Video

[assholic]

[There was a lot of pilfered alcohol, fumbled attempts, and finally resignation that had led to this video. Jessica wasn't great at asking for help, or showing that she didn't know what was going on, but this was so far out of her paygrade, she had no idea where to start. She'd poked around the library, but there were things that she couldn't learn there. Not really.

So the network is treated to a semi-annoyed looking dark-haired woman that some might find familiar. The introduction was minor.]

The name's Jessica Jones and I'm looking for- fuck -help with something. I can do this now-

[She'd never been one to shy away from showing what she could do or trying to hide it. She'd always been one of the more open freaks. But like she'd said to Spheeris, people felt safer when they could pretend they didn't know.

So for the camera, she made a fist with her right hand. A small line of concentration creased the middle of her brow and then - Woosh - a sword made of pure fire appeared in her hand. She didn't drop it, though she did flinch because that was never not going to be disturbing. She waved it around a bit. It looked a little like a scimitar, flaring white hot in the center. Then she opened her hand and it disappeared.]

-and that's great and all, but I don't know shit about swords or weapons or anything.

[She was doing an amazing job of not looking like that freaked her out.]

Who's gonna help me figure out how not to slice my other arm off?

Comments

[assholic]

[Alice is deluded and Ivar needs to be in a hole in the ground. Truth.]

You're the one that made it about sex. Not all kinks lead to the cock, buddy. And what the fuck are you calling me? Speak English- or whatever the fuck actually makes that a word and not a hiss.

[She was so tempted to make another low blow about him leading anyone into battle. So tempted. Just push it a little more, Ivar.]

[ragnarsson]

Now you're just trying to change the subject. And here I am trying to give you good advice. [He huffs, pretending to be offended.] Fine by me. Don't blame yourself for not taking it and getting yourself killed the next time some ferocious beast or army descends upon us. I'm sure you'll be able to defeat them just with your scathing words.

[He smiles and there's almost something genuine in it.] It means 'sweetheart' where I'm from. [So you can understand why Ivar would be sarcastically using it with Jessica.]

[assholic]

[She chewed her lip as she fought not to snap at him. Well, it was better than bitch. She still narrowed her eyes at him, because screw you, Ivar.]

You expecting an army to come bash down the doors? What're you going to do? Flail on the ground in front of them?

[ragnarsson]

[He's rather pleased at getting a bit of a rise out of her. But then he seems to live for doing that with Jessica. He goes serious, perhaps more so then he's ever been with JEssica]

You're far from the first to underestimate me. But I will tell you this. There was five of us brothers in charge of our army. The other four looked to me, the youngest and the crippled one, the one that should've been the reject among us, to plan our battle strategies. Why? Because I was good at it and much better then they'd ever be. I've fought against kings, queens, and warriors twice my age and won.

[assholic]

[Clearly it was because Ivar was a dick and liked to pull her chain. She contemplated giving him the finger, but he'd probably like that. Jerk. Instead, she brushed her hair back from her face.]

Yeah, yeah, I've heard the poor cripple sob story from you before. Come talk to me when you fight undead ninja assassins in the skeleton of a dragon.

[ragnarsson]

You asked for advice and I gave you some, pigheaded as you are. See, that's the difference between you and me. I listen to people even when I don't like them because there might be a chance they've got something to say that I can use. You just don't like it that there's a chance I'm right and know what I'm talking about.

[She reminds him quite a bit of Sigurd, his brother, with how she's behaving. There's a reason he'd always been the least favorite of Ivar's brothers even before Ivar buried an axe in his chest.]

[assholic]

I listen to good advice. Most of the shit that comes out of your mouth is just shit. When you start saying something I agree with or that sounds like it runs along any logical lines, I'll listen. But carrying a wooden shield while waving around a flaming sword sounds like a dumb fucking idea.

[She could be a smug, snarky, bitchy pain in the ass, but she heard people. She just didn't always let them know she'd heard them. She coveted her feelings.]

[ragnarsson]

Not when it comes to fighting. I don't joke about that. Fighting, battles, and war are no place for it. [Look at that, he can be made to be serious. Sometimes.] Who said it had to be made of wood? Did I say that? I did not. Try a metal buckler like the English do. It's better suited for someone of your size anyway.

[assholic]

You did, you jackass. Something, something, wooden shields. I didn't pull that out of my ass. I'd rather not learn anything, but since I don't seem to have a choice on what weird magic mumbo jumbo is coming out of my ass, I'd at least like to know how not to burn someone's face off- Unless I want to burn faces off.

