#emeraldxphoenix

"Patient for you in bay two, Sig." The nurse holds out a chart, which she takes as she comes to a stop by the desk. "We're still waiting for a porter to be available to take them down to x-ray, but the kid is pretty shaken and the parent is beside themself."

At that, Sigyn raises an eyebrow. "Are we talking panic, or arrogance?"

"Oh, definitely panic. I think they could both benefit from your patented reassuring bedside manner."

Sigyn laughs softly, but her expression has turned sympathetic now. "I'll see what I can do."

She starts to look through the chart as she walks - eleven year old injured during a PE lesson, can't bear weight on his ankle; they see cases like this on such a regular basis that she's fairly sure she already knows how this is going to go. But she also knows how scary it can be for both the child and their relatives, especially if this is the first time they've been injured (which, based on the information she has right now, it does seem to be).

When she reaches the bay and pulls the curtain back, she immediately gives the child her attention; his face is pale and tearstained, and her heart goes out to him. "Sorry you've been kept waiting, sweetheart. I'm Doctor Lawrence - but you can call me Sigyn. It says here you've hurt your ankle at school, is that right?"

Only then does she glance up to look at the parent standing beside the bed - as pale as their son, bordering on frantic. She's about to say something else to try and reassure them both, but then recognition hits.

"...Loki?"

plotted starter for @emeraldxphoenix

Alex crying wasn’t anything ever out of the ordinary. Even at work, it could happen while she was holed up in her office. She tried not to make a habit of either or (being holed up in said office or crying), but today the stars aligned.

The first crying session was for panicked reasons - the realization that the pink lines on the first two tests she took weren’t a fluke and the realization of what it meant by the third pregnancy test. Because this would impact so much more than just her. The God that lived with her, came home to her, and rekindled a love she never thought could be repaired, would be a father for the second time. The first go around was more than just tumultuous, and ultimately led to her raising Jacob alone.

Now, she was crying for happier reasons as she kept rereading the words on her screen.

I'm not afraid or on the run anymore. I want to be here, with you, for this. I think I want this too.

Ghosts of many kinds have followed her since she was ten years old, from ephemeral phantoms flitting across her vision to the very solid presence of her own mother's spectre curling a hand around her trembling shoulder. Each of them has fed her active imagination, providing ample fodder for the stories she writes - but whatever it is which watches her from the shadow now, it feels very different to anything that has done so before.

Though it is a long time since she thought herself not to be brave, Edith can't help but wish, for a moment, that her father was not out for the evening, and the servants had not already retired to their quarters below stairs.

"Who is there?" She asks the shadows lingering beyond the reach of the candlelight she's been writing by, pulling her dressing gown a little tighter around herself.

a semi-plotted starter from Edith, for @emeraldxphoenix

SHE PULLS her legs up under her on the couch , head tilting as she holds the wine glass between her fingers .

Jörmungandr looked up at a familiar scent on the wind. Looking around for the cause, a bit like a frantic child who had let go of their parents' hand. It had been centuries since he had seen his father. Suddenly, he was a child again, being dragged away from his home and family, begging his grandfather to please let him stay.

"Father?"

Her eyes narrow, but something about that earnestness makes her lean forwards to see the contents of his hand. There's a beat of silence before she shakes her head, almost laughing as she glances back up to his face.

"I'm not gonna ask how you managed to get all of these, but I do wanna know - did you figure out how to get them before or after you got your magic back?"

Narvi grins at the question but doesn't bother to answer, a hand immediately reaching for the offered drink.

"Dad, how old do you think we are?" Váli asks, laughing - before his expression morphs to a scowl as he realises his twin has beaten him to taking the drink. Would trying to snatch it off him undermine the point that they're old enough...? Probably.

"I can see that." Angrboða stands in the doorway, arms folded and an amused smile tugging at her lips, taking in the sight of her lover and the empty bottles which stand as casualties of their inebriation. "And can I ask - are you too drunk to simply have magicked up more wine, love?"