milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Eventually, of course, she has to go. She promised to wait until after Christmas, and now it is, in fact, after Christmas. Which is why Hel, with a fairly large bag of the items she has been given to help with the boredom, slips down the stairs and to the door. Without hesitation she grips the handle, without pause she pulls the door open and ducks to exit. Without a hitch in her step she walks across the threshold and into the grey nothing that is Niflheim.

Behind her, on the floor, is a faint noise. One cloak, red and with spells of warmth layered into it. A pile of notes, written painstakingly. One tooth, bound in a strip of leather: the bottom tooth from a Jaguar's jaw. And a card.

Click.

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Ramon looks up and sees a familiar figure disappearing through the door.

'HEL!'

But she doesn't hear him and he doesn't get to the door in time. He stares at the blank wall helplessly and it's a moment or two before he realises that there's things on the floor.

The cloak gets picked up first and he's confused as to why she didn't take it. Then something on top of the paper on the floor catches his eye...he recognises that tooth necklace. And then...his face falls and he whispers, 'No...'

Her Trump, lying forlornly on the floor. He knows there's no way she would have left it behind on purpose - his face screws up in anger. FUCKING BAR!

Either Bar or Niflheim has forced her away with no hope of getting back. Ramon picks up the card and stares at it...then slips it into his pocket. The tooth stays in his hand and the cloak and notes are bundled up.

He'll keep them until she gets back. If she ever does.

It is Ramon's shout that catches Svava's attention from across the bar. Setting down a note book, she rises and hurries over. A glance to the door, then to him, then to the items he is holding. Svava recognises some of those.

"... Hel left? But- she wouldn't have left those behind. Not a-purpose-"

'Of course it wasn't on fucking purpose!'

It's a snarl that comes out without him thinking, or even looking at who's spoken. Then he takes a deep breath to calm down and glances over at her.

'Bar. Or Niflheim. Either one.' He pulls the Trump out of his pocket and stares at it, then says quietly. 'She can't get back now, until Bar lets her.'

"I didn't think it was-" Svava snaps, then bites her lip. She looks at the door again, with dawning realization.

"Bölvaður Miliváys. Bölvaður Muspell- Fjandinn það allur! She shouldn't be locked away, back there. Not with everything and everyone here for her. How long was it, between the time she came before, and this one for her? The times don't move right, and its not fair!"

(("Fucking Milliways, Fucking Muspell (ala "fucking hell"), damn it all."))

'Hundreds of years. That's what she told me.'

He sighs again and sits down on the nearest chair, putting the cloak and the notes down on the table.

'That's why she left though, because of people here. Did she tell you that?'

He almost points out that she could have been happier for longer if Svava had made an effort earlier, but suddenly can't be bothered. The good mood of Christmas has dissapated and now he just feels tired.

"... Hundreds." Svava mutters, and rubs at her temples with a sigh.

"She told me she was going, when she was over for the Christmas holiday. And not because of the people. It was time, she said. Time. Duty."

Another frusterated sigh, and Svava sits down. "... She shouldn't have."

'No. She shouldn't.'

Except she had to, and he understands that. Because he'll leave when the door shows, even though he doesn't want to.

'It was us. She said if she didn't go now, she never would. Too happy, having friends.' He lights a cigarette morosely, then pokes the cloak. 'You know anything about that?'

The Loki here had argued and mentioned changing what was fated for himself, and he would be/was one of the main participants in Ragnarok. Hel-
Hel had no choice in the matter, getting dragged to Asgard only to be cast out of it. No choice.

Svava sighs, then raises her head to look at the cloak with a nod.

"Archie gave it to her, for a Christmas gift. Hel was always cold, so it had spells in it for warmth." She blinks, then raises a brow.

"What else was left?"

He pokes the sheaf of notes towards her. 'I don't know where they're from. The other things...'

He hesitates a moment, then opens a hand. It had been clenched round the jaguar tooth necklace and now it sits on his palm, where it doesn't belong. And he flips over the Trump card in his other hand, so she can see Hel's likeness on it. He doesn't explain what they are. She can ask if she wants to know.

Svava peers at the notes, and pales faintly, before folding the papers carefully. She looks over to the trump and tooth, and nods slowly. No, she does not know what the card is. The necklace she has a good idea, though.

"The card is magic?"

He frowns at her touching the papers. 'What are you doing with those? Are they yours?'

And then nods. 'Random's. We travel by them - she was going to use it to come back if she couldn't find the door to the bar. Or if she couldn't come back for some reason, we could talk through it. Bar couldn't even let her fucking have that!'

They'd been kind of counting on it.

Svava raises a brow, looking at the papers. "I know what they are, I believe. They're not something we all would want out and about- even though I don't think anyone here could do this, aside from her."

She shrugs, then bites her lip. "That- ... Shouldn't have been done. She didn't do anything to deserve any of this, right from the start, and she surely doesn't deserve this from anything here." Svava frowns.

"I can get a letter to her. Do you have something to write with?"

'She doesn't deserve it.' She didn't deserve your attitude either. But he nods and pulls a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket.

'If no one can use those notes, I'll keep them for her. She said she'd come back. How're you going to write to her?'

