nexus_crossings | To keep the Wolf from the Door...

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.))

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It was probably good that she'd left her own version of Fenrir back in Asgard, accompanying Loki on some trek following a lead on an interesting tome that he just Had To Have. Otherwise the poor antiviolence field would likely be even more sorely tested than it was now.

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."

Honestly, he's probably not in as good physical condition as the Fenrir she knows, either. Thinner, if no less muscled, as if he's had lean times that made him stronger but meaner. The blood on his fur glitters.

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.

She already wanted to fight this other Hela for what she'd done to her brothers. But seeing Fenrir in such a state, seeing that wary, uncertain sort of air that settles over him at the sight of her, she feels that rage all over again for what's clearly been done to her friend.

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.

Minn skuggi. It's been so long, he had almost forgotten that nickname. For a moment, his ears perk, and his tail gives an uncertain twitch, wagging in spite of himself. "It's you," he says, though he sounds a little incredulous.

She hasn't been like this for millennia.

"I fell off of the world," he explains. "And then it exploded. There is no one left."

He's not a simple creature. He's the next best thing to a god in his own right, really, though it's rare for him to be this talkative. Still, the turmoil he's been through of late is very hard to articulate.

There was a spark of warmth, relief at that response from him. That hint that whatever happened, there were good moments for him. Smothered quickly enough by his explanation of what happened, simplistic as it was. She'd heard the broad strokes before, didn't think it would be kind to force him to relive the details now.

"Oh my brave Fenrir," She hummed, lifting a hand towards him, palm up. It was up to him whether he bit or sought pets, but she left the last bit of distance for him to close if he wanted to or no. "You should not have had to endure such a thing."

She wasn't one to overly coddle him, he wasn't some pet to be sure, but she hated the idea of his friendship and loyalty being rewarded by what seemed to have happened.

His hesitation lingers, visible in the quiver of his legs and the uncertain loft of his tail, but after a few soft whines, he lowers his muzzle toward her and licks her hand tentatively. "You weren't you," he adds.

He thinks he knows why. She changed before her imprisonment, grew harsher, colder, lost her laughter--which was always a little gory, but it was still humor--but it was so much worse when she came back. Being alone in the dark for so long did something to her. He can imagine; he knows all kinds of chains.

"Did you die?" That doesn't seem possible. The goddess of death shouldn't be able to die.

It's not right. Fenrir shouldn't have to feel uncertain, shouldn't have to hesitate of all things. Not around her. And yet... he did. And she knew that it was her own doing. Her other self's doing, but the potential had been in her to become that too, if not for Frigga's intervention.

"I've... heard as much," She admits, fingers moving now that Fenrir had closed the distance, scritching into the fur of his chin and lower jaw, other hand moving up lightly to smooth over the top of his muzzle. "The how and why is... a bit complicated. But I'll do my best to explain it."

She took a moment, stroking his face gently as she considered the best way to put things. "This place doesn't just touch one universe. It's... like Yggdrasil in a way, but instead of touching many realms, touches many universes. Places where things may have played out similarly, or where things may have been different. You and I for example. From what I've learned... you are from a universe where I tried to fight Odin. In my own, I had fully intended to, but was interrupted. The rage... passed. Or at least it became something I could control again."

He lets her touch him, swallowing down the growl that wants to come up from his throat. In days to come he will be even angrier with his own world's Hela. She did not protect him, and he trusted her with everything he had. But for now, the comfort is paramount. Wolves are social animals and he wasn't looking forward to solitude.

His ears swivel as he listens. He has seen the screen with the human man upon it, and it made some sense, but her explanation closes the gaps.

"Yes," he says, exhaling and letting his head dip a little lower. "You...she was locked away, and I was bound and slain. And then she woke me again, but she was...wrong. So long alone in the dark."

"You have another Fenrir?" On the one hand, he feels a little jealous. On the other hand, it takes more than two wolves to make a pack, so maybe it doesn't matter.

Hela wouldn't blame him if he had growled. Even a bite would be... well not accepted, but understood. He'd trusted his mistress and been paid in naught but misery for it. She might not be his Hela, but if anyone understood taking out anger on a convenient scapegoat, it was her.

But he didn't, and so she continued with the attention, rubbing his muzzle, scratching into the fur, gradually moving up behind the hinge of his jaw as she nodded understanding. "I'm sorry that happened to you. It shouldn't have been that way."

But then things weren't always fair or kind. All she could do now for him was listen and support. She'd gotten better at both things over the years, and hopefully that would help now.

"I do. He's not here at the moment, but I do have my Fenrir," A hum of consideration. "You could meet if you'd like. The Wilds here have plenty of game and I imagine you'd both enjoy a hunting partner."

He never needed coddling. He fought every battle at her side, tasted his fill of blood, and it was good hunting, always. The comfort of the occasional dream by the hearth was all he asked. But she, she was never sated, and in time it started to frighten him.

Maybe it frightened Odin, too. He's still disinclined to forgive him.

"Not now." He ruminates over the suggestion, and seems to relax a little more. "Too much battle, not enough naps. But some day, yes."

She is not his, and he's quick to see that, see that she can't be the mistress he loved, but a friend? Yes, perhaps that.

Even as a pup, Fenrir never seemed to want coddling. Was always so fiercely independent, wanting to do things on his own so that he could be by her side. Which suited Hela who was much the same, and appreciated her companion's drive.

And over the years, ever since that tipping point, she'd... not entirely learned satiety or contentment, but calm had been learned. And with it some manner of acceptance. She learned more of her provenance, more of what Death was beyond the bloodlust and violence, and in some ways it helped to balance that near-feral part of her.

At Fenrir's assessment, she nodded her agreement. He was far too high-strung still- calm in the moment, but as stressed as he'd been, he needed time to come to truer calm before introducing her own companion to the mix.

"Well, when you feel ready, you can let me know," She tilted her head to give a light nudge of her forehead against the side of his muzzle. "In the meanwhile, how about we walk? I can show you around if you'd like."

She is patient, this Hela. There is anger in her still. He can taste it on his tongue. But it's the slow, cool ferocity of a goddess who knows she has all the time in the world to wait for what belongs to her. In his agitated state, it's strangely comforting. Yes, the universe has taken from him, but he is still here. There is still good hunting.

"I would like," he agrees with a gusty sigh. Wolf breath is never minty fresh, but his smells like clean bones now, not old blood. "Let us walk, beloved old friend."

All things come to her in the end, even the gods. While patience would never sit entirely easy with her, she could all the same now. Frigga's influence no doubt. They didn't always see eye to eye, but at this point in her life, Hela had come to see the value in the other woman's wisdom.

And whatever else she felt in the moment, there was comfort to be sure in being referred to as such by Fenrir. She was not his mistress to be sure, and would not try to be, but friends she could do. She nodded her agreement, giving the side of his neck an affectionate pat before drawing back to turn, trusting that he'd fall in at her side as they went.

"It is an odd place to be sure, but never dull. I'll be sure to show you the Wilds- there's good hunting to be had there." And even better hunting in worlds beyond, with more dangerous prey that locals would thank them for culling, but that was for later visits, when Fenrir was feeling on a more even keel.

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To keep the Wolf from the Door...

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