Jump to content
  • Posts

    206
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Everything posted by Grim

  1. "Was that comment an attempt at posturing, Betrayer?" 'Elsas' frosty blue eyes levelled on Fisher from her height advantage, which added to the overall air of disdain the giantess radiated at Izanami's scion. Grim was mildly impressed, and took notes for perfecting his own withering glares. "Let me be clear, small man." Runa went on, her voice edged with icicles. "If you wish to issue a challenge, then do so. If not, cower in silence." Grim was tempted to allow Fisher to twist in the breeze from the petard he'd just hoisted himself on, especially since his idiot Bandmate and fellow traveler had admitted to seeing Mercedes' two henchwomen and letting them wander off to gods-knew where in favor of seeking out his mortal squeeze. His teeth clenched slightly, but with deliberate effort he relaxed and breathed, remembering the moment of clarity he'd had confronting Marius. Take the world as it comes, and don't let it grind away empathy. he reminded himself. Even, that treacherous inner voice addended, when some people tempt you to take your own empathy and shoot it in the face. "Iced hot chocolate isn't really a party drink." he commented smoothly after only a moment of allowing Runa's glacial stare to flay Fisher's eyeballs. "Though I'm pretty sure we can find a Mudslide here for you, Runa." It was phrased as much as an offer as a statement. Runa's brow furrowed, her glare turning both puzzled and wary as she switched it to the Odinson's face. "This costume was expensive, Usurper." she glowered. "I have no wish to take part in whatever disgusting wallowing perversion you have in mind." Grim blinked, momentarily at a loss before realising that the frost giantess had no idea what he was talking about. He reassessed her age and experience with the human world. "Oh, no. It's a drink. Served cold, with chocolate and cream liquor in it." Runa's glower was unabated for a moment longer, the suspicion in her blue eyes slowly giving way to wary intrigue. "A drink? You are offering me a drink?" she asked, seeking clarification. "Certainly. I did mention during our earlier meeting that should we meet under better circumstance, we could share a drink." he reminded her. "This is a party, and by your own admission your part in the witches scheme is done with the work in the cemetery. What say you?" Grim smiled pleasantly as Runa thought that over, turning to Fisher and leaning close to the fellow scion, pitching his voice under the music and chatter. "Get your head out of your ass and in the game." he murmured, keeping a pleasant expression on his features. "Unless Darcy is doing your job and tailing Lancia and Porsche to wherever they went, I don't care where she is and neither should you. Get eyes on them, or Mercedes. Find those witches and try not to pick any more fights with gods-damned giants." He glanced around as though looking for Fisher's missing girlfriend before raising his voice to a more party-conversational level. "I think I saw her in the other room, talking to some people from school." he told Izanami's son, gesturing aimlessly towards an adjoining room in the palatial mansion as he turned back to Runa, awaiting her decision.
  2. "Hey Fisher." Grim nodded at the Scion of Izanami from under his wide-brimmed Puritan hat, which he then tugged the brim of towards the snow princess. "And hello again, Runa." he added, more formally. There were a couple of reasons he was so formal in recognising Runa. One, that strange sense of... something... about Runa. He was young yet in understanding the workings of Fate and destiny, but the giantess was more than merely some foe to be stricken down and left behind, the Odinsson recognised. There'd been some sense of the Norns working between her and Dane, and Grim was curious what that portended - for the Band, for him... and even for Dane, big lug though he was. The other was to remind Fisher, who had that look of someone with something to say, that not all ears were necessarily friendly. Sure, Izanami's son might just want to know where Darcy was, or something similarly banal, but there was also a chance he had found something, and Runa might still be working for the enemy despite having claimed earlier that her part in the scheme was done. "How are you enjoying the party?" Grim gestured with his glass to the surroundings, tilting back his hat slightly to peer up into Elsa's frosty blue eyes.
  3. "Hmm." Grim managed, with some difficulty, to keep his expression from reacting too much to the crack in Marius' veneer. Pain. Pain was what drove the man in front of him - having suffered, he now wished to return or pass on the suffering. It was the call to exert control, the trap the abused fell into and thus became the abuser. Grim recognised it. Loveless his entire life, isolated and hurt and beaten, his Visitation even being driven by terror, privation and pain... There was a reason he possessed an acid tongue, and secretly delighted in tearing into those he judged to deserve it. There was a reason that he took a certain savage enjoyment in verbally ripping Fisher a new asshole - sure, the scion of Izanami had fucked up, but objectively giving him the drill sergeant treatment was less than helpful. There was a reason he had take satisfaction in pushing Dane's buttons, turning the amiable surfer bro into a growling, angry, and sullen man, stealing his smile if only for few minutes. He enjoyed making people uncomfortable, in passing on his pain. Grimsley Algar - Elliðagrimmr Odinsson - recognised in Marius... himself. Older, more bitter, more enraged. He could only guess at the amalgamation of pain and hurt that had formed the clay of the older man's soul. With the realisation came something - a cool clarity. He was looking at a ghost, he knew then. A shade of someone who'd once been a hero, an echo of himself in times to come if he could not somehow reconcile the suffering of existence. Would he, too, one day snap in such a fashion, to rail against the gods, and hold the lives of thousands as simply the trivial cost of his vengeance? Maybe, he mused as he raised his glass in a return salute. But not today. "Thank you." he said to Marius then, and there was sincerity, a profoundly genuine note to his thanks. "I appreciate the service, and the conversation - and certainly the drink." He smiled a little, his mismatched eyes meeting the other man's. "I hope, if luck allows, we may have another drink one day." He glanced around then, sharp eyes searching. "I hope you'll forgive me, though. It's my first party, and I plan to mingle a little more." "Of course. Go, enjoy." Marius inclined his head, his gaze following the spare form of the Odinsson as he likewise nodded, then turned to head off into the crowd. Grim meandered, his thoughts introspective as he absently sidestepped gyrating partygoers. He almost decided to seek out Geri again, but instead decided his time would be better served looking for the vessel. And so, drink in hand as party camouflage, and his stave in the other, the young Witchfinder ambled with more purpose, eyes peeled as he sought his quarry. They might have it tucked away upstairs somewhere, or even hidden in plain sight. Either way, the mansion was huge - this was going to take some time. He kept his eyes open for his Bandmates, too - if he saw them, he'd let them know it was time to go to work.
  4. "Saving the world." Grim shrugged, as he took another sip of bourbon. "I plan to travel and see it someday - I'd kinda like it to still be there." He affected an air of thinking deeply. "Falling in love someday, maybe? Again, needs a world in order for said world to move. Sampling more good drinks - once more, needs a world. Oh, and kittens." "Kittens." Marius replied flatly over his bourbon glass, one eyebrow arching in a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation. "I like kittens." Grim said with another shrug. "More than I like people. You're right, though, sir." he went on less flippantly, his mismatched eyes meeting Marius' gaze. "Partly, at least. I don't really know why I'm fighting you. You're intelligent, a chess and poker player in a world of people playing blind man's bluff and pin the tail on the donkey. Why do you want to destroy the world? Nobody ever really explained that part to me. I got the condensed briefing - you know how that goes. Just the high points: Marius is a Bad Guy and Up To No Good. Which, on the face of it, seems to be mostly true based on what you appear to be doing - no offence." "None taken." Marius smiled very faintly. "So, if you'd explain to me why, I can't promise I'd stop opposing you. After all - its kind of still in my own best interest to save the world and all that. But at least I'd understand, which means a lot to me." Grim went on earnestly. "I mean, you're not a dribbling idiot who hears voices, so you must have your reasons. I just want to know what they are."
