i like the sweet life and the silence Who: Rafe [Freyr] & Ifeya [Freyja]. What: A dreaming goes awry. Where: A long, long time ago -- and now. When: Late.
A grand, gold chariot drawn by two large, black cats rattled over the ground, throwing dust and rocks into the air in its wake. Its driver, Freyja, stood proud inside its seat, her hands leisurely holding the cats' reins; she had no fear that they would attempt any other path than the one she'd set them to. Her hair, shot through with streaks of gold, streamed out behind her, along with the loose-fitting gold wrap that barely clothed her form. More gold glittered around her neck, the Brísingamen an item she was rarely seen without.
Pines crowded the path around her, denoting the forest she rode through; suddenly, the treeline gave way to a vast coast, a boat rising from the edge of a dock that rose and fell with the waves. Braking, Freyja brought her chariot to a careful stop, and disembarked. A hand passed over the head of the nearest cat, its tail curling as it purred from the attention, as she walked by them, heading directly for the boat. She did not immediately see her brother, but she knew he was there—it had been so long since she'd seen him, and he was not in his hall, nor in Odin's. There was only one place left that he could be.
"Freyr, why do you hide from your sister? Come out and greet me," she called out, laughter twining through her words despite their reproachful tone. Her steps echoed as she moved onto the dock, wood groaning beneath her to reveal its age. Still, she had no fear; she closed the distance between herself and her objective, excitement in every movement.
She found him lying on the floor of his ship, his fingers laced together behind his head, his eyes turned up to the bright blue sky. A smile broke over his face at the sight of her.
"Hide," he repeated. "I would never. You knew precisely where to find me, as you always do." He tipped his chin to her, beckoning her to his side. She grinned in response, joining him without hesitation; she laid on her side on the ship's deck, one hand holding up her head as its elbow rested on the wood below.
"It is so good to see you," he said. He turned his head to her, watching her settle in. "It feels like it's been lifetimes."
"I think it has," Freyja retorted with a laugh, her hand reaching out to delicately swipe him on the nose. He canted his face to her touch. She went silent for a moment, her eyes drinking in his face. "It is good to see you well. The Aesir are still treating you as they should? Hostages or not, we are still people." The hand that had touched his face landed palm down on his chest.
"If that is what you want to call us," he allowed. "They are kinder than most hostage-takers might be. I have a say in their justice. I'm left to do as I please. And it has been some time since their trickster and his wayward children have caused me undue stress." He reached down, covering her hand with his own. "It may not be ideal, but it is better than the alternative."
He took her hand and brought it up to his lips. "And you? Where have your cats taken you? What have you seen?"
Her fingers traced the familiar outline of his mouth. "Mm, many things, many places. Though where we are now is as much a surprise to me as it is to most, I have to imagine. Mortal vessels? Do I have that right?"
"You do." He nodded, kissing her fingertips. "It feels like something Loki would do, but he is trapped, himself. I'm not certain his vessel was one he would have chosen for himself, had he been given a choice. Which leaves me with no idea at all who could or would have done this."
He lowered her hand again, letting it rest against his belly. He turned his head on the warm wooden surface below him, watching her with a renewed light in his eyes. "Odin, perhaps. But whoever it was, I'm grateful to them for keeping you close to me. This is more bearable with you so near."
Freyja made an admonishing sound, clicking her tongue via the roof of her mouth. "You look as though you've done well enough, with or without me. Are the others still here? I've not sensed them—"
Her questions were cut off as her eyes followed the landing of a wide-winged insect on some of the boat's rigging. The wingtips curled in at the end, looking almost like a cursive flourish in a handwritten name; its colors were dull and brown, and altogether it looked out of place in the beach setting.
"There's something odd about that moth," Freyja said, starting to rise. As she did so, she noticed that there were more of the small creatures—lining up and down the rigging, the edges of the boat, and, as she peered out toward the woods, in the air, flocking toward them. Freyja got merely to her bottom before they were utterly surrounded.
