milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

hel,
ironhide

(no subject)

Hel is outside watching. This, that, the other thing, and everything else. She's very good at watching, and for all of her size she's very good at being unobtrusive. How a she can blend in so well to everything is something only millennia in Niflheim can explain. Regardless, even as unobtrusive as she is capable of being, someone thirty-six feet tall can be a little hard to miss.

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"Men are different." Hel says, "Small, and weak, and breeding like rabbits. Their magics are as weak as the rest of them, and yet they are indomitable. I do not like them much, but I do not dislike them either."

Ironhide grunts in agreement. "Some of 'em aren't too bad," he grudgingly allows. "I'm still getting used to most of 'em. Only known the species for about a year now."

"I have known them for a very, very long time." Hel says quietly, "All those not heroes pass into my halls, in the end. Everything dies."

"Huh," says Ironhide. "It's different for us." He pauses, and adds, "Not that we don't die. I mean it's different what happens afterwards."

"You would not be one of mine anyway." Hel says, in the tone of voice of someone who just knows these things, "You are a hero. One who will die in battle, barring gravest of accidents."

Ironhide would lift an eyebrow, if he had them.

"The cannons gave it away, huh?"

Hel snorts a little laugh, "No. I do not see anything that I can recognize as cannons; Niflheim is somewhat isolated. I see it inside you." she reaches out with her right hand and points to exactly where the Spark rests, although she keeps quite a distance from actually touching him.

"... huh," says Ironhide, a little taken aback. "There's... not a lot of people who know what's there."

"I am Hel." she says, "Knowing that is a large part of what I am." The various gods can put their being into their voices. Hephaestus sounds like forges, for instance. Hel makes an effort not to sound like what she is.

But when she lets it into her voice, as she does on her name, it is metal aged to the point of simply falling apart, and the creeping pressure of so many memories that not even the Cybertronian mind can deal with it, and the last sputter of a spark that simply wore out.

Now that's unnerving. Ironhide's only heard anyone ever sound the remotest bit like that once before: long, long ago, when old Kup first told him the story of the Fallen- the first Cybertronian ever to die, as the entropy that had crept into the system became too much for the living mech's form to take.

"... I don't think I envy you."

"You should not." Hel agrees, smiling down at him just a little bit, "It is hard to be Hel. I would not trade it, though. I am as I am, and I have been as I am for a very, very long time. I would not know how to get along as anything else."

"That sounds familiar," says Ironhide. "I changed function a long time ago. I don't know if I'd ever go back now, even if I could."

Hel nods at that, a wry smile touching the living side of her face, "I admit, I have nothing to go back to. I have always been as I am." then, after a pause, "Shorter, once, but not for eons."

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