Ragnar "Lothbrok" Sigurdsson would glance over at the television screen once again, his lips forming a slight half-smirk at the young man Shimizu, obviously not impressed with his noisiness and arrogant demeanor. What a tiny fellow, he thought quietly, before listening to Livia Caesarius' explanation of an apartment. He would gaze out the window again as she opened the curtains further, nodding slowly as she explained to him that the buildings outside were apartment buildings. To the Viking Age chieftain, however, they looked more like castles without walls or fortifications, something he contemplated silently without interrupting. Imperial majesty? Imperial palace? Emperor? He thought quietly to himself, listening to everything Livia was saying. Ragnar had only ever heard of one empire in his lifetime, and it was a very powerful empire far to the east.
Being inside the recovery room, Ragnar was scarcely aware of the people outside in the waiting rooms and lobbies. He was not aware of Tori Scarlett's presence, or Minori Okiumura's presence as she got up from one of the benches, obviously disgruntled about something which neither Ragnar nor Livia could see or hear from the other side of the doorway to the patient's room. Ragnar was still laying on his hospital bed, recovering from his injuries, as Livia tried to explain things to him.
He would soon finish devouring the fruit slices and whipped cream, savoring the flavor, vitamins and nutrients provided by his hosts. It was apparent that he had enjoyed the entrée, as his face glowed with satisfaction. He watched with widened eyes as Livia then fetched the wheelchair, another strange apparatus that the Dano-Swedish barbarian had never seen before. At that moment, he was suddenly reminded of his crippled son Ivar, and how his brothers used to tow him around in a small wooden wagon when they were younger. Ragnar secretly missed his wives, and his sons, but he suppressed his feelings as Livia finally unfastened his ankle restraints, giving Ragnar Lothbrok the freedom he so patiently desired.
Alas, he was able to move around. Ragnar would sit up again, doing a few neck rotations and shoulder rotations before turning and lowering his legs off the side of the hospital bed, placing his bare feet on the cold white tile floor. He dangled, curled and wiggled his toes, allowing the blood to flow back into his feet. At that moment, a sinister smile formed on Ragnar's face as he humorously stared down at his own feet, wiggling his toes. His retinaculum was still bandaged with gauze and tape which wrapped around the tarsals and archs of his feet from where he had been crucified. He had lost partial feeling in his toes from nerve damage, but given enough time and opportunity, this strong and independent follower of Odin would be able to walk again. Perhaps sooner than later, it seemed, as he placed his hands on the edge of the bed and struggled to push himself up.
Ragnar would stand up slowly, and at that moment, the Argosian Legata would see just how big he really was. For even though his back was slightly arched and he was still slumped over, Ragnar was still considerably taller than she was, and Livia would find herself having to look up just to make eye contact with him. Ragnar Lothbrok was over six feet tall with broad shoulders and lean, powerful muscles, a trait that was quite common among the Vikings due to their rough lifestyle and harsh environment. With his neck bent downward and his shoulders slouched, he continued to stare at his own bare feet for a moment before turning his head to look at Livia with cold blue eyes.
He let out a slight wince and gasp, doing his best to conceal his aches and pains as he turned his body slowly and limped towards her, keeping one hand on the edge of the bed for balance and support. It was obvious that Ragnar was a poker faced, independent, masculine individual who didn't really like being helped, and probably wasn't very used to it either. Even now, in this weakened state, he appeared quite hardened and strong. He moved slowly, dragging one foot in front of the other, taking small baby steps towards Livia, appearing more powerful, bold and daring with each step he took. Even now, the hatred and hardness in his cold gaze had never quite left, and it had seemed as though he was masking his pain behind an expression of anger and fury. Ragnar was a brick, and he had sought to portray that undaunted persona as he limped over to the bathroom, resting one hand on the door frame while nurturing the bandaged spear wound on his side with the other.
Once he reached the bathroom doorway, he would breathe heavily and lower his head again, bending forward slightly to move the hand that was on his side over to the wheelchair, only to let it rest there instead. He would stand there quietly, pausing for a moment to regain his composure again, for his face had turned red and it was clear from his heavy breathing that he was in pain. A small tear of blood started to seep through the wrist bandage on the hand against the bathroom door frame, running down his arm, caused by the loosening of a stitch when he had previously snapped his leather wrist restraint on the hospital bed. But this minor injury paled in comparison to the pain in his side, or the wounds on the bottom of his feet as he lifted his head to gaze up at Livia, suddenly asking a very unpredictable and untimely question.