  5. "More than I've heard about you, it seems." And just like that, the panic attack ebbed as a cold splash of water doused both Grim's teenage hormones and his boyish insecurity. Out-of-place and awkward Grimsley Algar fell away, and it was the Odinsson who reached out with a steady, scarred hand and took the offered glass, his gaze level on the older man's. "That said, it's likewise a pleasure." Marius was here. Marius had been watching him, knew his true name, probably knew who Geri really was, may even be responsible for her being here, now, and in his path. Whilst he could reasonably doubt that Marius had the juice to arrange to de-frock a valkyrie, it wasn't impossible for a master opportunist to make use of whatever materials Fate blew into his path. That made sense in many ways. Geri might not even know her purpose was to distract and confuse him - Hel, she probably didn't even really like him. She could have been ensorcelled - didn't the Nekiya have ways to bind the heart, like that idiot child had used on Nadja? That had to be it - after all, what made more sense? That an immortal and beautiful woman would desire him, or that it was all some intricate strategem by Marius. It was impressive, he admitted to himself, even as he froze the pang of agony deep down in his heart and prevented it from rising higher. It had almost worked. He'd almost believed it, almost wanted to believe it. Oh, it was an impressive and cruel jest, indeed. And one that would be repaid, someday. He looked at the drink in his hand, then lifted an eyebrow at Marius in unspoken questioning suspicion. "Young man, I have better things to do with my time than defile excellent bourbon with 'additives'." The older scion said with a reproving arch of his own brow. "If I was going to poison you, I'd offer you something dreadful. Like an alcopop." Grim considered him for a moment, but could detect no sense of falsehood in Marius's words. After all, he hadn't said he wouldn't poison Grim, just that he wouldn't ruin decent fare. The young son of the All-Father shrugged acceptance of the logic, and raised his glass to the scion of Eris. "Skål." he said gravely, his eyes still on the other man as he took a sip. It really was excellent bourbon, he contemplated as he felt the fiery liquor warm his throat. "Smooth." he said with a hint of appreciation. "You'll have to forgive me - I'm new enough to all of this to be ignorant of protocol. I imagine we're not going to get into a rooftop duel in the rain - the weather forecast tonight was clear." His tone was calm and dry, with little hint of the racing mind that was analysing Marius from behind the mismatched eyes. "I also wouldn't believe you randomly bumped into me just to offer me a drink, so..." He smiled at the man he'd been told was his enemy. "What can I do for you?"
  6. The eye of Odin? Phrasing notwithstanding, that was somewhat of a daunting yet encouraging message. As was the knowledge that Thor was not at all enamored of the antics of his scion. Grim had wondered how Eric Donner's behaviour stacked up against the reputed jovial-yet-rough warrior honor of his divine parent. Thor was reputed to have a temper, for sure, but was also held up as a basically 'good' guy. God. Whatever. And the All-Father was forbidding direct interference from his tribe even to set their scions straight. Why? There had to be a good reason. Didn't there? Hmmm. "Oh, that guy?" he asked absently, his eyes following the gyrating burrito and the nereid moving after it much as a shark would cut through water as it homed in on the thrashings of a swimmer. "He's okay. In small doses." He recalled what he'd learned about Dane's past, and some small twinge of conscience impelled him to speak at least a little deserved praise of his cousin. "He's been through it, but when he's needed he comes through for us, at least so far." "If you say so." Geri was scrutinising him, and Grim became aware of her keen-eyed attention through the swirl of his own musings. Her fingers were lightly resting on the back of his hand on his thigh. His mind, on cue, fixated on something else she'd said. "when you have more time...pick up where we left off?" Oh. Ohhh. He'd been so fixated on the appearance of the once-and-former-valkyrie as a portent, or in untangling the mystery of why she'd been demoted, on relief at seeing a friendly face and then on musing over her inside scoop from Asgard, that he'd sort of... glossed over the other cues, taking her enthusiasm as simple friendly feeling. But she wasn't looking at him like just a friend. Or was she? How did immortal choosers of the slain look at friends? He was pretty sure they didn't blush and stammer. Or talk about picking up where they left off - which had to be a reference to the kiss. Didn't it? What he was pretty sure of, now he was thinking about it, was that a fricking valkyrie in a smoking hot teenage mortal form was giving him the goo-goo eyes. This was not part of the plan. Any plan. He was pretty sure that Fate had made a mistake somewhere. He was Grimsley Algar, not Dane Summers. Girls - even immortal warrior girls - didn't like him that way, and if they did he had no idea what to do about it. Flirting with Adrianna was one thing - both sides understood he had no shot and enjoyed the verbal fencing match. Longing after Nadya from afar, despite how annoying she could be, was also safe - there was no way she'd ever return his attentions. Actual Geri, warm and close and leaning towards him... He shot to his feet. "Yeah. Saving the world." he said by way of explanation, trying not to stammer or trip over his own feet as he stepped away. "It's kind of why I'm here, so... I'm going to go and get on with that." His heart was racing, his palms were clammy, and he needed air badly. "Hey, uh, are you sticking around Salem? If so, I guess we'll bump into each other again. It's a small town. I recommend The Drip, great coffee." His mouth was on autopilot as he tried to extricate himself from the situation. "Got to go for now, though. See you later!" Ayame leaned on Geri's shoulder as they watched the cloaked and hatted figure limp off into the crowd at a commendable speed. "Man, he is wound tight." "Mmm." Geri said, her eyes distant. "Did you hear him invite me out for coffee, though?"
  7. "Uh, well... I came back here after... you know." Grim tried to get his mind back on track after the invited consideration of Geri's body. It was indeed pretty damned hot, in a wholesome athletic way, and the Halloween outfit was certainly not doing Grim's peace of mind any favors. He forced his eyes up and pretended not to notice that she'd noticed him noticing her assets. "After all, it's where I'm from." "Right, duh." Geri nodded, clicking her tongue reprovingly at herself. "I knew that. So you stayed in town..?" "Yeah. Joined a Band just short while ago, and now we're doing the god-child thing, I guess." Grim made a face and shrugged. "But what about you? Why were you punished, Geri?" He nodded towards Ayame, his eyes still on the former-Chooser's face. "Is Ayame right? Is it something to do with-?" "Never you mind about it." Geri told him firmly, shooting Ayame a Look as she took Grim's arm in a gesture that was as much possessive as it was protective. "It's not your fault, Grimsley. Really, it's not. You didn't do anything. Now," she went on, drawing him with her as she led him over to a vacant stretch of couch, tugging him down to sit beside her as her friends followed and made themselves comfortable. "I want to know about your Band, and about your life, and everything." "Well, I'm pretty new to it all." he said, uncomfortable at being the focus of interest. "Still trying to get used to my Bandmates and the 'job', you know? They seem... okay." he allowed cautiously. "And it's kind of weird to find out that the faculty of the school were mostly scions too. I've only been back barely a couple of months, and it's sort of an adjustment just sleeping in a bed and eating properly, and then there's all the other stuff on top of that." He shrugged again. If it had been anyone else, he doubted he'd even have complained this much. But Geri had been there with him, had shared the same danger and deprivations he had. With a cold shock, he realised that the girl-who-wasn't-really-a-girl was probably the closest thing he'd had to a real friend. He didn't know the Band very well yet, despite starting to get along with some of them. And he had no friends at all outside of that. "It's... good to see you, Geri." he told her, a small smile curving his lips. "Surprising, but good."
