Posted by Civilian Seamus McKenzie (Future Citizen) in Earth - Somewhere

Posted by Civilian Ragna Idun Edman (Future Citizen) in Earth - Somewhere

Posted by Civilian Seamus McKenzie (Future Citizen) in Earth - Somewhere

(snip)
Ragna sighed, “Hvorfor kan ikke folk LESE? Det spiller ingen rolle hvor bra han ser ut, bruk den hjernen som må være der oppe. (Why can’t people READ? Doesn’t matter how good he looks, use that brain that must be up there.)” She swipped back up to the article he’d barely looked at. “Yes yes, they are scum of the earth. Let me spell it out for you, the colony world where they are located, name’s ùr Alba, and in case you don’t know your Gaelic, lad, that means New Scotland. There are sects of almost every clan there, and back then there were no other orphans other than human to care for. And I don’t give a d%$# about the cousins, but it is enough for the Lord High Marshal, even if he doesn’t personally like it. Add Revna’s lineage to that…” she shrugged, “Now you and Mike’s grandmother can do what you want with it, but there it is. Either way, Mike’s an Edman now, and ALL that entails.”
Ragna, I still have tricks up my sleeve but I’m not telling

As she spoke her native tongue, Seamus looked confused but just shook his head. Inside, however, he grinned from ear to ear. Because while the attractive and wholly engrossing vision across from him muttered in Norwegian, she maybe didn’t know something important…

Seamus spoke fluent Norwegian, a gift from his mother.

“Is that what it means, does it? Who coulda guessed? Oh, is dòcha a h-uile duine a bhruidhneas gaelic. Agus tha an stràc agad uamhasach.” (Oh, maybe everyone who speaks gaelic. And your accent is terrible.) Seamus responded with a shake of his head.

There was a brief flicker of a smile across her face and then she spoke in flawless, beautiful Gaelic, “Carson a bhithinn a ’caitheamh cànan cho breagha air cuideigin nach eil mi eòlach air a bhiodh ga meas? (Why would I waste such a beautiful language on someone I don’t know could appreciate it?)”

A loud bleating came from outside and Seamus got up and went to the door. Opening it, Angus came in and danced a little dance by jumping up and down and pawing the stone floor. “Easy, Angus… easy.” and he petted the big ram’s head between the horns. Seamus looked back at Ragna. “Be right back. Mind stirring the stew?” He walked outside and shut the door, leaving Ragna with Angus.

She rolled her eyes. You’re a guest Ragna, stir the stew. She got up, found a heavy woven towel and used it to lift the lid and grabbed, without really looking, the wooden spoon from the hook and stirred. It smelled amazing, real food, not that replicator crap. But she felt light headed, dizzy, and her head was pounding…the threat of a migraine made her temper even more foul.

A few minutes later, Seamus came in and said “Stom’s coming. Big one, too.” and he sat back down and said “So where were we, then?”

Seamus McKenzie, Keeper of The Ram

Oh great…it was storm season wasn’t it. She rolled the papers up, and slipped everything back in the satchel. “We are done, for now. You get to decide if you’re going to take me to see Lady McKenzie or not.” She shouldered the bag and walked right out the door, moving around Angus and his stomping and bleating and hulking bulk. She was going to have a long long walk back.
Ragna McKenzie, I’m not staying in that house with that man in a storm…not doing it.

Seamus followed her and said “By the gods, woman! Get back in here! That storm will be right on us in minutes!” He stopped at the fence and watched her walk towards the main estate grounds… eight miles away. “Awwww… dammit.” he said to himself. He then said “ANGUS!” and the big black ram came out and stood majestically by his side… well, as majestically as a black ram could. “Go.” and he pointed at the walking figure of Ragna. “Go keep an eye on her, then. When she gets too cold and too wet and too lost, bring her back.” and Angus grunted once and took off. Seamus watched him run and just shook his head. Turning, he went back inside and got out enough wooden dishes for him and Ragna to have dinner.

