Because I'm the one who gets stuck with the serial killer, aren't I?
…Okay, guess I should back up. Long story short, short-ish anyway, I go by Vera Norin, well down here I do. I'm one of the three owners, okay, one of the only three employees of Wyrd Sisters Inc in Stockholm. Says a lot that my older sister Ruth told us we'd all have equal say, but then named the agency after herself. Er, after one of her alternate names.
Put simply, we control fate. No, we don't just see your fate like a fortune teller, and unlike them we're the real thing. Control it. Wanna go from rags to riches with us as your fairy godmothers, send someone you don't like from riches to rags, or avoid your appointed death? Arranged all that and more thousands of times, and big sister Ruth even gets to control the past. Because of course she gets everything.
Er, guess I'm not being much of a saleswoman here, am I? Hey, I'm still the best of my sisters in that department, probably. Like Ruth would just tell you a bunch of flowery mythic-mystic bullshit before getting to anything important, while my little sister Svea would just prefix everything with 'SUPER-', 'AWESOME-', and 'EPIC-' and add a whole bunch of exclamation marks and a digi-cyber-guitar solo. Wait no, not epic, nobody says epic that way anymore, unless they start doing that again in the future when it's retro. Huh, you'd think Svea of all people would know the actual meaning of the word 'epic', given we were there when the old sagas were being written. Then again, the past is Ruth's domain- oh shit, I'm giving too much away, aren't I?
Right, I take it you're thinking if we've got power over fate itself, why are we letting mere humans have a say with this agency? Er, fellow mere humans, I mean. Simple, come the 21st century, someone as stuck in the past as Ruth has finally learned about democracy, and not just the barely-counts Ancient Greek kind. If we're gonna hold this much power over people's lives, the least we can do is actually give those people a say in things. That's part of why I'm sharing this with all of you. Not that there aren't conditions and restrictions of course, we're still judge and jury, been doing this for millennia- ah, for years after all. Though I assure you, Ruth's just as strict with us as she is with you, way more so. She's had thousands of years to hammer into us "You can't do that", "Such is unbefitting of us", "No using your power for your own gain" and on and on.
Okay, what's this about me getting assigned a serial killer then? It started when a bunch of teens, you know the type, pimply, dour-faced, arms perpetually crossed, would've worn baseball caps backwards in past decades, lurched their way right into our office. "Wait, this is the place? Thought a 'fate-writing' place would be all dark and spooky, y'know all haunted castle. But this looks like where my parents work," one of them whined.
"Fate-weaving, kid," I muttered. Actually, we were still renting this basic white walled, brown carpeted office, and this kid reminding me of that got him on my nerves even more. Granted, freedom to decorate would give Ruth full reign to make everything all lacey and doily-draped and Svea to put spikes everywhere and drown it all in black paint. I shuddered at the thought.
But speaking of her, "Svea, you know these guys?" I called out, since they were about high school age. Not that there's only one high school in Stockholm, but eh, no harm in asking.
"Awesome, you guys saw my flyers!" Svea's voice rang out all through the room. Which at least showed I was right, even if my ears throbbed. She ran up to them dressed in the exact opposite attire your standard office would demand. With her black hair uneven, leather coat clearly too big for her, knee-high combat boots ringed with spikes, it showed restraint that she didn't enter the room to a guitar riff. Of course, I showed up to work in my usual anorak and jeans, and Ruth normally arrives in full Victorian garb, so we're hardly any better. "Alright, so what can Verth and I do for you guys? Anything fate-related, that's us!" Svea said with an ear-to-ear smile and both thumbs up.
"…Yeah, knew the loudmouth to be behind this. The handwriting on that ad was so bad, couldn't be anyone but her," one teen said, rolling his eyes. Huh, since when did stroppy teens care so much about handwriting? Oh yeah, as an excuse to bully Svea they do, though it looked like that remark only got a twitch out of her, on the surface anyway.
"So, if you people really can control fate," another of the teens began as a smirk crept across his face, with me facepalming at what he said next, "Prove it by making the hottest girl in class fall desperately in love with me."
