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Date: May 20, 2000 (Frigga Blot)
Setting: The Manor Dining Room
Status: Public (Everyone join!)
(Also used for the writing challenge (sorry, quite long)- if you want to skip the memories, just scroll down to the (***)
Summary: Wednesday throws a party
In the bottom of Wednesday's trunk, buried under relics and runes, marked cards and false coins, is a photograph. Its one of the few photos he owns. Most of his memories date back long before George Eastmann (1) was born.
Wednesday doesn't look at the picture much. He doesn't need to. He knows every line, could easily reproduce it if he wanted to, can see it when he closes his eyes at night. The picture is of a woman, her back to the camera, red hair bound and keys jangling by her side. She doesn't look much different then she did in the First Days. Her skin is still creamy white, her posture straight. She does not bow her head even though her hair is blown by wind.
Sometimes Wednesday pauses, remembers before he was "Wednesday," thinks back to the days when he was Oưinn, Lord of the Aesir, Grimnir and the Terrible One. He would travel, always searching for more knowledge, more conquests, more virginal damsels. But always he would return to her in Fensalir. More of a home than his own hall could ever be. Her handmaidesn would attend to him as though he had never been away.
She, on the other hand, was another story. She was his equal. Equal in wisdom, equal in ardor, and equal in spite. She could greet him with a cold shoulder that rivaled the icy grip of Nifleheim. Her back turned to him as she spun on her loom, weaving the fates of men. Yet once he was back in her good graces, the doors to the cosmos were flung wide.
The truth is he always suspected that she knew more than he did, and he knew that he was probably right in the suspicion.
And he loved her. Yes, though he loved many others, it was her face he dreamed of at night. Her swift wit and cutting tongue that kept him sharp. Sustained by the thought that at one time he had loved and been in love with a woman that could challenge him, always keep him guessing, and usually come out on top in the end.
He had last seen her in Berkeley. She had always been adaptable, even more than he was. She had her own shop; selling tapestries and reading the cards. He had laughed when he saw her, for she was coning the marks just as he did. The cards meant nothing, merely a prop for the grift. It was in her tapestries that the true secrets were kept. With the same steady hands and un-erring words, she could tell her customers their fate. A steady point in a changing world.
He had taken the picture without her knowing. The only photograph he ever took. One final day in her arms, the sound of her voice in his ear. He had snapped the photo as she walked away, her head unbowed, her hair as red as the heart of a fire, and keys at her belt that would never agains open doors.
***
Wednesday woke up early that morning. He had a lot to prepare. Mead to be bought, food to be cooked, arrangements to be made. But in the end it was worth it. By 6pm, the dining hall no longer had the feeling of a cafeteria. Wood smoke hung in the air. Thick scents of meat and bread wafted down the halls. When the old god closed his eyes he could almost imagine he was back in Fensalir. With his wife's picture on the mantle, he traced runes. Runes to gather all the inhabitants of the manor. With them he hoped to celebrate her name.
(1) Inventor of the camera- (I wasn't sure if it would be too obscure.)
Setting: The Manor Dining Room
Status: Public (Everyone join!)
(Also used for the writing challenge (sorry, quite long)- if you want to skip the memories, just scroll down to the (***)
Summary: Wednesday throws a party
In the bottom of Wednesday's trunk, buried under relics and runes, marked cards and false coins, is a photograph. Its one of the few photos he owns. Most of his memories date back long before George Eastmann (1) was born.
Wednesday doesn't look at the picture much. He doesn't need to. He knows every line, could easily reproduce it if he wanted to, can see it when he closes his eyes at night. The picture is of a woman, her back to the camera, red hair bound and keys jangling by her side. She doesn't look much different then she did in the First Days. Her skin is still creamy white, her posture straight. She does not bow her head even though her hair is blown by wind.
Sometimes Wednesday pauses, remembers before he was "Wednesday," thinks back to the days when he was Oưinn, Lord of the Aesir, Grimnir and the Terrible One. He would travel, always searching for more knowledge, more conquests, more virginal damsels. But always he would return to her in Fensalir. More of a home than his own hall could ever be. Her handmaidesn would attend to him as though he had never been away.
She, on the other hand, was another story. She was his equal. Equal in wisdom, equal in ardor, and equal in spite. She could greet him with a cold shoulder that rivaled the icy grip of Nifleheim. Her back turned to him as she spun on her loom, weaving the fates of men. Yet once he was back in her good graces, the doors to the cosmos were flung wide.
The truth is he always suspected that she knew more than he did, and he knew that he was probably right in the suspicion.
And he loved her. Yes, though he loved many others, it was her face he dreamed of at night. Her swift wit and cutting tongue that kept him sharp. Sustained by the thought that at one time he had loved and been in love with a woman that could challenge him, always keep him guessing, and usually come out on top in the end.
