Who: Atlas/Natal Maltose and Freyra/Janelle Delmar What: VENGEANCE. Where: Undisclosed location. When: After Atlas meets with Polyhymnia Warnings: None.
Atlas lay shirtless on the cool concrete floor of the abandoned building that was, apparently, the location Freyra had set for their meeting. The late afternoon sun blazed cheerily, but could not pierce the deep shadows inside the building. Atlas’ eyes were closed, but his other senses were keenly aware of his surroundings. He awaited Freyra’s appearance with the patience of a stone.
Freyra, if she didn’t know any better, was half certain Atlas had texted her when he did because he knew how comfortable she had gotten lounging in her brother’s hammock at his house. The fact that she had texted him first was not the point. He had replied the way he had because of how comfortable she had gotten but... she shrugged a little as she entered the cool shadows of the abandoned building and her vision adjusted from the cheery sunshine.
But she did know better and she believed him when he said he had something so interesting and important he couldn’t talk about it over the phone. She closed the door behind her with a thud. “I’m here.”
“So you are,” Atlas said flatly. His eyes remained closed as he continued to lay upon the floor. “It’s a shame. I was starting to get comfortable.”
The elf-witch took that statement as completion of intentional but ironic revenge, but she didn’t mention as she sat down beside him, “You don’t have to move. You just have to tell me what you were going to tell me. Then you can even stay here as long as you want when I leave again.”
“I will tell you,” Atlas began, his tone now serious, “but I need you to agree to some terms first. I made promises when I got this information, and I mean to keep them.” There was no edge to Atlas’ voice, only conviction. His resolve was as steadfast as the mountain he had once sat upon.
Freyra straightened up, any relaxed lounging was now not even a thought. She wasn’t one to make promises or agree to terms lightly. Too many centuries had drilled into her skull that promises and terms were like contracts and breaking them may or may not bring a flaming sword straight through her brother’s body severing his life, along with everyone else she cared about in quick succession afterwards. Her tone grew just as serious, “Tell me what the terms are first.”
“How else would you know whether or not to agree?” Atlas scoffed. At last his eyes opened, and he looked to Freyra. “First, this information will allow you to kill many men, but there is one man whose death must be special. His name is Ayman al-Zawahiri. His death must be a secret, and his body must not be found. The only ones who should know about it are the warriors who kill him, you, and me. Last, do not ask me where I got this information. Also, do not take me for a fool. I know you can probably figure out where I got this with your magic and your technology. However, I am asking you to accept as truth that I am the source of this information.” Atlas kept his eyes fixed on Freyra, awaiting her response.
Of everything Freyra had imagined and considered Atlas saying, that wasn’t it and she was lucky she was eating something while he said it or she would have choked. “Ayman al-Zawahiri?” His terms and that discussion could wait for a second longer. The Elf-Witch needed that part repeated, “This about rank two of Al-Qaeda? That al-Zawahiri? One of the most wanted men on the planet?”
“Yes,” Atlas answered, taken slightly aback. He remembered those words from the words on the screen Wisdom had shown him, and he had dropped the name to entice Freyra. The intensity of her sudden, frank interest, however, surprised him. Surprised him, but did not deter him. “What about my conditions?”
“The first one is difficult. There is a massive manhunt out for him so it’s always possible we might not get there first but if we do find him first, I believe we can agree to keep it secret to within the hall.” Publicly murdering one of the most wanted men on the planet or secretly doing it both were excuses for a party and victory celebrations. Freyra didn’t relax but some of her seriousness slipped from her tone as she continued speaking, a casualness seeped right back into her voice, “The second is only difficult if you actually want me to believe you somehow got this delicate intel on your own. I can ignore where you got it from with the best of them, but you yourself listening through endless streams of chatter or making backroom deals is a bit much.”
“I don’t care if you believe it,” Atlas said sharply, “Just accept it. If the words are important to you, I’ll say it differently. Don’t ask me where I got this information and don’t run around behind my back looking for the source.” Atlas scoffed, but when he continued, his tone was less harsh. “If you must believe something, believe this. I am a bad man, and I travel with bad people. I found this information in my travels, and I am kindly bringing it to you, because you will be able to use it.” It didn’t explain why Ayman al-Zawahiri deserved special circumstances, but Atlas had not yet bent the truth enough in his mind to cover that point.
She ran her finger from the tip of her nose up to her forehead as her eyes slipped shut in thought. Words were important. If they weren’t important she would spend her days speaking a simpler language. Luckily, with the revision, he had given her words that were much easier to believe and thus accept. All of that was something she could believe. Why he didn’t want to reveal how he got the information? That was a mystery she would have to accept not to be solved by agreeing to that term. Why he didn’t want to gloat and brag about getting information that the whole world would drool over... Freyra opened her eyes with a smile. Either it was something he was ashamed of or someone he was protecting. Either way, she decided with a sigh, she would have to let the mystery remain. “I have seen the people you decide to hang out with down here... I can only image the people I haven’t seen, so fine. I can only agree to the first term if we catch him. You know that, right? I may be magical, but I’m not a body-snatching genie if some special ops team is ahead of us.”