"Not happening," I wasted zero time in telling him. There was no way I'd risk Ruth coming into the room and hearing that one of her biggest rules was in danger of breaking. "We can weave what a person does or what happens to them into their fate, but not how they feel about it. Emotions are a person's own domain." It's a testament to how much Ruth drilled those words into us that I could repeat them on the spot.
"Pfft, sounds to me like you can't 'weave fates' after all," that teen had to say, his smirk somehow even wider. "Or that hearing about hot girls reminds you how plain and drab you are, anorak," he snickered like he thought I couldn't hear, I then winced as Svea snickered with him. The little shit was so lucky that I was in a professional service environment right now and so couldn't just deck him. Though any more talk like that, and he may find fate has decreed for him quite a few fists to the face. Or worse, decreed for him a life in retail.
"Hey, we can still do a whole bunch of stuff. Like with my domain, I get to decide who lives and who dies-" Svea began, before I put my hand right over her mouth.
"Oh no, you're not putting that power in these losers' hands," I hissed in her ear. And on top of… the obvious, did she have to use the term 'domain'? I then turned to the brats and told them, "How about sticking to your own fates, okay?"
But then one of them, an even more morbid type who'd been slinking in the shadows so far, had to ask, "What if you fated someone who really deserved it to die? Like a serial killer."
Now that had me thinking. Obviously there's been debate after debate on if killing someone can ever be justified, even the oh so brutal Viking Age still had Althing meetings over this sort of thing. On the other hand, like I'd shed the slightest tear over the death of a serial killer. On the other other hand, I was in no mood to become a bunch of snotty teens' own assassin for hire, let alone foist that on Svea.
So I wussed out and went the rehabilitation route, how Scandinavian-justice-system of me. "How about we just fate it so that they never succeed in killing anyone again?" I offered. Naturally, I said that before knowing who and how bad this serial killer even was. Of course, Svea promptly frowned right at me.
"Fine. Just as long as, y'know, you actually do something involving fate already," the first teen said. "Oh right, and that you don't charge too much, we've been here long enough."
Long enough? Since when's a few minutes 'long enough'? Not that I can't sympathise with being strapped for cash, as Ruth won't let us fate-weave ourselves rich since we 'can't use fate-weaving for own advantage'. But at the same time, who the Hel's this kid to tell us how to run our business? Still, a compromise came to mind as I smirked back at him, "Our price is the satisfaction we get when you all concede that we really do control fate. How's that?"
"Deal," the teens said in unison, their faces still sour. Hey, I'd be happy to get this whole thing over with too. The one in the shadows then kept scrolling on their phone until they went, "Yeah, this guy looks like the right candidate."
"Wait, you mean you didn't have an actual killer in mind till just now?" I asked them, mouth agape. Just when I thought these teens couldn't annoy me more. And they flat out ignored what I just said and held the phone up to my face.
"Anastasios, surname unknown, the 'Scarecrow' killer," I read. So nicknamed for his scrawny, nigh skeletal looks and the way he ties up his victims. Take it them already knowing his first name means he's not that professional. Main stalking ground is… all the way down in Athens? These kids were absolutely sure they didn't pick this guy at random? Then again, a serial killer's a serial killer, and I like to think I'm more principled about death than Svea. "You got it, this guy's killing days are done for. Check the news for any more reports on him if you don't believe us," I said with a smirk of my own. "Oh, and when that happens, make sure you tell all your friends just how wrong you were about us." Not the best thing to tell your customers, but Ruth wasn't around, so as if I cared at this point.
"You mean you're not gonna let us see your actual fate-writing, weaving, whatever process?" one of them had to blurt out.
This again. "Look, a nuclear plant isn't gonna let you hang around radiation, we're not gonna let clients hang around the destiny threads. They're the whole of a person's time on this Earth, maximum caution required. Now scram," I said as I shoved them one by one out the door. Hel, 'scram' was me holding back, my first instinct was to tell them 'Fuck off'. Then again, scram is what you say to kids, too Sesame Street reminiscent, while fuck off is what you say to adults, and I didn't fancy treating them like that.
