I Thor, God of Thunder

—– Every bit of experience is utilized then, ever small and grand skill tapped into to become and, more importantly, stay as stealth-like as possible, breath momentarily held as focus swivels from last message to his tentative motions. In the kitchen he must avoid the second tile by the back door, loose stone sure to make a sound, and the porch has similar small traps of creaking wood that he balances around. Punishment was not in the cards, but the parental units were to be escaped for now, questions and reassurances not something he needed from them.  

[ Msg to: George ] are u stuck?

Waves rustle and welcome with a tickle against his toes, saltine air inhaled with a nigh-desperate, gulping expanding of chest. 283 days had they spent here, and nowhere in the world had he ever felt more alive than here, with tender hums and splashes of water being a soothing symphony quelling racing thoughts.

The urge to turn on his heel is as inexplicable as the entirely useless smile that emerges on its own accord, completely inappropriate at a time like this but bestowed upon his sibling regardless, curve of lips turning into a sharp grin.

‘ Well, well, well, you brought a better looking date than last time.’ A nod towards the mat and a wink later something akin to relief and gratitude transforms expression from amused to approving.

  “Don’t recall you complainin’ at the time.”

Okay, it hadn’t been Saint’s brightest idea to drag their physics classmates along to the twins’ favourite hideaway. But that group had looked so smashed from their finals, that his instinct to bond was knee-jerk ... really, he and Einarr had nothing to lose, this semester had been a shit one for hitting peak social cruising level. New mates were new mates. So yeah, he might have also invited the girls’ cousin, the other newcomer to campus with the dark hair and even darker eyes. Who turned out to be an absolute sullen dickhead - not at all as nice as the elder twin had hoped for with that plump, soft mouth, wide white smile, and keen agreement to join them for an afterparty. 

Anything for a free bottle of booze, evidently.

But his point - there had been booze. It wasn’t a total waste.

... That was a week ago. Fuckin’ Norns.

Saint kicked up the sand with a heel, lounging back between the mat and the O shaped nook in the cove that seemed to be made, sweetly angled, for people to recline against, “Wish I could’ve stopped at the bottle-o though, ‘t be honest.”

Code red.

As artists are inclined to do he decided to push some limits and over the course of a few years he grafted over 40 different fruit onto the host “ including almond, apricot, cherry, nectarine, peach and plum varieties.”

It has a fruiting period lasting from July to October and this is what it looks like when blossoming.

Shit’s tight yo.

Also we have a group called the Guerrilla Grafters. A group who started in San Fransisco with the goal of grafting fruiting branches onto non-fruiting trees of the same type.

Chuck watched Thor get up, not really expecting to be…assaulted with dirt. But that was what happened, the ashes and grime making him give an indignant sound. “Hey! Just because I forgot to cleanse doesn’t mean you have to throw dirt at me.” Chuck spluttered, reaching up to brush it out of his hair.

The slithering darkness curled around him, indignation seemingly fueling it yet never allowing it to grow any more as the necromancer’s presences cowed it too much into action — into drawing attention to itself from the man himself.

It did little to affect Thor, however.

“Murder victims. Never fun to wrestle them from the afterlife and make them able to actually focus on anything but their feelings before death.” Chuck commented, humming thoughtfully as his gaze grew distant again. Only for a moment, tired eyes turning towards behind him and…nope, not seeing anything either. He did wince when he spoke, realizing that he was a little slower than usual.  “Sorry? I…what am I gonna do in your bathroom…“

   “It’s just sage.” the hunter replied, bemused. He plucked a leaf remnant from Chuck’s curls between two fingers and held it before the smaller’s face, “Have you never smelt sage before? I would have thought it a staple tool in practice, even for blood witches.”

The label was nothing but a flick of habitual salt into their old wounds by this point. Thor had already come to terms - as much as it gave him heartburn to say - with his searching up of this tiny powerhouse in the official Registry. He acknowledged that he had been ... impressed --despite prayers to uncover dirt and solid evidence of the Blood Witch’s blatant, silver-tongued twofacery, just so he could have a less petty reason to chokehold Acheron and their Person out of his home. If only that damn owl would stop messing with his Fenrir! 

The pup was a war hound, for Odin’s sake!

But no, the Necromancer was cleaner than a vampire in holy water. And, what had just about really stapled the thunderer’s brows to his golden hairline in the process, was that, not only was Chuck 100% legitimate, with a glowing client reputation, and an extensive record - but the sheer volume of collaborations on behalf of the Inhuman’s Protection Association, with local human law enforcement. Difficult cases too, of the coldest dead, years deceased - and yet Chuck could raise and hold them as if they had died yesterday.

Thor watched Chuck zone out then with a reluctant softening.

“Come on.” despite the cringe factor of his own aura forced to touch that filthy contagion, the elemental Hunter was well protected - bracelets of onyx and tourmaline between the leather bands on his wrists, and his patron god’s pendant, fully charged but a week ago under the midsummer sun - as he swung an arm over Chuck’s shoulders for a more direct, escorting approach, “Someone of your powers, it would be best that you didn’t get possessed on my property, 'ey? I would legally be required to kill you.”

