Who: Fenrir, Tyr Where: Central Park When: Friday, noon What: Fenrir is at a crossroads, and Tyr's the first person he thinks to talk to
Fenrir couldn't sit still. He paced, he talked to himself, he shifted the messenger back with Heimdall's horn in it to a new position constantly. Combined with his generally unwashed, dishevelled appearance, and his aura of 'crazy homeless person', it was enough to make everyone in the park give him a wide berth. Even the other homeless people.
His mind was going in loops, caught between wanting to get out of the park as quickly as possible (he shouldn't be there, he was betraying himself and probably Loki by being there, Tyr was the enemy, Tyr had helped chain him) and looking frantically for Tyr (Tyr had been nice to him, Tyr was still nice to him, Tyr was his friend and might be able to help). He felt a little sick to his stomach just thinking about it.
Tyr would be here soon, and that would at least distract him from his own thoughts. From his competing urges to blow the horn and usher in the end of days because at least then it would finally happen, and his urge to crack the damned thing in half and throw it into the ocean so no one could ever use it.
He stopped his frantic pacing to lean against one of the trees, letting his eyes scan the park again. Tyr would be here soon. That would make things a little better.