"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more
Huh. He ended up being about as dramatic as Scorch and Lagertha could be on their best days. That’s quite an accomplishment. But of course she wasn’t going to say that, just let a wry sort of smile escape, as if she had a personal joke locked tightly away.
If Scorch keeps grinding her teeth and clenching her jaws, she’s eventually going to wear away at those sharp teeth of hers. So let her grind and gnaw and gnash, unless she has the secret password AND the skeleton, she shall not find the chinks in the General’s armor. Not under these circumstances. Their battles (verbal and potentially physical, though that has yet to occur) , however, are an entirely different story.
She ‘hmphs’ in the back of her throat, wanting to roll her eyes at the drama but concerned it might be taken the wrong way. Yes. Men! Lame.
Her words of praise, however, are welcome, and Lagertha’s ears swivel towards Scorch as if she can’t actually believe what she’s hearing. The General pauses, considering her next words. “Well when you use thorns as a defense, they become an offense as well. Very big… very pointy thorns.” She’s practically glowing with pride, actually. “I imagine I could do it with metal too, at least the raw stuff. Or diamonds. That shit doesn’t break.” Mountain got of easy - the thorn could have broken off in his rump and remained, festering and causing infection.
She looks to Scorch again, then away. “Thanks for rolling with it.”
She’s sure the questions are about to begin, and doesn’t relish being interrogated about why she called herself a bloodrider, or what she was doing over in the Tundra… even if it is a pretty cool story.
Scorch's kind - appraising? - words knock Lagertha from her inner thoughts, ones which Scorch assumes are ridiculing the likes of Mountain and probably her, too. The swivel of her ears makes the Khaleesi smirk, though not entirely unkindly. Throughout their… Relationship… There has always been something of an understanding. They've glimpsed it both, known that they could settle this quite easily.
Alas, they are Scorch and Lagertha. They are destined to be too stubborn to do shit, and who in their right mind would go against destiny? Scorch's smirk grows more humorous at the thought, though she suppresses a chuckle as her Jakka begins speaking.
"I've never quite imagined you sporting diamonds, but when you put it that way, I must admit that you'd look rather dashing." Scorch cocks a brow, grinning foxishly. If there's one thing Scorch has besides anger, it’s a sense of humour. Or she likes to believe so, anyhow.
Lagertha meets her gaze for a moment, then casts it away. "Not a problem. The bastard deserved it." Scorch rolls her shoulders, grinning almost nostalgically. "Next time though, warn me first." The chuckle she's been holding finally comes to be, deep and booming in the chaos of the Jungle. If one cared to listen close enough, a certain type of sadness could be heard in the baritone laughter, too. "I would've loved to get up to shit like that when I was younger."
Scorch leans her weight to one side, watching Lagertha for some show of emotion. All that she has said has been in good stead - I mean, if the opportunity had ever presented itself to Scorch, the fire-woman would have done the same damn thing. Scorch might be a bitch, but she isn't a hypocrite. Hopefully that showed through her little show of empathy. If it didn't, well, it just means the Kagerou didn't teach her well enough, the silly old hag.
"What did you want for yourself as a child?" Goddamn it, Kagerou, if this doesn't work...
this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more
They are full of awkward silences; Lagertha does not know whether she’ll ever be comfortable around Scorch, and she wouldn’t blame the mare if she had identical feelings. Sure, their shit got old and stank just like everyone else’s, but for some reason their feud kept going on and on and on.
Lagertha got the shitty end of the stick, simply because she wasn’t the fucking Queen. That title carries automatic bonus points, right? So anyone speaking out must be wrong. That - that is something she will never forgive.
However, just like they played on the same team in front of Mountain, the General could occasionally put aside differences for the greater good. When it suited her, of course. A part of her knew that she would never get recognition for her rather devious set of actions, and she knew she would hold it against Scorch, just like she did everything else. But the high of success, the pride she felt for actually pulling it off was enough to let her continue their conversation.
Ah, childhood. Lagertha had mommy issues as well, but they were more like a hill’s worth, compared to the mountain Scorch carried on her back. Childhood was… half a childhood. The latter part was spent in training and the first part was spent dreaming about her mother and how she was going to come back for her, despite whatever Abel said. Don’t get me wrong, Lagertha loves Abel very much, and gives her most of the credit for making her who she is today - but there’s something about having an old legend for a dam - the hero stories become bigger and brighter and they become a sort of dark goddess in one’s eyes. But to say all that would be to much. So instead, the gray warrior looks out into the Jungle as if she can see to the edge of the territory and manages to keep things light.
“I wanted to be just like my dam, Grim Reaper. I wanted to be a warrior Queen of the Amazons. Still do.” She can’t recollect ever having divulged her lineage to Scorch, or ever saying out loud exactly what she wanted. It could be taken any way Scorch wanted, but it was nothing if not an honest answer. It was not a confession; not some darkly harbored secret, or something to be ashamed about. Who did not want to be Queen?
The problem is that she might be an actual threat to Scorch, unlike the rest of the day-dreaming fillies.
The stretches between their words are not comfortable per say, but Scorch tolerates them for the sake of their sanity. True, their teeth were usually around the other’s throats, but when situations like these (kingstealings and all) come up, they have to at least pretend to not hate each other. And some days, it feels like they don’t. Not truly. Alas, something always comes up. Scorch is surprised something hasn’t come up already today.
Her eyes – a calm navy – follow Lagertha’s as they gaze into the distance, her words caught only by the fire-sister’s large, ugly ears. The Jakka’s answers simply, honestly. Goosebumps sweep from the front of her body to the hind; her flames flicker to conceal the miniscule discomfort. She has always known this, it is no secret, but to hear it so bluntly… Well, she’ll deal with it. Disconcerted isn’t an emotion she does, not after being bamboozled by her ‘mother’ through thick and thin, through her childhood, initiation, meetings, wars. Not many things shock the old rat, and this wouldn’t either.
“I wanted to be just like my dam, too. Queen of the Jungle, badass dynasty-continuer. Echion wasn’t exactly my dam though, so that dream was a bit skewered.” Scorch catches Lagertha’s gaze for a moment before exchanging it for the scenery. “You’re a kingstealer, she was a kidswitcher. Hated me for the decision she made, but it made me who I am today.” She chuckles, the sound identical to that of Echion’s deep, broad laughter. A hereditary thing (not). “Though I don’t suppose many consider that a good thing.”
Rolling her broad shoulders, Scorch weighs the conversation thus far. Considering the lack of yelling, threats, and curse words, she figures that it this ought to be a good note to end on. A high one, even. Meeting her Jakka’s gaze once more, the woman allows a smile, and a dip of her thick-boned head. “But I won’t bore you with the details. All I’ll say is that you’ll make a badass warrior Queen someday. I might be a bitch, but I’m not blind.”
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