"Responsibilities, yeah, I know those," he says in that same muttering way as he takes a drag of the cigarette, exhaling so the smoke streams from the open window. His other hand taps fingers along the steering wheel; when Hati moves, it is as if every muscle is poised to at some point break into a run, even when he is driving. The music changes. He switches it to the radio. Less interesting, but it is something heavy, still. But not about him, and not about the stories from which he sprang.
Responsibilities. He had a few, once. And they went in tandem with what he wanted. "Something? Maybe, Spákona, for the false lights to dim, so the stars may be seen clearly," he says pointedly, looking over his shoulder briefly with a crease in his brow as his eyebrows furrow. He regards her coolly. "The sun and the moon, high above, they move for reasons now we do not know," he says, the verbosity leaving a strange flavor on his tongue. How could the sun and the moon move across the sky, without he and his brother in pursuit of them? Science could give him an answer, but Hati is not a man of science.
"Yeah. I remember." He makes a right turn down a secluded side-street, another left turn, and in moments they are crossing a bridge. It is not Bifrost but at this hour, any bridge feels otherworldly. He abruptly stops the car, pulling quickly to the side. The door is open before the engine has stopped, and he tells her, "Let's walk." He strikes another match, lights another cigarette, and leans against the railing overlooking the river. But he doesn't look down - he looks up, at the sky.