riverview | Video | username: bigbad

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Video | username: bigbad

[Say hello to an angular looking face that's not smiling. He is smoking, which is all part of the bad boy look. Maybe.]

Let's get one thing clear here, yeah? Last thing I need is a bunch of goody-goodies hunting me down out of some obligated sense of protecting the masses. Yes, I'm a vampire. Ooh. Scary, I know.

[Hands lift to do a little 'woo' motion, a cigarette between two fingers that he pauses to take a drag from before continuing in a thick, lower-class British accent.]

No, I can't eat any humans. Got me on that synthetic crap here. So unless one of you plans on dropping off a bag of type you on my doorstep, consider yourselves safe.

[And it pains him to admit that. It's obvious on his face.]

So instead of blaming me for being all terrible and mean -- which I am, try blaming whatever brought me here. I was just off, being a vampire in my own little word, then poof. I wake up here. Not my fault. Didn't sign up for it. So you hero types, you bleeding heart goody-goodies, you can all put your pitchforks down and go pet a puppy or something.

[He pauses for a moment, then points at the screen.]

Non-humans, however, I can still hurt. So if you're up for an asskicking, by all means, come a'knocking. I could do with a good fight. It's too... nice around here. Gives me the willies. And please, don't try to come back with some 'all bad needs to be stopped'. It's bollocks. Every world needs a bit of bad. It's what gives the goodies something to be all superior over.

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[Stories were one thing, son of the son of a god. Reality was another.]

Sometimes. I prefer 'em a bit riper, but I won't say no to a nibblet in a pinch.

[Ivar, for all his cleverness, could be stupidly fearless sometimes like most Vikings were prone to be. This was definitely one of those times.]

So what do people taste like then? Chicken?

[This is why Vikings weren't the ruling force in the future, Ivar.]

... No. They taste like blood.

[Too true. They were destined to burn bright, fast, and out. But if all goes according to history, he'll end up conquering England and becoming a king in Ireland. That'll be good enough for him. Ivar doesn't bat an eye at Spike's confirmation.]

Sounds like home.

[Vikings were known for drinking blood occasionally, both of the animals and humans they sacrificed to their gods.]

What, the drinking blood bit?

[Spike peered at Ivar, his face back to human again as he tried to sort out of the boy was taking the piss or not.]

You don't look like a demon...

I'm not. Just a Viking.

[Which does explain a little bit about why Ivar has turned out the way he is.]

We sacrifice people every seven years or when we need fortune from the gods. Their blood is gathered up for us to drink and gain power from it.

Right. Right. Raping, pillaging, and drinking blood while worshiping a god that does the same. You lot are quite a bit like trolls.

Not that all cultures don't have a bit of sacrifice and blood letting. Mayans, Druids, Vikings... Makes me wonder if that's not why humans were made vampires in the first place.

Trolls? Like jötnar? [The two beings were interchangeable in the Norse religion.] Hardly.

If it didn't work, people wouldn't keep doing it. The last time ensured victory when we went to war in England. [Though he'd still take most of the credit for planning the battles. His brothers' plan was just attack, attack, and more attack.] So you were originally human?

Dunno. Met a few trolls in my time and they were always big, stupid, smelly, and liked to smash things and eat babies.

[He rolled his eyes.]

Unless you're actually doing magic that you can see, giving credit to some invisible god for things you've done that have worked out seems a bit daft to me. There's always a fifty-fifty chance you'll lose at anything if it's one versus another. You just beat the odds.

I've never met a vampire before, but I wonder if they're all as arrogant and smarmy as yourself.

[He doesn't really mind the insults. That's basically how he communicates with most people. However, getting into debates about gods, he does mind that a bit.]

Who says they're invisible? I've actually met one. [Odin himself had come to tell the Ragnarssons of their father's death.] So they do have an influence on our actions.

Some are broody poofters with too much hair product.

[He grins, not at all minding that he might be provoking this new little bit into despising him. Just par for the course, really.]

Sure they do. Only person that has control over you is you, Viking. Your actions might be out of fear or respect, but they're yours. Own it.

