(OPEN) it's the push and the pull

[hersir]

Who| Ragnar Lothbrok and OPEN.
What| Since the end of the past Arena, Ragnar's trying to get used to a completely world that is completely foreign in all aspects but the violence.
Where| Various locations in the Training Centre, Capitol, and District 10's Suite.
When| Throughout the week.
Warnings/Notes| TBA | a few scenarios are under the cut but feel free to start your own.

[SCENARIO A: TRAINING CENTRE (ROOFTOP)]

Since his death and awakening it's been a blur, an overstimulation of the senses. The concept didn't make sense. Fight, die trying to survive and wake up once more untouched by death. The last arena had been nothing but confusion and the wounds he sustained had ended him due to blood loss. He had thought he would find peace in the fact his gods would come to take him away to feast in their great halls, but no such luck and in the same position he had been handed three items, the map seemingly the only thing useful to him at the moment. Since then, he had found himself keeping to himself, consumed by the facts, the location and mind ever ebbing over the idea of having met one of the gods his culture worshiped. The violence was nothing new, but the problem was the theory behind it, the reasoning. There was nothing gained, only death, and while he didn't fear it, if there was no reason for his struggle when what kind of warrior was he.

The rooftop was comforting in a way. The height of the building unnerving, the landscape equally so but at least the greenery around him was that small bit of familiarity. Leaning against the edge of the rooftop Ragnar simply looked down. From such heights it felt like has flying, the wind slowly moving over him from his position there. The silver landscape was nothing like he had ever seen before, the sun reflecting on the surface. As curious as he was, it was a process he had to take bit by bit, focus on an item at the time. Everything seemed beyond the realm of luxury and in that moment his heart yearned for his rustic home by the edge of the fjords. His arms hung over the edge, his fingers spread outward and he was quiet, contemplative.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that but after awhile he stood up fully and straightened his posture, moving back into the gardens there, reaching into his pocket for the small device he was given. Curious as it was, he wasn't even sure what it's purpose was, why he needed it and if he wanted it in the first place. Still, flopping back onto one of the benches he held it out in front of him, reaching it up, biting on the edge, withdrawing at the bitter taste. It wasn't any material he had seen before and after awhile he dropped it onto the ground, reaching up to run his hands over his head as he looked down, eyes fixated on the device at his feet.

[SCENARIO B: TRAINING CENTRE (DISTRICT 10 SUITE)]

The elevator generally puts him on edge. It's not exactly the safest looking manner of transportation and well, if there are stairs he would rather use them even if he has to climb ten stories upwards to get to the strange little place that he was assigned to live in. The beds are too soft, the surroundings clean and modern and it makes him feel immensely uncomfortable. He's been drinking water the last few days, eating fruit because he doesn't like to depend on people to make his meals for him, doesn't like the idea of not knowing how many of the items in the kitchen actually function. It's a process of acceptance but he can't learn it all at once despite how much he would like to. Ragnar craved knowledge, constantly was curious but some of the aspects of the living arrangements where unsettling. The first few days he's intensely cautious, but now after having been around for awhile he's beginning to get used to the bits and pieces that he has come to comprehends.

In the common room he sits at the table in the corner, rounded and smooth, not rough with dents and edges, sturdy like his own tables back home. Feet propped up into the chair aside him, Ragnar leaned back, tipping the legs of the chair he was sat upon onto two legs, rocking back and forth quietly. His elbows resting at his sides one hand occupies an apple, halfway consumed that he chews on slowly as his eyes look upon his other hand, holding a sleek pen within his grasp. His thumb on the end, he's clicking it, watching the device retract back into itself then come back once more with each press of the button. It's clear by his hands he's figured out with it does, a few dark lines on the top of them from where he's dragged the utensil over the surface and now he's just trying to figure it out. There isn't much writing from his time, nor reading and while he might be able to read now, if anything was inscribed it was within wood or stone. Only Athelstan had introduced him to his books, his script but he had never mentioned anything like this before. It may sound like something silly to be enamoured by, but it's different, it's fascinating.

The clicks sound, a few times every minute or so. Sometimes there are pauses, sometimes they are constant but after awhile examining the item, he's intent on taking it apart, to see how the innards word and so that is where he can be found, at the table, pulling a pen to pieces.

