Who: Gerd, Hugninn and Muninn Where: Bellevue Hospital, Psychiatric ward When: Early Monday afternoon What: Finally, someone who speaks her language! Warnings: Unlikely.
The car ride from the museum to the hospital had been the most traumatic part of the most devastating day in Gerd’s memory. She had woken up naked on a cold cement floor in a custodian’s closet nearly seven hours previous, only to be discovered by an elderly man with a kind smile and a mop not long after and that’s when the mysteries started to crop up. Who was she? Where were her clothes? Had she been attacked? Was she here with anyone?
After finding her a sweater and a pair of jeans in the museum’s lost and found, and giving her the soup from his lunch, the custodian alerted the curator. The madness truly began then, and blond deity had spent the rest of her day tucked into one corner of the couch in the curator’s office. There was a frantic search for where she had come from, and scans of the security tapes to see if maybe there had been a group with her that were now looking for her. She had been made to watch, and had grown distressed when she had seen the tiny people trapped to walk forever across the small box.
It had taken them a couple hours to find a translator for her, and even then, the results had been dismal. The strain of ancient Slavic she spoke had been long lost to the ages, and only the most basic of ideas could be gleaned from the woman’s upset ramblings. She seemed to believe that she was Gerd, and that her husband was Freyr, and by most accounts, as far as Social Services was concerned, those people were myths, not real.. and even if they were, they were long, long since dead. No matter now many ways they tried to ask her what her real identity was through that limited communication, she insisted on that story.
They assessed then that until they could find someone able to decode what she was saying, it was likely best to keep her safe as she seemed a little unstable, that the psychiatric ward at Bellevue was likely the best place for her. By time she had arrived at the hospital Sunday night, she was exhausted, and as soon as she was shown her bed, she huddled into the middle of it, afraid.
Monday morning had come with the tapping of warm hands to feet, disturbing the giantess from her slumber. An orderly in white had arrived in the room with a set of pale, mint green hospital-issue pajamas to change into, and a large plastic tray containing what passed for breakfast around here. She had barely touched it by time they came to take it away, leaving only a single bite out of the toast, and the strange wiggling green goo untouched. She had devoured the small clutch of grapes, however, and the container of orange juice, once she had been shown how to get it open.
They had brought her some paper and some markers in hopes that she might try to find another way to communicate, but by time the ravens were shown into her room in the early afternoon it, and her ‘lunch’ had not been touched. She sat in the window frame, legs tucked to her chest, head on her knees as she longingly watched the courtyard below.