Then the second I'd dusted my hands of them, I turned around to see Ruth as prim and proper as a 19th century nanny staring right back me into my soul. Oh come on, I didn't even hear her come in. Well, that's typical for her, why announce your presence when you could make your sisters fear you're always watching? "Vera," she said looking down at me, like that word was all she needed to say.
"Hey, it's just us three now, you do know you can use my real name?" I said first, then actually replied to what she'd implied with, "And I'm doing my job. I kept putting up with those kids till we reached an agreement, and now we're gonna change fate per their request. What more do you want?"
"For you to start treating our customers with respect, to begin with. It would not do for our business to be saddled with a bad reputation," Ruth said as she loomed closer over me. She then placed a hand on Svea's shoulder as she kept chewing me out, "And in addition, you insulted the very customers your little sister invited. Think about how she must feel, after she put in all the hard work of advertising."
I was about to point out to Ruth that, had she not shown up at the last minute, she would've heard these kids insulting Svea too. But as the future's not my domain, I'd failed to foresee that Svea would betray me. "Oh yes, Verth was really mean, and to me too. She kept telling me no when I had any idea about how to give our clients what they wanted," Svea said as she 'cried' at Ruth.
"Because Svea wanted to let teenagers order a guy's death," I hissed. Don't know why I did, because if Ruth didn't ignore me, she probably would've manufactured some excuse to defend Svea. Anything for the 'baby' of the family. So I then said, "Hey, we're the only fate-weaving business on Midgard, in all the Realms even," …as far as I knew, "We're the last people who need to be worried about customers leaving for the competition."
Ruth sighed down at me. "We know that, but they do not. To those more superstitious, any charlatan with cards and a crystal ball could be just as valid as we. To those more skeptical, we could be yet more quacks. We cannot afford to drive away clients, Vera. And even if we could, such behaviour would still be utterly unprofessional," she said through gritted teeth. Then she softened her voice and used my real name, "Verthandi, as the past is not your domain, I don't know how well you remember this. But in the Eddas, in all the Sagas too, any time our names were said, it was in fear or hatred, and that was when they chose to acknowledge us at all. The last thing I want is for that same fear and hatred to follow us into the 21st century. And that is why manners matter," she huffed as her voice shot back up to its normal volume.
"…I know," is all I said to her about our, well, past infamy. I seethed at her thinking all those things said about us didn't still hurt me. I mean I get it, if you hear someone else controls your fate, it makes sense you'd be resentful of them. But I never asked to be shat on just for doing my job.
Though now she mentions it, if restoring our rep's so important, doesn't us using aliases defeat the whole point? Especially when they're so paper-thin anyway, though I was at least grateful not to get stuck with the proposed 'Bertha'.
Oh, and since Ruth had just 'wrecked' me, Svea of course had to stick her tongue out and pull down an eyelid at me. Yeah, that's 'manners'. And how is Svea going 'killing is totally awesome' not as harmful to our reputation as me almost saying a swear word to some kids? "Let's just weave this fate already," I settled on.
Guess it's no use still trying to hide who we are, huh? Even Ruth's gone and used my real name. Right, I'm Verthandi, Norn of Present Time. And if you've so much as squinted at a Norse mythology book, I take it you've figured out Ruth's Urth of the Past and Svea's Skuld of the Future. Told you our aliases were flimsy. We're the Nornir and we're, er, hard to describe, and that's coming from one of them. We're not goddesses, let's make that clear, even if we do have to hang out with them. Urth tells us we're Jotnar, which gets translated as 'giants' despite her only being six foot four, Skuld being a shrimp, and me being average as always. Yeah, you can argue the exact difference between Jotnar and Gods is pretty flimsy, but trust me, you really don't want to compare the two to their faces.
Of course, my domain being the Present and not the Past means my memory's kinda hazy, so I only have Urth's word for it that I even am a Jotun. Hel, I don't even know my own parents, think I heard Dad's someone called Mogthrasir? He's a real deadbeat, whoever he is. But I guess Urth's telling the truth, like what would she have to gain from saying we're Jotnar specifically?