Keeping hold of them is at least something he can do.

Svava thinks for a moment, then nods, handing over the notes. "Keep them safe, then, and away from anyone. They're what she wrote for the fylgja ritual for you."

"A letter spell- its worked to send notes to other worlds before. I can write down what runes are needed for it, and perhaps then she can write back to here as well to you."

He softens a bit, because she's being nice at least.

'Alright then. I'll take them to mine and Random's home, there's no one else there that can get hold of them. And if you can communicate with her then...well, that's a good thing.'

He was about to say something nice. And then - doesn't. Because he still doesn't like her and still wants to pound Archie through a wall.

Let us just keep on the nice things in common, like worrying about Hel and rather ticked off at the injustice of it all, instead.

Svava nods, and bites her lip. "Or so I hope. Do you want to send a letter now?"

Yes, lets. He'd been in a good mood before, he'll try and hang onto that. And Svava's being helpful so he'll go with it. With that in mind, he nods.

'Si. If you can. How does it work then?'

"Rune magic. I have to know who I'm sending it to- that's the key for getting the letter to where it should go. I- I don't have a way for retrieving letters, though." A deep breath, and she shrugs.

"But Hel knows rune magic, so she should be able to send one back."

He looks at her for a long moment, then shrugs.

'Do it then. Ask her if she's alright and let her know we're thinking about her.'

Svava nods, taking out a piece of paper and pen from a pocket, and starts writing.

"I'll also mention that you have her things, and will keep them safely." Her writing is spiky, much like the runes she uses for for magic. If her grammer is not the best- well, english is not Svava's first language, and literacy was a new concept to her when she first arrived.

Finally she is done, but after tapping her pen for a moment, thinking, she looks to Ramon.

"Would you want to add anything?"

He would, but he's not going to tell her that. Or what the things would be. So he just shakes his head.

'No, that'll do for now. We'll see if it works before anything else.'

Well, Svava would not read what Ramon wrote after her own note- but there hopefully will be other letters sent. She nods, folding the note and writing Hel's name on the outside.

"Any sort of paper, and then like so-"

She traces the runes over it. The symbols glow, and then stretch out in the air, as if searching for something, for several long moments.

Too long. Svava raises an eyebrow, puzzled, and starts reaching for the letter-

The runes snap back to the paper with a bright flare and flash of flame. She cries out, hands going to her head, and then all that is left on the table is a fine drift of ash.

Ramon watches what she's doing with interest...which turns to a faintly sour expression at the sight of the ash.

'I take it it's not supposed to do that?' He leans back and lights a cigarette.

'Great.'

He's almost spitting sand he's so dry.

Svava mutters something in norse. From the tone, its any number of uncomplimentary things.

"No, it is not supposed to do that. It is supposed to disappear and go where it should. Get me a rum, or something?"

He blinks at her. 'You want me to buy you a drink?'

He almost doesn't, just because...he doesn't like her. But she had just tried, so he signals a rat with a heavy sigh.

'Fine then. I take it you're out of ideas?'

It is not so much a drink, as it is 'yay, alcohol, painkiller!'.

"A drink, yes. That hurt when the spell didn't work." Svava leans back in the chair, hands over her eyes still.

"... That's all I know. I don't know how the door would work for me, to go anywhere. The Nine Worlds were being destroyed as I was leaving them, after Ragnarok."

He shrugs. He doesn't care.

'I'm sure you can't go where she is.' His eyes narrow suddenly. 'Did you ever tell her what you told me? About her dying and everything?'

The rat comes back and he pushes the rum across the table to her.

"Confirm what everyone in the Nine Worlds knew? That yes, she would die? Hel knows that. We all did. Or perhaps you think she'd like to know the details of exactly how?" Svava frowns, picking up the glass and taking a drink.

"Gruesome, torturous details?"

'She didn't know,' he points out with a frown. 'We talked about it just a few days ago. Yes, she plans to kill herself if the war doesn't do the job, so she knows she'll die. But she didn't know which it would be and I wondered if you told her. Forget it.'

Svava blinks, watching Ramon over the top of her glass.

"Is that something you'd want to tell a friend?"

'It's something I would tell a friend.'

He can sound sure about it with no qualms. Most of his friends in this place are immortal or dead. There aren't a great deal of them anyway, and that's something he's thankful for.

'And since when did you start calling her that?'

".... since she was. If she'd let me be." Svava blinks, and takes a deep breath, to let it out slowly.

"Battle field mercy. It would be that, wouldn't it?"

'I guess.' He shrugs at her. Really, he doesn't think enough of her to care. As long as she doesn't upset Hel any worse, then whatever.

He stands and puts the Trump and necklace in his pocket, then gathers up the cloak and notes.

'At least you tried I suppose.'

It's as close to a concession of any kind that she'll ever get, from him.

"Tried, and it failed." She sighs, and begins working on finishing the glass of rum.

"... Perhaps she can send letters out. The spell was not that hard to make up. Hopefully."

'If she can, she will.' He knows that's true at least. Not that it helps much.

He considers saying 'See you around' or something similar - but has no interest whatsoever in whether he does or not. So he just shrugs and walks away, leaving her to her drink.

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