So when I say goodbye, you must do your best to try, and forgive me this weakness, this weakness
Nicknames: Kris
Magic status: Mundus
Nationality: Norwegian
Ethnicity: White
Accent: Very vaguely West Country, but because he learned english from the stone trolls its sometimes hard to place
Height: 6′2
Build: Toned
Complexion: Fair
Eye color: Brown
Hair color/length/style: Blonde and kinda floppy, perpetually at the point of being like ‘ugh i should get this cut’
Tattoos/piercings/daily jewelry: He wears a watch pretty much alwways
What would you find if you Googled them? Articles about his disappearance when he was young, and then articles about him being found ten years later, but not much in the last couple of years
What natives would know about them: Went missing in the forest whilst on holiday in Swynlake when he was 6 years old, was found ten years later living with the stone trolls. Didn’t really get along with his birth parents so he kicked about in the forest and the farmlands for a bit and now lives and works in Swynlake
Other: Is actually a delightful singer and can play the guitar, drives an ancient heap of shit old truck, and hates doctors/hospitals
SELF LOVE SELF PARA: Write a oneshot where your character interacts with a younger or older version of themself.
His bags were packed and ready by the front door. The cab to the airport was booked. All of Kristoff's worldly possessions - the ones he was taking with him, anyways - were packed up. He slept on a bare mattress in the bedroom, whilst his sister took to the sofa in a sleeping bag, because all the bed linens had been packed away.
For a while, he tossed and turned. Where was his passport? Oh, right, in his bag. Had he unplugged the fridge? Yes, days ago. What if he didn't wake up on time? Well, there was always his sister, who slept light, and would wake up to one of the thirteen alarms she had set.
There was nothing left to worry about. And so, Kristoff slept. And so, he dreamed.
It was dark. He was outdoors, a gentle breeze touselling his hair. He could recognise the quarry immediately, the wide opene expanse of it, the damp, mineral, earthy smell. There was the scent of pine, too, of fallen leaves turning to brown mulch. He was facing the forest. One light flashed, and then another: torches. More and more of them approaching the treeline.
Kristoff felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Someone was looking at him. Someone was behind him. He turned, and was met with the wide, frightened eyes of a boy.
"I'm not going with them." He said. His hair was too long, dirty blonde and lank, and he had the appearance of someone who was growing too quickly, not eating enough. It was him, he realised. Himself, when he was sixteen years old. Voices called out from the cover of the trees. They could hear the footsteps now, but neither one of them moved.
"I'm not." The boy's voice wobbled. "I'm not going."
Kristoff looked back at him, tearing his gaze away from the trees. "You are." He said, matter-of-factly. He sounded like his father, he realised. He didn't have time to dwell on it - people were breaking through the treeline. The ground was shaking with the way they stampeded, running forwards toward the campfire. Two of them led the pack that called and capitulated -- Anna and Ole, who ran to the boy and clutched him tight.
Kristoff fell back, melting into the crowd. Between the bodies he could see those wide, frightened eyes, and he turned his face away from it. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, feeling his mother and father's arms squeezing him in turn, tight, too tight, squeezing the air from him--
He took in a deep, ragged breath. The sound of his inhale became the groan of a windowframe as the pane was slid open. He was indoors, now, shielded from the wind until the window was open, letting in warm, summer-night air. Kristoff frowned at it; he didn't recognise the bare walls, nor the crumpled bedspread. Not until a moth-eaten, beaten-up old backpack was thrown onto it, clothes hastily stuffed inside. The boy packing the bag was taller than before, broader, better fed and cleaner, but the anger on his face carved deep, ugly lines into it, worsened by the shadows in the room.
He was muttering under his breath as he grabbed things, eventually reaching under the bed for his boots. Kristoff remember this night; the night he had gone back to the forest. To the quarry. Some big fight with Anna and Ole, he couldn't remember about what. Freya and Agnetha had been asleep, tucked up in bed. Kristoff remembered thinking about them, how leaving them behind was his only real regret.
"They'll miss you." He said.
"They'll live." The boy replied through gritted teeth. In the moonlight, tears shone in his eyes.