And some appear to be like most Englishmen: idiotic and with a superiority complex.

[It'll take a bit more than that to get Ivar to despise him. He's enjoying the banter thus far.]

So you don't believe in fate? And I do have a name, you know.

It's not a complex if it's the truth, mate.

[Still, he wasn't minding it himself. Yet. Spike needed a little something to keep him entertained in this strange little pocket of a new world. Bickering was familiar.]

Why would I? The thing about something being carved in stone is that people often forget that stone can be broken. Or worn away. No use crying over spilled blood.

I'm sure you do. I'm also sure I don't give a bloody damn what it is.

Such a large ego. You must be compensating for something.

[Antagonizing a monster with sharp fangs will only end well. Good thing the Viking has no fear of death.]

You sound like my father. He didn't believe in his fate either.

Be nice now. Otherwise you and I might not get along.

I'm not driving a Porsche, if that's what you're referring to.

[Wait. Some backwater barbarian likely wouldn't get that. Aww, toss it.]

Fate's for people that don't want to own their own lives. They let some other power dictate and control why they do what they do. Don't see the point. I'm evil because I like being evil. Makes it fun. As for you and I getting along...

I'm waiting for the part where you tell me why I should give a bloody damn.

[Indeed, the Porsche reference gets Spike a blank look.]

So you believe in controlling your own destiny? The thought does have some value to it, but it only stretches so far. At some point, fate always takes a guiding hand.

[Ivar smiles then and there's a lack of empathy there that would do any vampire proud]

We're all going to be here a long time together. It might be better to cultivate some allies rather than charm your way into making people want to plot your death. Just a thought.

Only if you let it. Fate is an excuse, just like religions. Oh a higher power made me do it. Yeah, right. God gives a rat's ass about whether you brush your teeth or eat shrimp on a bloody Friday.

[So much scoffing. Spike and religion didn't exactly go hand in hand, but he had to believe there was something up there. Crosses still burned, after all.]

Boy, people have been plotting my death since before I actually died. You'll have to do better than that if you want to make me mess in my drawers.

Religion's hardly an excuse when the gods are actually real. But I can see neither of us are going to convince the other.

[Still, philosophical debates with an actual monster is something he never thought he'd be doing. It's rather interesting.]

The difference now, vampire, is that none of those people were me. If I wanted you dead, trust me, it would happen.

Already dead, mate. Think you missed that part, didn't you.

[Guess who didn't look the least bit concerned that someone may or may not be threatening to kill him?]

[It's alright. Ivar is used to having no one take him seriously. It makes it all the more satisfying when he slams an axe through their heads.]

There's dead and then there's dead. I've never met anything I couldn't kill before.

[Draugr were undead monsters too, but the Norsemen had no trouble killing them off when they attacked.]

[In answer to that, he gave Ivar a wave.]

Nice to meet you, Mate. Name's Spike, and if you try offing me for real, I'll happily pull your spine out of your chest and beat you with it.

Spike?

[A short laugh makes his way out of his throat. It's an odd name, one that conjures up images of the wooden spikes the Vikings used for protection when making camps outside of their own territory.]

You say the nicest things. I'm Ivar Ragnarsson, Ivar the Boneless to some. [A name that some here recognized from the history books.] And you're welcome to try to kill me anytime.

[Would he prefer William the Bloody? And the name would have been familiar if Spike had given a whit about history. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he hadn't. Unless Ivar in his world had some connection to some vampire trinket, he was useless to Spike and therefore boring.]

I would, but I've just put out this little ditty saying that I wouldn't. You trying to make a liar of me?

I'm saying you're all bark and no bite.

[It's so easy to antagonize someone over the network. Though really, being in person wouldn't have stopped Ivar one bit. He never knows when to stop. Pushing boundaries was a trait that tended to run in his family and pretty much all of his brothers also had it.]

[There was a quiet moment, one where Spike took the time to light up a cigarette, blowing a stream of smoke at the device.]

Perhaps you should count yourself lucky that's the case, mate. For now.

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ragnarsson - 2017-05-26 19:40 (UTC) - Expand

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