Entry tags:

freyr, loki

Deyr fé, deyja frændr
Who: Nish [Loki] and Rafe [Freyr]
What: Nish and Rafe puzzle out an eclipse message, and Loki returns. (the ass >.< )
Where: Nish’s Apartment
When: August 21, 2017, late afternoon



Nish had taken the day off work, having woken up with her heart seizing in her chest at about 3am, prompting her to take her nitro and go back to sleep. It wasn’t until about noon when she finally woke again, idly stroking Bear’s fur in the bed next to her and fighting off the pounding headache that was still making the dark room too bright. Several aspirin and a few more hours of sleep later and she was woken up by her phone buzzing next to her on her nighttable.

Groaning and turning over, she blindly reached for her phone and clicked it on, wincing at the bright light and finding a message for her on the network. She scrolled through it, and it took her several minutes to realize that what she was reading was not actually English:

‘Deyr fé,
deyja frændr,
deyr sjalfr it sama,
ek veit einn,
at aldrei deyr:
dómr um dauðan hvern.’

She frowned at the screen, turning onto her stomach and copying the text into a google search. What came back made her heart skip a beat.

"Cattle die,
kinsmen die;
the self must also die.
I know one thing
which never dies:
the reputation of each dead man."

The words were strange to her, but also familiar. Like a half-remembered song with a catchy melody, but the lyrics were lost. She lay there for a long time looking at them, puzzling out possible meanings, and then she looked at the search results more closely.

The words were translated from Old Norse.

She sat up, suddenly in a panic. This couldn’t be a coincidence. This was deliberate. Somebody...they knew. Someone else knew.

Hurriedly, she texted Rafe: “Rafe, I need you. Please be home…”

Fifteen minutes later Rafael exited his bathroom, rubbing a finger beneath his raw nose. He glanced at his phone with thoroughly dilated pupils, reading and re-reading the message several times before it properly sank in. He sent off a quick text in response, quickly fed Mr. Fishy the Second, and made his way to Nish's door.

Once there, he knocked carefully and quietly, shuffling his weight from one foot to another. "Nish?" he called. He knocked again. "Nish, it's Rafe. Are you OK?"

She’d since dragged herself out of bed, fed Bear and paced the living room in her pajamas while clutching her phone in her hand. When she heard the knock she yanked the door open, pulling him inside and shutting it again, then handing him her phone, too caught up in her immediate problem to notice the obvious signs of drug use. The browser on her phone was open showing the words, first in Old Norse and then in English. “Someone knows, Rafe. Someone else...they know about Loki. How could they know?” Panic was in her voice and her hands shook, but she quickly crossed her arms in a defensive posture in an attempt to hide it. Rafe only re-read the message, his eyes narrowing as he peered down at it.

“That. It was sent to me on the network. The first bit. Anonymously.” It could be anyone, though of course the first name that had popped into her head when she started thinking about it was Abel. She’d managed to avoid him for months...this was the last thing she needed now.

"I don't know…" He rubbed at his nape, shaking his head as he read the translation once more. His brow furrowed; he looked up to Nish, handing her phone back to her. "I agree the Old Norse is strange. I don't know everyone here, of course, but no-one I've met has ever given me the impression they'd know how to read or write that." He scratched at his stubbled cheek. "Maybe it's part of a poem. It really just sounds like a proverb or something to me. Are you sure it relates directly to you? Or to… him?"

She shook her head, fighting back tears from the panic that was making her heart race all over again. “But it was sent to me,” she insisted, as if that all the proof she needed. After a beat of silence, her fears tumbled out of her all at once, her lawyer brain picking apart the circumstantial evidence, jumping to conclusions. “It’s just...it’s a little convenient, isn’t it? A piece of a poem in Old Norse when I’ve apparently been dreaming about a Norse god? And what it says, about death and reputation? I don’t believe for a second that’s a coincidence. Someone knows. Someone who’s trying to hurt me...who maybe already has before...someone who’s read my diary…”

Her eyes flickered to the door and then back to Rafe, as if she could see Abel lurking outside in the hall, listening to her fears and grinning silently to himself. Just as he had when he’d bumped into her after she came home from the hospital, broken and defeated. She’d only just recently been able to move past what happened, making real progress over the summer talking with her therapist and with Jen over what had driven her to another suicide attempt. Now she was terrified of those old wounds being ripped open yet again, when they’re only just now starting to scar. She’d been sure she’d finally dealt with this, but it was all coming back in an instant.

Rafe chewed at the inside of his lip, mulling over her arguments. They weren't altogether unconvincing, which was more disconcerting the longer Rafe thought about it. "But why…" He drew a long, slow breath, exhaling on a sigh. He shook his head. "OK, if it is directed at you, and about this person you've been dreaming about, why would someone do that? Who would want to dredge up something hurtful to you?" He looked to her, concerned. "Who do you think did this, Nish?"

She’d been hugging herself, biting her thumbnail as he spoke. “My psychotic neighbour, that’s who,” she said, frowning. Rafael blanched; his gaze fell to the floor between them. “After I got out of the hospital...well, he kicked me while I was down, all but admitting to me that he was the one who stole my diary and that there was no way for me to prove it. He’s fucking insane,” she finished with a sigh of frustration, taking off to start pacing again. Rafe only nodded, inclined to agree with this assertion.

