the problem, the problem with fate

Pulled from pillar to post, Ragnar found himself unsurprised when he woke up in unfamiliar territory. The two sides of him remained split in his memories, fighting for their lives in dominance, and the Viking found his head having the familiar feeling of pounding as a headache started to grow and thump in the confines of his skull. Ragnar lay on his belly, splayed out on thick legs, his stub tail hanging from his rump as he angled his head towards the sky and grunted.

"Odin," he huffed, narrowing his eyes — though only one could see. A pool of forest green stared up, seeing the clouds and the blue of the sky, and the pool of silver remained unseeing, darkened and blotchy. Seemingly wrangled by some type of magic again, Ragnar wondered if they would ever switch it up and allow him full sight again. 

What he realised quickly, though, was that if he was pulled here, it wasn't entirely certain that Kaida would be too. Frowning, the viking pushed himself to stand and wobbled only for a moment before he righted himself, and scratched at the earth as he stretched out his limbs. Kaida — gone. His nostrils flared with dismay and worry. Would she arrive here, too, or would he be condemned to worry about her for an eternity?

The titan chewed on his cheek as he glanced around, angling his head to get better sight of both of his sides in one fell swoop. The hunt was one, he wagered. She was his friend, his confidant, and truly, he had gotten quite used to her presence that now without it — and not by choice — Ragnar found himself put out.

Striding forward, Ragnar ventured through the trees.

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 It had not been a very good day.

 First off, Sugar woke up, body embedded into a bush (not truly.) But close enough. The Dayflower must have "fallen asleep" (aka, being too sloshed to get all the way home, so settling for a comfy-looking bush instead) or someone was playing a very cruel joke on her. Either way, it didn't matter. What did matter was the matted nest of leaves and sticks in her fur — oy vey.

 Second, after finally unwinding herself from the bush, and most of the assailant leaves, she couldn't figure out where she was. Not a familiar feeling for the actress. Sure, she would party, drink, and sometimes go home with an adoring fan (or two), but never had she woken up and not known the very forest around her. It was not the same pretty pink petaled, summer's morning mountain vale; no, it was something entirely different — and chillier.

 Third, there was no Peony to help her through the morning. A steadfast underling that she'd ended up taking under her wing, who, in return, was there for Sugar's every need. It was a bit much sometimes — but oh, Lord, what was she going to do without her? It'd been forever since she'd had a moment to herself — since she wanted one to herself. And now, she was stuck with it, her heart starting to hammer within her chest.

 With the panic attack that felt inevitable in her throat, she could feel her paws work on their own, moving forward, trying to see if she remembered anything around her. The seconds that drove by without seeing anything of familiarity made her paws work faster, and faster. Until she was full on running, a sound revving in her throat, her voice raising with fear, “Peony—!” Her eyes flashed wildly around the scene, not paying attention to where she was going —

 CRASH.

 Sugar collided with someone — or something, for that matter. Whatever it was, their body was rock hard and large. And in a second in her mind, the fear that she'd run into something huge like a bear or... Heavens knows! Oh, Lord, where was Peony in a time like this?

 It was a very bad day, indeed.

@Ragnar

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Later, Ragnar's two memories would have an argument about whose fault it was that he hadn't heard her coming. For the present, Ragnar's toes curled into the soil at the sudden collision as if on muscle memory, trying to stop him and whoever had bowled into him from going over.

Helped by the fact they were basically made of air, Ragnar grunted as he looked down to find just who, or what, had used him as target practise. They were tall, he could tell, even in their crumpled and frazzled state, but made up of fur that, for a moment, he was disappointed wasn't the earthen colours of his friend.

Pushing a shoulder forward to steady her, Ragnar angled his head so his good eye could capture her fully, blonde and pretty and Ragnar's younger self cackled in the back of his mind, and the Wise Ragnar huffed at the audacity. "Careful," the Viking said, common-tongue better than it had been before Kaida, but still nowhere near perfect.

