brightline | marco ø riverview ø ic inbox

[Marco, on the other hand, freaks out for a while before throwing on some oversized grey sweater, a fur-lined hoodie, a pair of purple jeans, and some hiking boots, and heads over to the bar. Still feels weird about not getting carded, and looks around for the dude who looks like he might be Ivar's dad.

Which is weirdly easy to pick out, weirdly. Marco can see the resemblance, and also the stupid-handsome muscly Viking dude has two glasses on his table. Even if he looks way too young to be Ivar's dad, it's definitely Ivar's dad.

Marco walks up, holding his head high, squaring his shoulders, trying to look bigger than he is, which is saying something because he's still just barely above five feet and built like a scarecrow.]

Hey. Uh, Ragnar? [A long pause, and then, like a hasty afterthought.] Sir?

And you must be Marco. [If Marco had any doubts, the accent he shared with his son would have easily dispelled them. He stands up to clap the kid on the shoulder in a warm greeting, which just further drove home how small Marco was compared to him.

He gives Marco a puzzled look at the 'sir', which has no real translation where and when he's from, so the closest the language program can do is 'my lord'.] No need for formalities.

Have a seat. [He motioned vaguely at the chair and the empty glass, once again sitting down and immediately bringing his own glass to his lips to finish it. He then poured them both full glasses.] It is good to meet you.

[The intense, piercing gaze was almost immediate, Ragnar studying the young man with a keen eye.] So, Marco, what do you do here? What sort of job?

Yep, Marco, that's me. Just Marco.

[And okay, Ragnar's slap on the shoulder is a friendly gesture, it's really obvious that it is. But it still sends Marco off-balance enough that he has to take a step forward and startles him a little. He laughs it off though, and waves a hand.]

Right, right. Formalities. You know, I totally don't know what I was thinking. Guess I'm just intimidated by all this raw Viking power.

[A little grin, and he plops down in the seat across from Ragnar. When he pours Marco a glass full of beer, Marco does his level best not to wince. If he can't be beaten by the Yeerk Empire, one glass of beer, which is totally nasty, won't stop him.]

Thanks.

[Okay. That look is super intense. Marco actually takes a sip from the glass just to get a bit of a reprieve for a moment before he speaks.]

Uh. Talent agent. [A beat, and then he realizes that it probably means nothing to a Viking.] I represent performers, find venues for them to perform in, get them jobs. Pretty lucrative business.

[A pause.]

I'm also a pilot for the Perimeter Guard, with the spaceships. Part-time. Gets boring otherwise, right?

[Ragnar doesn't seem to find Marco's attempt at a joke all that funny, tilting his head a little as he gives him an odd, quizzical look, but leaves it at that.]

I am surprised you still take notice. Have you not known Ivar for some time now? [There's a definite curiosity behind his tone, wondering if this young man and his son are friends or if Ivar is simply a tenant.

Marco is right to assume that Ragnar will be a little confused over what a talent agent was, but his explanation made perfect sense. He nodded after taking another sip of beer.] Is that why you fight? Out of boredom? [Again, there was only curiosity behind the question, not judgement. Though he was certainly trying to figure out Marco's character from this little chat, he didn't want to accidentally sway his answers.] How long have you been here? And how long have you had that house of yours?

marco ø riverview ø ic inbox

absolutely.

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