@mightyodinscn
Sometimes it felt like she was destined to make poor decisions. The Norns ( nordic goddesses of fates ) clearly hated the last remaining Valkyrie. They were Urd: what once was. Her past, that which she’d tried to run away from. That bad decisions she drowned in spirits right along with her own. They were Verdandi: what is coming into being. A better version of herself was out there but completely inaccessible. She was King and had reclaimed her Asgardian connections. There was so much potential but Val continued to find herself living in the same desolate loop. They were Skuld: what shall be. Even though she should have cared more, Val found herself apathetic. She didn’t want to regress into the shell she had been on Sakaar but following her near murder at the hands of the Phoenix Five and the fact that death had once again been yanked from her grasp the former Scrapper was irate and usually intoxicated.
Urd, Verdandi and Skuld could shove it. Val had her liquor, they had their prophecies.
Being King was something she was good at. Her father ( all those millennia ago in wrlstead-arms ) had groomed his daughter to one day lead but the Princess had fled to become a warrior instead. Losing a lover had ignited a spark in Brünnhilde’s blood that had impassioned her in the Valkyrior. Losing a lover there had sapped that spark and led to nearly half of her existence as a general bum.
Things were different now. Or, they were supposed to be. She had new responsibility even as she ignored her old. There was a new romantic interest even though she had decided on Sakaar she was only interested in the noncommittal nature of orgies. There was Thor, even though Val had ended that fling due to the gods descent into self pity. And yet, here she was. Bottles littered the floor. It took a lot for Midgardian spirits to make an impact and Val had dedicated herself to figuring out the right combination.
Laying flat on her back staring up at the ceiling, the light fixture danced between her eyes. Dark hair nested around her head and whatever ache was residing in her temple would subside quickly. Propping herself up one elbow, Val twisted the sheets over herself before turning to look at her bedmate. Blonde chair. Chiseled face. One arm. That had been fun.
“Up you go, highness.” Her free arm swatted at him before Val slid out of bed and began rooting around for her stuff. Her place or his? She couldn’t remember. The first thing she found was a red cape that was definitely not her own, so that was tossed into the bed. Turning back to face him with an article of clothing hanging from one hand, the former warrior sighed. “I s’pose you’ll want to talk about this?”