Video; 1-800-MURDERS

[ragnarsson]

[The video starts off with some cheesy infomercial music, the kind usually found on a device that will cut your hair better or replace all your kitchen devices with one. The narrator, one Jamie Dodger, accompanies a series of drawings.]

Has this ever happened to you?

[A piece of paper is held in front of the camera, showing a crude drawing of someone being violently stabbed to death. Or maybe it's a plate of spaghetti; regardless of which of them drew it, the truth is that their art skills are crap.]

Well, with the help of this eight-step training process, it won't have to. [Dodger's voice lacks every ounce of enthusiasm these infomercials are known for, which is probably why his own video back in the day had been text-only.] Just follow your instructor's guidance and one day you could look like this.

[And again, this drawing is either... someone standing over a pile of corpses, or maybe just a sack of potatoes and some of them have faces? Who knows.]

Time to meet your instructor - Phil Swift himself.

[The video pans over to Ivar, who has the usual somewhat grumpy expression on his face. It’s clear he doesn’t really get this whole idea, but he’s been talked into it. He’ll humor everyone...for now.]

Say something.

Like what?

Sell the product. [Dodger turns the music off with a frustrated huff.] We're not shooting another take.

Fine. [Ivar gives the camera only the most dramatic of all eyerolls.] You all are idiots. I don't care if you have powers, powers don't stop a knife stabbed in your throat. I will teach you to stab people before they stab you. [He looks off to the side of the camera.] Was that good?

...Sure.

[There's an awkward pause here as the boys stare each other down with silent and mutual distaste, before Dodger switches the music back on and resumes his narration.]]

With our teachings you'll be able to stab unaware enemies - [Ivar slices his axe across a dummy's back that they had set up] - slice moving targets - [Dodger throws a pillow from off-screen, and Ivar catches it with his axe and slams it down into the floor] - and even counter fireballs, all from the comfort of your broken leg throne.

[There's another long moment of silence, as Ivar slowly looks up with a cold fire in his eyes.]

And now, ladies and gentleman, for the finale, you get to see a live demonstration. [He yanks his axe back out and there’s a psychotic grin on his face.] Start running, Dodger.

[The video concludes with the device that music is coming from knocking over and warping the sound of the tune with an eerie lilt, and cuts out with a flash of sparks and a loud pop as Dodger dodges an incoming throwing axe.]

[OOC: Know that there will be a lot of threadjacking going on in this post. Dodger and he are horrible human beings.]

Comments

[ragnarsson]

[Pause. And blink. Ivar looks a little surprised. Huh. There is a face Ivar had thought he wasn't going to see again. He'd just assumed Jon had gone back through the portal for good like so many others.]

You did tell me last time you were here that you were a good fighter.

[Though he'd never gotten the chance to actually fight him.]

But if you're good at something, why do it for free?

[He's got a kid to take care of. The extra buck or two doesn't hurt.]

[northerndragon]

I'd do it for free because it's needed.

[The confused, unsettled look on his face doesn't match those words. It makes more sense when he continues:]

Last time I was--?

[ragnarsson]

You'd be amazed how many idiots here think it isn't necessary. Besides, I've got a daughter to think about. Some extra money will help her down the road.

[Vikings don't live long lives. He's not going to leave Winter with nothing in the event of his untimely death.]

Yes. About--let's see-- five or six months ago? Not for too long. But I never forget a face.

[jelmazmo]

Five or six months ago, we were both on Dragonstone. Not here.

( She's not really sorry to interrupt. Not with the direction this conversation has begun to take. )

1/2

[northerndragon]

We were. I'm sorry, I have no memory of this place until a few days ago.

People grow complacent when they've had no need to fight in a while. How old is your daughter?

[ragnarsson]

[Strange and curious. Ivar might not be so caught off-guard if he'd run into people who had left and come back before, but Jon is the first he's seen.]

Sometimes, I fear this place is like an animal pen, where the hogs are kept to grow fat and content until the slaughter. It's easy to let your guard down.

[There's a visible change in Ivar's demeanor when he speaks of his child. Something in him that relaxes and softens a little bit. If he has one reason to love, or more cynically a weakness that can be used against him, she's it.]

Three months. Her name is Winter.

[northerndragon]

Winter. It's a pretty name. [Sansa had taught him to say this, long ago, when a girl tells him her name; now that he's older, he's decided that the courtesy may sometimes be extended to a child's parents.] Where I come from, a hard season. But there's beauty in it too.

People are contented here?

[ragnarsson]

It's not an easy time of year where I'm from either. It lasts six months and the snows often were higher than my head. Not easy to crawl through, I can tell you that much. [His voice softens a little bit.] But she was so pale and pretty when she was born. She looked just like the snows of Kattegat.

Well enough. Some don't trust why we were brought here, but those who run this place have given us little reason not to trust them.