Atlas looked quizzically at Freyra. He knew that the North Men used their words in a peculiar way, but this was the first time it had frustrated him so.
“You aren’t?” Atlas asked sarcastically. “My opinion of you has changed.” Again he scoffed. “Yes, only if your men catch him are you bound to my terms.” Atlas thought back over the conversation. Now it was time for him to use his words. “Does that mean you agree to my terms as they now stand? If your men, your warriors, catch up to Ayman al-Zawahiri, his death will be secret and his body never to be found. Only the warriors who kill him, you, and me will know of his death. And, you won’t ask me where I got this information and won’t run around behind my back looking for the source.” He made sure to list his terms clearly, exactly as he believed Freyra had wanted them clarified.
“Do you agree?” Atlas stressed the words. He wanted Freyra to say the words.
“If you ever thought I was some sort of magical servant that lived in a lamp and did the bidding of people who wanted bodies snatched, then I’m glad your opinion has changed,” Freyra replied almost in jest before her smile softened into a neutral expression and her tone returned to at least some semblance of seriousness. This was serious. At the very least it was business and war. “Expand the people who know to the gods who reside in Ridgekeep in their entirety and you have a deal. Not all of them will be in the field but all of them would be at the party. But we’ll all keep it secret. We’ve done it before under different circumstances.”
“Agreed,” Atlas said with a small nod. He had left them out on purpose, but Freyra had not fallen for it. However, if Freyra said they could keep a secret, Atlas would accept it. He had no choice but to do so.
“We have a deal?” He said. Freyra kept caching her acceptance in compromises. Atlas wanted a single, clear agreement from her.
“This information must be incredibly impressive, Maltose, for you to go through all this effort,” Freyra said and the nodded, “We have a deal. Now hand it over.” She held out her hand expectantly.
Atlas ignored Freyra’s remark. He knew little about the information, and he did not trust himself not to betray Wisdom’s anonymity if he were to try and talk like he did. Instead, he sat up. Under him lay a neatly folded pink t-shirt which had been completely hidden under his broad back. He picked up the shirt and carefully unfolded it, revealing a small, scuffed notebook. He handed the notebook to Freyra. Now that she had finally clearly agreed to his terms, there was no reason for him to hesitate.
“This is what I have,” Atlas said simply. “Take it.”
Freyra would have commented on the notebook's wrapping but as soon as she took hold of it and thumbed through the pages, the thought was erased from her mind. He could have wrapped it in human flesh and she wouldn't have known at this point. Instead, a wicked grin consumed her, "We're going to have so much fun with this." Safe houses as of the early 1990s, the key to an incredibly complex code, important people who managed to escape the public eye so far. "Now this feels like a real war and not like hunting rabbits."
Atlas grinned in response to Freyra’s predatory reaction.
“Good!” he said jovially. “Warriors should have real wars to fight.” Atlas refolded his shirt, but this time he placed it under his head as he reclined on the concrete floor once more. “I take it you are satisfied with our bargain, now?” Atlas’ grin persisted. Surely his terms seemed less onerous to the elf witch after seeing just what he had brought to the table.
"Certainly am. Once again I make some deal outside the council's knowledge and once again I know it won't matter because they're gonna be thrilled," Freyra said with a laugh as she leapt up to her feet. She tucked the notebook under her arm as she turned to look down at the reclining Titan, "Good work."
Atlas tossed off a lazy salute, his eyes closed once more.
“I live to serve,” he drawled sardonically. What he left unsaid was that he somewhat admired Freyra’s initiative. Not only was she willing to scheme behind the backs of her family, but she was good enough to get away with it. However, not even the eagle Zeus had set upon his traitorous brother Prometheus would drag those words from his lips.
"We all do. One way or another." If not a person, then a circumstance and everyone served destiny. Not that the fact stopped her from saying it the most jovial manner she could muster as she thumbed through the notebook again. Later her mood would likely sour when the thought crossed her how delighted Loki would have probably been with this wealth of information and then how Loki had never actually mean a member of Ridgekeep but just as she did now, she'd also reclaim her good mood by plotting out the war they were about to wage.
She had to talk to her brother. And Sif. And Tyr. And Odin.
She'd figure out the order later. "Enjoy the concrete floor. It's all yours," she said to Atlas in farewell before she slipped back through the doorway into the cheery Miami sunshine.
Atlas grunted an acknowledgment without opening his eyes. Freyra’s words went in one ear and out the other. He did not believe in the North Men’s destiny, nor did he share their fatalism. He was the master of his own life, and no one would take that from him again. He sat on the cool concrete floor, the Miami sun blazing just feet away, and he was free.
Summary: Atlas hands over Polyhymnia's intel to Freyra. The negotiations are more heated than Atlas expected, but they end in the rare compromise where both parties are happy.