Bast:Singing, Music & Dancing (among other things) (meow_minx) wrote in deities_dot_com, @ 2014-09-19 17:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | ~bast, ~hermod |
Close to the Chest (tag: Hermod)
Bast wasn't even sure what day it was when she finally woke from an alcohol induced coma. At least, not until she checked her phone, which already had a text message on it from Ninkasi. Apparently she was going to take Bast's advice and stick her hand down Kratos' pants, once he arrived.
It took a day and a half, several showers, and a lot of water before Bast felt even close to normal. Damn tequila. But when she was finally up and about, she knew exactly what she had to do. Ninkasi had suggested she lay all her cards on the table, but she just couldn't do that. In fact, the more she thought about it, the tighter it made her chest feel and she knew that was not going to happen. It was never going to happen. So her next step was completely logical in her mind.
She didn't have to wonder where to find Hermod, because she already knew. Somehow, she'd internalized part of his schedule without even meaning to, so she didn't bother hunting around. She just went straight to his horse ranch in Germany, the one with the normal sized horses instead of the cute snack-sized ones. It was probably better to have this conversation here. The ranch in Montana had a lot of special memories already and she hated the idea of ruining that.
And hated that she hated it, because when the hell did she start caring about “special memories?” This had to stop.
Unlike Ninkasi, Bast wasn't about to wait outside. She had no idea of Hermod was out working with some of his horses or not, but she knew that he'd be at this particular ranch. So she simply let herself into the main house, dropping her jacket in the hall on her way toward the den. There was a fireplace in there--
No, no fireplaces. Those were special too. Fuck.
Fine. She was going to the... well not the kitchen. Not the bedroom either, or they'd never talk. Finally, Bast settled on waiting in the dining room, sitting at the head of the table, nervous energy building up under her skin. How long did it take him to run a horse around a paddock anyway? When would he be there?
In the end, she ended up pacing up and down the halls, like a caged cat. Because that's exactly how she was feeling. And with every step, her impatience grew. Or at least, that's what she thought it was. Impatience. What else could this sickly, panicky feeling that started in her gut and was spreading through her chest be?