[SCENARIO C: TRAINING CENTRE (TRAINING CENTRE)]

If there was anyway to brush off frustration it was in physical endurance. His solitary nature wasn't anything new. When he was preparing for something he took to his own silence, restricting his thoughts within his own mind. Yet, keeping his body preoccupied was another task. Sometimes it was good to be still but today was not the day. The clothing he had been provided upon his arrival was similar to what he wore back home but felt so different. The people waiting around to assist was more of a bother than a help as the only thing he really wanted from them was to know more. Curiosity caught him but lately it was masked by frustration, covered completely by a small fire of anger in the pit of his stomach. He knew he was better than this, taking to any situation with ease and comfort but this was an entire change of lifestyle and world, of advancement, it wasn't as easy as sailing across an ocean and finding another culture but still in similar times. He didn't want things done for him, he wanted to make his own mead, cook over a fire, catch his own meals and in that frustration he took to the training rooms located within the place he was to call home, reluctantly so.

Still, he could at least focus his attentions on preparing himself for the inevitable. There was no use sitting around becoming weak.

The axe feels different, it's lighter than what he is used to. The grip feels off, too slim and the entire weapon is streamlined. The targets are laid out in front of him, his eyes are focused. He's been here for awhile, trying to familiarise himself with the differences in the weapons of this world but sticking to what he knows; bladed weapons, shields, spears. At this moment he's throwing the axes he has collected. Several already imbedded in the target in front of him, one in the thigh, one in the hip, another on the shoulder. His breath escapes him, he focuses inward and pulls the weapon back, making sure no one is in his way before using both hands to send it sailing between the distance. It hits the arm of the target with a loud thud and Ragnar watches it carefully, cursing under his breath. The weight is different, the chest is untouched, his throw is off and with a look of annoyance he approaches the target to collect the axes there. Vivid eyes can take note of someone out of the corner of his eye. He pauses and pulls one of the weapons off the target before speaking, his voice accented and rough, gaze focused ahead all the while.

"Been here long?"

[SCENARIO D: CAPITOL (STREET WANDERING)]

Now this was the time to be curious. Out of the residences, away from it all the streets are filled with buildings and contraptions nothing like he had ever seen before. Despite the fact it was overwhelming, after a few days of keeping to himself and sorting out his own mind he figures it's time to get familiar with the place he had been brought to and all it's wonders. He felt like he needed to touch everything, running his fingers along the edges of buildings, looking from the sky to the ground, the very earth beneath his feet felt different, everything. It felt hard and uncomfortable the more he walked, his soles used to softer surfaces, the dirt covered landscape of the woods, the sand of beaches. The smallest smile upon his face, he looks around, lingering around buildings, watching people pass in their outfits that seem to be calling far too much attention to themselves, over the top, odd. On the other hand, he was dressed simply, as close as he could attain to the attire he normally wore back in his homelands. It was all so much to take in, it stretched the very capabilities of his mind and consideration. The buildings so tall, the technology so advanced and full of surprises, such as nearly being hit by a contraption on wheels while crossing the road, racing far faster than a horse could possibly be pushed. He's lucky he has a good sense of direction, the map in his pocket providing little use as at this point he'd rather just get lost in a sea of new things to learn, the idea of new cultures and new faces, a new way of life.

Still, it was obvious from the near miss that he needed to keep his gaze straight in front of him, not so much distracted but then he see's it. A light on the side of a building, moving images upon it, voices coming through it and he holds a breath, furrowing his brow.

The pace he takes along the pavement is slow as he approaches, cautious, his eyes widening slightly as he looked upon the display. He's seen paintings before, runes on stone but if the device wasn't so high off the ground he feels like he might be able to reach out and touch them. He had also seen the small screens around the city since his arrival, not paying them much mind, but this was on a scale that he didn't think possible. Releasing his held breath, he neared the crowd of people surrounding it and tried to steady his expression to something more intuitive than stricken by the idea of it all. He watches and then he see's him, the man who claimed to be his god, on the screen; something he believed the further they spoke, the more he proved the extent of his abilities, the control of the storm. Thor. The sound of the individuals speaking is hard to hear, but from what he gathers, it's likely not good news. At his side, Ragnar clenches his fists, his brows narrow. He can feel his chest rise and fall heavily the more he watches the screen, his dissatisfaction mounting, and in a split second he turns to the next person and looks to meet their eyes intensely.

