The Universe's Mixer

This place felt stale as if the air within it had stilled and been forgotten in time. That wasn't the case, it thrived in a city that bustled all around it and yet it lay here like a memory misremembered or tucked deeply away into a dark part of the mind. Perhaps it had something to do with all of the events that were locked behind the doors and windows. Or maybe it was because those that had once existed within it had ceased entirely to be. Different versions of them wandered in the vast wasteland of existence some place but the apartment remained just as it had been left. The walls had fresh coats of paint, no longer was there glass on the floor or broken pieces of furniture left to occupy empty space. No, it had all of the feelings of a residence save for actual presence of use.

Eric had been unable to bring himself back to these walls until now and that was only because there wasn't really a place for them to go at present. These walls felt like a cell to him, some kind of shadowed prison and yet it was there to welcome him back as if he had never been running from it in the first place. Like an old friend you haven't seen in a while, the greeting was warm and friendly but distant.

Bran settled in the rafters. Saucer crawled about the stained wooden floors taking in all of the stale scents of barely there life. The bed was still made. A coat of dust had began to thicken on what furniture there was. Candles stood unlit and half-burned. There were curtains, appliances, things in the refrigerator that would need to be discarded.

It didn't feel like home. It felt like someone else's prison, a past life that he was trapped in on some never ending cycle. He had done it to himself, of course. Ended up back here in this place. He wasn't destined to be happy, never truly at peace. If it wasn't one thing sending him spiraling out of control it was something else. How had he allowed himself to be so blind? So stupid? He should have obeyed and protected what was his, a thing so vital to him. Now it was gone and though he knew it wasn't severed entirely that didn't ease the pain. Oh the pain. Eric didn't know just how much more he could take. His seams felt like bursting, he was running out of places to store the negative energy and soon, he was afraid, that it might consume him and drive him into a state of constant madness. The happiness helped. The stability and reliability helped ease that burden but he could never truly escape it.

And this...this was a constant reminder, salt in the still healing wound. Sure he had grown, changed, adapted. But those scars always would be there for people to see. Always would those wounds be there, threatening to burst open once more. The rain never could cleanse the skin completely no matter how welcoming and cool the moisture felt.

So the hybrid sank wearly into a chair by the large window and he looked out at the city without a word, wondering if the time would ever come that he could be free and know that word with his entire being. Free.

"And in weather, due to the presence of the God of Thunder, we like to add the disclaimer that there is always a chance of ... thunder and light showers."

Siggy looked up sharply at the television when she heard that. God of thunder? There was only one god of thunder that she knew. Despite what Peggy had told her, she never truly stopped believing that she was truly in the realm of the gods, and now she knew for sure. She gathered her skirts around her and bolted out the door before she could stop herself, running down the street. Thor had been the god that Rollo had worshiped above all others; perhaps Thor would remember his prayers and sacrifices? Perhaps Rollo was still praying for her, in the world of the living?

The leather soles of her boots slapped on the pavement as she ran, looking up. She was becoming winded already, but she had to know. She thought that she saw something in the distance; could that be him. "My lord Thor!" she shouted, not caring who heard. "Dróttinn minn Thor!"