You get out of the bath and get dressed before it occurs to you that it's been a while since Shadow 'stepped out'. No sooner than you realize that, someone kicks the door and it flies open and a very tall guy steps through with a purposeful stride and an expectant look.
"You're the wife," he says with an Irish accent. "You're the dead wife."
Oh yeah, there's some confusion. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue.
"Give me my fucking coin, dead wife."
Oh right, the someone that Shadow told her would come looking for his coin. Before you can say anything he takes one giant stride forward and grabs you by the neck forcing you to react by opening your mouth to breathe. He stares down your throat, and if you had to guess, he was quite ready to reach down and take it back. No, that wasn't going to happen.
You lift your hand, position your fingers and flick him in the chest. Only it's not to get his attention. The tiny bit of force you use sends him across the room with the wall breaking the momentum. If there's any pro to being dead, the superhuman strength that came with the coin is certainly helpful.
You walk to him, and lower to a crouch in front of him. "You mean my fucking coin."
He gasps, still trying to catch his breath. So, you wait for him to concede.
"The dead can't own things," he tells you. "That's why God made last wills and testaments. Don't imagine yours includes my lucky coin."
He tries again to grab you but you were waiting and you slap his hand back against the wall with such force you hear a bone crunch.
"My lucky coin, Ginger Minge. My husband gave that coin to me." you explain, standing back up to retrieve your boots nearby.
He writhes a little in pain. "Damn his dark eyes. Gave it-a-fucking way. Wasn't his to give! I gave him the wrong coin," he says, getting up and cradling his arm. "Wasn't meant to be that coin. That's for royalty, see? That's a coin you'd give to the King of America himself, not some piss-ant bastard like your piece of shit husband."
You have to give it to him. He definitely bargains well enough. But, judging by your blase behaviour, you're clearly not buying it.
"Just give me my fucking coin back!" he all but threatens.
You look at him and smirk. "No."
"You'll never see me again if you do. I swear to fucking Bran, okay? I-I swear by the years I spent in the fucking trees."
Wow, he's starting to get desperate. Only you shake your head. You really don't care. Then he does something really stupid. He steps towards you, points a finger in your face and says, "Give me my coin, cunt!"
You grab his finger and snap it and listen to him yowl in pain as he falls back. Now that pisses you off, so you press the toe of your boot onto that broken finger.
"I'm going to ask you some questions, and I'd like for you to answer me honestly. However, if I feel you're not being honest, I'm going to kick you in the nuts. And I want you to know that the last time I kicked a guy in the nuts, my foot didn't stop until it reached his throat. Okay?"
He continues to roll around, grunting and moaning.
"How do you know my husband?" you ask the first question.
"I was told to be at a bar, pick a fight with your man. Said he wanted to see what your man was made of," he explains.
"Who said? Use your words." you counter, putting more pressure on his hand again. He howls in another round of pain.
"Ahh! Grimnir! The dude he calls Wednesday."
Laura takes her foot off his hand and the scurries a good few feet away from her and props himself up against a chair. You approach him again as he resets his broken finger.
"He's a god."
You can't help but be skeptical because you don't believe in Gods.
"You don't believe me?" he assumes out loud.
"No, no. Just processing," you lie. "Um, what else did God tell you to do?"
"You shouldn't trust him -- Grimnir." he adds.
"Wednesday." you reiterate.
"Don't trust him."
"Don't have to trust him." you reply, though it's pretty apparent that some do.
"Your man does and he shouldn't."
Including your husband. At this point, you are hardly surprised.
"Listen, just give me my fucking coin back, yeah?" he tries again. Only now, you know how you can use this coin and he keeps asking, which means only one thing. "Hey, there's more where that came from. I'll give you another."
He grabs his flat cap and plucks a coin seemingly out of thin air before tossing into it.
"Just as good. Hell," He then rubs his fingers and a waterfall of coins drop into the cap next. "I'll give you a shitload."
They slow to a stop and he offers you the cap.
"Just as good." Not a question. You pick one up and start to inspect it.
"Just as good." he repeats again, way more hopeful.
"Mm, I don't really feel like any of those coins are going to do the job that my coins doing."
He puts his cap back on his head as you crouch down beside him. You can't help be cocky at what you're about to say next.
"You can't take it, can you? I have to give it to you freely, right?"
He doesn't look too impressed to have to confirm that. "Right."
"Well, you're fucked. I'm not going to give it to you." you say in a tone that says you're not stupid. You straighten to stand. "Come on, I don't think you're ever going to get your coin back. Never, ever, ever."
As you look down at him, you can't help but say it again.
"Not ever."
You turn and walk away to collect your things. As he talks, you can't help but listen. Not because you're taking note, but because you would really love to punch a whole through his face.
"Not not ever," he tries. "Meats going to slide off you sooner or later, dead wife. Sooner if you keep soaking it in hot water. All that connective tissue holding you together. Well, that's going to liquefy. You'll find yourself on a hot, humid summer day cooking in that moist heat. And you're going to fall right off the bone. When you do, I'm going to reach up under those ribs and I'm going to pluck that coin outta you like a berry."
He takes out a flask and takes a mouthful before offering you some. You let your eyes drop and he lunges, taking you through the halfway wall and into the bath you hadn't drained yet. As soon as your underwater, he holds your shoulders down determined to get that coin back sooner rather than later. Only the coin was hers, as well as the luck that came with it.
Someone barges into the room and it takes a second to realize the silhouettes of police men in uniform. He puts his hands up and takes him away. And you? Well, you just can't help but smile at your victory.