  8. "Gods! It is you, Grimsley!" The redhead almost squealed as she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a hug. She smelled of the sky and the Spring, wildflowers and honey... and booze, too. He stared at her, remembering the pale, lightly freckled skin smudged with dirt and tears, the fiery tumble of hair lank and tangled. She'd been wearing rags before, much as he had been, features gaunt and shoulders hunched with fear and starvation. Now she was vibrant, smiling... lovely. Geri...Göndul. Except she was definitely Geri, here. There was no aura of power, no agelessly beautiful woman showing the radiance of her power and might as she gently lifted an emaciated, bloodied young man to his feet. She looked not much older than he, if at all. And more than a little buzzed, her hands coming to rest on his chest as she loosened her death grip on his neck and gazed up at him with a laugh. "You look like an ox that's been hit in the head!" she giggled. "Surprised to see me as I am to see you, no doubt. How are you?! I had no idea you'd be at this revel! By all the gods, it's amazing, is it not?" Slender fingers, calloused from swordplay, ran up to and into his shirt's collar. "You're still wearing my hair!" she said delightedly as she found the braided cord and tugged it into the open, noting the tusk-like tooth and the small amulet of the All-Father dangling from it. She peered up at him again, smiling. "I wondered if you would, you know. Guess it's nice to know I haven't been forgotten." Of course he hadn't forgotten her, he wanted to say. He'd cared for and protected Geri, only to realise her true nature at the end, and that she no more needed his protection than a lioness would. And he'd grown fond of Geri's spirit and wit... and been smitten by Göndul's beauty. She'd wrapped him in her cloak - the same he wore now - and kissed him before presenting him with the braided cord of her hair. The kiss from Göndul had been brief, but the memory of it had been seared into Grim's mind. One didn't forget being kissed by a- "Ahem." There was no polite clearing of the throat which would be described as an 'ahem' - no. Someone actually said 'ahem'. Looking past Geri, Grim saw two other young women - or rather, beings that seemed to be young women. The first, an impish-looking brunette with a ready grin, was dressed in a female Robin Hood costume - green tunic, hat with a feather, and a toy bow on on shoulder - but when viewed through the eyes of a god-born, the eyes took on a scintillant blue shine and became more exotically almond shaped. She winked at Grim, her three fox tails swishing behind her. "So... who's your friend, Geri?" she asked with a certain predatory - indeed foxish grin that betokened mischief and shenanigans. "Oh." Geri looked a little chagrined, biting her lower lip for a moment before taking Grim's hand and turning to her companions. "This is Grimsley. He's, um, a friend. Grimsley, this is Ayame-" she gestured to the kitsune "-and Melanippe." The other girl indicated appeared to be a lovely young blonde dressed as a sailor - until one looked closer with god-sight and realised that the blonde hair was tinged with green, and that her eyes were all black, depthless as the ocean. That, plus the sheen of water on her pearlescent skin, indicated to Grim that she was doubtless some kind of sea nymph. Or perhaps a siren? He wasn't too sure about that. "Grim." the lanky young man offered his free hand to the other two, who shook it, one after the other. "Call me Melanie." The probable-nymph said with a polite smile. The kitsune was less reticent, leaning forward and examining him intently before looking at Geri with a sly expression. "So... you two know each other?" she asked, innuendo lacing the question.
  9. Grim had been among the last of the Band to enter, content to follow the others as, chatting amongst themselves excitedly, they'd joined the throng seeking entrance to the holy of holies. Deep in his own thoughts, his eyes scanning the crowd in a mixture of wariness and curiosity as he catalogued the various spirits, godlings and assorted supernatural hodegpodge in attendance, he'd not even noticed the sleek black-clad figure sliding up next to him until Adrianna's arm looped through his. At his surprised glance, she smiled and leaned up, incidentally pressing against his arm as her lips came close to his ear. "I'm not entering a party dressed like this without someone on my arm." she murmured, her breath warm against the young scion of Odin's ear - and incidentally causing the hairs to rise up on the back of his neck and prickles of electricity to zap up and down his spine. "Makes me look desperate." "I don't think anyone could accuse a woman as lovely and confident as you of that." The tall youth replied in the same low tone, his gaze turning to her - and trying not to sink lower to where, he happened to notice, Adrianna had tugged the zipper of her costume down again somewhat. She chuckled, a rich melodic sound with a hint of surprise. "Smooth, Odinsson. Very smooth." she said as she recovered, smiling and giving his shoulder a playful swat with her free hand. "There's hope for you yet." She tilted her head, examining him for a moment, perhaps trying to envision that hope realised, some future Grim cutting a swathe through womankind as her crimson lips quirked in a mysterious smile. "So why my arm?" Grim asked, prompting an exasperated sigh from the Baroness. "Why not yours?" she said, rolling her eyes. "You're clean, tall, dark, and not ugly. You might even be handsome if you smiled, and your scars are interesting. Both the ones I can see... and the ones I can't." A fingertip reached up, tracing the edge of a thin white scar where it strayed above the collar of Grim's shirt. She smiled slightly as he self-consciously tugged the collar up, relenting a little and giving his arm a squeeze. "Relax, kiddo. Sure, this is work, but it's also a party. Don't be so sharp you cut yourself." "I hate parties." he muttered, slouching down a little in his cloak. A sharp tug from Adrianna straightened him up again. "No, you don't. You're just not used to them." There was understanding in her tone, but no sympathy or pity. "Now don't slouch down and try not to be noticed, for crying out loud. You're not the poor little unloved boy anymore. You're the son of Odin, attending a party filled with supernatural creatures. They'll all be watching you. Stand up straight, take no shit - you've got as much right to be here as anyone, and more right than most." Despite himself, Grim smiled a little as they filtered up to the door of the mansion. "Is that what you tell yourself before going into a party?" Adrianna smirked, giving his arm another squeeze as he squared his shoulders and raised his head, meeting the eyes of those who looked his way. "Smart boy, but no. That's what I tell myself when I brush my teeth in the morning." she replied as they stepped into the revel. ---===[@]===---- "Let's get a drink!" Adrianna half-shouted over the music, not letting go of Grim's arm as she tugged him through the crowd of partygoers, most of whom parted admiringly for the lovely scion of Hades and threw curious glances at her escort. Remembering Adrianna's advice, Grim met the stares with calm force of presence. nodding politely in passing, keeping any sign of awkwardness, of not belonging off his features. He was the son of Odin, and he belonged wherever he chose to walk, damn it. Still, it was with some relief that he came to a stop next to one of the many bars set up throughout the Rhodes mansion. A spooky skeletal themed bartender - this one actually not a skeleton, but an attractive young woman with glowing bones painted all over her mostly naked - as far as he could tell - body, handed two glasses over to Adrianna. "They have any juice?" he asked as she turned and presented one of the glasses to him. At her 'Really?!' expression he sighed and took the drink without further complaint, prompting her to smile again as he brought it to his lips and took a sip. It was sweet, but not cloyingly so, and clearly alcoholic. He lowered the glass again, noting her watching him with a raised brow. "What?" "You didn't wait for the toast." she said, as though pointing out the obvious, holding up her glass. "To the gods. May they grant us victory." "Oh." A little abashed, he held his up likewise. "To the gods." They clinked glasses and drank, the whatever-it-was filling his stomach with warmth "Sorry. I'm still not really used to this." "Obviously." she smiled a little. "But we'll housebreak you yet." "We will, huh?" "Sooner or later." she nodded, smiling mysteriously before glancing around. "I'm going to mingle, I suggest you do the same. You've got my number if you need me." "Likewise." Grim nodded, absently watching her backside as she shimmied off into the crowd. With a sigh, he knocked back the rest of the contents of his glass, then signaled the bartender for another. Fresh drink in hand, the son of Odin went forth...