Freyr moved to join her. His left hand rested on the deck between them, his fingers just touching hers. "It's a dull thing, isn't it," he mused, sitting fully upright. He leaned forward, watching one moth as it slowly flapped its wings. It was merely flexing, it seemed, a soft movement that might have been in answer to the gentle wind that stirred them. Freyr stretched out one hand, but stopped just shy of touching it. As he watched it, his gaze distracted by its motions, another moth began to crawl down the rigging. Another followed, and another, inching ever closer to the gods.
"Too dull to be anything of the Aesir. I suppose it's foolish of me to worry they'd be eavesdropping on us..."
"No, I think something like this would benefit us to be paranoid in this moment, brother," Freyja replied, rising slowly to her feet. One hand reached out toward one rope line that climbed upward toward the sky, winding around the topsail. Her fingers brushed a wing, producing a strange, blue-ish powder to cascade downward over her hand. Almost immediately, her bronzed flesh took on a blue hue, flopping forward.
"It seems we have a very different problem," she continued, grimly; her other hand started to rub her fingers, her palm, trying to encourage circulation. "I can't feel my hand, at all."
Freyr drew his hand back from the insect. Then his hand moved to her, gripping her wrist, gently massaging her skin. Blue eyes studied her face as he worked, searching for any change in her expression. "Now?"
No sooner had he asked than one of the moths landed on his shoulder. Where its small feet touched his bare skin he felt small, subtle tickles. It wasn't until it batted its wings, sending it a shower of pastel powder onto Freyr's browned skin, that he felt the same disquieting nervelessness his sister had. "What…" He rose to his feet, reaching out to her with his good right hand. Moths stirred, urging him to quicker action. "We should go. Hurry."
Freyja saw no reason to object; she buried the urge to try and grab his hand with her useless one, instead turning about to see where an exit might be found. The moths had thoroughly covered where the ship met the dock, effectively blocking that avenue of escape. She turned, instead, toward the quietly rolling sea.
"I have an idea," she started, crouching before he could ask what she was doing. Her good hand reached for a fishing net, lifting it and hefting it in the direction where she'd boarded the boat. Moths fluttered up into the air, distracted or caught by the heavy object, wings ripped asunder. While they were occupied, she tugged her brother toward the lip of the ship, and over it into icy waters.
A chill spiked through him, invigorating, awakening. Even that cold could not pierce the deadening effect the moths had had on his shoulder, but it was good to simply be away from them; he had faith feeling would return in due time. He opened his eyes, blinking against the cold water, and reached for Freyja's good hand. The moment he had grasped her he kicked strongly out, propelling them forward.
Uncertain precisely how far to go, Freyr swam until he felt himself begin to tire. A great distance had passed, but still Freyr lingered beneath the surface, wondering if the moths could have yet followed them. Then he pushed them both upward, breaking through the waves. At once his gaze swept sea and sky alike, searching for any signs of the terrible insects.
Freyja gasped as they struck air; even a god unaccustomed to swimming such as she would prefer to have oxygen and land beneath her feet. They rose and fell on rolling waves, Freyja turning to sight back toward land. It seemed some of the insects were making round passes toward them, trying to reach them, but finding the long journey over water untenable.
"Well, this is a fine mess—I just had this dress made," she muttered, glancing at Freyr with a smile. There were dozens more at home, and the Brísingamen would remain unmolested by the saltwater. Such was dwarven craftsmanship.
"Where might we escape to, brother? I for one have no desire to remain bobbing in the ocean when there are better places to relax." She waited a beat, before following with a second question. "I don't wish to leave your boat stranded, but I'm a little at a loss for how to fight such a small opponent."
"I know no more than you," he said with a sigh. "At this rate I have to wonder if we shouldn't have just taken the ship…"
He glanced around as Freyja had, searching the skyline for anything that might be of use. Fighting was hardly his purview, least of all against something so small and elusive. But then a thought occurred to him, and no sooner had it entered his mind than the object of his thoughts appeared. The sword rent the sky above him, its hilt hovering just outside Freyr's reach. Then, as if reassured its master was safe, it flew off toward the encroaching swarm of moths.