For Shaw
You get out of the bath and get dressed before it occurs to you that it's been a while since Shadow 'stepped out'. No sooner than you realize that, someone kicks the door and it flies open and a very tall guy steps through with a purposeful stride and an expectant look.
"You're the wife," he says with an Irish accent. "You're the dead wife."
Oh yeah, there's some confusion. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue.
"Give me my fucking coin, dead wife."
Oh right, the someone that Shadow told her would come looking for his coin. Before you can say anything he takes one giant stride forward and grabs you by the neck forcing you to react by opening your mouth to breathe. He stares down your throat, and if you had to guess, he was quite ready to reach down and take it back. No, that wasn't going to happen.
You lift your hand, position your fingers and flick him in the chest. Only it's not to get his attention. The tiny bit of force you use sends him across the room with the wall breaking the momentum. If there's any pro to being dead, the superhuman strength that came with the coin is certainly helpful.
You walk to him, and lower to a crouch in front of him. "You mean my fucking coin."
He gasps, still trying to catch his breath. So, you wait for him to concede.
"The dead can't own things," he tells you. "That's why God made last wills and testaments. Don't imagine yours includes my lucky coin."
He tries again to grab you but you were waiting and you slap his hand back against the wall with such force you hear a bone crunch.
"My lucky coin, Ginger Minge. My husband gave that coin to me." you explain, standing back up to retrieve your boots nearby.
He writhes a little in pain. "Damn his dark eyes. Gave it-a-fucking way. Wasn't his to give! I gave him the wrong coin," he says, getting up and cradling his arm. "Wasn't meant to be that coin. That's for royalty, see? That's a coin you'd give to the King of America himself, not some piss-ant bastard like your piece of shit husband."
You have to give it to him. He definitely bargains well enough. But, judging by your blase behaviour, you're clearly not buying it.
"Just give me my fucking coin back!" he all but threatens.
You look at him and smirk. "No."
"You'll never see me again if you do. I swear to fucking Bran, okay? I-I swear by the years I spent in the fucking trees."
Wow, he's starting to get desperate. Only you shake your head. You really don't care. Then he does something really stupid. He steps towards you, points a finger in your face and says, "Give me my coin, cunt!"
You grab his finger and snap it and listen to him yowl in pain as he falls back. Now that pisses you off, so you press the toe of your boot onto that broken finger.
"I'm going to ask you some questions, and I'd like for you to answer me honestly. However, if I feel you're not being honest, I'm going to kick you in the nuts. And I want you to know that the last time I kicked a guy in the nuts, my foot didn't stop until it reached his throat. Okay?"
He continues to roll around, grunting and moaning.
"How do you know my husband?" you ask the first question.
"I was told to be at a bar, pick a fight with your man. Said he wanted to see what your man was made of," he explains.
"Who said? Use your words." you counter, putting more pressure on his hand again. He howls in another round of pain.
"Ahh! Grimnir! The dude he calls Wednesday."
Laura takes her foot off his hand and the scurries a good few feet away from her and props himself up against a chair. You approach him again as he resets his broken finger.
"He's a god."
You can't help but be skeptical because you don't believe in Gods.
"You don't believe me?" he assumes out loud.
"No, no. Just processing," you lie. "Um, what else did God tell you to do?"
"You shouldn't trust him -- Grimnir." he adds.
"Wednesday." you reiterate.
"Don't trust him."
"Don't have to trust him." you reply, though it's pretty apparent that some do.
"Your man does and he shouldn't."
Including your husband. At this point, you are hardly surprised.
"Listen, just give me my fucking coin back, yeah?" he tries again. Only now, you know how you can use this coin and he keeps asking, which means only one thing. "Hey, there's more where that came from. I'll give you another."
He grabs his flat cap and plucks a coin seemingly out of thin air before tossing into it.
"Just as good. Hell," He then rubs his fingers and a waterfall of coins drop into the cap next. "I'll give you a shitload."
They slow to a stop and he offers you the cap.
"Just as good." Not a question. You pick one up and start to inspect it.
"Just as good." he repeats again, way more hopeful.
"Mm, I don't really feel like any of those coins are going to do the job that my coins doing."
He puts his cap back on his head as you crouch down beside him. You can't help be cocky at what you're about to say next.
"You can't take it, can you? I have to give it to you freely, right?"
He doesn't look too impressed to have to confirm that. "Right."
"Well, you're fucked. I'm not going to give it to you." you say in a tone that says you're not stupid. You straighten to stand. "Come on, I don't think you're ever going to get your coin back. Never, ever, ever."
As you look down at him, you can't help but say it again.
"Not ever."
You turn and walk away to collect your things. As he talks, you can't help but listen. Not because you're taking note, but because you would really love to punch a whole through his face.
"Not not ever," he tries. "Meats going to slide off you sooner or later, dead wife. Sooner if you keep soaking it in hot water. All that connective tissue holding you together. Well, that's going to liquefy. You'll find yourself on a hot, humid summer day cooking in that moist heat. And you're going to fall right off the bone. When you do, I'm going to reach up under those ribs and I'm going to pluck that coin outta you like a berry."
He takes out a flask and takes a mouthful before offering you some. You let your eyes drop and he lunges, taking you through the halfway wall and into the bath you hadn't drained yet. As soon as your underwater, he holds your shoulders down determined to get that coin back sooner rather than later. Only the coin was hers, as well as the luck that came with it.
Someone barges into the room and it takes a second to realize the silhouettes of police men in uniform. He puts his hands up and takes him away. And you? Well, you just can't help but smile at your victory.