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. ))

[mitcandis]

"Bacon? You found bacon?" Victor asked the stranger.

Even in the face of an absolutely wonderful smell, Victor remembered his english today. Even the ghost had spoken english. Maybe it was an american airport, there seemed to be more of them than nearly anyone else.

His english was getting better, too, though he'd never lose his german accent.

[callmewednesday]

"That I did, and free for the taking," said Wednesday cheerily. "Our hosts aren't stingy, I'll say that much. We won't have to resort to long pig. Name's Wednesday; I don't believe we've met."

[mitcandis]

"Lang?" Victor shook his head. "My name is Victor. Hallo! I would like some bacon, if you do not mind."

[callmewednesday]

Wednesday forked a surprising quantity of sizzling bacon onto a melamine plate and handed it over. "Don't mind in the least. Glad for the company, to tell you the truth. This is an empty, empty place."