In Yggdrasil's Branches

[Odile Advaire]

Odile paced the dark apartment, twinges of pain coming from her feet. She didn't let them bother her.

Getting the tattoos hadn't hurt much, and neither did walking on them. Small pains, in exchange for what they brought.

Four marks, in black ink. Simple.

Two on each heel.

Isa.
Uruz.
Hagalaz.
Nauthiz.

Elder Futhark runes.

They would heal soon enough. Her body would see to that. In the meantime...

She almost absently examined her surroundings, the dark paint, elegant shadows and the... somewhat unique decorations.

Weapons, tapestries, books. Enough Norse and viking artifacts and recreations to sink a ship. A section devoted to what was almost a shrine, dedicated to Odile's drive, her accomplishments, her future. Next to it were two pictures. One of her sister Odette, and one of her shield brother.

She was unsure of why she couldn't seem to be still. It was usually an easy thing. To switch herself off and be patient, to wait for just the right moment...

Meh. Perhaps she should visit the Haunt. Basil was an anchor and the only person other then herself who had any real say in her behavior...

No. He would smell the new ink. She wished for the new markings to be a surprise...

With a soft grumble, she made a decision. Perching herself on the kitchen counter, she stripped and shifted. Unable to spread her wings in the space, she had no trouble walking her very large eagle self on to one of her perches, tucking her head under her wing to waiting until Parker returned home.

[Parker Lee Jones]

When Parker came home, she looked like she'd either been job hunting or a funeral, and it must have been the former because most of the people whose funerals Parker would attend lived in the complex. Instead of her usual tanks and fishnet tops (fishnet was a blessing from the gods -- it let her feel covered up in Miami without dying of heatstroke) and very worn jeans, she wore slacks and a short-sleeved button-up. Black, of course. Most of what she owned was. The attempt at respectability was ruined by what looked like her make-up, sprawling dark shadows around her eyes.

They hadn't been there when she left. It was a cephalopod response thing -- dark rings around the eyes meant annoyed. Parker usually had dark rings. They'd probably crept back in during her interview without her noticing. When she'd realized they were going to tell her she 'wasn't a good fit'... for a cashier. You're too strange. You scare people.

There was always Mimir's, but Parker suspected Basil would hire her solely on the basis that she was Odile's friend, and she was too proud for that. A bookstore that small couldn't need that many employees.

She slammed the door and flopped on the couch without a word, assuming its dark colors in half a heartbeat, an unconscious expression of her current fuck-the-world type mood. Her eyes flicked around the room before she located Odile, shifted on a perch.

"And how was your day?" Parker addressed the eagle dryly. She didn't smell ink, smell was not her strong suit. But she saw Odile clearly, in spite of the fact that neither of them had elected to turn on a light.

Most of the things in here were Odile's. Parker didn't have many possessions, due to long habit formed by a life spent packed in and out of duffel bags, and lack of resources to spend on 'things'. Most of what she did have was confined to her bedroom. But snuck in between the pieces of Odile's Norse mini-museum was a music poster here, a morbid art-print there. It was funny -- in spite of Parker being larger and butch-ish and Odile being the tiny ballerina, it was Parker whose tastes tended toward the (darkly) pretty and Odile who liked warlike trappings.

[Odile Advaire]

When the door slammed, Odile's head came up, beak clacking for just a moment in mild annoyance.

But, sadly, it wasn't a burgler. She kept hoping... It would be nice to have a legitmate reason to claw someone's face off.

It was Parker, which was a pleasant outcome all the same.

A Parker who'd been out for a job interview and who'd clearly been turned down again.

She felt... well, the nearest she was normally capable of feeling in terms of sympathy.

She hissed in way which was... vaguely concilatory.

A moment of shuffling and a short hop, and then there was a... shift.

Odile, naked as the day she was born and pale as milk, arched a dark brow from where she was suddenly sitting on the counter.

"You know me Parker. How do you think my day went." Not a hint of a question in that rather flat, soft voice.

She tilted her head to the side, bird like, and then... smiled.

A tiny smile to be sure, and one few people would actually recognize as such.

"I have had one bright spot however. I finally acquired the first of my runes. The tattoo artist was an idiot but a vaguely competent idiot and they're... acceptable."

'Acceptable' in Odile terms meant 'Absolutely amazing' by anyone elses.

Odile wasn't stupid. Far from it. She just didn't care. Why should she?

But...

"If you wish, I am willing to treat you to dinner."

From Odile that was... well... Impressive.

[Parker Lee Jones]

Parker raised an eyebrow. She didn't really care that Odile was naked -- they were both shifters, they were both used to it, and neither of them was interested.

"Funny, I don't see anything," she teased halfheartedly. If pressed to guess, based on the fact that she couldn't see it now and it had to be covered by a leotard, Parker would have assumed Odile had gotten a 'tramp stamp'. Though not even the little ballerina's Norse gods would be able to save someone who called it that in her hearing.

Anyone else who'd offered to buy Parker dinner would encounter a fair amount of resistance as her unwillingness to pass up a free meal clashed with her unwillingness to accept charity. Coming from Odile, though -- Odile didn't do sympathy or charity, so Parker could take her up on the offer without a bruise to her pride.

"...Take out sound good? People suck and I don't want to deal with any more of them today." She fished around the kitchen for the menus she'd accumulated. Generally, Parker neither cooked nor ordered in, she thrived on coffee, cereal, and the odd microwavable dinner.

[Odile Advaire]

Odile's expression was... well... as close as it ever really got to 'amused'.

There were reasons she was vaguely fond of Parker after all.

"They are marked on the soles of my feet. There is little room on my body for markings that will not disrupt my efforts in the ballet and so I must make the most of them."

Most people wouldn't have gotten that much explination.

But in Odile's experience, Parker wasn't as loathsome, vexing and idiotic as 99.9999999% of the population.

A faint eyebrow arch.

Parker knew that almost nothing sounded good to her.

"I must agree that humanity, as a whole, is absolutely repulsive. If I could arrange it, I would never have to deal with one of that lot of barely evolved brain dead monkeys ever again."

She paused. "And yes. Take out sounds... not completely unacceptable."

Another pause.

"Do you wish to watch television? There is a documentary I have recorded. I wish to yell at them for getting things wrong. You are... welcome to join me."

It wasn't loneliness or pity. More likely it was a bare shade of boredom. Even Odile had to take breaks from practice after all...