"You there." His accented voice hurries. "What's this?" Pointing to the screen, he's not so questioning what the item is the broadcast is on, but what is happening and why.

Comments

A

[reassures]

Nill spends time on the rooftop almost every day that she's in the Capitol. If it's not once, it's two or three or even four times a day, smoking at night, helping to look after some of the plants during the daylight hours, reading at all hours. It's probably the place she visits most around here, and the place where she feels most comfortable. Maybe that's because of her wings; a bird or not, the sky has more appeal than most of the actual attractions in the city itself.

Because of just how often she's there, it's not unusual for her to spot some of the newer tributes when they finally get to the roof. The scenery of people there constantly changes, but not many come to the rooftop at frequent intervals, and no one looks the same. Ragnar doesn't look particularly unusual, but he also doesn't look like many of the other tributes she's come across. Nill mistakes him for a mentor at first, and leaves him to his thinking. At least until she looks over in his direction and he's no longer contemplating the city, but his communication device. Perhaps she'd been wrong. Mentor or tribute, it certainly doesn't seem like he knows what to do with it.

She takes a moment to actually writing something down on her notepad before she makes her way over. She flips it closed so that she can rap her knuckles against the slightly sturdier cover, mostly to get his attention, before flipping it open again for him to see. The words are written in large, neat handwriting, easily legible.

are you ok?

[hersir]

For a moment that was a breath of privacy, he knew there was always the chance that someone would happen upon him. His hands ran over his brow once more, smoothing over the sides of his head. His mind spins with the possibilities, the thoughts of his family, how he has died then come back to life and figuring that it all doesn't make sense. It's a thought that consumes him, wondering how any such thing was possible. He had his brushes with death before, but he was fairly certain that in that strange space full of starlight he had met his end and happily embraced it, death was not something he feared, it had been embedded in him since he was very young and it was apart of his culture. Curiosity could only get him so far, his personality rampant with it, but this was all just overwhelming at this instant, so much to take in, so much to comprehend, little devices that made no sense.

The approach of the other goes unnoticed, his gaze is tilted downward, looking at the device in the ground. For a moment he is completely silent, his eyes closed, his breath even. As much as he can he tries to take in the surroundings of nature that remind him of home. They are different flora and fauna than he has seen before, but right he's just focusing on the fact they're nature compared to the compact buildings and hard streets. Then he hears the rapping and immediately looks up.

A girl, it seemed. A girl with wings. His breath is still for a moment, she looks young, not as hardened as a valkyrie. Still, it was just another bizarre thing to witness on his list that is likely hundreds of pages long. His silent for a moment and his eyes move from her face to what is being show to him. It takes him a moment to look at the page, unsure what it is, unsure if he can read it but for some reason he can. The only books he had seen before where the Englishman's religious text, and he hadn't been able to read it but now it becomes rather clear he can; perhaps another curse of this land, or in this case, a blessing. Taking in a small breath, he looks over the words carefully and then looks up to her eyes again, blue like his own.

"I'm fine." Reaching down he picked up the device off the ground, a small smile on his lips. "Just acclimating to this place. It's nothing like home."

I am so sorry, I lost this notif somehow

[reassures]

It's not very often that Nill has had the opportunity to meet very many people with accents. Her own city was an amalgamation of so many different kinds of people, but it was rare that she was able to have conversations with them, if ever; her life after her rescue was largely confined to a few key areas, and anyone from the other cities had no reason to go to any of them, unless they were having a particularly stressful crisis of faith. Outside of that most differences were largely left up to slang and slightly different evolutions in language for different parts of the city. Even the accents she'd heard since leaving her world were few and far between, and none were anywhere close to the way that Ragnar spoke. She likes it though. Being mute, she she's always had a certain appreciation for the different ways that people talk.

Even that aside, Ragnar doesn't look very much like other people she's met either. He has a long braid even though the sides are shaved, his eyes are a little sharper, and the way he handled the device was a bit more dexterous than most people. It's not hard to imagine why he's having difficulty adjusting - is so much about him is different than most people here, then his world was probably just as different compared to others.

A small, polite smile spreads across her face, and she offers him a brief and understanding nod before turning the notepad around to write on it again.

it's a little hard to get used to.
did they tell you what that is?

If he doesn't follow the question, she'll wave her hand a little towards his device, a small indicative gesture.