#geiyin

46: “Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.”

“Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.” Mikkel shouldn’t be surprised that Sigrun is responsible for the missing ice bucket. Not that it even deserves the name, when she’s dumped most of the ice into a plastic bag. “That was supposed to be for drinks, you know.”

Sigrun takes a break from wrapping a bandage around her forearm and gestures lazily to the half-empty drink on the counter. “I put some in there, does that count?”

“Hmm.” Mikkel reaches for the bandage, brushing aside Sigrun’s hand, and starts to rewrap it. “It would have been better if you hadn’t needed to use the rest of it for an ice pack, though.” He finishes off the bandage and goes digging in the first aid kit for something to clean the scratches on her face.

Sigrun rolls her eyes. “And what fun would that be? These parties would be so boring if I didn’t spice them up.”

“Starting a fist fight isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘spice’, Sigrun.” Mikkel can think of plenty of ways to liven up a gathering without coming to blows. Like finding the guests who haven’t been warned about the Madsen brand of humor and feeding them the “face cancer” story. That one never gets old, as long as he keeps meeting new people. “I’m just saying, it would be nice to go to a party that doesn’t end in blood once in a while.”

“Pshaw.” Sigrun waves that idea away. “A little blood never hurt anyone. Much. And I was careful tonight! No broken bones, and that guy they took to the hospital was just being a baby. He’s fine.” 

“He has a concussion, Sigrun,” Mikkel says. He should know; he’s been the one doling out first aid to Sigrun’s opponents in the other room. If anyone else has medical training, they’re too drunk to remember it. Somehow he always ends up being the babysitter, even when everyone in the room is of legal drinking age.

“Concussions,” Sigrun says, gritting her teeth as Mikkel cleans a particularly deep scratch, “Are nothing. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had, and look at me! I’m fine. If we were having a concussion contest, I’d totally win.”

Mikkel knows better than to respond to that; no matter how much he argues that concussions are no laughing matter, it will only make Sigrun more determined to prove him wrong. But he can’t tell if she’s actually sustained one tonight--he was absent when the fight broke out, so there’s no telling what else happened besides the scratches and strained wrist--so all he can do is keep her talking.

“A concussion contest? Sounds like something you’d get up to in Dalsnes.” He can just picture a bunch of stubborn Norwegians banging their heads together until one of them collapses.

Sigrun laughs. “Nah, we never did that. But this one time--have I ever told you the story of Lars the human dartboard?”

Mikkel shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He finishes his work and begins to put the extra supplies back into the first aid kit. “Don’t forget about your ice, Sigrun.”

“Yes, mom.” But despite her sarcastic tone, Sigrun takes the ice and holds it to her wrist. “So, there was this guy named Lars, right? And he thought he was pretty tough, so--”

Hey, long time no see... Like 5 years or so? Damn.