But then he smirks, and his storm subsides.
"Do a better job of aiming, my former possible hook-up. Or perhaps you did that on purpose...hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, eh?"
"As for my apparent stench...you could be kinder, Iron Maiden. Did we not fight together just yesterday, and trounce a villain? Yet it seems there's little camaraderie...."
"Anyway, being a master of the storm means I can shower anywhere!"
In what seems like a split-second, Ragnar has stripped off his armor, clothes, and beer-sling, though he still holds Lightningfang, his sword. An updraft of wind suspends his gear in mid-air. He then conjures a storm cloud above him, which sends a downpour on his nude (and, admittedly, pretty toned) body. He uses the rainwater to wash his body, and his smelly and puke-covered clothes.
"Ah, this is invigorating! Cold rainshowers always wash the hangovers away!"
🎵"I'm a lumberjack and I'm alright!"🎵
🎵"I work all day and I sleep all night!"🎵
"Anyone have any body wash?"