milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Three roots there are | that three ways run
'Neath the ash-tree Yggdrasil;
'Neath the first lives Hel, | 'neath the second the frost-giants,
'Neath the last are the lands of men.

Long it has been since Hel found a door to Milliways; and even now the one she opens leads not inside but out to the forest. She'll take what she can get - full grown the half-dead goddess is far too large to fit inside Milliways. The compression field that affects the robots does not so much affect her.

She doesn't know how long it has been for the people here. It doesn't really matter. She's seeing the grass, the trees, the green and growing things.

((Still open))

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Zed damn near facepalms.

Deities. Goddammit, now it's real trouble.

"Hel, is it? One of the, uh," Zed waves his hand vaguely, "...Norse ones, right?"

Zed can't even remember the last time he checked the deity records. Not like the bureau had much on them anyway. Divinity wasn't exactly in the MiB's jurisdiction.

"Yes." Hel says, "I am Nordic. Half-dead goddess of the unworthy." she offers with her version of consideration. "Mother was a giant, but I am all goddess."

"All of you is right."

"The 'unworthy,' huh? Doesn't sound like you got the best of the pick."

Oh, good, Zed. Annoy the giganimous goddess standing right beside you.

"That depends on your definition of worthy, now doesn't it?" Hel asks blandly, "The Aesir damn anyone who does not die with weapon in hand, fighting. The peacemakers, the mothers, the children, the bards, those who have accidents, they are all unworthy."

Zed ponders those categories, then shrugs.

"Well. Now that you mention it, they probably got what's coming to them anyway."

Peacemakers, especially. They're always telling Zed he can't blow shit up. Especially the shit that's badly in need of being blown up. All the whining about love and understanding can really wear an Agent down.

Well, at least until he draws his neuralyzer, anyway.

"Heroes." Hel says, rolling her eye. Yes, Zed, she called you a hero. That wasn't a compliment. "Where would you be without someone to farm? Without a mother? Would you like to be damned to unending nothing merely because you tripped and fell wrong?"

Zed snorts, "Hydroponics under the supervision of an A83 V7 Agribot does me just fine, Hel. No farmers need apply."

Now if she had started with distillers, Zed might have met her halfway. Living without wheat is one thing; living without bourbon is something else again.

"As for my mother, that's classified."

"You were born. There was a woman involved, even if only an ova donor." Hel has had a LOT of time to read, and Ramon Salazar gave her books. Many, many, many books. Paper, on disk, audio.

Zed's dealt with insults to his heritage, but thirty-foot-tall goddesses defending his mother is just a bit more weirdness than he's in the mood to put up with tonight.

"What's it to ya, anyway?" he growls.

"Nothing." Hel states, bending and patting his head gently, "But I would have you think before you defend the Aesir."

What the--?!!????

Did she just--?!!?!?

She did NOT just--?!??!!!

See? It's bullshit exactly like this that keeps Zed building up the bureau's stockpile of Zoplodium-X26. Just on the off-chance that one day--one bright, shiny, glorious day--he'll finally get a perfect excuse to try blowing the entire fucking bar to bits.

In the meantime, he's got a thirty-foot-tall goddess to take down.

No problem. It's all about the leverage.

Zed lunges.

Imagine, if you will, a malevolent peep in a suit tackling a tree.

Yeah, it's about like that. Hel looks down at Zed blandly head tilted so that her living eye sees him best. It's not like she hasn't been attacked by Men before.

WHAM!!!

And it's a particularly hard tree at that. Zed isn't quite sure where that explosion of stars came from, but when they start whizzing around his head, he's all of a sudden a lot less sure which way is up.

Oh, wait. Up is right this wa---. Uh oh.

thud.

And the Man in Black goes down. In under two seconds yet.

This really isn't going to improve Zed's opinion of deities.

All she did was pat his head. It's not her fault he then chose to dive head-first into unpadded bone. Hel is gentle when she scoops him up with her right hand and heads for the Bar, intent on setting him down where rats can tend to his ills.

She'd work a healing, but her magics aren't gentle.

For the moment, Zed isn't going to know the difference. Though he'll certainly be feeling something when he wakes up again.

Fortunately, the waitrats probably know by now to keep a distance when he comes to.

Hel sets him down gently and taps on the back door of the bar. Someone will come along, she's certain.

Some might be tempted to think this will be the end of it.

But, of course, they would be wrong.

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