victoryorvalhalla | Closed to Jo: I'm waiting for this ice age to arrive

Ice Age - How to Destroy Angels

It was a split second, the loss of a footing with the added stength of a shove by two supernatural powerhouses. Thorfinn had pulled back to hit someone else and ended up losing his footing falling against one of the two women. Shoved out of the way before either could really pay mind to the small blonde he never regained his balance. These were not the type of shoes he was used to fighting in. Instinct called for him to grab his knife stab something to regain his footing but it was just to fast to much for his small frame.

A loud bang barely registered over the sound of the brawl. One of the nearby booths had cut his fall short in the worst way, the bang was his forehead hitting the edge of the booth. There was nothing he could do or think, it was instantaneous. It was to much for his neck, a clean break. He was gone before his body hit the ground at an awkward angle, his father's blade slid from his hands, sliding under the booth as the small body laid there. With only four minutes until it would vanish.

-----

Four hours didn't really register for him. No bright light, no heavenly voices, no Valkyries. Nothing like the boastful stories passed around camp fires.

He was back home, laying in a pile of hay, listening to the man raiding outside of the barn. It was strange but oddly welcomed after so much strangeness in his dreams.

'where did the little bastard go?'
'same place he always goes when the jobs done.'

It was Bjorn's voice, that same quiet command to leave him alone and let him sleep. Which meant in about twenty minutes he'd wake up to screams. But something wasn't right. He couldn't put his finger on it.

Wait no. They were all dead. He remembered it all suddenly. his blood running cold as he started to push himself up in time to see a wicked grin.

'Figured it out did you, boy?' No it couldn't be, not him. 'Time to get up, good things don't come to lazy layabouts.' Thorfinn could only stare in horror at the man making his way to him. 'THORFINN! IT'S TIME TO GET TO WORK!' His voice bellowed.

Thorfinn's eye's shot open with a strangled gasp.

Electric lights were almost to bright for his eyes as he flinched form them, closing his eyes to stop the sharp pain. Reality sinking back into him. He wasn't in Mercia, or England. He was on Mundus. He was still in that strange world that had taken him... Askeladd was still dead, Bjorn was still dead.... everyone was dead and yet here he laid flinching away from the bright lights in the ceiling.

It was about then that he started to feel sick to his stomach, and the realization dawned, he wasn't alone.

Threaded | Flat

She doesn't think about how she ended up here -- in his room. And she does. Both the steps her feet took, and the one she took in the past. So much not thinking. So much action. Reaction. So much inaction she could have taken, but never did. The choices she made. They made. Without she thinks, actually deciding them. With weighing the true risks. Selfish. Willfully blind.

She doesn't think about how she ended up here -- her head pillowed on her arms, cross on the side of his bed. This little sparse room, with touches of him everywhere, and Sylvi curled up in her lap, finally asleep, finally the reason Jo closed her eyes, even if she couldn't sleep. She had to know before she could sleep, before she could do anything again.

It didn't matter if everyone else on the island had. It mattered if he did. Would.

If she was going to cry, she might do it, now, finally. But she doesn't.
She just lays there, feeling the ache spider cracks widening in her.

Time passes too fast, too slow, before suddenly the bed moves, weight that wasn't there only a second ago, shifting and Jo has to look up. Almost a hiss for someone interrupting her in here, daring to touch the bed, after she told Merlin and Gabriel both no. That they couldn't be here. With her. Except not in those words. A single no that brooked no other question, no argument, while she ignored both their expressions. She was selfish. She'd been selfish. She was going go on being fucking selfish tonight, this morning, whatever.

Which is a piss poor thought to have left in her teeth, when she spring from the floor, upsetting Sylvi into a sharp yelp and nearly tumbling Thorfinn right back down on his bed, when she pulls him in close. Hard against her.

For the first time in weeks his bedroom window was closed, no soft breeze taking away the stuffiness of the room. He was laid in bed under the pile of blankets including his fur and cloak. His winter clothes vanished away covered in vomit to be cleaned eventually. He was laying under the blankets shirtless, he didn't care to ruin any more clothes. The jeans were expendable. The last time he had a fever like this he had heard the family fostering him for the winter whispering how they would have to summon Askeladd and tell him the boy would die.

He didn't die, hell Askeladd had demanded he get up and march out as sick as he was. It was the only winter he spent any time in Askeladd's winter home. Of course, the man himself was no where near him, just serving girls sent by Gorm to make sure the young warrior didn't die. Illness was a death sentence and yet he pushed through then with no ill effects.

But this.

This was worse.

He was so hungry and thirsty at the same time but the more he ate the more it came right back up. The fever and the chills combined had him absolutely miserable. He had had to send Sylvi away, not just for fear of getting her sick but because she was just to warm and energetic for him to deal with at the moment. He knew Jo was working, but that she would come back soon if Merlin didn't. One or the other constantly coming to see if he had improved through the day.

He had fished the old broken comb out of one of the drawers near his head earlier while he had been alone. His fingers curled around it under the pillow as he shuttered feeling another spasm of pain shoot through him. He rolled over quickly for the bucket near the bed. How the fuck did he still have anything left for his body to reject?

The sounds of the bar come to life again as it did every night. Drifting up to where he could have heard them. The nights he didn't sit down there he was usually sitting in the window reading but tonight he laid half in and half out of conscious thought. The sound of his voice had been drifting in and out for awhile now.

"What would you know… fuck you."
"I'm not going to die, go the fuck away you bald bastard."
"Don't make me get up."

Arguing with nothing but a mental image his sick mind had produced.
"Go the fuck away, I want to sleep I have work tomorrow."

It was the last thing he grumbled at the wall before he finally stopped speaking again.

no subject

Sniplet Sickness Day 1

SNIPLET SICKNESS EVENING 1