Anyway, the fate-weaving. The three of us walked over to a corridor as bland and unfurnished as the foyer, till we came to a door no mortals could see. Or at least, they better not see, if all the runes we scribbled on it are working right. Our local fate-weaving room… how to even describe it? Have you heard of a tesseract, you know, a four-dimensional cube? Picture a whole cavern of four-dimensional spiderwebs, where each dewdrop reflects a moment from someone's life, from big things like birth, graduation, and death, to the smaller stuff like that one time traffic was real bad, or it rained when the forecast said it'd be sunny. These webs of fate are also this room's sole light source, with a person's past shining white, their future shrouded in hazy black, and their present a smushed pallet. Or so it looks like to me anyway, if my sisters see their domains differently they've told me squat. Though I think Skuld wouldn't want her domain to be any other colour than black, like her soul~.
While we didn't have any super strong leads, knowing some basic information on this killer did help in tracking down his specific thread of fate. As Skuld and I approached the threads, our hands as usual morphed themselves into instruments akin to a spider's pincers. Yet another reason we don't humans watch us fate-weave, they'd be sent screaming seeing us turn semi-arachnid. Still, it'd help a lot if I could actually use an opposable thumb for all the tricky, obnoxiously precise bits.
I got to plucking out all the murders the Scarecrow killer ever would've committed from this point; I suppose I should've felt disturbed seeing them but well, I'm thousands of years old. I may not have the best memory, but the seriously bleak things from the past are all too good at sticking in the mind. Meanwhile, Skuld got the even more laborious job of lengthening all the threads of his future victims, now their fated deaths had changed. And all the while, Urth just… stood in the corner. Watching us do all the work.
"We are tampering with the web of fate enough," Urth told me as soon as I glared at her, "Were I to get involved and rewrite the fates of his past victims, we don't know how drastically we would complicate the web." Which yeah, was exactly the response I expected. Again, alive for thousands upon thousands of years, I can't fathom how many times she's told me that. Although, makes sense we couldn't show those kids we're the real thing if the killer never even got to kill in the first place. "Not to mention-"
"The gods of the dead don't like us taking those who've already died back from them, I know," I said. Though it wasn't like those three could afford to lose a soul or two, especially Odin.
I then dusted my hands and said, "Anyway, we've got all these fates sorted. Let's hope our next client asks us for something more pleasant." And has more money to throw around.
"Oh no, we are not done yet," Urth said as she looked right at me again. "You're to watch over this Scarecrow to see how he reacts to having his capacity to kill taken away."
"What? Why?" I asked, as I instantly assumed she was having me do this out of spite. "We know he's not gonna kill any more, so what's the point?"
"Yeah, and how come Verth gets to meet a serial killer and not me?" Skuld had to ask.
"Because Verthandi, you should know by now that the consequences for reweaving fate are nothing you should ignore. And seeing the reweaved in person is to remind you that these are fates of people we deal with, not dolls," Urth told me, then turned to Skuld and said, "Skuld dear, I will absolutely not let you meet a serial killer. It simply isn't healthy for you."
"Why isn't it?" I actually found myself coming to Skuld's defence for once. "We can't weave ourselves into his or anyone's fate, but even then he still can't kill her. Can't kill the future after all. Not to mention some gods she's met are way worse than serial killers," I felt the need to keep my voice low for that line.
"Yeah, so lemme meet the killer. Why does Verth get all the fun?" Skuld kept whining.
"Verthandi, this is your little sister you are talking about!" Urth snapped at me. She then steadied herself with a deep breath and said, "Besides, while he may not be able to kill her, there are still plenty of awful things, physical and mental, he could still try on her." Then she turned around and went, "Skuld, why don't you and I go out for ice-cream instead? Maybe we can bring your hoverboard to the park?"