  10. "Come on, be fair." Grim's tone was ironically reproving as he bared his teeth in a sly grin at Nadya's expense. "Set her achievable goals, like 'try not to burn the mansion down with yourself in it'." He winked his pale grey eye at Laurel and nodded amiably. "Stay in touch, and if you need me, just shout." As Laurel flashed another sun-touched smile at him and turned to leave, the raw-boned young man turned to the newest arrival. Valerie found herself the recipient of the oldest scrutinising stare she'd every experienced from someone still mortal - well, mostly mortal. And especially from someone not even old enough to shave daily. He was tall, maybe a hair under her height in the platforms, but sparsely-built, his features starting to lose their boyish roundness at the approach of manhood. The Puritan hat rested atop crow-black hair that was tied back in a short ponytail, it's brim framing a pair of mismatched eyes - one rich leafy green, the other so pale a grey as to be colorless. A scar ran down from his brow over the grey eye and ended at his cheek, and here and there on his pale features were other, smaller scars, as though someone had made tiny slashes with a razor blade on his skin. His expression was neither hostile nor overly friendly, though a faint smile accompanied the nod of welcome he gave Valerie as he leaned on a black stave almost as tall as he. She'd seen him around school., she was sure. Or was it in the local news... Yeah, that was it. The kid who'd gone missing then turned up without explanation over a year later. "Grim." he said by way of introduction. "Welcome to the party, and the Band, Valerie. As Nads here said, we've got a job to do tonight, so keep the drinking light at least until we've saved the world." Briefly, he sketched out what was going on in a little more detail than Bast's daughter had. There would be a ewer or a pithus somewhere in the mansion, something old and filled with the energies of Fate. Their first job was to find it and figure out a way to safely neutralise it before the spirits of three Salem witches could enact a ritual which would break a seal between the worlds of the living and the dead - this last detail was largely conjecture based on what he knew of magic, he admitted. "The second task is to use a relic in the possession of an ally - who should be here soon - to send the spirits of the three witches back to where they belong." His thin lips twitched in a humorless smile. "Bonus point if we can also recover a tome called the Nekiya and deliver it back to Archie." He glanced around at the others. "So. It's Halloween, and that party there is swimming with gods, spirits and monsters. Other than a general agreement not to openly war on each other, there's very few rules. Trust nothing at face value, don't get distracted by people playing games. The guy behind all this, Marius, is a chess player who likes to be several moves ahead. Assume he knows we are coming and is preparing delays and distractions for us to get caught up in." His eyes swept the group. "He's counting on us being dumb kids driven by emotion and hormones. Let's show him he's not dealing with the Donner Party. Watch each other's backs, don't get so sidetracked having a good time that you forget why we're here." He grinned - or at least bared his teeth wolfishly. "I'm going to be really irritable if we let the world get eaten." "So how is that different." Fisher smirked. Grim sighed. "Nah, normally I'm cranky. Irritable is much, much worse." he replied with a thin smile for his Bandmates. He glanced at Valerie. "There's probably lots of questions, and we're short on time. Don't worry, though - all of us are here for you so long as you're here for us. This is the kind of job where you largely learn as you go."
  11. He'd tuned out the byplay and banter of the Band - though tuning out Nadya's provocative costume was more difficult. Annoyingly, Grimsley found his attention wandering from studying the other partygoers funneling into the Rhodes place and instead focusing on the flashes of fishnet-clad thigh visible as Nadya moved, or the way the ostentatious jewelry didn't really detract from the pale sweep of her throat down to her bodice... Gods damn it. He cursed at himself silently, turning slightly away from the others, forcing his eyes to resume their sentinel-like watchfulness of his surroundings. After all, this was hostile territory. It was a fair bet that the Rhodes girl was one of those possessed by the witches, and even if she hadn't been she was also one of the notorious 'Donner Party', which meant that the rival Band might well be here too. Briefly he wondered whether they knew their team-mate had been possessed - it seemed incredible that they could miss it, but then perhaps they didn't really associate with one another outside of their designated group activities? For that matter, what did the Donner Band actually do in relation to the war effort? They didn't seem to be running around town like a hormonal-but-well-meaning Scooby gang solving mysteries and fighting titanspawn like this Band did. They turned up like dogshit on the shoe, interfered with members of his Band, performing sabotage up to and including the stealing of trophies, and otherwise seemed to act like fucking retarded delinquent five year olds who were still being breast-fed and yet still needed someone to point out where the milk came from. Of course, Grim's interactions with them had been highly limited, so perhaps his view was coloured overmuch by the information gleaned from the others in his Band. Something else to investigate further, then. He- He was staring at Nadya's ass. And worse, the petite Romani daughter of Bast had just noticed his stare and was starting to arch a pretty eyebrow and open her mouth to say something. Laurel's arrival saved Grim, and he felt an almost ridiculous sense of gratitude towards the sunlit blonde - not just for the save, but also for the fact that her costume was more interesting than revealing. "Laurel. Glad you made it." Grim's welcome was not entirely due to the salvation Apollo's daughter represented. He was glad to see her here - at the very least, he might have someone else who wasn't intent on getting shitfaced drunk and acting like they were at a Bacchanal to talk to. Then again, Laurel was of the Greek pantheon... perhaps she let her hair down at parties. That was good for several seconds of mental imagery best imagined rather than described, and the scion of Odin resisted the urge to bonk himself on the head with his own staff. Really? REALLY? I can't even go for thirty seconds without thinking about carnal matters? Is this an ichor thing? An Aesir thing? Or a dormant Grim thing? Whatever it is, it needs to stop. Yeesh. He smiled slightly at Laurel. "Mary Poppins?" he hazarded, taking in the ensemble. The smile became a vaguely foxish grin. "And people said my costume was on the nose."
  12. "On the nose is sort of the plan." Grim smiled... well, grimly. "If I have to go to a party, and if I have to wear a costume, I might as well wear one that's going to annoy the unholy shit out of our 'hostesses'." He shrugged his shoulders inside the cloak and straightened a little. With the additional height of the hat, it was once again apparent to the others just how much Grim's usual slope-shouldered, fuck-off-and-don't-notice-me posture detracted from his physical presence. He was almost as tall as his sunnier, more handsome cousin, and whilst he was not as well-fleshed as Dane the framework - the stamp of the Aesirs giant heritage - was definitely there in the length and solidity of his bones. He glanced at his cousin. "And don't sweat earlier. You were who we needed you to be, and thanks for that." His thin smile turned a touch more genuine, just for a moment. He hesitated, then lifted a fist In Dane's direction, holding it out until the momentarily speechless son of Baldur bumped his own against it, smiling delightedly. "See? Now you gettin' it! Bruh! We're gonna have so much fun tonight!" Dane exclaimed, then reined in his enthusiasm as the Odinsson's eyebrow arched over his colorless eye. "Uh. I mean, once the evil shit is dealt with, is what I meant to say." Dane corrected hastily. "Y'know. World saving comes first, right?" He looked around at Fisher and Austin, trying to appear serious and sober... -ish. "Partying after, dudes." he admonished them as though they were the ones who'd temporarily forgotten the reason for them all being there. "Right." Grim sighed, leaning on his staff once more, the expression of world-weary cynicism once more in his mismatched gaze. "I'm almost certain this won't completely be a train wreck. And speaking of train wrecks..." he glanced around, his crankiness ratcheting up another couple of notches. "Where are the girls?" "They'll be here." Fisher put in, checking his phone. "Darcy says she's on her way." "Dudes." Dane said somberly to Fisher and Austin. "We need to... to, like, get Grim some Seven Minutes in Heaven action or something. It'd totes cheer him up." "Yeah, but what girl would be brave enough?" Austin grinned. Dane nodded, his expression serious. "Truth. They'd need to be-" "I am right here, and can hear you." Grim's tone wasn't quite capable of freezing the evening air solid, but it gave the feat a good attempt as he went back to scrutinising their surroundings. "Try to keep your hormones in your pants, gentlemen. World to save, remember?"