“And this...well, it’s not exactly his style, but who else could know enough details to piece it all together? I wrote everything in there...if I was having dreams about Loki, I for sure wrote them in my diary...though I don’t know for sure because I can’t even remember that.” In retrospect, writing all of her secret thoughts and fears in one place now sounded like an extremely bad idea. But then, who expects to have a psychopathic neighbour come and steal it?

He crossed the small distance between them and reached out to her, resting his hand close at her shoulder. The mention of Abel did nothing for his own state, but he pushed that aside easily enough. She needed support now, and nothing else mattered.

"You should mention it to Stephan," he said. "I don't think anything happens here that he's not aware of. Or could find out about, if nothing else. If it was Abel, maybe they can do something about him. He's done enough to get evicted by now, surely."

Nish let out a humourless laugh, “you think he’ll believe me?” she said, the doubt clear in her voice. “If I had heard this from someone else, I don’t know if I’d believe it. That, and I doubt he likes me very much,” she added with a slight grin. After the somewhat aggressive negotiations with him on Rafe’s behalf, they’d not done much more than nod at each other. Not that she minded, she found the guy creepy on a good day.

She rubbed her forehead for a moment, the dregs of her migraine still bothering her and her heart’s irregular rhythm making her lightheaded. She closed the gap between them, leaning her head on his shoulder, still hugging her arms to her chest. “I’d prefer if something rather more than eviction happened to Abel, to be honest,” she sighed, thinking an arrest warrant would be appropriate. “He deserves whatever pain life can give him. Preferably in prison.”

Rafe hugged her close. His heart beat so hard in his chest he was sure she could feel it. He nodded, his cheek brushing over her hair. He thought he responded, but if he did so aloud it was little more than a slight murmur. He concentrated on quieting his body's response, and answered her when he could, as best he was able.

"If he sent this," he said, his voice more than a little unsteady, "they've got to see he's a danger. Right?"

She shrugged in his hold, “if there was a way to prove who sent it,” she murmured against his shoulder. She pulled gently away and looked up at him. Now that she was up close to him, her eyes immediately took in what she’d missed before.

’Hypocrite,’ the voice said, so clear it startled her. She blinked as her heart skipped a beat; it had been so clear she could have sworn it was spoken aloud. As if something that had been struggling deep under water for a long time had finally broken the surface, and come up angry.

“Rafe...are you okay?” she asked carefully, taking in the raw skin under his nose, his dilated pupils, his slightly unfocused look. “How…” she stepped back just a half step. “How long have you been using?” she asked quietly.

’So this is the guy you’re still holding a torch for?’ the voice mocked, ’the guy who condemned your drug use from atop his high horse only to start using again, knowing the stuff nearly killed you.’ She grimaced, trying to force that thought away. Far away. Those words weren’t hers. She didn’t want to think like that about him, ever. But...it wasn’t wrong…

Caught out, Rafael also drifted away, his face aflame, eyes darting toward the door. He shoved his empty hands into his pockets. "Since—" He bit his tongue and silenced himself before he let too much slip. Already Abel had been too present in their conversation; he would not bring him into it again. "For a little while. Not often. Not like before. I just…" He rubbed at his nape, short nails scratching at shame-warmed skin. "I wouldn't have come here high except… you just sounded so upset…"

Nish frowned, tears prickling her eyes as she smiled humourlesly. “I guess now I know how you felt, when you found out about me,” she said sadly, hugging herself even more closely. She bit her lip to prevent the tears from actually forming, though it didn’t stop her eyes from reddening. “I wish you’d told me,” she sighed, frowning and at the same time realizing she hadn’t given him that courtesy herself when their roles had been reversed.

’The difference is you didn’t know he was in recovery...he does,’ the voice pointed out, being maddeningly rational while her heart was being ripped to shreds.

“I’m clean...I have to be,” she explained, “The doctor said...with my heart, one more hit could kill me. But...that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard sometimes knowing...it would be so easy to get.” She swallowed, her stomach flopping with what she knew she had to do. “I go to AA...and I have support. But I can’t…” she bit her lip and shook her head, hesitating. “You remember what you told me? When I was using, and you...weren’t?” She didn’t want to say the words, it was hard enough just having this conversation.

’Hey, at least you guys aren’t doin’ it anymore,’ the voice taunted.

’SHUT UP’ she wanted to scream. She felt it smile.

’That’s my girl.’

Rafael only nodded. She was right to throw his own words back at him, and he knew it; the knowledge shone plain on his face. He took another step back toward the door. His voice was shattered glass when he spoke again, but he meant every word. "I'm sorry, Nish. I…" He exhaled on a sigh. His shoulders slumped, his posture utterly defeated. "I'm still here if you need me. OK? But…"

There was nothing left to say. He turned and headed for the door, a feral animal seeking escape.

Nish watched his obvious discomfort, her heartache warring with a foreign sense of satisfaction that was not hers. “Rafe…” she said before he left, taking a step forward, her fingers tightening on her elbows. “I still love you. You need to know that.” It was the honest truth, but it had changed into a different sort of love than she’d felt while they were together. Hard to describe, but very real. And it broke her heart to see him leave like this, looking so defeated.

But he left all the same, unable to respond, unsure what he could even offer to her now. And the door closed behind him: a solid, final sound.