[northerndragon]

[He should address the rest of what's been said, but one thing seizes his attention enough that it takes precedence over any other topic.

His first response to it is a choked, disbelieving chuckle.]

Only six months?

[ragnarsson]

[Ivar wonders what it was he said that was so amusing. Six months is pretty darn long for winter where he's from. Norway really only had two seasons to it at all, which explained part of the reason why it was so hard to grow anything there.]

Does yours last longer?

[northerndragon]

The last summer lasted nine years. Winter came last year. No way to know how long it will last until it ends... if we're lucky, only two or three years.

I don't think we're going to be lucky. I know who brings the cold.

[ragnarsson]

[Ivar looks surprised at hearing that seasons can last for years.]

If winter ever lasts that long where I come from, it shall be a sign of the end of the world.

[northerndragon]

[He looks increasingly disquieted and grim.]

If I'm honest, it may be a sign of the end of the world for us, too. There's a legend of a winter that lasted a generation -- they called it the Long Night. But when I was a boy it was a story to frighten children, nothing more, and we worried more about the wildlings on our borders.

Now I think there must be more than a little truth in it.

[ragnarsson]

At home, it's said there will be three winters with no summer in between them. We call it Fimbulwinter, The Great Winter. There will be a final battle between the gods and their warriors, the giants, and monsters. The whole world will be consumed in darkness and fire in the ending of times called Ragnarok.

[While it might seem laughable from a more modern perspective, Ivar believes this whole-heartedly, and it is said with a lot of solemnity and gravitas.]

How do you think it will end for you all?

[2/2 private forever]

[northerndragon]

What do you know of me?

[The perturbed expression has deepened into a frown.]

[ragnarsson]

[Strange, that this place can take away a person's memory, bringing them back without them ever realizing it. Will that someday happen to him?]

A little. You're a fighter and have led men before. You have several siblings, though you only ever mentioned two sisters to me. We were friendly, though not precisely friends yet when you left, if you understand.

[northerndragon]

I understand.

Had I seen either of my sisters -- had I mentioned it? My brothers... six months ago I thought them all dead, but one still lives. Six months ago I had only my sister Sansa. She rules the North in my stead.

[ragnarsson]

You mentioned your sister Sansa to me as if you had seen her recently. As for the others, you didn't say.

[He understands what it's like to miss one's family. Ivar's lost much of his, leaving him only with his four brothers left of his flesh and blood.]

I know what it's like. I've been here a long time now away from my brothers.

[northerndragon]

How many brothers?

Did I ever mention Daenerys? Six months ago, I was with her, though not as we are now.

[ragnarsson]

Four. I am the youngest.

[He says this in a rather tense manner. So often, people pointed to that as a sign that he should have been left in the woods to die as a child. A youngest child who couldn't walk? Clearly, he was a poor, weak runt, destined to die rather than cling to life for years on end.]

No, her name never came up. Believe me, I would have remembered you mentioning a woman such as she.

[northerndragon]

[Jon's youngest brother is dead -- died at his feet, as bait in a trap. And he thinks this young man is telling him about things that happened around that time: Jon himself was recognizable and had been with his sister Sansa recently, but hadn't yet met Daenerys.

But why can't he remember it? Had it passed like a dream?

His dreams are nothing like this.]

I may not have known her then.

Forgive me, but your friend spoke of a broken leg. Is it healing?

[Daenerys had spoken with this man at the river... Jon had seen it from where he stood a short distance away. And it had seemed that there was more to his state than a broken leg.]

[ragnarsson]

He's not my friend. More like an occasional enemy. We're in a truce right now.

[The kind of truce where he still occasionally tried to split Dodger's head open with an axe.]

What he said was merely to taunt me. My legs aren't broken. I am a cripple.

[Which made it clear that whatever skills he possessed on the battlefield had come through very hard work.]

[northerndragon]

It's been many a year since I've seen him, but one of my brothers took a fall when he was a small boy. They thought he would die, but he lived. [That Bran lived clearly pleases Jon.] He hasn't taken a step since, though.

How can an enemy only be "occasional"?

[ragnarsson]

That's the thing with cripples. Everyone expected me to die as a child. I decided that I wasn't going to do it purely out of spite. I was going to live and become a warrior instead.

[It had worked out to an extent. Ivar shrugs at the question.]

I hate him dearly, but sometimes, we get along well enough not to try to kill each other. But it doesn't always work out as you can see.

[northerndragon]

[What had Jon done out of pure spite? Well, if you had asked him at the time and asked him now, his answers might have been different. But he understands the basic motivation: prove them wrong, prove that what people who don't know you might say about you isn't true.

He mostly nods at the first part and doesn't speak up until the second.]

So your occasional enemy convinced you to try to sell your services this way. How did he do that? "Might as well"?