  13. Mrs K was at her wits end. It was Halloween and she was currently foster-mom to three children - and Grimsley, whom she mentally always added after the count of 'real' children because the boy, in addition to being older than the other fosters, was the most unchildlike child she'd ever encountered. The younger ones were rambunctiously running around in a post-candy delirium, trailing wrappers and costume parts in their wake like pirates throwing a revel after robbing a Spanish galleon. She'd managed to get them settled down - sort of - to watch Halloween specials on TV and sank into a chair at the kitchen table with a sigh of relief. "So..?" Grim looked at her expectantly, causing Mrs K to narrow her eyes at him. But... a deal was a deal, after all. He'd uncomplainingly helped out riding herd on the kids as they'd gone around trick-or-treating, helped persuade them not to eat ALL the candy in one sitting upon getting home, and even helped settle them down with some spooky, grisly stories which he'd told in a low, intense fashion which had even sucked the foster mom in. But his participation had been bargained for... "Okay." Mrs Kochinski sighed, waving her hand in surrender. "Yes, you helped. A lot. Thanks for that, by the way. And..." she paused, weighing her words. "And so you can go to the party. But-!" She held up a finger admonishingly. "I don't want to have any trouble brought to my door as a result of shenanigans, Grimsley Algar. So help me if the Sheriff turns up with one hand on your shoulder with some tale of public indecency..." she left the threat hanging. "C'mon, Mrs K. It's me." Grim smiled his crooked, thin smile at her. "If I could drive, I'd be the designated driver. I'm only going because a couple of friends are going and I'm confident they'll get into trouble without me." "Hmmph. 'Couple of friends', hmm?" The foster mom studied him with a speculative eye. "Like that pretty blonde?" "Laurel might be there, yes. It's distinctly possible." Grim's matter-of-fact nonchalance was adamantine against the sling and arrows of innuendo. "She does go to the school, after all, and everyone was invited." "Hmmph." An eyebrow was arched, though Mrs K also smiled faintly. "So she's not picking you up in her limo this time?" "She's a friend, not my date. And not an Uber, Mrs K." Grim rolled his eyes to communicate just how ridiculous the older woman was being. She studied his costume that he'd worn whilst trick-or-treating. It was quite a passable Puritan witchfinder outfit, down to the buckles on the shoes and the stovepipe hat, and she wondered where he'd gotten the dark blue cloak that hung around his shoulders. His height and raw-boned, unsmiling and scarred face added to the daunting impression of someone out to ruin some Devil-worshipper's day. "Alright. Don't get into trouble, and don't stay out too late." Mrs Kochinski sighed, taking a sip of tea. Grim flashed her a smile. "Trust me. I won't be staying any longer than I have to." * * * * * * "Well, here we are." Grim's voice came to Austin and Dane as the lanky Witchfinder came to rest next to Han Solo and the Burrito, leaning on his staff. Giving the two of them a nod from under the brim of his hat, he fixed his mismatched gaze on the mansion like a warrior appraising an enemy's fortifications - which was not too far from the truth. He watched the various small gods, spirits and creatures as they joined the throng of giddy, reveling mortals and sighed inwardly. If tonight went sideways - which it likely would - there could be a lot of innocents caught in the ensuing supernatural crossfire. Still, they had a job to do. Whatever the witches needed all that mystical energy for breaking loose, it couldn't be good at all. Potentially world-threatening, in fact. Resting against the black wood of his staff, cloak shifting around him with the mist rising in the chill Salem night, Odin's son prepared himself for whatever may come...
  14. Grim had listened to Dane's and Adrianna's tale with something approaching sympathy in his expression. Certainly, it sounded like Ty had made a terrible choice, and on the surface one that no true Aesir should make, and yet... And yet. The scion of Odin considered... That terrible choice, that shocking betrayal, had kept everyone else alive. Had kept Dane and Adrianna alive, and so led to the confluence of events that had them both here, now, when they were needed. The son of Tyr had, much like his father, sacrificed for the greater good, losing something dear to him so that the rest of what he held dear could be preserved. He had taken upon himself that horrible burden, so that others did not have to. And now he faced death at Dane's hand, the ultimate price for his actions. Grim wondered if he should intervene, perhaps try to talk Dane out of his course of action. Did he even have the right to do so? Perhaps he did. What would the vengeance, even if deserved, do to Dane? That survivor guilt, mingled with something close to kinslaying. What would be left of the happy, smiling son of Baldur that so got on Grim's nerves from his cluelessness? And if vengeance was denied, how would that eat at Dane? I am not my Father. I do not have his wisdom. Grim thought to himself, at a loss. Would he, in Ty's place, have done something similar? He hoped not. He would hope, perhaps, that he could come up with some cunning scheme, some trickery that would serve better as diversion. And at the worst, he would sacrifice himself, rather than others, to ensure that the majority survived. He hoped he would, at least. Perhaps that, if anything, was something he could condemn Ty for - not for sacrificing comrades in arms and friends, but for sacrificing others without being willing to put himself on the line. Perhaps, that is. For Grim did not know enough about Ty, or enough of his reasons on the day. The unwise man is awake all night, and ponders everything over; when morning comes he is weary in mind, and all is a burden as ever. Yeah. Not going to get anywhere thinking that over. It's tail-chasing, and I simply don't know en- A cough from Adrianna brought him out of his reverie, and he realised he was staring at - well, letting his eyes rest on - her shapely behind in the well-fitting (tight) jeans. The son of Odin didn't quite guiltily jerk his mismatched eyes up to meet the narrowed gaze of the daughter of Hades, but it did take every ounce of self control for him not to blush crimson and stammer out an apology like the schoolboy he, in fact, was. Instead, despite his cheeks going a little pink, he managed to merely blink and cleared his throat. "We need to get close to the ritual vessel and destroy it, scattering the gathered power. We need your medallion to send the three witches back to your Father's realm." he told her, trying to pretend he hadn't been unconsciously ogling her. His lips quirked in a crooked smile as he tilted his head, regarding Adrianna wryly. "In short, we're going to a party. Wanna come?"
