Fenrir (
armbiter) wrote in
nexus_crossings2024-01-06 01:35 pm
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To keep the Wolf from the Door...
There is a predator in your plaza, Nexus. Granted, that's hardly unusual. There are predatory entities of all kinds here, and by and large they've learned to play nice, but this one is very New, and there is something about him that looks exceptionally dangerous.
A massive wolf, he is easily the size of a Midgardian three-bedroom house. His fur is oily black, with highlights of blood and frost that seem to be a part of him. He smells of ashes and death, and the green of his eyes is far too bright, feverish. It's not just that he looks like a dangerous animal, though. His body language, for anyone that knows canines, is tense, fearful, like a cornered stray ready to snap.
Look, he's had a rough day.
The antiviolence field is working overtime on this one, because not only is it protecting the people around him from a sudden lunge, it's keeping anyone from bumping into him accidentally, as if in recognition of his hair-trigger mental state. Even leaves blowing towards him swerve away as if pushed aside.
You know, 'dog' spelled backwards is 'god'.
"What do you do with a broken chain?" Is his question. Yes, he speaks, and his voice rumbles, almost making the ground shiver beneath his paws. "Can you eat it?"
((ooc: Just
coldsong's player here messing around with an MCU iteration of Fenrir, don't ask me where I'm going with this, I'm just going. Please do not pet the doggo, he bites.))
A massive wolf, he is easily the size of a Midgardian three-bedroom house. His fur is oily black, with highlights of blood and frost that seem to be a part of him. He smells of ashes and death, and the green of his eyes is far too bright, feverish. It's not just that he looks like a dangerous animal, though. His body language, for anyone that knows canines, is tense, fearful, like a cornered stray ready to snap.
Look, he's had a rough day.
The antiviolence field is working overtime on this one, because not only is it protecting the people around him from a sudden lunge, it's keeping anyone from bumping into him accidentally, as if in recognition of his hair-trigger mental state. Even leaves blowing towards him swerve away as if pushed aside.
You know, 'dog' spelled backwards is 'god'.
"What do you do with a broken chain?" Is his question. Yes, he speaks, and his voice rumbles, almost making the ground shiver beneath his paws. "Can you eat it?"
((ooc: Just
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The Doctor now keeping a good few feet away from the huge dog---wolf---creature. He was huge but not the biggest canine the Timelord had seen before. Well, counting alien species, which this beast certainly seemed to be.
"Sorry, don't mind me. I'm just admiring your uh---big furryness."
Was that even a word? It was now.
"A broken chain? You could try to mend it or it depends on what sort of chain it is. If it's made of metal I'd not recommend it because you know---you might have to pay an expensive trip to the dentist. Not my favourite thing at all."
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It doesn't hurt to be called beautiful, either, to be honest. His ears are back, but the snarl of his lips eases a little. "Yes. You may admire."
He's a magnificent monster, he knows that. Hela used to say nice things to him.
The Doctor's answer isn't one he likes, though, and he growls again. "Don't want it mended. What is dentist?"
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The Doctor made a screwed up face before going back to his usual beaming smile. Even faced with a huge fierce-looking canine he didn't back down and showed no fear. Why fear something just because it was bigger than you and had big scary teeth?
"Dentists? People who look after your teeth. Awful joke-tellers though dentists. Oh, and sometimes you get these free stickers that say well done for sitting in the chair and not screaming. It's all good fun."
The Timelord kept an eye on his new canine friend and hoped he wouldn't be breakfast.
"I'm the Doctor and you are?"
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She had to stop, take a moment to just absorb the state of the massive wolf, feeling an unease curdling in her breast as she remembered conversations from when she'd first arrived, of another self who hadn't been talked down from rage, the horrible things that had come of it. She hated that it had come to harm Fenrir in any world, her steadfast, loyal companion.
"I don't think eating chain would be the way to go," She mused, voice not soft or gentle, it was doubtful she could ever sound that way, but there was something soothing there if you knew her tones as well as Fenrir surely did. "You could always fling them into a furnace, if you hate the thing. Melt it to useless slag."