Seamus McKenzie, If You Cant Dodge It, Ram It

Ragna turned the coming storm reflected in her eyes, “I was born for storms like this!” And she turned, extremely tempted to head for the beach, and call her Da, send a boat in. But in a storm like this, it would be dangerous for a boat to beach and so she didn’t. Ragna laughed at the Ram who was trying, with some success, to herd her back towards that cottage. “I don’t think so. I’d rather risk the wrath of Thor than spend the night in that house with him.” Angus stomped and headed butted her several times. She shook her head, and grabbed him by the horns and turned his head, gently, “You go on home to your ladies. I’m not one of them. Go on, Angus was it?” He stomped and bleated, “yeah I wouldn’t be happy with that name either. How about Tanngrisnir. Hmmmm you look just like him. It means teeth-barer and he was all black. His brother was all white, but you don’t need to know his name. But they pull Thor’s chariot.” ​They could also be killed everything and cooked for their meat and were reincarnated the next day, but poor Angus didn’t need to know that.

She side stepped around Angus and continued walking. It was going to be a very cold and wet night. She didn’t pack for this. The thunder rumbled and rolled and she stopped to look up at the heavens. White blonde hair billowed and whipped around her as the winds rose and whipped around her. The change in air pressure and humidity was wreaking havoc on her head. She tried again to step around Angus, but he was having none of it and rammed her hard and she stumbled, “Hey!” and a flash and crack as the thunder and lightening flashed together. Angus bleated at her and he honestly looked at her as if to ask if she needed a clearer sign. Nope not at all. Thor had a very clear message for her, and Ragna was not nearly as stubborn as her sisters, but she also was NOT going back to that man’s house, alone…that was just too much. “Come on Angus, it wasn’t very nice of him to leave you outside the gate in this. Go home!” Her head was pounding and the normally overly confident Viking beauty was turned around.

Angus thought it was great fun. He led her circles around until the clouds finally decided to let loose and he wind really picked up. Finally, after making sure she was good and soaked and cold just like Seamus ordered him, he managed to herd her through the gate and backed up against the door. And in flawlessly yelled Gaelic, Seamus would hear from outside his door, “CHAN EIL aon de na Mnathan agad, Aonghas! Gluais! (I am NOT one of your Ladies, Angus! Move!).” Her head really really hurt now.
Ragna Edman, I don’t care what the gods say

The door opened and Angus, good boy that he was, butted Ragna one last time and two large hands landed on Ragna’s soaking wet shoulders and pulled her inside.

Seamus spun her around, hands still on her shoulders, and he looked her in the eye. “You come to my home, refuse my food, and risk your own life on my clan’s land? Any other insults you want to throw my way, Herald? Maybe some quick speculation on the validity of my parent’s marriage perhaps? Or throw some doubt on the rights of succession of some of our Chiefs?” and he let her go. He knew pointing out the less-than-proper actions she took would make his point.

Ragna’s hands came up between them moving out ward quickly, knocking his hands off her shoulders. “Hands off!” Stubborn Scott, she needed to get back where she could get her tincture before she couldn’t see from the pain … or worse and her stomach decide to rebel. She blinked, apparently from the sudden light of the fire from the darkness outside. So he missed the pinpoint constriction of her pupils. “If I wanted to speculate on your parentage I would have done so already. Not. With. The. Effort.” She cursed softly in Norwegian about storms, rabid rams, and light, the connection unclear.

“I am an honorable man, Miss Ragna. In this place you are safe from the elements and it is my duty to ensure your comfort and safety… as I am sure you are aware. Now… stand there and please don’t drip water all over my floor.” Je turned and went to one of two tall dressers and opened a bottom drawer. He pulled out a folded garment in the tartan of the McKenzie clan and another in dark blue. He set them on the bed and then, from the mantle above the fire, took down a length of cordage. This he ran from one wall to the other and then he pulled the blanket from the bed and hung it over the line, creating a kind barrier blocking the bed from the rest of the room.