  15. "We learned that someone is trying to perform a ritual to break an imprisoning seal." Grim's voice was quietly businesslike, a cold breeze blowing off the glaciers of Niflheim. "I'm inclined to think it's something they gleaned from the Nekiya, but perhaps not - I'm going from gut feeling there. The various strange events around town have been funneling the power of Fate into the rite, the climax of which will take place tomorrow night at midnight." He shrugged slightly, favoring Adrianna with a smile. "Fate does love synchronicity, and Halloween is the perfect time to release something big, powerful and not of this world." "We're also pretty sure that the spirits of the three witches have possessed female students from the school, as we mentioned in our last meeting. Given the central focal point of the ritual, at least one of them is likely to be Mercedes Rhodes, daughter of Aphrodite." he went on in the same intent, businesslike fashion. "It can't be coincidence that her home is at the geomantic fulcrum of all the strange happenings. The plan is to attend her costume party, find the vessel being used to store the mystical energies so far raised, and neutralise it. We also use your amulet to banish the witches back to your Father's realm." He shifted his feet, leaning on his staff as his mismatched eyes studied Adrianna. "I am new to all of this." he said in the tone of one confessing. "But it strikes me that stopping those witches, and preventing the release of whatever destructive evil they plan to unleash, is more important than simple high school hijinks. We know what needs doing, we know what we need in order to do it. And your amulet is one of those key ingredients. You ask 'what have we to trade'? I have nothing to offer you right now. I can promise that I will consider this a favor to be returned: whatever you need from me, if it is in my power to grant or loan, I will do so." He grinned a little, a wolfish expression of amusement. his green eye sparkling. "Except the Nekiya. If we are able to recover that, it goes back to Archie. It's not on the bargaining table, oh Daughter of Hades." he essayed a half-bow, giving her a lopsided smile.
  16. "It is." Grim said thoughtfully as he walked along, staff tapping in cadence with his footfalls. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Fisher, nodding as if deciding something. "I want you in the meeting too. Not to keep busting your balls, but seeing you might make her take us less seriously after your performance last time - only this time we can make it work for us. She might let something slip if she feels overconfident." He shrugged. "Or she might play it straight, in which case all is well. Either way, you're a good geiger counter to have present."
  17. Grim had been leaning against the gatepost of the cemetary's main entrance like a particularly brooding form of gargoyle as the group had approached and drawn level with him, his seething at his cousin's weed-rotted thought processes and boneheaded 'question' having largely returned to his usual sullen equilibrium when Darcy suddenly stopped dead and gave Fisher - and others - a piece of her mind. As she finished, he pushed off from where he was leaning and approached, wry amusement flickering in his gaze as he looked at the tongue-tied scion of Izanami before those odd-coloured eyes rested on the flushed mortal. His head tilted slightly, his expression hard to read as he asked "'The anti-social'?" Darcy's red cheeks reddened a little further. "Oh god, did I say that out loud?" she muttered, then firmed her jaw and looked right at him. "Well... you kind of are." she told him, her tone somewhere between defiant and diplomatic. "Sorry, but... yeah." "S'true, dude." Dane put in helpfully, nodding slowly. "You're all quiet and surly and stuff. But it's cool. Sorta like Batman." "Maybe that should be your costume." Laurel suggested pleasantly, her blue eyes sparkling. Grim looked at her, one corner of his mouth twitching in an almost-smile, then glowered at Dane, then finally stared at Darcy as he rested against his staff. "If Creation were to end tomorrow, and I went to the Hall of my Father." he said quietly, his eyes on the student barista. "When I was called upon to tell a tale, I would be sure to tell the tale of the girl who stood with us at the Ending of All Things with nothing more than a willing spirit. In that regard, at least, I can see to it you end up as more than dust on the wind." There was a moment of silence. Darcy wasn't sure what to say. The other scions looked at Grim with various levels of surprise. He shifted his weight then, resting the staff against his shoulder as he stood up straight again, smiling a little at Darcy. "Of course, if we make it through tomorrow, we shall have to see about making sure you're equipped with more than just a willing spirit. If you want to walk the walk, you're going to need to be able to keep up, if only a little." he went on, his manner more businesslike. "That means learning. And training." He shrugged, glancing at Fisher, then the others. "Something to think about. For now, though, we've got a party to prepare for. Dane? I need you to get straight - or at least straight-er - and call Adrianna. You and me and one or two others need to sit down with her and get her to agree to lend us her amulet. So I'm going to need your thoughts on that. Actual thoughts. Not thoughts about Bill Murray." He added, eyes narrowing as he motioned his cousin to accompany him. "Come on, let's walk and talk. Standing around makes my leg hurt." "I don't think I ever asked." Darcy murmured to Fisher as the group moved on out of the graveyard. "Who exactly is his father?" "Odin." Fisher answered, still getting over the sight of an impassioned Darcy and the kiss she'd given him in front of everyone. "Oh." Darcy pondered. "Right." she said after a few more moments.
  18. The skinny youth dressed in the oversized longcoat had remained silent, leaning on his staff, as Fisher and Runa spoke, his mismatched eyes apparently idly scanning their surroundings. As Laurel spoke up, he seemed to awaken from whatever speculation his mind was engaged in, straightening a little and throwing the giantess a polite nod. Though he still seemed woefully underfed, when he stood straight it was noticeable that the Aesir scion was not as small or frail-seeming as his body language usually suggested, being almost as tall as his cousin with the sunnier disposition. His shoulders, too, did not seem so hunched or narrow within the confines of the coat. "My thanks to you, fair Runa, for your time - upon which we have intruded far too much already." The son of Odin said with careful formality. "We shall leave as we arrived - in peace." He paused in the process of turning as he gave her a slight smile. "Should we meet again under peaceful circumstance, perhaps we could share an iced chocolate." Without waiting for a reply he completed his turn, tapping Fisher on the shoulder as a signal to follow as he headed away from the giants and their Nemean ally. "Let's get going." he told the others quietly as he drew level with them, not looking back at Runa and her companions. "We've got all we need." "We have?" Darcy looked from Grim to the giants, to Grim again, and finally at the others. Fisher shrugged acceptance, as did Austin. Rachel frowned, feeling ill at ease turning her back on Titanspawn, but also didn't want to bicker in front of enemies. Laurel simply nodded with her usual grace and turned to go. Nadya, confused but trusting that Glumsley knew what he was talking about, likewise fell into step as the Band began to head out of the graveyard. Once they were near the entrance to the place of final rest, Grim began talking. "They're gathering power, a lot of it. The power of Fate, of Legend. That's what all the strange incidents have been for." he began, drawing a sandwich from his satchel and taking bites between sentences. "Runa was telling the truth - her part of it is just legwork. The ritual is to break a magical seal - probably set by someone divine, given the amount of power they're drawing." "Right." Laurel frowned, nodding as she absorbed this. "So I'm assuming the ritual likely isn't complete, or we'd know about it by now." "Correct." Grim nodded as he finished the sandwich, then popped the tab on a can of Coke. "The power is being funneled into a vessel - an actual vessel. Something old and/or valuable, a vase or a pithos, with a mystical presence of it's own, perhaps. The power will then be consumed at the apex of the ritual by the person running it, and they will then break the seal." He looked around at them all, the verdant hue of his right eye a stark contrast to the wintery grey of his scarred one. "Best bet, the ritual will be tomorrow night, at midnight. The place will be Mercedes party. So we're all going, and we're going to get our hands on that vessel before the Witching Hour starts." He smiled wryly. "Halloween is a great night for breaking seals, especially ones between the lands of the living and the dead. Whatever our enemies are trying to set loose, it's a great idea to stop that from happening." "So our tasks are, in order, secure Adrianna's help with her amulet. We then infiltrate the party in costume-" he made a face "- and find, in no special order, the vessel and the possessed partygoers. Before midnight." He glanced around them again. "Any questions?" he asked before tilting back his head and taking a long drink of soda. "Yeah," Dane nodded as he began flicking a lighter to spark his medicinal remedy. "Why was Venkman the only one not covered in marshmallow? I never understood that." Grim had just taken a large mouthful of soda, and it was a testament to his presence of mind and sheer cussedness that the Band didn't end up wearing it. A couple of worrying choking noises emitted from his throat, and then he swallowed, coughed once, and stared at Dane ominously. "Are you serious?" "Well, yeah, man. I mean, Mr Stay Puft was all -*ker-blooey* and there was fluff everywhere, but not on Venkman." Dane replied earnestly. "You..." Grim began, then stopped himself. "I..." he began again, then halted whatever diatribe he'd been about to spew forth like dragonfire. And the damned scion of Baldur just stood there with an expression somewhere between curiousity and worry. Grim opened his mouth one last time, then shut it with an audible snap, turned on his heel, and stalked from the graveyard, muttering to himself.