"Where... are my shoes?" he asked abruptly, wincing in pain. Until now, Ragnar had been wearing absolutely nothing but a simple hospital gown, and was completely naked underneath. Yet apparently, despite everything that had happened to him, the only thing he wanted at that particular moment, was something to wear.
Being inside the recovery room, Ragnar was scarcely aware of the people outside in the waiting rooms and lobbies. He was not aware of Tori Scarlett's presence, or Minori Okiumura's presence as she got up from one of the benches, obviously disgruntled about something which neither Ragnar nor Livia could see or hear from the other side of the doorway to the patient's room. Ragnar was still laying on his hospital bed, recovering from his injuries, as Livia tried to explain things to him.
He would soon finish devouring the fruit slices and whipped cream, savoring the flavor, vitamins and nutrients provided by his hosts. It was apparent that he had enjoyed the entrée, as his face glowed with satisfaction. He watched with widened eyes as Livia then fetched the wheelchair, another strange apparatus that the Dano-Swedish barbarian had never seen before. At that moment, he was suddenly reminded of his crippled son Ivar, and how his brothers used to tow him around in a small wooden wagon when they were younger. Ragnar secretly missed his wives, and his sons, but he suppressed his feelings as Livia finally unfastened his ankle restraints, giving Ragnar Lothbrok the freedom he so patiently desired.
Alas, he was able to move around. Ragnar would sit up again, doing a few neck rotations and shoulder rotations before turning and lowering his legs off the side of the hospital bed, placing his bare feet on the cold white tile floor. He dangled, curled and wiggled his toes, allowing the blood to flow back into his feet. At that moment, a sinister smile formed on Ragnar's face as he humorously stared down at his own feet, wiggling his toes. His retinaculum was still bandaged with gauze and tape which wrapped around the tarsals and archs of his feet from where he had been crucified. He had lost partial feeling in his toes from nerve damage, but given enough time and opportunity, this strong and independent follower of Odin would be able to walk again. Perhaps sooner than later, it seemed, as he placed his hands on the edge of the bed and struggled to push himself up.
Ragnar would stand up slowly, and at that moment, the Argosian Legata would see just how big he really was. For even though his back was slightly arched and he was still slumped over, Ragnar was still considerably taller than she was, and Livia would find herself having to look up just to make eye contact with him. Ragnar Lothbrok was over six feet tall with broad shoulders and lean, powerful muscles, a trait that was quite common among the Vikings due to their rough lifestyle and harsh environment. With his neck bent downward and his shoulders slouched, he continued to stare at his own bare feet for a moment before turning his head to look at Livia with cold blue eyes.
He let out a slight wince and gasp, doing his best to conceal his aches and pains as he turned his body slowly and limped towards her, keeping one hand on the edge of the bed for balance and support. It was obvious that Ragnar was a poker faced, independent, masculine individual who didn't really like being helped, and probably wasn't very used to it either. Even now, in this weakened state, he appeared quite hardened and strong. He moved slowly, dragging one foot in front of the other, taking small baby steps towards Livia, appearing more powerful, bold and daring with each step he took. Even now, the hatred and hardness in his cold gaze had never quite left, and it had seemed as though he was masking his pain behind an expression of anger and fury. Ragnar was a brick, and he had sought to portray that undaunted persona as he limped over to the bathroom, resting one hand on the door frame while nurturing the bandaged spear wound on his side with the other.
Once he reached the bathroom doorway, he would breathe heavily and lower his head again, bending forward slightly to move the hand that was on his side over to the wheelchair, only to let it rest there instead. He would stand there quietly, pausing for a moment to regain his composure again, for his face had turned red and it was clear from his heavy breathing that he was in pain. A small tear of blood started to seep through the wrist bandage on the hand against the bathroom door frame, running down his arm, caused by the loosening of a stitch when he had previously snapped his leather wrist restraint on the hospital bed. But this minor injury paled in comparison to the pain in his side, or the wounds on the bottom of his feet as he lifted his head to gaze up at Livia, suddenly asking a very unpredictable and untimely question.
"Where... are my shoes?" he asked abruptly, wincing in pain. Until now, Ragnar had been wearing absolutely nothing but a simple hospital gown, and was completely naked underneath. Yet apparently, despite everything that had happened to him, the only thing he wanted at that particular moment, was something to wear.