She loved Revna, she did but this was too much. When he walked away she actually went back out the door, but stopped leaning against the wall under the small overhang, and politely tried to wring some of the water out of her skirts. The storm rumbled and flashed in perfect unison with the throbbing in her head. She had half a mind to kick Angus as he bleated painfully next to her. She stepped back in and closed the door. “Happy? No water on your floor.” Her voice snapped, her lilt much more pronounced and thick. Protect her from the elements? Who was going to protect her from HIM???? She wasn’t blind she saw the way he looked at her....she was in so much trouble....oh…and there was the black dizziness. She breathed slowly…

“Change inta those clothes, then hang your wet ones to dry on the hooks beside the fire. Then we can eat and try to salvage this evening.” He pulled back the blanket so she could move past it. Her head and shoulders, calves and lower would still be visible, but her modesty and propriety would be maintained.

Seamus McKenzie, Gods or Not Thats A Bad Storm

Salvage the evening? Oh no…she was NOT putting on his colors. Nope! She had no idea why the idea bothered her but she just was NOT doing it. But the outdoors woman in her knew she had to get out of the wet clothes. Stupid Ram, she would have been wet but okay if he’d left her alone. There was a sheltered rocky out cropping half a mile back, she’d seen it on their way in....

Reluctantly, she stepped behind the blanket, mouth in a tight line. She reached behind her and released the scabbard from the special holder on her back and lifted it and the sword up and over her head. She partially pulled the blade, enough to be sure no water and seeped into the tight fitting sheath and would damage the leather or rust the blade. Satisfied she set it down, took the satchel off over her head, placing it on the floor. Then the brooches and chains and the thora pin, finally the copper brown apron dress was lifted over her head. She turned her back to the blanket as the now dark grey under dress was removed as well. If he was looking, and he probably was, he’d see a long white scar on her left forearm as she raised her as over head to slip the blue shirt on. The shirt was enough, she was not putting on his colors. She was not doing it. She slipped off her shoes and wet stockings....and a frustrated groan escaped her. The shirt might be big on her, but it wasn’t long enough. She put the tartan skirt on, with surprising skill for someone with no experience with it, but it wasn’t quite right. She pulled the blanket down, folded it and placed it back on the bed. The room needed the open space to heat properly. She did not say a word. She hung the wet clothes and then sat silently at the table willing the room to stop spinning.
Ragna, yes this is a tantrum

Seamus, to his credit and despite the almost overwhelming desire to look, kept his back to her while she changed; busying himself with getting food ready. He took two wooden bowls and two matching spoons to the fireplace, turning so as not to catch a glimpse of the wholly irritating yet wholly fascinating woman just a few feet from him. He filled both bowls with mutton and venison stew, and then set the bowls on the table. Mugs of water and a small cup of whiskey next to each as well.

As Ragna slumped herself in the chair, Seamus stopped his hosting duties and looked at her. The pain was evident. He looked closely and saw the clenched eyes, furrowed brow, hands balled into fists, and face turned slightly away from the fire light.

“Headache, is it?” he asked to see if he could help.

Seamus, Trying To Be Nice But She Is Just Trying

Ragna winced at the sudden sound of his voice in the silence. He wasn’t being overly loud, but the sound hurt anyway. “Do all Scotts yell, or is it just you? I just can’t see Revna with someone who yells constantly.” Her voice was a whisper but no less firery for that. She was quiet a long time seemingly having ignored his question. No it wasn’t a headache, not just a headache, but a full blown migraine. She loathed it but she had to ask, she was certain the chair she was sitting on was spinning and her vision had already moved from tunnel to pricks of light. Her head felt like a vice was crushing her skull. She hadn’t had one this bad and develop this fast in years. “You don’t happen to have ginger, feverfew, peppermint, and lavender in the garden do you?” Her voice was low, not even louder than the storm. And with each crash and flash of light she visibly twitched in pain.
Ragna, I don’t want your help but I need it.

Seamus nodded slightly. “In the garden, aye. But fresh won’t do ya so much good, ‘specially in dis weather. But I have something that’ll help.” and he stood up and went to the cabinet by the sink. Opening it revealed a plethora of bottles of various shapes and sizes. Each one stoppered and with a handwritten label on it. He moved a few around and then said “Ah ha.” softly and pulled one out. He closed the cabinet and came back to the table and said “I know ya gonna say no, but please don’t. This’ll help ease the pain enough to eat and then you can go to sleep in the bed. I’m gonna rub summa this here on your temples and forehead. It’s got what you asked for, as well as some mint and a touch of raw whiskey. It’ll open your pores and help ya absorb it faster. Okay?”