  19. "Everybody play cool." Grim's voice was a low but audible murmur through barely-moving lips to the others. "Nobody swing first." He stepped forward, and if he seemed to his companions to be limping a little more than usual, or seemed to be leaning on his staff more than he had before, well... perhaps he was tired after the long walk. Perhaps. He approached the frost giantess steadily, his staff tapping the ground as he assessed her. That she had skill with runes indicated learning, yet she seemed young. Her axe was at hand, but hardly ready to strike - a parade rest of sorts. Her sheer size reminded him uncomfortably of the trolls, and he had to fight the hackle-raising fear that prickled up his spine as he stepped close enough to be within reach of her axe before coming to a stop, leaning heavily on the black wood stave and meeting her gaze with his own. You've survived eighteen months without going in a troll's stewpot, and that was before your Visitation. he reminded himself, taking a moment before speaking. "Thank you for the welcome, Runa - and Rimuldr." he acknowledged with a courteous dip of his head to both the giantess and the snow-white Nemean. "I am Grim, and I greet you in kind. It may be that we are fated to meet one day in battle, and if so I welcome it. A man - or woman - can be known by the caliber of their foe, after all. Better a strong and cunning enemy than a nīðingr. If you say there is to be no violence here and now, so let it be for my party also." He cocked his head slightly, examining the markings and carvings that adorned the gravestones and tomb slabs around them, then fixed Runa once more with his mismatched gaze. . "You are right that we seek the spirits of witches, those who should lie quiet and yet roam to create mischief. I confess myself puzzled, mighty Runa." He gestured to her, a sweep of his arm meant to indicate her impressiveness. "What manner of dead witches can call upon one such as yourself to do their work?"
  20. "Plants too." Grim put in. "Mrs Cunningham's garden - a labor of love over many years - was drained dry. I agree," he stated, glancing at Austin, then at Fisher, before looking at the others. "Someone wanted life-force for something." He grunted then, looking around the headstones and monuments as he leaned on his staff, the twisted black wood comforting under his hand. "Let's go to the oldest section together, since that's the most likely hotspot. If we find zip there, then we can think about splitting into two teams to search the rest of this place." His piercing mismatched gaze fell on the map-bearer. "Darcy? Where are we headed?" Trying not to grin too widely now that the question of her tagging along had been resolved, the girl unfolded her map with a rustle, consulting it for a moment, then pointed down one of the well-tended pathways. "That way. It's sort of central - this place grew outwards around the original graves." "Like the rings of a tree." Grim noted, rubbing absently at the scar over his left eye, the grey one. "Let's get going while we still have some light, then." Shrugging his shoulders inside his voluminous long coat, he set off down the path Darcy had indicated, his staff tapping in time with his footsteps.
  21. "Wonderful." Grim studied the graveyard as though it was personally offending him, his tone was one of absentminded sarcasm as he replied to Dane. The thin-faced young man blinked, then, and seemed to remember himself. "Sorry, Dane. I'm new at this, and the whole situation is getting to me." He offered a faint smile to the scion of Baldur. "Glad you're with us. The more help, the better." The handsome sun-blessed youth, the antithesis in every way to the dark, dour and scarred Grim, beamed at his 'cousin'. "No problem, dude. We Aesir gotta stick together." He leaned close to Rachel. "See? Little dude is warming to me." he stage-whispered loud enough for all the Band to hear. Grim's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't rise to the bait, instead sighing softly and looking around at the others. "Thoughts?" "Start with the oldest sections of the cemetery?" Laurel repressed a shiver from the depths of her coat as she glanced around the bleak place, the chill Fall breeze seeming extra frost-laden here. She met Grim's mismatched gaze, her own blue eyes expressive as she nodded. "I'm no expert on the occult, but people are another matter. Perhaps the witches will be sticking close to graves that were from their own lifetimes." She watched as Odin's son mulled that over like he was chewing a tough piece of meat, considering it before nodding. "It's as good a plan as any." he agreed, flashing her one of his quick smiles before looking at the others. "Anyone else got anything better?"
  22. "A tenth I know: when at night the witches / ride and sport in the air, / such spells I weave that they wander home / out of skins and wits bewildered." Grim muttered as he beheld the destruction of life. He took a breath, smelling the composting, rotting vegetation, eyes narrowed and lips pinched in anger. Someone had not just taken life. They had taken love, and time, and care. They had taken Ms Cunningham's soul, or a part of it at least, to fuel some working or rite. But to what end? What rite? Life for life, soul for soul. Some manner of transference? A rejuvenation? Or just a simple sucking of something good and decent to power something else. The principles of Sympathy and Contagion as he understood them certainly indicated the former. What had been done here was... vampiric in it's effect. Taking, to feed something else. And that something else needed the love and life of this garden. "What's that, dear?" Ms Cunningham asked, sniffling from where she sat by Laurie. Grim turned, strands of his dark hair whipping across his pale, raw-boned features, and stepped over to her, sinking with some difficulty to one knee. "I'll help you re-plant this." he told her soberly. "Even now, I can see the love you put into this garden. Right now, all is bleak. Fall turns to Winter. Let the ground stay as it is, absorb what is left into it, recover and revitalise. Winter always breaks, and when it does we will replant." He smiled faintly. "You'll have to show me how, but we'll have beauty here again." "But... why would you do that, dear?" Ms Cunningham felt fresh tears coming as she stared at the mismatched eyes. Grim pondered for a long moment, trying to find the right words to express how he felt about it, why he was making such an offer, why he cared. He settled for part of the truth. "It would be wrong not to." he said finally, his manner thoughtful as he stood, grunting a little as he leaned on his staff to help him up. He motioned with his head to Dale and Laurie as Elaine Cunningham sniffled, weeping silently as she looked at her ruined flowerbeds, drawing the two girls aside with him. In concise murmurs, Grim outlined what he had seen, what he had felt from the emptied, hollowed-out shell of the garden. "So it wasn't a hex against her, or anything personal like that. This was an act of... convenience. Necessity. Someone needed the life that was in this garden." he finished, looking over his shoulder at the sorrowful old woman ten feet away before looking back at Laurie and Dale. "It was used as a battery, I think."
  23. "Well, you did say you'd be bringing your cat." Grim commented in his usual dry fashion, studying the black-furred feline as it crouched on Dale's shoulders. Yellow eyes met green-and-grey as the two inscrutable creatures each took the measure of the other for a long moment before Grim nodded and Swi groomed a paw, almost as though they had - on some male harmonic imperceptible to XX chromosomal types - agreed to diplomatically ignore one another. It wasn't that Grim disliked cats. But Swi was not a normal cat, that much was plain from the way he glared balefully from Dale's shoulders and had evidently traveled here with her on her bike. Divine critters inspired caution, being as they were emissaries and agents of the gods, much as Hugin had been when he'd guided Grim to freedom. Until he understood more of Kalfu and of Swi, Grim was going to be cautious. As for Swi... Well, even an emissary of the gods knew trouble when it saw it, and it wasn't often he had his stare matched. Best to leave well enough alone, for now. "He'll be useful." Dale stated with confidence. "Y'know, in case." "Mmm." Grim's vocalisation was neither doubtful nor one of agreement as he stumped past, his eyes on the house belonging to Mrs Cunningham. Stopping at the fence, he leaned on his staff and scrutinised the garden, the chill Fall wind whipping at his hair and coat as he attempted to make sense of what he was seeing.
