nexus_crossings | 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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This wolf is more right than he knows, though it was not Ragnarok alone that truly devoured Thor at last, before he clawed his way back out. He says nothing for a moment, torn between gratitude that Fenrir's fall through the Void hadn't landed him in the lap of Thanos, and grief that Loki had not ended up here after that fateful day on the Bifröst.

Carefully, deliberately slow, he swings Stormbreaker around, planting the axehead on the earth before his feet, resting both hands on the upright handle. A posture of vigilance, yet not hostility. "The world did die that day, lost to Surtur's flame. The Realm Eternal is no more, but Asgard yet lives. A handful saved from the fire and the sword, despite my sister's best efforts."

Given how they last met, Thor expects the wolf may not think of this as good news. But he's been surprised before.

Fenrir's ears remain back, pressed against his neck in a mix of fear and snappish aggression...and yet his eyes follow the way Thor sets his axe down. Slowly, just as slowly, broadcasting his intent, he sits, then lies down, paws forward, head up. Vigilant, not aggressive.

"Had you known her when we were young, you could have loved her as I did," he says. "She was never gentle, but she was a leader. A general. Even-handed and watchful toward her soldiers. And me."

"But she was never content, never sated. Then, time and darkness changed her."

"I was hers, but I am also of Asgard. Before she and Odin turned against one another, I was sworn to the throne. You will not bind me again, but I have no quarrel with your people."

Even lying down, Fenrir still towers over Thor, the great wolf's jaw large enough to (attempt to) eat him in one bite. They would be fools to trust each other completely, and neither one of them is naive enough to. Their arms displayed plainly, a show of strength and defense, yet not readied to draw blood. It reminds Thor of his dealings with the Jotnar since Ragnarok, if slightly more civil. After all, Fenrir has far less personal - or recent - grievances against Thor specifically.

One of the ravens flutters down to land on his shoulder, but Thor does not turn to see which it is, his gaze fixed on Fenrir. A shadow inscribes lazy circles on the earth around them, marking the position of the other, both birds quieting as their master draws on the mantle of Allfather, for that is what he must be now.

"I have no intention of asking your fealty," he agrees with grave seriousness. "And I have no intention of imprisoning you, unless you mean to harm those under my protection anywhere in the Nine. Swear to me you do not, and I will swear not to chain you as my father did." Metaphorical or literal? Doesn't matter in the end. Had Fenrir been captured as a prisoner of war, there would be reason to cage him. Meeting as equals - or close enough - in the Nexus is another matter entirely.

The question of Hela is one that squirms in his chest, his altercation with his sister far too brief to do more than claw and slash and wound each other, so many questions left unanswered, haunted by distant thoughts of what Could Have Been. Thor watches the wolf, gnawing on that thought. What it would have been like to grow up the secondborn, what Hela would have been like before her banishment. He supposes he'll never know.

"The Nine are large," he says, amusement in his voice. "Is your protection extended to animals, or just to the people? A wolf must hunt."

He suspects Thor means the organized cultures, the thinking peoples that are shaped like Asgardians, but it pays to make certain. He has hunted them all before, after all, for Hela. He has fed of Jotnar and Vanir and Dwarves, to fill his belly and make a point for the Empire. Midgardians are almost too small to bother with.

"I do not make war on my own. I have no desire for it. I am only hungry." So, set your parameters, Allfather. He can probably make it work, unless he's expected to be a vegetarian.

"I...may stay here, for a time. If I can find food." And this, he knows, isn't part of the Nine. He's been to them all and knows their smell.

"Only the animals that think and speak." He puts no special emphasis on his words, but there's an unspoken acknowledgement that Fenrir himself falls under that umbrella. He's not the only one that would, though Thor imagines the rest might find it easier to consider themselves subject of the crown. But subject is not servant; if Fenrir still claims to be of Asgard, then Thor has a duty to him in some way.

And today that includes making sure none of his other subjects get eaten, apparently.

"I myself have hunted in Vanaheim's forests countless times," he adds. "The common beasts of the Nine Realms shall be fair game for your hunger. And should you be attacked unprovoked, you have the right to your own defense, or to demand wergild if you see fit." It's the same as would be expected from anyone else within the bounds of Yggdrasil, Asgardian or not. Thor does not relish giving Fenrir any wiggle room to claim provocation to justify violence, but should the great wolf speak true, there may be little risk for that.

Still, he'd better let his people know before any of them run afoul of him. Chances are decent that it will happen eventually, and he'd rather not break this fragile truce as soon as it's made.

He's silent a moment in the wake of the last statement from the wolf, watching him. The magics of the antiviolence field are such that even Thor can feel them, though the invisible energies simmer more calmly than they had when he'd first approached. Perhaps it's best to find the wolf a better outlet before he's tempted to test it further, and hurt himself or others in the attempt.

"There is a magic here that prevents injuring or killing others," he says, raising his chin slightly to look Fenrir in the eye. "But there are Wild places here where the magic is thin, and predators prowl in search of prey. Few visitors risk the dangers of the Wilds, but I've hunted there also. I could show you there, if you wish it."

To keep the Wolf from the Door...

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