There was no way Chuck was present enough right now to have a discussion about cleansing rituals anyway, though the grin Thor wore seemed wolfish more than kindly, considering the shock he knew the smaller was about to receive. It took about negative effort to drive the little man down the hall, and that wasn’t just because Chuck could be comfortably tucked into an armpit. Besides, there were more important things - 

- such as, where was that vile feathered rodent? It was quiet enough to drop a pin ... and seeing the state Chuck was in ... without a familiar in sight?

-[ ♛ ]- Be as a mountain, so had the advice been, be and stand, hold fast.

Slivers and fragments of tutelage in bygone years weave its way through tempest-riddled mind, emerged as dollops of clear words amidst fear. It shows upon his features - he is certain of it, Norns damn this weakness still present in him despite learning to control -, tension felt within jaw that grinds molars together, in ever muscle from tingling scalp to feet heavy as lead.

Move.

A brief intensifying of connection, a quickly passing moment that is riddled with flickering nerves, jolting of atoms. Where it presses against his flesh ache flares beneath brother’s touch, yet transmission of it fails to reach still overly active brain.

Movemovemove.

What is sensed cannot be examined or pondered on for too long; Saint’s voice, the timbre of it so overbearing it drowns registering of every other sound, holds mixture of emotions that confuse and mingle with his own. Beneath the rage, that burning wrath Einarr cradles in his chest as well, a hint of grief, a fragment of… disappointment? 

Finally, blissfully does mauled physique comply, guided by demanding will and urging sibling. Tentative are the warrior’s steps, scraping over the floor where debris is heaped to the side. Gaze fixated upon king, boring and with unabashed hatred until he is reassured, by Saint’s words and similar retreat, leaving sight of father and wreckage behind with a grunt.

Foolish, idiocy.

Freedom comes with renewed inhale, with somewhat regained strength as frame sways and limbs are dragged, the movements unsteady.

‘ Council…’

The word is parroted as if repeating it would aid clearing of mind, would bring sense to awake again.

‘ You should have stayed out of it!’

And it is fear still, that forms words and expels them into the air between them, still fear that affects form with tremors, head signaling disbelief with erratic shakes.

‘ You could have been killed… And now… council. You could have perished! Why must you speak with him again?’

“Keep moving, we are not free from this yet.” as furious as that tone was, barrelled in the younger’s chest, urgency kept it tight and rapid. The halls as they sped through were nothing but smears of pillars and gold, the twins teetering on the precipice of a jog now, but not quite, lengthy strides, and fluttering, bloody capes.

Blessed Norns, do not let us run into familiar company, I beg of you--

To run would be to admit the validity of their fear. The root of it. The sacrilege of what they - no, he, Saint, had just done to a parental figure. And thus, even as Saint hurried, his purposeful gaze over-bright and prideful in the righteousness of his actions, with his grip upon sibling’s shoulder a leading one as he steered them onwards to their chambers, he did refuse to give it any hold upon his current conviction. This churning, nauseating, bone-rattling fear that he had just doomed them both. In his momentary, blackout level of foot in his mouth, and for all his red-tinged words, and posturing, and even with the added rational leaps of reasoning that had ended it all, the tank of an heir knew when to recognise a crashing weight of responsibility. A whole Norns-fucked mountain of it.

It would be his, should their Warlord decide to start over. Would it be today. Tomorrow? This year? To wipe brother and friends and any who opposed the execution of Asgard’s golden heirs from their realm, and make good on his threat.

No. We are better than that. We will not fail.

“You cannot ignore-”

“You made mineself a promise, that we would end him together!” they passed the broken wall where Einarr had pinned him in that very event, “Not two hours ago! But instead I find you acting as if you are eager to abandon mineself for Hel’s door. And not just that - but you would kneel for the swiftest passage there, the moment that father dares request it of you!” a Mjolnir-gripped fist to the heavy door of their chambers slammed it open. The Norns had heard Saint’s prayer clearly; no guards had yet returned from their funeral duties to guard it. Saint glared at his brother then, light glittering between his lashes again as he prodded Einarr towards the promise of privacy,

✨  ANOTHER  YEAR  ENDS    &  it  had  its  ups,  its  downs,  like  every  other.  But  this  year  in  September  I  made  it  to  my  third  anniversary  of  playing  this  Elf  who  never  failed  to  inspire  me !   It  was  a  ride,  I’m  not  going  to  drop  my  one  &  only  true  muse  &  should  dumblr  go  down,  I’ll  be  here  &  go  down  with  it.   The  bonds  I  made  here,  IC  &  OOC,  just  mean  too  much  to  me.  Without  the  support  of  my  followers  &  partners  that  wouldn’t  have  been  possible,  of  course,  &  I’ve  had  the  pleasure  of  still  surrounding  myself  with  oldies  like  myself  while  getting  to  know  &  admire  ‘ newer ‘  writers  as  well  ( whether  it  be  their  writing  on  my  dash  or  talking  to  them ).  I’m  not  the  best  with  this  kind  of  speech,  but  I’m  utterly  grateful  for  all  of  you  &  hope  we’ll  have  a  grand  2019  together ♥

                          All  the  special  beans,   primarily  who  is  still  active,                           I  hope  I  don’t  forget  anyone.  I  appreciate  you  all !

                                                  ➥   under  the  cut  bc  long.