this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more
She still doesn’t know the Dark God is her sire, but if she did, she might have spit at his feet for such an absurd and dangerous mission. She would be glad such whimsy wasn’t passed on through his seed.
Gail, Gail, Gail continues to echo its siren’s call in her head, and she is about to lay down when the beach (no, the earth itself, the entirety of it) quakes and the sound of metallic crunching echoes from somewhere that must be fairly close by. Wide eyes with white rims look around and spot a mare standing alone, silently watching her progress. It must be her. It must be, who else would stand so still while the world crashes down around them; who else can effortlessly look the part of the damsel in distress? Who else would look so much like a Gail? She stands alone atop a fairly small, rocky cliff, seemingly unperturbed (neither excited to see her rescuer, nor feeling the urge to flee) by the sudden appearance of another horse. Lagertha tries to keep her eyes upon the mare as she scrambles up the beach, and then up the low-grade incline of the cliff, until she reaches the top and draws nearer to the morbid angel, the only one who could ever come close to taming their Dark God.
Old blood should call to old blood, and in a perfect world, some magical part of Lagertha would remember Gail the way that Grimmy did. Alas, Grimmy is not in her daughter the way that she was in Seera, it is only her likeness that might nudge at some memory in Gail’s mind, but not in our General’s. Instead, she must ask the question, lest it be another otherworldly trick. “Are you Gail?” she asks, her usually demanding tone slightly tempered by the desire to keep the woman here, in front of her, instead of chasing her off. The mare nods, though she is clearly confused. “Good. Then you must come with me.” This time, it is an authoritative command, the type that mothers use with children when they must make it clear that there is no other option.
It doesn’t take. Instead, the woman whispers Why? with a tremorous rasp in her voice. As if it has been a century she she last spoke. Lagertha rolls her eyes and snorts in irritation, unused to being disobeyed. “Because I was sent through two different worlds to get you, and your name has been pulsing in my brain since we began. I found monsters and bled to fetch you back. Now, come with me.” The last part is more insistent, more demanding than before. Now she is a General talking to a soldier, and she knows few who would not heed the command. Still, the woman has the gall to ask her again. Why?
She looks at Lagertha, and there is some shift in her eyes, as if she can recognize his blood that runs through her veins, as if she might be able to recognize her old hag of a dam. “Because this world is about to end, and the world that you came from kept on going. Beqanna is still there, and it has endured and changed. It’s actually a pretty nice place to live. I’m from the Jungle - this tattoo -” she indicates the vine and flower that is intertwined with a nordic pattern to create a sort of breastplate across her chest - “- is an indication of our Kingdom now. I’ve heard that wasn’t always the case. There’s a lot going on right now and you could be a part of it. You could be a Queen, Gail. He is still King.” She lies through her teeth, making him alive and part of their world again. She makes him more than their figments of imagination, more than their nightmares, and brings him back as Elite once did. It doesn’t know she’s always been his Queen, and yet never sat upon the throne. She doesn’t need to. But it might spark her fancy, to believe that she could finally be at his side forever, ensconced upon a dais as a pair.
I can't go, she says. Now, Lagertha's patience is at its end. “Stop being so weak,” she growls. "Its pathetic. You've been standing here all this fucking time, just waiting for the world to end. Who the hell does that? If you want to stare death in the face, head on out to the battlefield, or climb a live volcano, or walk on the top of the Tundra’s ice wall. This? This is cowardly. What do you intend to do? Whatever is making that goddamn sound is going to get closer and you're just going to passively let it end your life?" She pauses, disgust in her hard, dark eyes. Lagertha is almost incapable of giving up, she doesn't understand it and she does want to. Amazons don’t give up. "Why am I here, then? Why did he waste his magic and effort on someone like you?"
Good lord, if looks could kill, Lagertha would put Gail out of her misery right then and there with a pair of daggers. No second thought needed.
When the object of her derision opens her mouth again, is it Lagertha’s imagination, or has the mare's voice grown more quiet, more lost, more confused... as if the General were eating away at her resolve? I’m supposed to die here… We were suppose to die here,she whimpers, and our warrior takes a deep breath, heading back into the logical melee. "Look. Beqanna hasn't actually changed that much. These days, those that die don't often stay dead. My dam died twice and still came back through some freakish possession and managed to have me. Death means nothing. Death is not the end. This place here? This is the end, and if you stay you will never see him again. He isn't coming to join you, Gail. And the fact that I'm here is proof that he doesn't want you to die either. Besides, men are all talk anyway. Saying he wants to die with you is probably some stupid metaphor for wanting to fuck you." She adopts a sad, disappointed sort of tone. “If you really loved him, you’d come with me so you can live. If you came with me… maybe he wouldn’t be so miserable, and maybe he wouldn’t take his misery out on us.”
That’s right. Take a full-speed-ahead ride down Guilt Trip Lane.
That horrid, grating-cum-chomping noise (like nails on a chalkboard, but in some junkyard meltdown facility) sounds again, a fog horn in their ears. It's perilously close, close enough to make the hairs on her body stand on end. Close enough to make her want to resort to violence to get this damn woman moving. So Lagertha circles around and inches in front of Gail, sprouting a multitude of tiny, onyx thorn - shaped spikes from her chest. "Now we can either make this easy or hard. You can run with me away from here, or I can physically force you back. These babies are razor sharp, and while they won't do nearly enough damage to put you in danger, they will hurt like hell. Enough to make you jump back. I will do it again and again until you come with me" She stares at the mare, a solid, no-nonsense sort of look. Her jaws clench in determination. She doesn't leave anyone behind. That's not her way. "So what's it going to be, Gail? I'm not dying here with you. Not today."
She would resort to violence, wouldn’t she? She is so like him, and she doesn’t even know it.
lagertha
carnage x grim reaper; amazonian general