As a Scandinavian I feel I must ask you about the dead viking a closet prompt
I feel like y’all aren’t gonna expect this one tbh XD
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“So, you know me in your Era? How old am I by then?” Malon sat across from Gloam. The table between them creaked slightly when he leaned against it, causing him to lean back again in his chair, earning the same protesting creak from the chair. He grimaced, Malon snickering quietly.
“I think....50s maybe? I’m actually not sure, you never really looked very old to me. I remember, when I was young, thinking you were maybe in your late 30s or something, closer to the age of my friend’s dad, and all I got was a very enthusiastic laugh, and you telling me to add a few more decades.” Gloam chuckles, crossing his arms. “Your daughter, Cremia, came to my village a lot. Her younger sister used to live there too, though I’m assuming you haven’t had her yet.”
“Ah no, I only have Cremia right now. Though I have been thinking of adopting again.” Malon placed a hand on her cheek, smiling wistfully. “I miss when Cremia was a baby. I’d like to have another.”
“’Adopt again’? Is Cremia not yours by blood?” Gloam raises an eyebrow. “That’s surprising, she looks a lot like you, with those blue eyes and freckles. I assumed she got the blonde hair from her father.”
“Oh no, she’s not mine by blood. She was orphaned in a caravan attack. She’s from a country called Timori, to the east of Hyrule.” Malon fiddled with the tassels on the edge of her shawl, her eyes downcast. “We had sent a warning to Timori a few weeks prior because we were seeing an increase in attacks, due to Ganondorf’s more wily supporters being angered at his imprisonment. Unfortunately, that caravan had already left, and they never knew what was going to happen. Luckily, no more caravans have been permitted to leave, and we were able to get the remains back to their loved ones. At least we had that.”
“Damn...I’m sorry, that must have been terrible.”
Malon hummed, tapping her foot. “Did you know Cremia’s sister? What was she like?”
Gloam tensed, his hand slowly inching towards his mouth. “Uh...” his voice was muffled as he picked at his lips. “No...I never got the chance to meet her. She died just before I was born, so I only ever heard stories about her. She was a very sweet woman though. My father spoke highly of her.”
Malon stared at Gloam, and her eyes began to widen in realization. “Wait...was she-” A sudden crash caused Malon to jolt, Gloam jumping out of his seat. The door to the right of them shook following a thud, and Gloam slowly approached it. His footsteps were silent as he pulled a dagger out of the back of his belt, reaching for the handle.
He swung the door open, and out tumbled the newest member of their group, Torrent. His furred coat was flipped over his head, one leg stuck against the door frame, the other covered in broomsticks. One hand braced itself against the opposite side of the frame from his leg, the other pressed against the door itself.
“Uh....Miss Malon....I believe there’s a dead viking in your closet.” Gloam looks back at Malon, who is covering her mouth in an attempt not to laugh.
“Oh my...That closet has two doors, he must have fallen in from the other side.” Her voice broke as she failed from holding back her laughter.
“What the fuck is a viking?” Torrent said from the floor, his voice muffled by the coat. Gloam burst out laughing, crouching down to help pull Torrent out. Laughter from the other side of the closet followed, as some of the others notice what happened.
“Seafarers with very similar styles of dress to you.” Gloam responds, still laughing.
“Oh. Are they hot?” Torrent stumbles when he stands, catching himself on the doorframe.
“I....guess so? I’m sure some of them were.” Gloam chuckles, Torrent just grinning back.
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I love Torrent. So much. I need to make more Torrent content, seriously.