[PRP] A bard with iron in his blood (Bifrost, Stigtyr)

[Annchen]

"Who's flower blooded now, hmm?" Bifrost asked mockingly, but the young reaver he'd just humiliated didn't answer. Not out loud at least. The bard carelessly turned his back to the other lion as if their scuffle hadn't meant a thing to him. And it hadn't, really.

It wasn't even a formal Holmgang... Just a stupid young reaver insulting the wrong bard and then not realizing that the 'friendly' offer to settle matters with a spar would end with him eating dirt. Of course, if the other lion had refused to fight him then and there Bifrost wouldn't have hesitated to demand to defend his honor in a Holmgang. He did care about that part. There might be fabulous braids in his hair, and he might be a great composer, but he had iron in his blood just like any other Stormborn.

His reputation as a fighter was not widely spread, and he suspected that this wouldn't be the last cocky young reaver in need of a nose bleed and a good spanking. But if he had to pick one he'd rather be known as a good bard than a good brawler. Bifrost knew that he was good at both, of course. Perhaps not the most humble lion in the lands, but humility was for thralls.

Kaliforneum

 

[Kaliforneum]

Sweet thunder and lightning. Sometimes the pride was just too big for him to handle. Stigtyr had gotten separated from his fellow players in their game of tag and was now lost in a sea of scowling braids and frowning beards. The young cub wanted to ask one of the older lions to help him get back to his mother but...that was only something a flower-blooded lion would do, right?
Stig had been called that a couple times already, mostly due to the fact that he just wasn't all that good at defending himself. His mother was teaching him, and he had plenty of practice with his siblings, but something just wasn't clicking. He could never time a pounce right or aim with his blows properly. He was too slow, never landing a solid hit. It didn't help that Stig went into every fight pretty much knowing he was going to lose. There wasn't even really a point anymore. But Stig couldn't just not fight. The first time he'd turned down another cub's invitation to spar was the first time he'd been called flower-blooded. Some other cubs had gotten on board and now Stig was having trouble finding other cubs to play with. Girls usually wouldn't tease him, but the boys....
The young cub fell back onto his rump, having just collided with solid rock. Or at least something that felt like solid rock. He shook his head and looked up, jaw dropping. He'd run into a Viking, and one that looked pretty scowly at that. In fact, based on the light scratching and bloodied claws, it looked like one who had just been in a fight. Stigtyr swallowed nervously, cringing backwards. "Um, sorry, Mr. Reaver, sir, I wasn't paying attention...sir." Stigtyr's eyes darted from side to side and back up to the lion he'd run in to, searching for a suitable path of escape. He caught sight of the lion that had just been defeated and barely suppressed a whimper. Stig ears were so going to get shredded.

 

[Annchen]

The collision was much less dramatic from Bifrosts point of view. He hadn't really paid attention to what was going around closer to the ground. What had felt like running into solid rock to Stig, had just felt like a soft nudge to him. He looked down to see a frightened cub. A cub that took him for a reaver. The bard let out a bellowing laugh, he couldn't help it. Reaver! It was really funny...

"I'm no reaver," he said, still laughing, "I'm a bard. That's muuch scarier!"

But if a cub mistook him for a reaver he must look a mess... He scrutinized his bloodied claws and shook his head with a displease grunt. A bit of blood couldn't be avoided in a good fight, but he could take care of it now.

"Now this won't do at all," he said to himself and started cleaning his paws. Blood on white fur was not a look he found attractive. Some of the more brutish Stormborn didn't groom out the gore, but that was just disgusting. In his eyes it made them look filthy and not fearsome. He looked down on the cub again.

"Does my mane look okay?"

Tindra would chew him out if he'd messed up the intricate braids she'd put in the other day.

Kaliforneum

 

[Kaliforneum]

Stigtyr's ears perked up a little bard. A bard? He'd heard of those before! Though, not in the best way. Everybody (or rather, his brother and some other cubs) said that they sang songs instead of fighting because they were too wimpy to be a real viking. Lots of them had suggested he become a bard....
But they had to be wrong, didn't they? The lion in front of him, now cleaning the blood off of his paws, definitely knew how to fight. And it looked like he knew how to win as well. Stigtyr cocked his head a little. So if this lion was a bard, then why did he know how to fight? Maybe bards weren't flower-blooded after all. Maybe they were fighters too. Which would mean Stigtyr could never become one of those either. Maybe he couldn't become anything, the cub thought somberly.
Another question snapped his attention back to the lion. His mane? The cub looked up at it and started giggling a little. Bits of fur stuck up here and there, one braid was starting to come loose on one side, and another braid had bits and pieces falling out, held at an awkward angle. It looked very silly indeed. The little lion tried to regain his composure, but he was failing miserably. "No, it doesn't." He finally answered, still laughing a little bit. This bard didn't seem all that scary after all. Perhaps Stig's poor ears would be spared.

