milliways_bar | (no subject)

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hel,
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Hel is outdoors, sewing a new glove for herself. It's fairly hard to miss her, if nothing else. She always welcomes those who would speak with her.

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He's not going to comment on that. He fixes his eyes on her good eye -- because her face is big enough to do that -- and smiles. "Hello."

"I am Hel." her voice is a light soprano, slightly slurred by the fact that half of her mouth doesn't work right, "They named it after me." and she offers her living hand, many shake her finger tips.

He goes for her palm, not at all minding that his arm will be more or less enveloped.

"A different version than the one from my world, I think." And hopefully more friendly. "Steve Rogers."

"Most likely." Hel says, "I have met only one from my worlds, here, and he was a reincarnation. I have also met many versions of my father, and none were truly my father."

"Loki is here?" he doesn't like the sound of that. The Gods, of all stripes, have long abandoned Steve's country and his world. He still remembers what a pain in the ass they were, though.

"I haven't seen any version of him in quite a while." Hel says with a shrug, "Some were better than others."

He nods, thinking of his Fury and Sir Nicholas. There is definately one version he liked over the other.

"Well. No outside business, anyway."

"Indeed." Hel agrees, "It is very nice to be here and spend some time with a sun."

"Even if it is very cold," he adds. It beats a safehouse ever day, though Scotland weather is not his favorite thing.

"Not as cold as Nifleheim." Hel says flatly, "This is nowhere near as cold as Niflheim."

"...No, I suppose not." He shrugs. "I have never been there, personally."

"Nor do you want to go. It was best described by the bard who said;

" A hall I saw, | far from the sun,
"On Nastrond it stands, | and the doors face north,
"Venom drops | through the smoke-vent down,
"For around the walls | do serpents wind.

"I saw there wading | through rivers wild
"Treacherous men | and murderers too,
"And workers of ill | with the wives of men;
"There Nithhogg sucked | the blood of the slain,
"And the wolf tore men; | would you know yet more?

"And that's just my house."

"Sounds very inviting." He might be joking. He might not be.

"Oh, very." Hel's voice is droll, "It's what I have, though, and fairly difficult to build anything else."

Her left arm doesn't work well.

"Because of the environment, or the lack of help?" One he can fix, the other he can't.

"A little of both." Hel says, "It takes Giants, generally, to build for Giants - and though a goddess I have my mother's height. My left arm doesn't work well, nor my left leg, and those who come to my realm lose their minds over the course of a year. It is not a good place. As it is punishment for me as well as them I do not think that I would be allowed comfort."

"Allowed by who?" Because that's the important part, isn't it? Giants can be found -- especially here. And a year is a lot of time.

"The gods, little Man." Hel says softly, "Those who threw me into Niflheim in the first place, those who destroyed me because of their fear. Why do you think I hate them?"

At least one of whom is a personal friend. Not that she's from his world. "Hate is an ugly thing."

"I was a child when I was thrown from the top level of Yggdrasil to the depths of Niflheim. I fell for longer than ten human lifetimes."

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