Oh, so suddenly those 'awful things' are okay when I'm the one in the crosshairs, are they? Yeah, Skuld's stuck in permanent adolescence, but she's still been in existence since, like, forever. Though I could immediately imagine Urth replying to that with 'as have you'.
But if I said all that, it turned out Skuld wouldn't have my back anyway, as she instantly said, "Ooh, ice cream!"
By the way, if you wonder why we make Skuld go to school even though she's an immortal, well, one part that permanent adolescence, her being future potential embodied, but also Urth's whole 'gotta know the people' thing. Everything I'd heard about school just made me glad Skuld got stuck with the Future and not me.
With me left with nothing but to groan, I followed Urth out into the scrubby patch that passed for our backyard. There, she picked up a rune-adorned old clay jug of water and held it aloft in the air. Everything shook as a massive, twisting root came down from out of the sky to drink from it. That's our other job, attending the World Tree Yggdrasill. Well, 'Yggdrasill' is just what it's called now, after Odin hanged himself from it. Its real name is… huh, I don't think I even know. Maybe Urth does, but if she did she'd probably find some excuse not to tell me.
Anyway, even a root this size was still a minor root for Yggdrasill, nowhere near the three big ones, but it'd do for my assignment. "Ah, the Norns, what can I do for you today?" the tree's personal squirrel, Ratatosk. chirped as he scurried his way down the branch, his alien green eyes letting you know this wasn't your standard red squirrel. Well, that and the little reporter's hat and jacket he was wearing. And the voice thing.
"Nornir," Urth had to correct, as if the fuzzball at all cared.
"I just need a lift to Athens, Ratatosk. That's all," I told him quick. I was about to tell him not to dump me on the outskirts, but knowing my luck that would probably be where the killer's hiding.
"Why, you three already bombing in Stockholm?" he had to say. Him being the only one amused, and then having to dodge a can thrown by Skuld, he followed with, "Okay okay, your ride to Athens is ready. All aboard."
I then took hold of the end of the root, and with that was pulled through creation all the way from Europe's north to its south. Nothing I hadn't done a bunch before, but I could only imagine how terrifying the experience would be for a regular human, especially for their arm.
And now you know all about how I got assigned to babysit a former serial killer. Here's hoping he won't be too much of a headache to deal with in person, I could use less of those in my life.
Difficult to prove a negative. I can't imagine the morning papers running a headline like KILLER DOESN'T STRIKE AGAIN! Extri, extri, read all about it! No bodies fished out of the river last night, police enjoying a relaxing evening!
No past and no future
That's what I need (That's what I need)
-White Night
This looks like a fun urban fantasy premise. But are her sisters able to do the work without her? Is her memory just bad bor an immortal or bad even in the mortal timeframe?
I'm curious to see the serial killer get frustrated as reality seems to just screw up all his attempts to commit murders. Would be hilarious to see all his almost victims on the news, each commenting he looks increasingly frustrated and sad, as a woman awkwardly follows him, watching.
Given her sisters don't hold the domain of the Present, they still need her. As Verth's bad memory is due to her representing said present (Skuld has similar memory problems, though she cares less), it's at least passable within a mortal timeframe
Taking Xiran Jay Zhao's advice and memeing my own work:
Also, thought I should post the pic I drew of Verthandi in colour here. Her anorak's usually black, but I coloured it green here to show more colour. The pavement's meant to resemble Stockholm's Sergel's Square, whereas say Gamla Stad would be more Urth's scene:
The weird thing about Urth sending me to Athens, now I think of it, is you'd figure the city would fall more under her domain. Sad as it is to say, unless you're Athenian yourself (and maybe not even then), people think more about the city's distant past than its present, let alone whether it has a future. The classical architecture, philosophers, saga- er, I mean epic poets, Urth gets all of those. None of which featured us (and no, the Moirai are totally different), but I'm fine with that, they would've just complained about us if they did.
Meanwhile, the Athens of my present just gets debt, tourists, and even the friggin' Nazis now, you can tell by the Sparta fixation. Okay okay, I know neo-Nazism's hardly an exclusively Greek problem these days. I mean, I've set up shop in Scandinavia, I don't need to be told twice.