"Sure." Kristoff agreed. "But they'll still miss you."
His older self didn't reply. He laced the boots and barged past, going out the window and down the drainpipe so quickly that it was a wonder he didn't miss it entirely and hit the ground. On the landing, Kristoff heard the creak of the floorboards. He heard a tiny voice, soft, a little scared, calling his name.
The doorhandle turned. Slowly, the door began to open. He didn't wait to see who was there. He went out of the window, down the drainpipe, and found himself back in the forest.
It was even darker here, the foliage thick. He tried to push forward, sure he was going the right way to the quarry, but how could he know? The shrubs and bushes grew thicker and thicker, grew up over his head. Thorns caught his arms and his clothes, branches snagging at him, pulling him backwards. He felt tears well in his eyes, but not from pain, or frustration - from fear. He had no idea where he was. He was alone. How was he supposed to get out of here?
All of a sudden he toppled forwards. The trees and bushes fell away, opening up into a wide, flat expanse. The quarry, he thought. It was hard to tell, though, in the dark. Above him the sky seemed impossibly wide. The stars shined brighter and brighter as he stepped forward, constellations illuminating the barren stone floor. If not for them, he might not have seen the little boy, tucked up in a ball, his knees clutched to his chest.
He was sniffling, hiding his face, his little body wracked with sobs. Kristoff crouched down next to him, knowing exactly who it was.
"I want to go home." The little boy, his younger self, sniffled miserably.
Kristoff nodded. He knew that. He remembered it, even after all this time. "We're going home." He said.
The boy looked up, surprised. He hiccuped, and blinked, tears abruptly stopping. "We are?"
"We are." Kristoff nodded. He stood, holding his hands out. "C'mon."
Gingerly, the little boy stood. He held his arms upward, allowing Kristoff to lift him, holding him close. Together, they set off for the treeline, back towards home. This time the trees enveloped him gently, wrapping around his shoulders, ushering him forwards.
When he awoke, Freya had her hand there, right on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Kristoff." She whispered. "Wake up. It's time to go."
In a single blink, the dream was gone, disappearing off to wherever it is forgotten dreams live. He stretched, swung his legs out of bed, and got up. It was time to go. Time to go home.
Dated end of january
Summary: shortly before leaving Swynlake, Kristoff goes to say goodbye to Mitte
Warnings: none!
@mighty-mitte
He had entertained the idea of leaving his bedroom window open, but even he could admit that doing so in the middle of night near the end of January was a stupid idea. He wasn’t entirely sure if there was another way to entice Mitte to his property, though. And so Kristoff did something he didn’t often really do: he sought Mitte out.
Well, all he really did was ask one of the guys at the station who lived in the Southern Isles if he knew which one Mitte lived at. He said he’d seen her coming and going a few times from one particular house, next door to the doctor with the dogs. Almost immediately upon learning that information, he changed his mind. Maybe leaving his bedroom window open wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He could probably fend off a burglar.
But on his walk home from work, trudging through the snow, he decided to just bite the bullet. Just do it. It wasn’t a big deal, he told himself. She probably wouldn’t even care.
He headed to the Southern Isles, to Sequoia Close, and knocked on number 87. When the door swung open he smiled a little awkwardly, and said, “Hi.”
It was nice, Tom decided, to have an actual goodbye like this.
So many of the people in his life he'd loved and lost, he never got closure with. His father. His sister, who was in prison and had tried to kidnap his son. His mother, who was too ashamed, he supposed, to talk to him.
Actually getting to say goodbye mattered.
It meant that Kristoff leaving wasn't going to be a wound to match all the others. Tom could be happy for him. It was a good, fresh start.
Tom would still miss him, of course, but perhaps it wouldn't smart quite as badly. And they could still talk. Maybe a call every few months. A text here or there...and visits, maybe, when Levi was just a little older.
"I appreciate that," Tom told Kristoff. "We'll figure something out. It's not like you're moving to the other side of the world or summat. We will stay in touch."
It was a promise to Kristoff, but also to himself.
