fredrik sørensen (![]() ![]() @ 2011-02-17 17:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! log, elin tyrsdottir, fredrik sorensen |
WHO: Fredrik Sørensen & Elin Tyrsdottir.
WHAT: The candygrams claim another victim.
WHERE: Gym on campus.
WHEN: 17 February 2037, afternoon.
STATUS: Complete.
Freddie was supposed to meet her here five minutes ago Elin thought, looking at the time on her phone. Even in the gym, she kept her blackberry close at hand and she presently set it back down next to the treadmill she’d been running on, hands resting on either side of her bare torso. It wasn’t like him to break their standing appointment: she went to the gym, more for an excuse to parade her multi-coloured workout wardrobe than anything else and, after 40 minutes on the treadmill to get her heart rate up, they kickboxed. So she stood, chewing on her lip, running a hand over her blonde ponytail idly as she considered where he might be. The past week had provided a number of uncomfortable moments, especially so near the beginning of their foundling relationship. She’d been convinced they’d smoothed things over the night before; she knew Freddie hadn’t let it go entirely, but she hadn’t expected to be stood up. Coupled with her father’s recent visit, free-floating anxiety burrowed in the pit of Elin’s stomach and she leaned, nervously, against the ropes of the boxing ring. Freddie sniffed the air quietly and deliberately, like a ravenous wolf tracking his prey. An overpowering feeling of anger filled his psyche and he could literally feel Elin’s lingering presence around him. For once, he didn’t need to ask where Elin was. He knew, instinctively, as if given insight into her own mind. He didn’t know what time it was, he didn’t know what day it was, nor did he care. Freddie just knew in what direction to move: towards the gym. He stalked towards the building, the feeling getting sharper and deeper as he got closer. By the time he reached the door, voices began pounding his head. Rage, kill, murder, maim — they screamed, yelled, and moaned repeatedly. The door was flung open, almost ripping it off its hinges, as Freddie slowly walked into the gym. With a tilt of his head, he breathed in once more and relished in the fact that he had arrived at his destination. Freddie moved ever so closer to Elin, until he stopped abruptly in the middle of the gym with a vacant look smeared across his face. Elin stared down at her phone, tracking lazily through old text messages as a way, simply, to pass the time. The previous day’s encounter with Hyewon had left her feeling strange, or perhaps stranger than usual, and it was with increasing nerves that she waited for Freddie in the hopes that a half hour of kickboxing might excise all the pent-up, excess tension and energy. Looking up, she spotted him almost immediately and smiled, waving. Taking in his figure, Elin didn’t seem to at first take note of the vacant look on his face. Instead, she stooped down and slid through the ropes of the arena, jumping down to greet him. Though there was still some distance, she put a hand almost jokingly on her hip and cocked her head to the side. “Where have you been, handsome?” The question was accompanied with a flirty laugh, and she stepped forward with the intention of kissing him in greeting. Freddie watched her quietly, not saying a word. His hands itched with tension and energy, his forearms ached with the call for battle, his runes begged to be unleashed. Who was Freddie to deny them simple pleasures? She was unsuspecting, completely oblivious. He moved forward, one step at a time, until he stood in front of her. With a smirk, he whispered “Ræið.” and phased out of existence. Freddie appeared at the other side of the gym, near a wall with the giant mirror. Stretching his hand upwards, precipitation began forming in the air above him, swirling and flowing blue energy formed granules of ice and snow. It first formed a sphere above Freddie’s outstretched hand and then suddenly it grew in length, cracking and forming new layers of ice. He aimed his hand towards Elin and the frozen javelin turned instinctively and launched forward, intending to hit its target. It happened so quickly she almost didn’t have time to react. At first Freddie was in front of her, looking wholly unlike himself, and then he was behind her. She spun, trying to find him, the rune faintly familiar to her ears -- enough that she knew, instinctively, to scan the space around her. And it was only in the knick of time. She watched as the javelin grew in the air and she dropped to the ground, fingertips pressed against the mats below her. Piercing the air, she heard it and felt it instinctively and rolled out of the way, the ice smashing just next to her waist, a spray of cold, sharp splinters raining over the small of her back. Springing up, she bolted for the wall and pulled a shield from the weapons display before turning to him, hurt written on her face as she grabbed at the shelf beside her and came up, victorious, with a sword. “What the hell?” She called, her voice crackling with fear and confusion. “It’s me, Freddie! It’s Elin!” He huffed a breath through flared nostrils when he saw that Elin dodged his ice shard. Cycling through his runic knowledge, he came upon the rune he wanted to use. Tiwaz, the rune of Tyr, and possibly the most dangerous to use in combat situations. Freddie offered a small smile towards Elin, as if he knew that she was cornered. The runic markings on his forearms began to glow blue but then suddenly it turned into a deep red. They began stretching, growing over his fingers, knuckles, palms, upwards through his chest, and finally crested at the base of his neck, framing his face with a red claw-like formation. The sinews in his muscles tightened to a superhuman degree, his breathing became shallow and rapid, and his