"Good, elskan?" Ragnar grunted, wondering what the hell she had been running from to begin with. He lifted his gaze above her head to watch the surrounding area — whatever had been chasing her, if anything, wasn't there. His spine twitched with distaste at an unknown foe, but he kept his ears taut and ready as he glanced back down at the girl.

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 The collision had been quick, short-lived in the sense that whoever (or whatever) she'd made the unconscious mistake of running into — was made of stone. Sugar, after a moment of shock, started at the beast's paws and then worked her way up, confirming that thankfully, it was not a bear, but just a very colossal man. Not only large but shaped finely, crafted by a timeline of hardships, no doubt, finally landing her gaze onto his split eyes (one good, and one not so good.)

 'Careful.' She became very aware that she had been staring for a moment instead of speaking. She sheepishly smiled and stepped a few paces backward, stopping to put a paw to her chest, “Je suis tellement—” — I am so very— Another realization hit her that she was not speaking the same language he'd spoken to her in — “I am so very sorry, sir!” Her voice a proclamation of empathy, her eyes now back on him, examining the structure of his handsome maw —

 His voice interrupted her thoughts; curiosity erupting in her, “Elskan?” She prompted, watching his gaze go overhead of her, glancing at the vast forest behind her. The very pines she'd been running from, as if they were angling to catch her ankle and drag her back into the unknown. The strong urge to scurry forward convulsed in her, but instead, she stood her ground, “I... No, I don't think so. I...” She looked around warily, “I have no idea how I arrived here—” Or where Peony was. Oh, the panic was starting to settle back into her nerves, “Have you seen another young woman? Petite? Tawny?” She questions, leaning in again, wondering — hoping.

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Ragnar remained under her watchful gaze, a surprised watchful gaze, and stared back at her. He wasn't one to shy away from direct attention, regardless if it were the younger man in him or the older, and really, she wasn't looking at him in fear. So he supposed that was a positive, at any rate. She wasn't someone he was meeting on a battlefield, she was just someone running from something and that spurred Ragnar into his watchful stance as he kept his attention on her and divided to the surrounding area.

Her language was not a surprise, he himself did not speak the common tongue as his native, and he was sure it was one he had heard in passing before. He wasn't caught up enough on it to know what she was saying, though, and instead tilted his head as she shifted to common instead. He shifted on his paws, thinking both languages suited her well, but at least they had one in common. Sir, she called him, and his brow twitched in a rise as he regarded her. He was a Viking, often labelled a barbarian from the stories of them, and rarely was called Sir.

It was pretty, coming from her.

He nearly snorted; that was certainly the younger memory of him charging forward, wanting to flirt and play with the pretty girl. Ragnar was certain he heard the older memory of himself suffer a sigh yet still, it was amused. He had nothing to say to her apology. He could tell her the obvious, to be more aware of her surroundings, but he was certain she would learn that from the way she had all but crashed into him. Instead, he focused on the way the word repeated on her tongue and his half-grin came, small and settled on his face as he nodded. Feeling particularly playful despite the way he was alert from the danger she may have been running from, Ragnar confirmed, "Elskan," not willing to give her what she wanted without her directly asking, but also, he couldn't make it too easy for her, could he?

She was out of sorts, unorganised in the way she teetered off and didn't finish a sentence, and then she was staring to ask him questions on whether he had sighted anyone else, leaning in as if it might change his answer, unknowingly. "No," Ragnar shook his head, "no one else. Only you," he tried to speak a bit slower so that his butchered, accented common tongue didn't sound so broken. "You were running," the Viking said, "from someone?" He asked, "or towards... Tawny girl?"

Ragnar dropped his rump to the ground unceremoniously, his forest green gaze remaining on her as his torn ears twitched to the forest, and for a moment, he let himself observe her features up close. She was tall, leggy in the way she had lean muscle in her legs and body, and eyes a startling blue. She smelled florally, sweet and yet like a beach. He hadn't been to many beaches, but he would remember their scent, at the very least. So used to spending time with Kaida, Ragnar had forgotten that there were other appearances other than that of an earthen nymph. 

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