention and pulled her closer. His memory came whirling back into her mind then, the wolf, the curious wraithlike man with gem-like eyes and heavy scars. When she reached the lip of the beach Kipling squinted out to observe the family of sea-lions dotting its shores. The sun burned against the horizon as it readied itself to dive into the depths of the seas and allow the moon its rightful reign. The she-wolf merely tilted her head in admiration having never witness such a spectacle but the sight radiated warmth that spread from within her chest and comforted her.
The beach was miles long and in either direction she couldn’t be sure where the pack the stranger once spoke of was, or even if it still existed. She thought she remembered him mentioning something about the North, but she didn’t trust her own memory to commit to the path. Casting out her luck like a message in a bottle tossed into the sea, Kipling lifted her lips and out poured a single note: Heimdall.
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Heimdall. A call for him, of his moniker rose into the waning daylight, the moon rising to conquer the descending sun. The sky began to dark rapidly then, the stars that littered the sky shimmering, softened in the strength of the moon's beams. The call rose from the direction of Sea Lion Shores and he made his way towards where Kipling's howl had risen from without hesitation or pause. The scarred Scandinavian walked along the sands damp with the flow and ebb of the high tide, the foam rushing up to greet him. The sticky salt water splashing against his legs, belly and chest. It was cool against the night warm, humid and tepid.
The call of the sea lions, calling to one another gradually began to fade out as they fell asleep. In the distance he could see Kipling's silhouette against the fading sun and rising moon, and leisurely the Jarl made his way to her. The coy smirk that twitched into form upon his lips was per usual, soft and casual. "I thought you might not come." Ragnar chose to greet her simply, stopping in his approach when he was within speaking range of her. |
She was grateful for the spell of luck as a silhouette appeared from afar. With his approach Kipling’s chest dipped with a bow, her tail waving behind her in light-hearted greeting, it was obvious then she was in much better spirits than she had been in their initial meeting. Now she mirrored his smirk with her own gentle curl of her maw, heading tilting slightly with his confession. But did you miss me?
Kipling inquired quite boldly, with a hopeful raise of her brows although it remained coquettish in quality perhaps the biggest indicator she was more at ease now.
She was curious as to what had happened to him in their time apart, certainly he had his own life to lead. He hadn't revealed much about himself, and still he remained quite the enigmatic character. But she assumed things, such as if he still ran with a pack (which his scent conveyed that he very much did) then he'd been spending his time there, tending to things as pack-life demanded; and with his show of confidence before, she was certain, he was definitely much better at it than she was.
You know with your ghostly antics by the lake, I never did get to tell you my name, Heimdall.
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| Ragnar had not forgotten of the agouti colored woman he had met at Duck Lake, though he was not sure if he remembered her because he was fairly skilled at remembering women in general, if she had subconsciously captured his interest with her talk of 'zombies' or the fact that she seemed something like a wreck and the counselor in him desired to help the pretty little stranger. Or perhaps it was something else all together. Regardless of the motives behind his remembrance of her the important part was that he did remember her. He hadn't thought she would really come. His approach slowed when they were within a stone's throw from one another, noting the soft smirk against her own lips, complimented by her bold question, her expression holding what Ragnar would consider hope. He was pleased to find that she seemed much more at ease than she had during their last meeting and considered simply that perhaps she did not do well with first meetings. "That's depends," The Jarl spoke mischievously after he let the question hang in the air for a bit. "Did you miss me?" The Scandinavian returned the question to her coyly, his smirk widening slightly. There was a small and weak part of his brain that reprimanded him on flirting with this woman but Ragnar smothered that voice with little effort. There was no harm in having a little fun, after all; and he had taken her question as an invitation to play that game even if the zombie woman hadn't meant it that way.
A soft chuckle rumbled in Ragnar's chest breaking it's way betwixt his lips when she spoke of his antics and how it had left her no time to give him her name. "I know," Ragnar spoke on a breath, teasingly admitting without actually vocalizing it, that it had been apart of his plan all along. He had offered to teach her something, having witnessed first hand how distraught she had been about it during their first meeting. "Is that all you can here for," Ragnar paused, his tone teasing, eyes of caribbean ice alight with his natural mischief. "to tell me your name?" He inquired, tail twitching as his smirk tugged once more at it's rightful place. |
When he didn’t immediately answer Kipling nearly mistook it as her catching him off guard, which she would have taken pride in but it was quickly diminished by a flair of amusement. She lifted her head and then shook it, rolling her eyes playfully, as though the answer was obvious. Well, I came didn’t I?
Never mind it had been quite a spur of the moment thing, he certainly didn’t know and wouldn’t. Instead she played it off as it had been her intent all along. And it wasn’t as though she hadn’t not wanted to come,
And it’s a very important name.
She insisted, half teasing and another half quite genuine. Sure, he’d caught her very much down on her luck that day by the lake, but when it wasn’t none of those days where she caught a terrible case of the mean reds, as a rule Kipling was quite the prideful creature. Despite this she was much too charmed by the idea that perhaps leaving her name a mystery would make her more perplexing, so she didn’t go the extra length of simply telling him, tenderly thrilled by the idea she could for a while be someone but herself out here on the edge of the Wilds. After all, that’s what she had wanted when they’d met: to be someone else, but in the end, she wasn’t always quite happy with herself.
But no, I guess that’s not all.
