The Universe's Mixer

Life was fairly peaceful for the vampire and his brood. Eric had never really been the sort to have a nest, and yet here he was with what essentially was one. His head had settled from the mixture of the two selves, and he'd become one whole person. Ish. There were occasional times when he got a little confused on what memories belonged to who, but for the most part he had it all sorted. Life in the City ran smoothly. He spent time at Purgatory, he spent time with his wife. He saw his progeny, though only briefly, as they had taken up lives of their own. He knew they were within the walls of this place, though, and that was enough for him. The castle was big enough for all of them to have their own space and not trip over one another, and that was another good thing.

But he couldn't deny that he was a bit restless. A bit antsy for something new to happen. Eric was not a vampire of routine. He didn't like being too settled for too long.

He stepped into the bright winter sun and looked up. The Viking didn't think that he would ever get tired of the sensation of day. Of not getting the bleeds. Of being able to walk under the bright sky and see the fluffy white clouds. He'd spent so long not being able to. Now, thanks to the blood of the woman he loved, he was able to do so again.

Eric had no idea where he was headed. He felt like he'd explored every single foot of this place twice over. But he couldn't stay cooped up in the castle, and he didn't know where his wife had run off to. He thought about finding Aidan. He knew that the strange vampire was around, but hadn't seen him. The man was a curious thing, with his different abilities and the fact that he was so ... so... very ... not vampire-like.

Uncertain of his destination, Eric walked.

Now that her home was in something of a respectable state--real food growing in the garden, a goat of her own--Siggy could focus on other things. She had no use for the clothing of this odd, decadent city. With some surprise, she had found that new clothing of her own preference appeared in her room: rich wool and linen, of the type that she had worn as an Earl's wife. She began to feel herself again. And thus, she would look her old self again when next she met Thor.

She wandered what passed for a marketplace in the City. She would need jewelry and cosmetics. She had once worn gold taken in raids, or crafted by the finest smiths in the holdings. Now she would be forced to purchase it for herself. Cosmetics, though--she could buy that with no compunction.

Siggy walked through with purpose, then hesitatingly, and was soon lost in the press of people.

"Heithrún, stop that!" Siggy tugged at the rope around the she-goat's neck. The goat, a white-and-brown creature with long ears, bleated and dug her hooves into the dirt by the City park.

Siggy frowned, irritated. It had taken her so long to find someone to sell her a live goat, and she then had to wait until one of the females was bred. This one was newly pregnant, which meant that eventually she would have milk, real milk, and a kid goat for eventual eating. Peggy would likely protest, but the girl would agree once Heithrún was producing milk that it was for the best.

If she could only get the stubborn beast to the building and then up to the rooftop.

"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!"

Time had passed and Siggy remained in this strange place.

The strange Anglewoman, Peggy, allowed her to remain in her dwelling. It was akin to the monks' cells that she had heard Athelstan speak of, or a bee's hive: closed in, with no space for a proper hearth. There were no rushes on the floor: only wood and a rough fixed cloth-like material that must forever be dirty. Everything seemed both bright and open and too closed at the same time.

To pass the time and repay Peggy for her kindness, Siggy did what she knew: she could run the woman's house for her. She could cook, clean, and order her business. Unfortunately, there was not much to do. Peggy had no children to look after. She had no livestock to watch. Without a proper hearth, Siggy's cooking could not be put to proper use (though she had managed to make butter and start a cheese, which currently sat in the cold white box.) Her last attempt at making bread had failed in that miserable excuse for an oven. There was no loom with which to weave cloth, nor wool to spin.

At a loss, Siggy sat on the overly soft seat and pressed the buttons to make the things on the television change until she found something interesting. Something captivating. Something that she could relate to.

She was still enraptured when Peggy got home.

The water of the Kattegat was cold and dark, pulling Siggy down. The chill set into the marrow of her bones, so cold that she could no longer feel it. She nearly felt warm. She saw a light play through the dark water, dancing in front of her open eyes, and felt the bottom of the sea beneath her feet. Is it so soon? she thought. I thought that it would take longer to sink, that drowning would take longer than this.

But she stood as her feet touched the mud, breaking through the surface, shivering in water no deeper than her hips. There was no ice. She coughed once, twice, gasping for air in shock. Her long hair tangled about her face, and her blue linen dress clung to her. She stood in a place greener by far than she'd expected to see. This was not Kattegat, nor did it look like Hel. Was this Fólkvangr? Had Frejya deemed her death worthy of notice?

Siggy stumbled out of the pond, for a pond it was, and sat trembling on the banks. There were no others here, neither to ask nor to see her in such a state, so she allowed herself the time to sit and collect herself. Thyri was not here. Her beloved children were not here. Had they gone ahead?

She felt her heart beat in her chest, fast and harsh, and still she felt herself trembling though the air was warm. She still felt the chill of Kattegat in her bones. After long minutes of staring at the pond, she stood up, wrung out her hair and dress as best she could, and began to walk.