He had last seen her in Berkeley. She had always been adaptable, even more than he was. She had her own shop; selling tapestries and reading the cards. He had laughed when he saw her, for she was coning the marks just as he did. The cards meant nothing, merely a prop for the grift. It was in her tapestries that the true secrets were kept. With the same steady hands and un-erring words, she could tell her customers their fate. A steady point in a changing world.
He had taken the picture without her knowing. The only photograph he ever took. One final day in her arms, the sound of her voice in his ear. He had snapped the photo as she walked away, her head unbowed, her hair as red as the heart of a fire, and keys at her belt that would never agains open doors.
***
Wednesday woke up early that morning. He had a lot to prepare. Mead to be bought, food to be cooked, arrangements to be made. But in the end it was worth it. By 6pm, the dining hall no longer had the feeling of a cafeteria. Wood smoke hung in the air. Thick scents of meat and bread wafted down the halls. When the old god closed his eyes he could almost imagine he was back in Fensalir. With his wife's picture on the mantle, he traced runes. Runes to gather all the inhabitants of the manor. With them he hoped to celebrate her name.
(1) Inventor of the camera- (I wasn't sure if it would be too obscure.)
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As she stepped into the room and saw the changes to it, her eyes widened. The next moment she spotted her brother standing there. "Odin?" she asked, a bit hesitant. She wasn't sure how to react to what obviously was his doing. "What's the meaning of this?"
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"Freki?" he called slightly worried. "Geri?"
Damn, no Odin, no wolves and he was feeling a little hungry for once. He almost decided not to eat anyway, but he knew that he had to take the chance whenever his body offered it. He had lost too much weight already.
This meant he had to brave the restaurant and a possible run-in with Adam alone.
He took a long shower, took his time getting dressed, counted how many pills he had left ... Still no sign of Odin.
In the end he went downstairs alone anyway ... and found both Odin and the idiot not-god in the restaurant already. One glance around the room finally caused him to remember the date.
"You're not serious, are you?" he asked Odin with a raised eyebrow.
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"Serious about what?" she asked, looking from Loki to Odin, confused. Why was she apparently the only one who had no idea what was going on?
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"About celebrating this occasion at all, now that I think about it." he explained. "But especially about providing a free meal for the likes of you on an occasion like this. They," he said to Odin, but pointing at Uriel. "Have no part of it. If anything it's ours."
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"Someone's having a party." Said the dog, sniffing the air.
Destruction raised an eyebrow. "And you were invited, were you?"
"Are you a dog? Can you smell mead from a mile away? I bet you'd like to."
Destruction laughed and entered the manor. He located Odin's telltale signature and headed in that direction. Who else would have mead around here? Oh, even he could smell it by now. And now he thought about it, wasn't this that time of year...
The dining hall. He opened the door and walked in. "Odin!" He roared. "You have the first Frigga Blot in how many years and you don't invite your old drinking buddy?"
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Instead a man with a dog walked in as if he owned the place and seemed to be very familiar with Odin. Loki glared at the stranger and sincerely hoped that Odin hadn't adopted yet another blood-brother. Under other circumstances he would have challenged him, but he was feeling weak and didn't want to attract any attention from Adam.
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Taking Uriel by the hand, he lead her to a seat at his left hand at the table, Loki he sat on his right. He indicated for the other two to sit down next to his kin.
"I wish to welcome you all. Today I wish to remember my equal. The woman that made my existance complete. Schopenhauer proclaimed that life without pain was meaningless. Well, she gave my life meaning alright. She could be as stubborn, as pig-headed, as rude and as cutting as anyone. She was so proficient in these catagories that she challenged even me when it came to possessing them.
"Today I honor you, Frigga. My wife, my counterpart, the thorn in my side. I would be no where without you. Today I raise my glass, remebering the good and the bad. Frigga, wherever you are, I love you."
Raising his glass of mead, he indicated for everyone else to do so as well. He fucking hated mead, but today, for her, he would drink.
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As Odin started to speak, she soon put two and two together. Frigga. Frigga Blot. So that was what this was all about.
Miracling herself a glass of apple juice -- she had developed quite a fondness for apples lately; whether or not that was suitable for an angel remained unanswered -- she then raised it as Odin raised his own glass. She perhaps didn't know Frigga, but if Odin celebrated her, then she would to.
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"You're sure you want to celebrate the old bitch?" he asked only half seriously. "Your words, not mine." In fact he could remember Odin calling Frigga worse things on occasion.
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She was a bit too late to join in the toast, but that was all right; it hardly seemed appropriate anyway, and she doubted the old god's wife would be properly appreciative of her good wishes, even if she were present to receive them. She tended to have that effect on wives in general, for some odd reason. (1)
That didn't mean she had nothing to contribute to the party, though. She'd been waiting for an opportunity like this one, and smiled to herself as she sent out a silent call to someone who had been asked to listen for it months before.