Annchen

 

[Annchen]

The cub's expression said it all, really. If his hairdo could make a little cub crack up completely it couldn't be good. He should find that pitiful excuse for a reaver and beat him up again for making Bifrost ruin his hair. He patted awkwardly at his mane to try to do some damage control, but there was no helping it. He'd have to make another appointment with the thrall.

"By the Stormgod's..." he stopped himself from completing the curse, "Rats... Tindra will never let me hear the end of it."

Bifrost normally had no issues about strong language, but he'd rather not be nagged by a Freeborn lioness for corrupting her poor widdle offspring. You never knew who'd take offense when their cubs came home trying out new and creative curses. Women could be way more annoying adversaries than reavers.

Kaliforneum

 

[Kaliforneum]

The little cub glanced around. He didn't know who Tindra was. He certainly wasn't Tindra.
Stigtyr didn't quite know how to react to this bard. He looked like a reaver, but he didn't act like a reaver. Maybe all bards were really reavers? Or maybe bards weren't as flower blooded as everyone said they were? This lion had certainly been in a fight before Stigtyr had clumsily bumped in to him.
"How did you mess your mane up? Were you in a fight?" The young cub asked, tilting his head to the side. Once Stigtyr got it into his head that he wanted an answer, he would stop at nothing to get it. "Did you win the fight? Why were you fighting? Was it scary? I would be scared."
Stigtyr admitted with a small frown. His brother was always really good at beating him up. The grey cub didn't think fighting was all that fun anymore.

Annchen

Lol I totally forgot about this RP!

 

[Annchen]

Bifrost smiled as the cub assaulted him with questions. What a cute little tyke! And so tiny... He couldn't possibly have been that small, ever.

"Yeah," he said, "I'd say it was worth it to teach that reaver a lesson. They think that just because they've been on a raid they can take on anyone in the pride..."

It would have been better to be able to win a fight and still keep his mane in decent shape. Ah, but if he started worrying about hairdos in the middle of his next fight he'd probably be distracted and lose. And while he hated looking like a slob, he hated losing more.

"Of course I won," he said with a grin, "And nah, it's not scary once you know what you're doing. Practice makes perfect, yeah?"

He might have missed a couple of questions there, since the cub had asked a lot of things at once.

Kaliforneum

 

[Kaliforneum]

Stigtyr pouted a little. The big male made is seem like fighting was so easy! The cub had been practicing and practicing, but he was definitely nowhere near perfect. Not like his brother, or even his sister. And Mama was always a little disappointed in Stigtyr when he wasn't as good as Tollak and Dagny. She always tried to hide it, but Stigtyr could see it. He wasn't stupid. That was the last thing he was. Well, that and being a good fighter. His big paws always got in the way, tripping him up, or he was just too slow to catch anyone. "Not always," the cub mumbled, no longer looking up at the big male. His shoulders sagged and his ears fell back. Some people, he thought, would never be good at fighting.

Annchen

 

[Annchen]

"Cheer up," Bifrost said and gave the cub a gentle nudge with his front paw. He meant for it to be gentle at least, but the cub was tiny. He hoped he hadn't been too rough. "Err... sorry."

The cub had not yet learned to hide what he was thinking and feeling. He must have tried fighting, and not with good results. Bifrost never had to compete with littermates, but he had scuffles with cubs his age. He won some and lost some... And in his awkward adolescent time when he was a wannabe-bard and not actually a bard he got plenty of practice when his peers wanted to try to beat him up for sports. The more practice he got, the more of the fights he won. He owed those budding reavers much of his fighting ability actually. The rest was pure awesomeness, and probably a bit of his mother's famous temper.

"Practice helps," he reassured, "I promise. Even if you lose a bunch of times you'll start to learn why you lost, and how. If you're smart you'll figure it out. And if all else fails you can practice a mean face."

Bifrost made a face that was a good deal more silly than scary.

"Get it right and no one will dare to mess with you."

Kaliforneum

 

[Kaliforneum]

The cub had to take a step or two back when the male nudged him. How did all the adults manage to be that big? Stigtyr didn't think he'd ever be able to get that big. Maybe only the really good fighters grew big, and all the bad ones stayed small. Meaning Stigtyr would be tiny forever. But no, that wasn't right. He was bigger than Dagny was, and Dagny was a better fighter than him. Stigtyr would need to come up with another hypothesis.
The cub giggled at the bard's silly face, and mimicked him with his own exaggerated snarl. Of course, the growl coming from Stigtyr was not at all threatening and much too high-pitched but be anything else but laughable. "Thanks for the advice, mister! I'll have to try it out on my siblings!" Perhaps Stigtyr wasn't such a lost cause after all. Maybe, one day, he'd even have a really cool scar to help with his mean and scary look.

Annchen

 

[Annchen]

"You're welcome," Bifrost said, "Don't die in bed."

He wasn't used to giving out fatherly advice, but something he said must have helped. Or the cub might just be polite. With a mental shrug, the bard went on with his day. His first and most important task to find a thrall capable of fixing his mane...

Kaliforneum

I'll tackle the lawspeaker one later today, sorry for keeping you waiting