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Her voice makes him start, ears perking as he turns to her, and he looks like he's not sure if he's happy to see her, or afraid, or hopeful, or none of the above. It wasn't good, when she was queen, those last few weeks. Something was wrong that wasn't wrong Before, and he hated it and hated her, guiltily, for not know how to fix it.
This Hela sounds like she used to, though, when she was young, and he was her friend, not just her weapon. The fur all along his back is bristled and quivering, but there's no growl in his voice, and he sniffs the air for a long moment, craning his neck down to look at her more closely.
"...do you have a furnace?" It's the most logical question, and will buy him time while he tries to decide if this is his Mistress and how he feels about that.
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But she chokes the bitter thoughts down for now. It helps no one, and with as uneasy as Fenrir is, he'd be better served by her remaining calm. She lets him keep his space, lets him decide if he wants to approach or no, for all she dearly wants to sink hands into the fur behind his jaw in the way she knew always soothed her own friend.
"There are furnaces here we can make use of if it pleases you, minn skuggi."
It had likely been a while since Hela had called him that, my shadow, an affectionate sort of nickname. If this other Hela had ever called him such at all, rather.
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He stands up when it stops and approaches, walking heavily on his cane right now. His leather jacket, maybe too appropriately, jungling as the chains around the arms rustle against the spikes across the shoulder. This wolf's voice does make Vars feel uneasy because of his own instability. Internally he's cursing his injury.
"Mean chain or metaphor chains?" It was a reasonable question but the other question has him staring at the wolf's mouth. Maybe this one could eat chain?
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"Metaphor," he answers. "In a way. Magic and metaphor. There is no one left to serve and no one left for me to kill."
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"Your duties complete?" Vars asked, openly curious, and wondering if that wouldn't amount to a broken chain. For all the negativity of his divorce there was definitely a sense of freedom from chains and duties that came with it. He could see that as a viable feeling but there was also a listless lack of direction for awhile in the months directly afterward.
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That didn't stop Karlach's brain from, upon seeing him, lighting up in the same way as it would for any cute, fluffy animal. Doggy! And really, with the owlbear cub trundling alongside her as she slowed to a halt to consider Fenrir and his question, it wasn't surprising that 'giant scruffy murderwolf' also fell under her umbrella of 'cute and fluffy' in some way.
"Scrapped mine," She commented, a hand settling on a hip as she considered the pup. "Could also just pitch em off a cliff, or cram 'em down the throat of whoever put 'em on you. Plenty of options depending on your mood."
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Maybe some small part of his hindbrain is thinking about him, when he was a cub, and Hela. She has a good answer, anyway. "Cram down the throat," he echoes, and barks out laughter. It's not a possibility, sadly, but it's a funny thought. He's not sure what throat they'd belong down at this point. Maybe even his Mistress', and he could never.
"Everyone is dead, but I like the thought."
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Karlach grinned broadly at Fenrir's response and laugh, easing somewhat as he seemed to settle a bit from fight or flight. "Yeah, but it got a laugh out of you, so it works out."
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"Old foe nearby," the raven creaks into his ear, and as Thor's head shoots up, he can see Huggan perched on the inside windowsill facing the plaza, beady eyes firmly on whatever view awaits him outside.
When Thor sees what has his familiars' attention, the table of books is swiftly forgotten, his hand reaching out to call Stormbreaker into it as he sweeps out of the door and into the open air. There's only one wolf he knows that this could possibly be. A wolf he last saw charging refugees on the Bifrost, and who Hulk had proudly bragged about besting in battle, though obviously the body was never found.
He stops outside of lunging range, axe at his side, but held securely in his grip, ready to swing up should it be needed. With his long braided hair, patched eye, and the ravens swooping excitedly overhead, one would be mistaken for assuming him to be a young Odin at first glance. The wolf's speech surprises him only slightly - it's not as though they've met, and if flying horses can speak in their own way, why not wolves? "You could certainly try, but I don't recommend it."
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He doesn't like the noise of ravens, and his bristling and growling increase, making the pavement vibrate, but he doesn't lunge. His eyes are green, not unlike Loki's in fact, but with a more acidic, yellow tinge, and they narrow, sweeping over Thor from head to toe.