It wasn't the other side of the world, but it was pretty far. Especially when you were a busy man, like he knew Tom was, and like he was sure he was about to be, once he moved to a new country and started a new life for himself. But Tom's voice was sure, not full of the same wishy-washy promises that some had made. Kristoff believed him when he said it.
"Exactly," Kristoff agreed with an easy smile. It was easy, because he knew that he would make the same effort, too.
Had he done this three or four years ago, he knew things would be different. The relationships he'd had then had been tenuous at best. It wasn't until he had made the effort to put himself out there that he had made good friends with people, and Tom was one of the first.
So yes, Kristoff would make the effort. He couldn't imagine not.
He whistled for Bunny, who came running at him full pelt, jumping up and putting her muddy paws on his jacket. "We'd best get going - she's got a vet appointment. Dogs need passports, apparently." He clipped her leash in place to keep her from bolting back to the other dogs. "I'll text you." He added by way of goodbye, raising one hand in a wave as he left, feeling admittedly bolstered by the conversation.
Nick smiled and nodded at that. "I'm a big believer in following the good feeling."
It wasn't exactly the way he'd lived his life, but it wasn't that far off either. Following a good feeling, following the Wind, in the end what was the difference? Humans didn't have access to the Wind the way he did, but there were plenty of people who spoke about it in almost the same way. Call it instinct, call it a sign, call it a feeling, call it a message from a god, sometimes you felt the need to go and you went.
It was stranger for him to be so still, to ignore those brushes of sensation that pushed him towards other places. But he was embracing that as its own sort of weird.
"Let me know who buys the truck. Or if you're having trouble selling it, I might know someone who would be interested." Isaac wouldn't appreciate another car appearing at their house, but he had plenty of contacts he could pass it on to.
Kristoff could believe that about Nick, but he had never thought that it would be true of himself. He had spent a lot of his life just sort of getting on with it. Getting on with living out in the quarry because it was what he knew. Even when he moved to town he went out there fairly regularly, seeking shelter in the forest from the horrors of... what, exactly? The unknown, mostly. The people and places and things that he didn't know, and at the time, and thought he would never understand.
But he had learned to be brave, and come out of his shell more, break out of the confines that he had put himself in. Helping with the volunteer group, joining the fire department, joining the football team, actually going to all of those events that he had never really considered before. He supposed, without knowing it, he actually had been following those good feelings for a while.
"Will do," He chuckled, giving the old truck one more pat. He was grateful to Nick, but Kristoff had never been the best at vocalising his feelings. The only thing he could really think to say was, "And if you're ever in Norway, or-- anywhere round there, I guess, let me know." Because even though he was leaving, he didn't want to completely close the door on his life here, and the people he had met. There would always be room for his friends in Swynlake, as far as he was concerned.
Somehow, end of the month both felt so far away and like it was right on top of them. How much time had Tom wasted? Not reaching out? Not talking to Kristoff? Not on purpose but just because of...life. And now, life was taking Kristoff to some far off place.
It wasn't the first time that had happened. Tom had lost touch with so many friends over the year. Not to mention his own family.
But the people in Swynlake...they were supposed to stay.
"Well, we'll all go out then, eh?" Tom said, he smiled and clapped Kristoff on the shoulder. "I look forward to meeting her. And don't worry, I'll keep Phil in check."
The thing was, Kristoff wasn't sad. He wasn't mourning the way he had spent the last few months, how he had mostly hid and ignored pretty much everyone and hadn't come out of his shell until he'd made the decision that he was leaving it behind completely. He could wallow, thinking that he should've spent that time differently, but for once in his life, Kristoff wasn't looking backwards.
He was look forwards. To the future. And y'know what? He was pretty excited about it, actually.
"Sounds like a plan to me," Kristoff said with a small, gentle smile. "Though -- honestly, I think Freya can hold her own. My sisters can be pretty ruthless when they want to be." His smile grew fond, that fondness echoed back at Tom. "I'll text you, and we can find a good time. And, y'know, if you ever fancy a holiday in Scandinavia... you and Levi would be welcome to visit. And Phil, too, 'course."
