pantomime

❛   five minutes of quiet   ❜   muninn MUTTERS, his wrinkled brow alluding to the possibility of throbbing temples.  ❛   is that too much to ask?   ❜

Once forced to adapt to unfavorable circumstances in the past, in which quietness proved part of the picture - perhaps the biggest part - Balder didn’t fault the other male for wanting quiet; he was simply disinclined to agree with him. “Will five minutes really make that much of a difference?” An inquiry made from piqued curiosity. 

Baring his teeth in a sharp snarl, Gunner stared at the pale haired man with contempt on his breath. He wasn’t in the mood for this sort of thing, didn’t have enough patience left to give a damn if someone saw him or not, but damn it all. Of all the people to walk in on his private business, he got a goody two shoes. 

This situation had all the makings of a volatile encounter, one that should be avoided if at all possible. But Balder was beginning to suspect that would be impossible. And this one - he possessed a pair of cold eyes. A killer’s eyes? Possible. He’d seen enough of those in his former life as a Nordic god that he could say as much with some confidence. Just not all.

@venebalder

It was late, he was tired - and all he truly wanted to do was return home so that he might bury himself in nothingness again and dream of a world that was always changing, adapting to fit the circumstances ... just as he did. Because adaptation offered the easiest solution to most problems. To fight the inevitable was to invite chaos and anarchy into one’s life, and there was simply no more room in his life for such negative energy. Lay low. Keep your head down ... Coast through life on the backs of simplicity and acclimation. It wouldn’t do to call unnecessary attention to himself. He’d learned the hard way what happened to those who wished to stand out and be revered for their ... uniqueness. 

“Hm. Well, alright then. And, as for an Anāʻanā? Well, death, of course. And whatever other prayers come our way.” His grin was all teeth then, and coral painted lips, and Kal offered it with a fair bit of bite, even as sincerity lay on his tongue. “Mostly though, death.”

Death. Death he knew well - intimately so. Which was most likely why he merely nodded at the other’s words, not at all taken aback by them; for death had its hand in practically everything. Why shouldn’t it be part of Anāʻanā’s arsenal of prayers? “Death, I am well acquainted with.” More than he cared to remember - but remember, he must.

He didn’t want to go out on such a night but he found himself without much of a choice - mind he rarely wanted to go out so the lack of desire to leave the apartment that he had turned into a makeshift cave was unsurprising. Yet, he had somehow run out of food, the only source of meat left in the small apartment was himself and he would much sooner leave than watch his stomach devour itself. So he left, dodging through the tight alleys keeping all of his senses on high-alert as he looked out for both predators and prey alike.

Before Project Stratox, Balder had spent most of his time in Helheim, listening to voluble spirits gabble about their late lives and how much they missed them - something he could relate to; how could he not when he’d fallen victim to Loki’s scheme, one which had ultimately led to his untimely and unfortunate demise? - and while he’d often sought out solitude for the peace it had afforded his weary soul, now that he was no longer deceased and given the opportunity to explore new avenues, Las Vegas nightlife called to him, the neon, flashing lights and boisterous activity on the streets giving him something with which to focus on. Far better to focus on such harmless things as that than to turn one’s thoughts inward, if only to reflect on one’s past life and the missed opportunities one incurred upon death. There was even once a time in which Balder had been considered the life of the party, so outgoing and engaging that individuals had often and willingly fallen under the spell of his smile - but that time had long since passed. He was nothing like he used to be and it showed in the way he unconsciously avoided bumping into the various people crowding the street. 

“Close as siblings can be.” And then some. “I’ll keep Mar safe from anythin’.”

To say that he was envious of the close bond the two siblings so obviously shared was an understatement. He used to share that same kind of closeness with his own brother - before betrayal, death, and bitter regrets had torn them apart. In fact, it had been weeks since he’d laid eyes on Hodr, and there was a part of him that was actually ... relieved by their separation, as odd as that sounded. But that was mostly due to the fact that he was the reason Hodr had lost the favor of nearly everyone in their pantheon. If not for Loki’s treachery ... “Protect her well,” he murmured solemnly, wishing he’d been there for his own brother when everyone had turned on him, blaming Hodr for his death. And they shouldn’t have. He’d been blind at the time, after all, and Balder ... He’d been seemingly invincible. How was Hodr to know that Loki had uncovered his one, fatal weakness? Even to this day, he couldn’t stand the sight or smell of mistletoe.

“Gracious you then, I’m in the presence of a God.”

Sarcasm. Sincerity. A fine line existed between the two, often making it difficult to discern which was which. Giving one the benefit of the doubt, however, was a practice he’d once taken great pleasure in acting upon; he’d stopped soon after his death, naturally - death had a habit of putting certain things in perspective - but perhaps it was time he pick it up again. “Give it no thought,” Balder mumbled, uncomfortably aware of his own god status, or lack thereof, and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Think of me as human.” 

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in shame, Kama let out a sad, dramatic sigh. “I’m amazed. It’s only one of the greatest animated cinematic experiences in the world. It’s a very old film, by Disney.”

“So it is,” Balder returned amicably - but still had little idea what he was talking about. “Explain this ... animated cinematic experience to me, please.” It didn’t sound like a documentary, and since film wasn’t exactly something he was familiar with ... 

Balder offered a shrug in response to the other’s comment. “I confess, I know nothing of this lion king, hence why I inquired as to what it is.”  Were lions even capable of becoming kings? Perchance it had something to do with the law of the jungle and the title bestowed upon them at birth - by mortals.

“Have you tried prayer?”

Absently running his fingers through his hair, the blond strands cropped short as a rebellious act against those who’d always considered him far too staid and set in his ways to do such a thing, Balder regarded him with perplexity, slightly puzzled over why he’d brought prayer into the conversation - although he supposed it was normal to offer a prayer when in doubt or when one couldn’t help but search for answers beyond their own level of understanding. “No,” he responded simply, taking a long drag of his cigarette before using the edge of the public ashtray to stub it out. “I was never one to pray.” He’d never seen a reason to, not even after his death. “But there was a time, long ago, when I was the being they prayed to.” Not a boast or a prideful comment - just fact.

“I go wherever my sister wants me to. If they keep her, then we stay. She’s like a moth to a flame.”

“You sound close,” Balder murmured wistfully, a plaintive frown tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced askance at the male standing at his side, wearing an expression similar to his own - but not quite identical. “You’ll keep her safe from the flame, I trust?” If you couldn’t count on your own family in troubling times, then who was even remotely deserving of your trust? Then again, gods were quite renown for the dysfunctional bonds they shared with those of their pantheon. So, really, he had no reason or right to judge others based on their own familial ties.