"Son of Odin," he snarls, but take a half-step back. It would be a lie to say he doesn't want to fight. Part of him does, wants to hurt, kill. But what would be the point? "You will not bind me."
A pause for thought, and then: "I can eat anything."
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The Thor that stands here now is scarred and grim-faced, ready for battle only if it must be done, knowing well that the antiviolence field is not without its flaws. Though it's long healed, the ruin Hela left of his eye seems to ache as he stares the beast down, forever marked by the wolf's beloved master.
His axe is ready to hand, but he still does not raise it, nor place it between the two of them. He'll not attack first, nor give Fenrir any reason to be provoked. When the wolf takes that small step back, Thor's grip on Stormbreaker's haft eases a fraction, the heavy axehead dipping downward ever so slightly. "I'm sure you could," he agrees, eyeing those fangs warily. "At least until they came back out the other end."
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Nevertheless, he's glad the AVF exists.
He assumes the chain under discussion is physical. Otherwise it couldn't be eaten as the great wolf implies - but a chain can be both mental and physical. Sometimes there are multiple chains keeping someone bound.
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Truth be told, the chain he speaks of is more of a matter of magical remnants about him than an object, per se, but he could probably eat those too. Or keep them.
"Trophy. For victory. Yes, I like this."
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He wouldn't be above making a display or trophy out of his enemies, to demonstrate to his equally ruthless foes that he's serious. Paul isn't a vicious person by nature, but he can be vindictive and surprisingly cruel when provoked.
"My name is Paul. Paul-Muad'Dib Atreides." He bows to the wolf.
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He's certainly surprised by how big the Fenrir is compared to the wolves back in his own world. Certainly large enough to dwarf him in size. The mammoth's thankful for the antiviolence field around the Nexus so he wouldn't have to worry about the possibility of being eaten.
"If it's still keeping you on leash, then you should break free of them. Unless you're talking about a different kind of chain, in that case I'm not really sure."
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"No leash," he says, and sits. His gaze is maybe a little creepy in its intensity, but he seems unlikely to lunge. "I fell through the darkness, between the stars, and it broke."
Even he isn't sure how literally or metaphorically he's speaking, apparently.
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"Well that all depends on what the chain was attached to, and its purpose. Some are meant keep their bearer bound and imprisoned, some more are like a leash keeping a pet or slave in line..."
She paused for a moment, averting her gaze as she pictured the warped and shattered chains that once hung from her lover's neck and wrists.
"...and others are for the wearer's own protection, and the protection of the ones they hold most dear..."
She turned her attention back towards the wolf, a hint of sympathy in her eyes.
"So what was the purpose of your chains?"
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"There were many chains," he answers her slowly, thinking. "Magic bound me to my Mistress, but also love, and it was a pleasure to serve her for thousands of years. But then she was cast aside, and I was bound with moonforged chains and left to die hungry."
"When she raised me again, she was different...the love was gone. The rage was left."
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Her eyebrows go up well that's definitely not Bigsby. She can tell that much her wolf, instinctively thinks {Alpha?} {Shhush you we don't even know him..} She thinks back at her wolfish side. {And so what he's big. Not me Boss.} Yes she'll be respectfully wary but she's gladly follow Bigsby's lead over some being that's just popped up..Through..She snatches the air again. Something about him does seem familiar..
"Ahem." She softly clears her throat. "Um, I wouldn't recommend eating anything Metal, Sir." She murmurs softly but firmly trying to pull on her training. Focus. focus.Her wolf side half felt the need to pace. She was trying to hold it back. She was shifting her weight from foot to foot.
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"No?" He's confident he can digest anything, but that doesn't mean he'll enjoy it. "I will not leave it to bind another."
"Do you live here, little she-wolf? I will not harm your cubs."
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Balthazar now looking up at the huge wolf-like creature, knowing full well that this beast could rip his vessel's body into pieces if it so wanted. Yet, the angel didn't wish to provoke Fenrir because that would be a fatal and foolish mistake.
"A broken chain? Throw it away and enjoy freedom."
Balthazar now sipping his vintage red wine and offering a wry grin.