She continued, tapping her tail against the ground the same way a person might tap their finger against their chin in thought. I could stand to learn something new.
| A chuckle slipped from betwixt the Scandinavian's lips when she rolled her eyes playfully at him, earning a curious tilt of his head as he studied her with his ice colored eyes. Her clever play of asking him a question instead of answering him outright made her a curious creature to him and the Jarl was intrigued. "You did come, yes," Ragnar responded simply, supposing that it was open for interpretation. In all fairness, he had not given her an outright answer himself, responding with a 'that depends' teasingly and leaving the true nature of his own thoughts open for her interpretation. It was harmless fun, Ragnar had convinced himself. Harmless flirting and harmless attraction to her on his part. Just because he was married didn't mean he stopped being a hot blooded male. It didn't make him blind, either. And Ragnar liked novelties and mysteries. He was drawn to what could intrigue him by nature, drawn in to Nerian and Thistle in that way initially, as well.
"Yet you will not share your important name with me, hmm?" The Viking inquired of her in a soft, teasing tone. In reality, Ragnar didn't mind the lead of a mystery. The tendril of intrigue that would linger like a ghost within his skull, keeping him awake at night with the question that he desired to answer what is her name? Like his All-Father Ragnar wanted knowledge and there were no lengths that he wouldn't go to to acquire it. "What would you like to learn, Ráðgáta?" Ragnar inquired of her calling her the Norse word for 'mystery' since he had nothing else to address her as. |
All good things come to those that earn them.
Kipling advises him with a lip of merriment and mischief, making it clear from that moment that his goal might not be so easy achieved. It was to her discretion and she took the reigns tightly in that sense. Because more than anything else, it simply serves to please her at that moment, and for the she-wolf she really needs no other reason to sway her will. She hums then, trying to weigh her next action because really here she is asking for all this help, and she's giving him so little in return, unless of course, he really enjoys her company so much.
At that thought she her smile grows a subtle length, and her eyes once focused on the distance as the moment of silence settles between them, now shift to glance at his scarred visage. As if taking him in for the first time all over, Kipling focuses sharply on his features. She couldn't decide if he was very good at fighting, so ridden with scars the outcome seemed obscure to a simple acquaintance like her. Then again, some could say coming out of a battle with all without being marred or killed would be a victory in itself. There are other small features she touches on, the dirt and sand wedge between the fur on his paws the way he carries himself, and of course other little things like he passionate curosity and the foreign weight of his accent.
Taking all of these things in account, her eyes narrow lightly, cogs turning quickly, and then, I knew a wolf once. He said he could read the stars, the seas and sky and that he could see things... like the future when it came to the weather, and the movement of the herds. Can you see things like that?
| Ragnar's smirk deepened when Kipling taunted him with the 'good things come to those who earn it' spiel. She was right, he knew, and her willingness to keep him strung along only heightened his enjoyment of the game. It kept him interested; he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. It was similar to the high he got in battle. "Are you sure you just don't like the idea of keeping me awake at night?" The Viking teased her in a soft murmur, the depths of his glacier eyes dancing with a mischief that matched her own. "Then I will earn it." He whispered with determination steeled in his tone. He had no qualms about earning things, believing that hard work did truly pay off. So, he let the topic of her name go, accepting her game. He was patient, when he wanted to be, and he would display such patience because the game required it of him. Ragnar's head canted slightly to the left, exposing the unmarred half side of his head, letting his gaze rest absently on the horizon in contemplation as he listened to her words. His lips twitched, brow began to furrow slightly as he prepared to tell her the truth: that he did not believe that the Sea nor Sky could be read. That weather didn't have movements because it was Thor who made storms, and if it stormed that Thor was either very angry or celebrating. That “thunder” was the the sound of Thor striking his anvil Mjölnir. "No. No one can predict Thor's mood," Ragnar spoke simply, firmly. "The Norns decide our Fates," Basically, Ragnar considered determining the future in any degree was a bunch of horse crap. He did not come right out and say it but he thought that the man who had told her he could do those things lied to her. |
Her delight at his acceptance of the ‘name game’ was quickly crushed by his denial of her story, and the wolf she’d met in passing. A small frown settled on her muzzle, and Kipling would have no issue pressing an argument—if she even knew what he was talking about. Instead she was left gazing at the pale wolf quizzically, her head slanted at the beliefs he choose to divulge. But as it’s been stated, Kipling herself was far from superstitious and most certainly did not consider herself religious, so she was—for lack of a better word—ignorant.
And she had no choice in revealing what she was, I… you believe a Wolf controls the weather?
More intrigued than she was critical as she spoke, being able to pick what he’d said apart, enough to know Thor was a name. She assumed he belonged to whatever this ‘Norns’ pack was.
| The woman's gaze held her confusion, the puzzlement at his talk of Thor. Ragnar was so set in his religious beliefs that he did not consider the alternative that he was wrong — as far as he was concerned he wasn't wrong. Yet, he allowed the knowledge that there were other Gods out there, knew for a fact that there were, if his Priestess Wife's beliefs were of any indication. The Pagan was used to the confusion of others, of those that did not know and he hardly expected every wolf that he came across to understand. Most of them had not even heard of Odinn or Thor before. Some of them didn't even know what a 'Viking' was. "Not a wolf," Ragnar spoke with a shake of his head. He couldn't even begin to explain Thor to her. He had never thought of his Gods as wolves, but then again none in Odinn's Cove or Freyja's Moors had. Their Gods were the back leg walkers – the hairless apes that Ragnar was certain he heard the elders call Others. He had no word for them beyond that and no idea why they worshiped their deities as Others. It was how it had always been for them and it was how it would always be. "Thor is something else entirely. Some of them are wolves, and some are Others and some are dragons, frost giants. There are so many and not enough time in the day to tell about them all." Not to mention...she hadn't truly asked. "Thor can conjure storms. He strikes his anvil, Mjölnir, and that is the thunder. The lightning is the sparks flying from it." Ragnar explained though he wasn't sure if he was doing an adequate enough job. He paused then, figuring that it was better he not continue to ramble on about his religion. |