Wednesday takes stock.

[callmewednesday]

Wednesday was not ill-pleased with the airport. It was an airport like any. It had modern conveniences. As lodgings went, the hotel was satisfactory, and a damn sight nicer than some of the rathole motels he'd had occasion to frequent. Yes, he had once occupied the throne Hlidskjalf in the great hall Valaskjalf from which he could survey all

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[neurotic_barbie]

Lately, Elliot hadn't had as many crazy cravings. The frequency of her desire for mustard, tomato, onion and peanut butter sandwiches seemed to be decreasing - in fact, lately when she thought about mustard, tomato, onion and peanut butter sandwiches she started to feel pretty ill.

For a doctor, I totally suck at this 'pregnant' thing. Ugh.

Anyway, she may not have been craving weird stuff, but she was still eating like a horse. Which was why she was currently in the restaurant kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for something that didn't make her want to throw up. So far, she wasn't having much luck.

When she heard footsteps, she grabbed the nearest object and whirled around, only to find it was an unfamiliar man she was pointing a ketchup bottle at. "Oh," she said. "You're not...Hi! Ketchup?" She held the bottle out with a slightly unsettling grin.

[callmewednesday]

Unsettling to some, maybe. Wednesday was the god of the berserkers. His very name -- well, one of them -- derived from the word for madness. A slightly unhinged blonde holding a bloodlike substance? Give her a tight t-shirt and a horned helmet and Mr. Wednesday would be happy as a pig in a byre. Hell, you could skip the horned helmet. That shit wasn't even historically accurate.

"That's not one of the condiments to which I'm partial," he said amiably, "but I thank you. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance as yet."

[neurotic_barbie]

Valkyries didn't usually parade around with a 7-months-huge baby belly, though. Did they?

"Oh. I'm Elliot," she said, lowering the ketchup slightly. "I, uh...are you new? I haven't seen you before. I'm a doctor!" she added, apropos of nothing.

[callmewednesday]

Well, if you gave the Volsunga saga any credence, it wouldn't be the first time a valkyrie had gotten knocked up. If Elliot's child married the likes of Ragnar Loðbrok, why, they could have their very own saga in the making. Call it Flugvallar saga.

"I'm a new guest, yes. Name of Wednesday. How fortunate we are to have a doctor in the house." He delivered this lie with a smile that would pass for genuine anywhere, all the while hoping his divine constitution held up as it should. He'd sooner trust a hedge-witch to play healer.

(( flugvöllur = airport; flugvallar = the genitive inflection. Thus, 'saga of the airport.' Volsunga saga = saga of the Volsungs, in which Brynhildr bears Sigurd a daughter who grows up to marry the aforementioned Ragnar. Good stuff. ))

[neurotic_barbie]

"Yeah, well, I'm only a third-year resident. Trust me, we're not THAT fortunate," Elliot grumbled, half-under her breath. Seriously, Elliot, what the hell? Why bother telling people you're a doctor if you're just going to say you're a sucky one? Get a grip!

"Wait, your name is Wednesday?" she realized aloud, blinking at him. "Like that kid from the Addams Family?" But Wednesday Addams was a girl, wasn't she?

Who are you to talk, Elliot? That's a boy's name!

[callmewednesday]

"One of my names," Wednesday agreed, not at all put out. "Those who work for me call me Mister Wednesday. You don't, so Wednesday will do nicely. Would you rather I call you Reid, to make it equitable?"

(( Wednesday canonically knows people's names without having to ask. If you think this power isn't kosher in AO, let me know and I shall edit! ))

[neurotic_barbie]

"No!" Wait, how did he know her last name? "Wait, how do you know my last name?" Elliot asked, staring at him with her mouth open. "Oh, God! You're not an evil machine man, are you?" She took a step back, raising the ketchup bottle protectively.

I can barely handle one of them!

[OOC: It's creepy! I love it. :D

Gah. Reposted for fudged HTML.]

[callmewednesday]

"How do I know your name? Thought and memory, m'dear." Wednesday grinned. "Put the ketchup bottle away before you stain something. I'd say you could put an eye out with that thing, except it's not very likely, and it's not something that would bother me much to begin with."

[neurotic_barbie]

Elliot kept staring at him, but she did lower the ketchup again. "You can read my thoughts?"

Holy frick! I almost feel sorry for the guy. I don't even want to read my own thoughts, and I'm having them!

[callmewednesday]

"Not quite so simple as that." Now that would be a curse. "Never you mind. We're all guests here together, you and I and your bun in the oven. Baking along nicely, from the looks of it. What's this you say about machines?"

Wednesday and the gods of the machines did not get along, ostensibly.

[neurotic_barbie]

"What?" Elliot glanced down at her stomach and sighed heavily. Sometimes she hated being pregnant. Mostly when she remembered that she was, which was...nearly all of the time, actually. It was hard to forget when you had what felt like a giant watermelon stuck to your front.

"Oh, machines? Yeah, there's this...evil machine guy wandering around. He's a machine. And he's evil. And he's a bad baker," she frowned.

[callmewednesday]

If Wednesday's little runic malfunction had been the first indication to him that something might be Very Wrong, Elliot's words were the second.

"I see. And what might this evil machine man call himself?" The technical boy, maybe? Wednesday couldn't really call that ball of blubber a man, per se.

Or ... could it be the man once known as Mister World? Oh, that would be sweet. That would be choice.

[neurotic_barbie]

"McSmithypants," Elliot said shortly, and then corrected herself: "Okay, that's just what I call him. But officially it's Smith. And let me tell you, he is a b-" pause, "-big meanie. Yeah."

Understatement of the millenium!

[callmewednesday]

Smith. It was a simple name, a good bland name. Serviceable. Could be anyone's.

"I'll be sure to keep an eye out for Smith." An eye, indeed. Wednesday smiled at his own cryptic witticism. He had very good teeth. "Rest assured I'm no machine, m'dear. Now about this bad baker of yours, what seems to be his shortcoming? Has there been improper kneading? Are you worried the dough just won't rise?"

He seemed very kindly now, very well-intentioned and friendly, avuncular. You could tell anything to a face like his.

[neurotic_barbie]

Elliot wasn't sure if he was being kindly or pervy.

"His, um, dough rises just fine," she said, reddening. "He's just mean. And I don't think he's all that big on kneading. And he wouldn't make a very good husband, which really sucks because I'm getting married on July 21st. I don't have my invitation cards with me, but I can totally run back to my room and get one for you! Well, I won't run, because running isn't good for my condition. Yoga or pilates is definitely the way to go."

She nodded knowledgeably to herself.

[callmewednesday]

Kindly, pervy, a floor wax and a dessert topping, Wednesday could be all things to all women.

"He's mean, is he? Well, it's a good thing you're not marrying him, isn't it? Which raises the question, m'dear, who is the lucky fellow? Does he number among the inmates of this terminal?"