  24. He lowered his gaze to his plate, the only sounds in the room a faint clink of fork on china as he ate in silence that seemed to grow and spread from him, an awkward stillness that permeated the air between them, cooling their nascent friendship like the autumn chill slowly sapping heat from the world outside... "No." he said at least, more to himself than her as he set the empty plate aside and looked up, giving Laurel a tight, but genuine smile. "He who takes offense when no offense is intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense is intended is a greater fool.” He shrugged again, picking up his coffee cup and standing, walking with his slight limp over to the bar counter where Laurel stood watching him. Leaning against it with one hip, he gave her a wry grin. "I'm still working on trying to be wise, but a good start is to avoid being a fool. You didn't intend offense, and I didn't take any." He raised his cup to his lips, looking away towards the large patio window. "It's me who should be sorry." he went on more quietly, lifting a slender hand to examine the patchwork of scars on his fingers and the back of the hand. "It's not the most pleasant of sights." He shrugged again, tugging the sleeve of his shirt down a little further to cover most of his hand, then smiled at Laurel - another tight, wry quirk of his lips that reached his eyes for a moment before they shifted away from hers and went back to regarding the room. "Though nothing can bring back the hour / Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; / We will grieve not, rather find / Strength in what remains behind; / In the primal sympathy / Which having been must ever be...” he quoted softly, a grave expression in his eyes as they looked out of the window at the room's far end. Glancing back at Laurel again, he flashed her another of his rare, warm smiles and took another mouthful of coffee.
  25. That was good for a wry answering smile as he followed her down the hallway, keen eyes noting the echoing emptiness of the house and the pristine maintenance of the place. Was James the only servant here? Or were there others, perhaps, who came in at odd times like shoemaker elves to dust and clean and garden and ensure the pantry was stocked? His agile mind spun that question around like a coin on a tabletop as he considered Laurel in the context of this, her home. A massive, empty museum, with only the valet as her confidant and company... No wonder she'd introduced Grim as a friend, rather than acquaintance, though that could just be a politely gracious introduction... He pondered that, too, as always seeking the patterns and details in peoples words - what they said, how they said it, the choice of one word over another. Was Laurel a friend? If so, she was a most unlikely one: beautiful and graceful and warm. Why did you use the word beautiful, Grim? he immediately interrogated himself, pouncing on the word in the confines of his own rumination. Because she objectively is, moron. he answered himself testily. Aha! the inquisitor crowed. But beauty is subjective, a slave to the eye of the beholder- And then Laurel opened the door to the library, and stepping in after her Grim stopped second-guessing himself as he saw the room. The library was done in rich, warm shades of mahogany and red leather and burnished brass. In truth it seemed more of the sort of room where men would sit in the high-backed dark leather armchairs puffing cigars and sipping brandy as they discussed politics and business, but the shelves lining the walls, each stretching from floor to high ceiling with sliding steps tucked neatly at one end, held a wealth of books. Thick carpet underfoot deadened the sound of his steps to a whisper of a shuffle as he stepped to the center of the massive room and leaned on his staff, staring at them curiously, then casting his gaze to the large double patio doors at one end of the room that opened onto the garden and finally to the polished oak and brass bar on the north wall. This is how the other half lives, he mused as he turned slowly in place, taking in the room before glancing at Laurel, who was watching him with an expectant gaze in her cerulean eyes. It took a moment, then Grim realised she'd asked him something. "Uh... Sorry?" he said belatedly, his narrow shoulders hunching inside the too-large overcoat as he looked a little abashed. "I said 'feel free to browse and get comfortable, I won't be too long'." Laurel's answering smile was equal parts good-natured patience, humour, and pleasure at his reaction. "James will be around if you need anything. Just pull the bell cord over there." "Oh, sure. Yeah." Grim nodded, feeling as out of place as a crow in a dovecote. Almost aggressively indifferent to his appearance beyond being clean, these surroundings made him feel like he should have maybe combed his hair or worn a shirt and tie. Of course, Grim being Grim that feeling of inadequacy fostered an almost rebellious insouciance. The hostess had said he was to get comfortable, so by Hel he would do so! It'd be rude to refuse her wishes, after all. As Laurel smiled again and left, Grim leaned his staff against one of the armchairs and walked along the bookshelf on the east wall, fingers trailing over the wooden shelves and lightly brushing the spines of some volumes. Then he traversed the large patio window, peering out at the well-kept garden before examining the western wall's shelves. It was warm in here, and he shrugged out of his long coat and draped it over a chair as he continued before ending up at the bar, eyes examining the bottles and decanters on it before he stopped and leaned against the mahogany counter, facing the room with an air of almost trance-like reflection. Unbidden, his hands found a crystal tumbler and poured something amber and fragrant into it while he considered, before the youth stepped away from the bar, heading with a determined air to one of the shelves he'd noted. So it was when James entered, tray held expertly as he navigated the door, he saw the unkempt boy slouched in a chair, a first edition of Wordsworth perched on his knee with one leg resting on the other and a half-full tumbler of what, the valet realised as he studied the decanters, was probably single-malt scotch in the hand that wasn't turning pages. He set the tray down and turned, studying the strange young fellow, noting the scar over his eye and the myriad of pale scars on the bare forearms where Grim had rolled up his long-sleeved shirt. "Everything alright, sir?" "Mmmh." Grimsley made a sound of contented assent as he took a sip then waved the tumbler slightly, indicating that yes, indeed, everything was just fine and dandy. Then the odd-coloured eyes blinked and looked up from the tome he was studying at the calm-featured older man, who merely directed his gaze meaningfully at the tumbler. "Is sir enjoying the scotch?" The tone was not quite arch or sarcastic. Not quite. But it was respectfully calling attention to the fact that the underage rapscallion had indeed helped himself to a prized and expensive spirit. Grim looked at the drink in his hand with a momentary 'uh-oh' on his narrow, foxish features, then glanced back at James. Screw it. When in doubt, forge ahead. "Is that what this is?" Grim took another sip with an air of appreciation. "It's very good. Gets rid of the chill." "Perhaps a little early for it, sir?" That could mean it was too early in the day to drink hard liquor... or it could mean that Grimsley Algar was at too early a stage of life to be drinking hard liquor. Either approach was valid, after all. Grim decided not to press his luck. "Perhaps, yes." He set the tumbler down carefully on a coaster as James approached with a smaller tray he'd taken from the larger one. The valet fielded the whisky as he set out a cup of expensive-smelling coffee, a small bowl of sugar and a tiny cream jug. "Very good sir." James smiled a little at him before heading back over to the bar. "I have also prepared some quiche as a light repast, if that would be acceptable?" The rumble from Grim's stomach answered that question, and if the professional and composed manservant had to fight back a smile he gave no sign of it as he brought a plate with a slice of the dish over and set that down as well. Grim set aside the volume of Wordsworth and picked up his food, watching for a moment as James went back to the counter before shrugging and digging in like... well, a hungry growing Aesir as he waited for his hostess to reappear.
×
×
  • Create New...