[ragnarsson]

Did not! I said a shield. I never said what it had to be made out of. Which tend to be a combination of wood, metal, and leather. Have a little more of one then the other two and you won't burn it unless you're truly stupid as you try to seem sometimes.

[Now he's getting surly again. This is what he gets for offering advice in the first place. Hmph. Remind him never to try and do a favor for her ever again.]

Do you even know anything about wielding swords in the first place?

[assholic]

Whatever. Looks like it's past your naptime, crankypants.

[She considered her day a good day when she pissed of Ivar. It was beginning to be a theme. God, she needed a hobby.]

Of course not, you asshole. We don't use that shit where I'm from. Guns. And even those I'm not exactly a fan of. Getting shot sucks. Getting sliced up sucks. I know how to punch people- or, I did. Now I don't know shit. So how about you pull your complex out of your ass so we can make room for the stick that usually goes up there.

[ragnarsson]

Don't you need to go get drunk somewhere?

[It appears the two of them have started a new ritual of pissing each other off as much as possible.]

My, my. So damn touchy. At least you finally admitted you don't know anything. There's a good start. You'd better hope whoever tries to teach you doesn't end up "accidentally" running you through with that charming personality of yours.

[assholic]

Yeah, actually. But there's not really any somewhere to do that. Still waiting for this place to get 'civilized'.

[Frenemies -- only without the friend part.]

Which is why I'm never coming to you. You'd do it on a good day and think it was hilarious, you nut bag.

[ragnarsson]

When they do, I'll always have a reliable way to find you.

[Then again, Ivar could do with someplace to sit and drink ale occasionally too.]

When I kill you, I'll make it known. I'm not about to just do it abruptly like all that.

[assholic]

Bullshit.

[Hear that? That's the sound of her sarcasm and disbelief hitting you right in the face, Ivar.]

You get something sharp in your hand and happen to be around me when I make another low blow about your shriveled up crotch-raisin and you'll react pretty abruptly. That's a condition, you know. Explosive Rage Disorder. Or something like that. Really, guy. Get therapy.

[ragnarsson]

[There's a ripple across his face of that same inferno-like rage that he'd shown the last time she'd made a comment about his dick. He very nearly explodes again this time and it's only with an effort that he pushes it back down, but the rage still is clearly seen in his blazing eyes.]

I almost think you must want to die with the way you talk to me. So I will gladly oblige you one of these days and take you out of this miserable world.

[assholic]

See, there you go, looking at me with murder-eyes. You can't help blowing your load early. Seriously, kid. Therapy. You need it.

[ragnarsson]

[He wants to smack her so hard right now. It's a good thing to communicate through these devices.]

Try it yourself, sváss. You're as fucked up as I am.

[assholic]

Already have.

[Admittedly, she still didn't think it worked since her dumbass therapist refused to believe that she was speaking in real world issues, not metaphors. She wasn't being hyperbolic about being made to do things... the fact she'd almost thrown him out the window had clued her in that it was just making her angrier. Still, she'd taken something from her therapy. Something to get her out of her attacks. Bully for her.]

[ragnarsson]

Then it clearly didn't work.

[He's not that surprised. The idea of sitting somewhere and talking his feelings over with someone sounds like just about the worst idea Ivar has ever heard. He only trusts about two or three people in the world to be able to do that with. All have abandoned him.]

Why suggest it for me if it failed for you?

[assholic]

My situation was... unique. You're just an angry brat. Therapy helps for some people.

[Just not victims of mind controlling rapists. Sorry, Ivar. She won that round. But still...]

Maybe you'd do better with meds. Prozak.

[ragnarsson]

[He spits off to the side instead of answering at first, showing precisely what he thinks of those two ideas. Apparently, he doesn't like being called a brat, even if he clearly is one.]

I don't need a healer. I happen to like the way I am and that's more then can be said for you.

[assholic]

The way I am works for me. I don't blow up into explosive homicidal rages. See? Works.

[ragnarsson]

[Someone's calling bullshit on that.]

Sure it does. 'Cause you're so happy and well-adjusted.

[assholic]

I don't do happy or well-adjusted. But I know what's wrong with me and why. I know what's workable and what's not. And I know I don't do well with groups or other people.

[Mostly because she didn't trust them.]