Not wanting to interrupt, she folded her arms and leaned against the doorjamb to wait until the formal part of the proceedings was done, and for her surprise to arrive.
---
(1) If you detect a note of sarcasm in Agent Scully's voice...
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Yes, she sure was attractive. Maybe if he were sure she was harmless ... Then again, maybe not. His Alice cover story would lose credibility and it was hard enough to manage with his illness and the doctor's appointments. He had neither time, strength nor money to spare for a girlfriend.
Let the insults commence!!!
He walked over to Ellie, bowing to kiss her hand. "Come, my lovely vixen. You are just what this party needs. We already have a representative of virtuous femininity," he said, waving a hand towards Uriel. "Your arrival marks the intoxicating addition of the sacred whore. I cannot think of two women better suited to represent the aspects of my wife. My lovely... ahem... virginal," he laughed a little at the word, "...sister, and the wanton seductress who still haunts my dreams."
"My dear harlot, I would like to introduce you to my conniving bastard-son-of-a-giant blood-brother, Loki. Loki, this is Chantinelle. Ellie, you must be careful around this one. I've known him to charm the pants off of women who were actually wearing skirts."
Well, let's start of easy...
"You say 'virginal' like it's a bad thing," she said, smirking at her brother. "Somebody has to uphold the family honour, you know, what with Loki and you hopping into bed with every woman who doesn't kill you for trying. And before you can say anything, no, I do not believe either of you is classified as 'sex god'."
Ah, the Ego!
"As for the 'sex god' thing, if you're talking about Frey, he was part of the Vanir; the most limp-wristed, ergi-smelling bunch of gods the lot of them. The only one who ever had any balls to speak of was Freyja, and that was only due to proximity, because she spread her legs to anything with a phallus. Hell, even Frey himself, her own godsdamned brother. So between the Norse 'sex god' and a couple of studs like Loki and I, there is no wonder the ladies all come running to us. We're just that good."
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"What's all this talk about virginity, though? There are no virgins anywhere near your family tree as you should well know." He winked at Ellie. "Trust me on this, I've got first hand knowledge in most cases. No virgins in Asgard and, if I interpret the sacred whore comment correctly, none here either."
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"There, Loki, well done. Ruin every last bit of my reputation, why don't you?" she asked. "I'm fairly certain I was the last one of us archangels to qualify as a virgin, though. Not that Gabriel admits anything, of course."
She smirked at the bald god. "Ah, but it's no use for you to flirt with her, you know," she said, glancing at Ellie from the corner of her eye. "You're too weak to be of any use to her. If you can't stand a little brawl without becoming unable to stand on your own, I doubt you could satisfy any woman.
"And when I said, 'sex god', Odin, I didn't refer to any god in particular," she said then to the old god. "Just a human saying of which you probably would have made some particularly bad pun had I not mentioned it first."
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Ellie, Destri -- feel free to figure it out or miss the implications, however you'd like...
"You can take me in a fight anytime? Sure, keep telling yourself that. You wouldn't happen to remember the day of Raziel's arrival, would you? You didn't appear to be holding back in that fight. However, you were indeed unable to get up from the floor when I knocked you down.
"And if by 'delicate condition' you mean the fact that I happen to be female now, well, don't bother. I may now be smaller in size than you are, but I could still kill you any day if I were to fight with you properly. But never mind that, you are free to continue lying to yourself. That's the only thing you are good at, anyway -- lying."
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"And at least I know how to present an untruth." he grinned at Uriel. "You don't even know the basics. 'if you mean the fact I happen to be female'?" His imitation of Uriel's voice was probably completely off, but he thought he had the posture down quite well. "Oh please! Try looking people in the eye at least!"
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Of course she had no intention of actually doing anything, but Loki was getting on her nerves. The god was obviously doing his best to make Ellie and Destruction understand just what her 'delicate condition' was even though he couldn't say it aloud without feeling Odin's wrath.
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"Odin." he grumbled. "Control your little slut, if you don't want me to hurt the brat."
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...She was only holding one knife...
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Re: Ellie, Destri -- feel free to figure it out or miss the implications, however you'd like...
An archangel, pregnant? Hooboy. She wondered who the father might be (Odin? She had a hard time picturing the Archangel of the Presence getting it on with the randy old coot, but stranger things had happened) and whether Uriel had the slightest clue what kind of danger she and her child might face if word leaked out to the wrong parties. Probably, given how hard she was trying not to confirm Loki's insinuations.
This could get very ugly, very fast, she thought with rising alarm, and there was no telling whether any of the parties involved understood just how ugly...