It sliced through the fluttering insects, shearing wings from small bodies with ease. There seemed to be ever more of them, small bugs clumping on the blade even as it destroyed their kin, but still it swept back and forth, ruthlessly dispatching the things.
"Well, that is certainly a start," Freyja smiled, watching the weapon rend the small moths in twain. She smiled to see the insectoid carnage, and nodded at her brother to swim closer.
"I think we can provide further aid," she commented, raising her hands to encourage the water around them to swell and cascade toward the boat. It overtook both the vessel and the dock it neared, washing over wood to carry small bodies toward the shore, effectively drowning them. One pass, though, did not seem as though it would be enough.
"I am taking care with your boat, brother, but I think at the first possible opportunity, you may want to move it," she advised, readying her strength for another attack. The moths in return began to cluster together into a great cloud; this served to stymie the sword, but only for a moment, and together the massive moth began to move out toward the siblings.
Freyr beckoned Skíðblaðnir to him. It obeyed as readily as his sword had, whisking to them on its ever-favorable winds. As it slowed to a stop alongside them it shrank, collapsing in on itself until it seemed no more than a cloth drifting atop the waves. Freyr reached for it, stuffing it into a small pocket sewn into his robes. He was waterlogged and tired, but the ship nestled snugly against him, at home with its master once more.
That done, he looked to his sister and nodded approval. The sword still sang above the waves, chopping away at the clump of bugs still insistently attacking. With her brother's blessing, Freyja summoned greater waves, sending them one after another at the moths in question. The water, malleable and seemingly innocuous in its usual form, tore through the soft, pliable wings of the insects, each pass carrying among the froth numerous small, brown bodies. The aftershocks rippled back at them, making the siblings rise and fall.
Then the cloud was cut down to nearly a quarter, those that were left limping in a too-late-decided escape.
"Shall we give chase, Freyr, or dry our clothes?" Freyja asked, the tone of her question lazy as though they had all the time in the world to decide such a trivial subject.
"Leave them be," Freyr said, waving a hand. The sword seemed neither to hear nor to care; it raced after the limping swarm, still slashing at their battered wings. The water lapped its way toward the shore and carried the siblings along with it.
When they fetched up on the little beach Freyr rose to his feet, extending a hand to Freyja in turn. Once they were on their feet, Freyr stripped naked, stopping to wring his tunic dry. Then he laid it out upon the sand, letting the bright sun beat down on them both, drying them out. Freyja followed suit, giving no notice to either his nudity or her own; there was nothing strange, in her mind, that they saw each other wholly.
"We should tell the Aesir," he said. "If they come back, we'll all need to be prepared."
"Yes, I suppose that's the right thing to do," she said. She began to thread fingers through her hair, undoing knots that the water had twisted the strands into. "I shall need to go and change, first, and do something with my hair. It won't do to present myself this way, Freyr, nor you; I should think Odin would be much put out to have you walk into his hall in the buff." Freyja grinned at her brother, her eyes lingering on his face as she reached out to playfully push at one shoulder. He laughed and shied away, beaming like the sun.
"Besides, what havoc could slow moving creatures like those cause? There's no rush. I would rather relax after such an...invigorating incursion."
Freyr nodded, raking his fingers through his own waterlogged hair. It stood on end in places, tousled and dripping onto his face, but he smiled even through that. "We have time," he said. "But I'd prefer to avoid being paralyzed, even partially, again. I'm sure the Aesir feel the same. And we'll all be in trouble if Loki found out how to use them to his own ends…"
Freyja sighed, nodding. "You're right. Let's...at least dry out, first." She eyed the beach, and the semi-grassy covered ground that started up and thickened before reaching the forest, searching for a spot for a well-earned cat nap before they had other duties to attend to.