She heard the bottles being moved around and opened her eyes glancing at the cabinet. Aunt Sofie would love that cabinet. Ragna had learned everything she knew about herbs and natural medicines from her. Ragna prayed to Idun that whatever he was pulling out was mixed correctly. Say no? She whispered softly to herself, “Dh ’fhaighnich mi dheth carson a chanainn nach eil? (I asked for it why would I say no?)” There was a sharp intake of breath as the room lit up and the house rattled as the apex of the storm settled over them. “Tha mi gu bhith tinn … (I’m going to be sick…)” Ragna gritted her teeth against the nausea and waved her hand in a small motion of agreement. She didn’t trust herself to move her head or speak.

He opened the bottle and poured a small amount onto his fingers and then rubbed them together after setting the bottle down. He put himself between her and the fire light, and then gently brushed her hair back and began to rub her temples very delicately. It wasn’t about pressure, just getting the medicine on her skin and absorbed. He did that in silence for a minute or so, then put his thumbs above her eyebrows and rubbed there until the liniment was absorbed fully.

She sat very still, knees pulled up, curled in on herself, perched on the chair. She flinched expecting pain at his touch, simply because her head hurt that much. There was a hint of vanilla and caramel chased by the scents of the herbs....whiskey, he said there was whiskey in it. Eyes still closed her voice was surprisingly soft and lacked the ire of earlier. “American White Oak. That whisky was aged in an American White Oak cask.” His touch was surprisingly gentle and reassuring for a man tasked with being game warden and marshal. Unaware a small whimper slipped out as he began to rub across her brows, but despite the signs of pain on her face, her body language was....softer.

He stopped and put the bottle by the bed and then sat back down, sliding his chair so his big frame shadowed her face. “Give it a bit, then try to eat. It’ll save you another headache when you wake up hungry.” and he picked up his own spoon and began eating. The whole exchange he never looked directly at her, and now he looked pointedly at his bowl.

Seamus McKenzie, Trying To Stop Before He Does Something Stupid

The light dimmed and the relief on her face was obvious. She didn’t speak for quite awhile, and then finally she opened her eyes slowly, gaze landing on the water, she took it sipping slowly, judging how steady her stomach was. Several more minutes passed before she uncurled herself and attempted eating the stew. Starting with the broth and lighter vegitables until she was sure her stomach wouldn’t rebel. Pointedly not looking at him, “Thank you, Seamus.”

Ragna Edman, Why Did You Have To Be Nice?

There was a long pause and Seamus took a drink of whiskey to steady himself before saying very softly while still staring at the bowl of stew “It’s my pleasure… Ragna.” and he twitched slightly inside when he said her name… like he’d been shocked by a very small charge. “I hope it helped and the stew is to your liking.” He really wanted her to both feel better and like the stew. He had no idea why he wanted that as badly as he did, but it was… for some unknown reason… extremely important to him.

Seamus McKenzie, Chef and Doctor

Knots twisted and bunched and warmth spread in her stomach when he said her name, and it had nothing to do with the migraine induced queasiness. “It’s helping,” and it was but for some reason, only known to the gods, she didn’t lie or bluster that she was fine now. She wasn’t, and she wasn’t going to be for a few days. She already knew that. And she had this overwhelming compulsion not to lie to him. She wasn’t moving much, every movement was very precise and deliberate, to ward off the dizziness triggered by too fast movement. “It reminds me of my Dad’s Karjalanpaisti, my favorite. This is more” If he was waiting for further explanation, there was none forthcoming, as if the emphasis on her last word was explanation enough. She tried a small piece of the mutton bit was far too heavy for her protesting stomach but the flavor was amazing. She focused on the broth and vegitables. After several minutes of silence, the lightening causing her to blink against it but no sounds of pain - better. “Who makes your liniments? Or is that you as well?” The question lacked her earlier implied insults.

Ragna Edman, Say my name like that again