eyes morphed from serene blue to a wicked crimson. He was now a berserker, bent on ending whatever obstacles stood in his way. Freddie lurched forward and charged towards Elin, bellowing like a beast. He was feet away from her when something stopped him in his tracks. It wasn’t remorse, it wasn’t guilt, it was something that was overpowering his own sense of rage, anger, and hatred. In an instant, he recognized the blonde-haired girl in front of him as Elin but his mind was fighting against it. His surroundings began moving in slow motion and the Mark of Fenrir on his back was scorched in hot, painful energy. So much so that he cried out in pain as he fell to his knees, his shirt smoldering off his body in ribbons of ash and dust. The red marks were familiar distantly; Elin had never seen the red marks, but she and Freddie had discussed them extensively as they were linked, intrinsically, to her father -- and therefore, to her. At their appearance, a sick lurch was felt in the pit of her stomach and she raised her sword, shield covering her vital organs as she positioned herself in a defensive crouch. Her mind raced as she watched him advance, her features betraying her nerves, her horror. Where could she hit to wound, without delivering a fatal blow? Even with the assurance of the Obelisks (what assurance, she thought bitterly to herself), Elin couldn’t watch him suffer. Not like that. And so she’d go for his stomach. The red marks told her that he wouldn’t stop until she was at an end, that Freddie had become a berserker. He wasn’t the boy she loved anymore. As he came toward her, Elin stepped forward with no hesitation now. She raised her sword to strike, fear trembling in her lips, when she thought she saw a flicker of resignation and her own determination stumbled. When he fell, she couldn’t bring herself to hurt him and the cry of pain ripped through her more sharply than the javelin would have. She dropped her shield and sword with a clatter rather recklessly, and went to him on her knees, afraid to touch his skin and watching as a painful, hot mark spread across his back. She didn’t recognize it. “What can I do?” she said, tears choking her speech. “Freddie, it’s me. It’s Elin, I’m here, just tell me what I can do!” Freddie couldn’t move. He wanted to simultaneously throttle Elin’s throat but protect her from harm, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do either. The tense equilibrium between his heart and brain didn’t help, as he yelped in pain again. “Just—” he could hardly speak, his voice was raspy and choked with emotion, “—knock—” Freddie growled at Elin, the rage overflowing again. The Mark finally overpowered what little senses he had left. His eyes, for the briefest of moments, returned to their original color. “—me out.” he said with a finality in his voice. She didn’t want to. As he spoke the command, faltering, stuttered, choked, she felt herself pull back and her head begin to shake. But then, there, at the very end she saw it; the look that had been clouding his features vanished momentarily and the mark on his back, just visible over his shoulders, seemed to light up to the same colour of his eyes. Elin recognized Freddie and felt that implicit trust and suddenly knew what she had to do. Perhaps she was being foolish, hoping that this wasn’t Loki, but that it wasn’t Freddie either -- that the real Freddie guided her actions now, that he would wake up and everything would be normal again. She stumbled backward, awkwardly, aware suddenly that they were being watched. Her actions felt much slower than they were and soon the cold metal of the sword’s hilt was in her hand. She moved forward, wondering when the other Freddie -- the monstrous Freddie -- would return. And as he lifted his head, she brought the handle of the weapon sharply across his face with a loud, sickening crack of metal-on-bone. She thought she would throw up. Freddie watched her all the while, struggling as the voices in his head urged him to break free of his supposed bonds. The Mark was telling him to keep completely still and to protect Elin Tyrsdottir at all costs. His struggle finally ended when he felt his jaw twist out of place with a loud crack and his vision faded to black. He slumped over onto the floor, a squirt of blood issued from his mouth, knees buckled under his body, and the markings all over his body finally faded away. Blood pooled out of his nose and mouth as he laid there motionless. The mark on his back was the last to fade away, its duty fulfilled. Elin watched as he slumped forward with a kind of agonized horror at her own actions. He’d been in pain and she’d -- what? Half-killed him? Dropping the sword, she once again fell down on her hands and knees to where he lay, her knee dragging through the pool of his blood, the warmth soaking through the material of her pants and smearing across the pale skin of her legs. She grabbed him with an ease that betrayed her super-human strength and pulled him up as people pushed forward to see. Though she didn’t quite understand why, her vision blurred as she began to shed the tears that had been threatening to flow the entirety of the encounter and her chest heaved up and down. “Freddie,” she said softly, fear rising in her voice. “Wake up!” She shook him lightly, pulling his back into her chest as she grabbed a towel to try and stifle the bleeding. Even though it wasn’t there, she could feel the mark between them and wondered with a sense of foreboding what it meant. But Freddie wasn’t waking up. Suddenly she knew it. “I need help!” she said angrily, her tears mingling now with frustration and raw fear. As if the command awoke the people around her, suddenly there were students and staff helping, lifting the figure of the boy she loved up as Elin sat, stunned, covered in his blood. The mark, indeed, was between them. |