IC: S1:E4 "Quit Yer Witchin'!" in Scion: Modern Mythology Posted March 12 Spoiler “I saw you speaking with the one they call Marius.” She stepped past him. “There is dissention in their ranks. There is tension between the witches and the demigod Usurper. I will accept that drink, now. You will tell me of your quarrel with that man and best means by which I might kill Dane Baldurson.” “Where to start..?” Grim mused as, a few moments later in the next room, the young woman with the skeletal face (and body) paint who seemed to be the self-appointed barkeep got to work on the requested Mudslide. The tall, frosty-eyed Elsa next to him divided her attention between the cheerful probably-not-mortal bartender and the dour, sharp-tongued semi-mortal witchfinder. “The work you did earlier, at the behest of the witches, was part of whatever scheme Marius is cooking up.” he began, sipping at his own drink as he kept his mismatched gaze on Runa. “By his own admission, he wants to cause pain and suffering to a god.” He held up a forefinger. “Just one, and it’s personal, so for all I know it could be his own divine parent. And to do that he’s willing to cause any amount of death and chaos amongst the innocent. Well,” he amended with his usual scrupulous cynicism “if not innocent then at least blameless of doing him any harm.” “And that’s pretty much the basis for my quarrel with him. What he plans to do involves the witches and the large amounts of power you helped them raise, so likely won’t be good for anyone standing around in Salem when midnight arrives. He’s my enemy because he’s an enraged man in pain and wants to turn his pain onto everyone around him.” Grim shrugged his bony shoulders under the cloak draped around them as he took the large glass holding the Mudslide from the bartender and presented it to Runa. “I helped them raise?” The giantess glared at Grim, her cold eyes threatening to pierce him like falling icicles off the eave of a roof. “Do not expect me to feel any manner of remorse for the actions of me or mine. My people have been hunted and prsecuted by the Divine since the dawn of all things, let their worlds burn for a change, I say.” The skeletal-painted bartender slid her drink to Runa and she glared at it for a moment. Whatever the politics were between Titanspawn and Pantheons was something not currently in Grim’s wheelhouse of knowledge, yet she didn’t seem to Helbent on battling Grim or the others, with the exception of Dane it seemed, at every turn. Perhaps cause them an unending amount of trouble, but not see them dead and strewn about as trophies of conquest. “While I am not aware of what the witches are planning, and the Marius one is, as you say, evil. I have witnessed compassion in him for the children like yourself that serve him. I believe that is where the current tension stems from. One of the girls was taken from him by the witches and he sees that as a personal offense against him. Honor among thieves, I suppose?” Satisfied with her inspection of the drink, she raised it to eye-level, admired it almost, before taking a sip to sample its flavor; something, Grim noticed, seemed a bit out of place for a hardened Norse, and a giant descended from his culture’s pantheon. She continued to pose more mysteries with every conversation. “That is…, flavorful.” She conceded with a nod. “Like, coffee with a shot of alcohol in it, but sweet.” She nodded again, almost showing an emotional indicator that seemed accustomed to joy. “I like this. I will have more, but first, the son of Baldur. How do I kill him? His cannon will sear a hole in me if he is aware of my coming. Is he ever without it?” “First, apologies. I didn’t intend to accuse you of anything - merely recount events as they happened.” Grim inclined his head to the giantess. “You did what you did, and for your own reasons. And I do not bear you animosity for it. As you have pointed out, you were working as a mercenary in this - it’s just business.” After a moment, Runa nodded acceptance of his proffered apology, then her eyes narrowed. “And the Baldursson?” “There, I might not be the best of sources.” Grim sipped his bourbon very slightly. “I’ve known Dane only a relatively short time. To the best of my knowledge, though, he’s never without his weapon.” It was tempting - just briefly - to leave it there and let this skein of Fate play itself out, but Dane was a cousin. As annoyingly clueless and surfer-bro attractive as his sunny relative could be, Grim wasn’t so cynical as to try to exploit this for his own gain. That didn’t mean he couldn’t exploit it for Dane’s gain, though. If the giantess wanted to kill him, perhaps that could be turned aside. He fixed Runa with a penetrating, assessing stare. “If I can ask, what is it with you two? I sensed something, back at the graveyard. A tickle on the strands of the Norns. Why do you want to kill him?” “Urðr.” She said calmly and only slightly over the music. “Fate,” she translated, in case Grimm wasn’t up on the Old Norse. “There is a prophecy my elders passed to me. Which of us strikes first will be the victor, but it is by his weapon that I will be defeated. Without it, I am assured victory.” It was a tale as old as Norse time: trying to manipulate Fate in order to avoid one’s own destiny. Grimm knew she was doomed to failure. If Dane was indeed destined to kill her in battle, then there was nothing either of them, or even the gods themselves, could do to stop it. Know one knew that better than Grim’s own father, Odin, the All-Father. She turned, facing the frail Scion as she sipped her mudslide, seeming to savor the flavor. “I like you Usurper Grimsley,” she proclaimed bluntly. “You are honest in your dealings and honorable in your intentions. Those traits are rare in so many of your,” she paused as just outside her and Grim’s field of vision a wandering burrito howled at the moon and displayed it’s proficiency at moving across one of the dance floors using pelvic thrusts as a form of locomotion. She scowled. “...kind. You should know that the one called Marius, I have worked as his advisor of arcane and spiritual lore, and am inclined to do so again, should he have need of me. I tell you this because while I welcome the opportunity to face you in battle, it will disappoint me to have to kill you.” As far as declarations of acceptance went, Grim was pretty sure that wasn’t the worst he was ever going to hear in this crazy new life he’d found himself in. He reflected on that for a few moments, considering the giantess. “I suppose I feel the same. You are the first jotun I have ever spoken with, and not at all as one might expect, Runa. You are learned and wise, and whilst I would enjoy striving against you I think I would consider it a shame if you were to fall, whether at my hand or Dane’s.” He gave the towering blonde a foxish half-smile. “There is a shortage of interesting folk in the world, after all.” He paused, then fished his phone out of his pocket, glowering at it as if annoyed at an interruption - his annoyance not altogether feigned. Under other circumstances, he’d enjoy talking more with the frost giantess, but time was not on his side here. They had until (probably) midnight to get this mess sorted out. He’d established a professional courtesy, had a drink with Runa, and learned some things of interest. He glanced up, meeting her eye. “I need to attend to something.” he told Runa apologetically - again, a largely true statement. “But I would welcome speaking more with you another time, if that would please you?” As he spoke, he thumbed out a text to the group. //Marius is pissed that the witches took one of the Donner Party - probably confirms it’s Mercedes and her two hangers-on that are possessed. Anyone found anything out yet?