But I'm not here right now for any Nazis, no, instead I get a serial killer. Like that's much better, especially when we've already weaved his fate and should be done with him. It then hit me that a Nazi-serial killer overlap would hardly be out of the norm, but I do hope that's not true, I don't need this meeting to be even more miserable.
I knew it was coming. No Parthenon or Agora, Yggdrasill had instead dumped me on the outskirts of Athens. A rickety, abandoned warehouse stood before me, in such disrepair that it looked like even a human could blow it down with a sneeze. The only sound was the whistling of the wind. A rank odour suggested something toxic had been dumped here at one point, and if Skuld could hear my thoughts now I just knew she would've said 'Yeah, you' or something else oh so clever.
Right on cue, a scrawny, scurrying figure, his eyes darting frantically around, skittered his way through a rusty hole in a wire fence then headed through a dusty crack in a wall. Based on what description the report had him of, I quite quickly discerned this was our 'Scarecrow' Anastasios. Huh, so Ratatosk actually did drop me off at the right place for once, though I got the feeling he wouldn't keep up that track record. The fuzzball had already left too, and true, he personally had no obligation to keep an eye on this guy, but it felt like a dick move all the same.
I hid from the killer's sight behind an old, creaking dumpster, the sheer smell bringing my toxic waste dump theory back to mind. Yeah, he couldn't do a thing to me, even with me being outside of fate, but I still didn't want to interact with him. I'm not Skuld after all, representing the Present at least means I get to outgrow any 'serial killers are cool and edgy' phase. Then there's Odin, who at least tolerates serial killers if their victims fight back, more souls for Valhalla. Anyway, I braced myself and followed the guy, then winced as I cut my hand on those exposed wires. Well, being a Norn meant I didn't have to worry about tetanus, which was… reassuring. Still stung though.
The inside of the warehouse was somehow even more decrepit than outside. Everything was drowned in dust if not broken glass, the paintjob was a mess of rotting grey, whole chunks of the roof had crashed down, and the stench now went beyond toxic, someone had died here. Oh wait, this was a serial killer's hideout, duh, of course they had. Not like that's gonna happen anymore, so hey, that ought to increase the property value. Relatively.
Apart from me and the Scarecrow killer, there were a few others still alive in this place. The first was your average cat chasing down some rats; honestly, I was surprised to see animals here at all. Then of course was the killer's intended victim, he'd been left here while the killer was out for some reason. Last minute check to make sure nobody was following him? Heh, too bad there. Anyway, this victim was a thirtysomething guy in now-torn office wear hoisted at the far end of the factory, so tightly bound on a steel cross that his wrists had begun to bleed without the killer even stabbing them. Clearly doing more damage than the killer's actual stabbing attempts, with him missing any vital points every time he lurched with his knife right at him. The killer was left screaming "Why won't you die?!" as he started throwing shards of broken glass at him, but none made any real impact, unable to even shock his victim out of unconsciousness.
I let out a sigh of relief, looked like the fate-weaving was already working. Not that I was sent here to ensure the weaving had worked, I knew it would, I've been doing this job for millennia after all. No, Urth says this was to remind me that these are actual lives we hold power over, not just bits of magic string. And yeah I know, but why on Midgard did she think a serial killer would be a prime candidate for teaching me that? Who cares if that sort of person is reduced to a doll on a string? Also, funny for Urth to preach about empathy when she has zilch for me. 'Verthandi, you're acting improper for a Norn', 'Verthandi, your sister Skuld did nothing', 'Verthandi, is that a tone of sarcasm I hear?' again and again for millennia, now that I remember. She's my older sister, who died and made her Mum?
But speaking of empathy, I suppose the least I can do is step in and rescue that tied-up guy. Could get Urth off my back as a bonus too. Then again, haven't I already saved him by extending his fate? No wait, Skuld was in charge of that, my bad. Still, he's gonna live regardless, worse for wear as he'll be, so really can't I just go now that I've seen these people in person? If the victim was calling out to me, then I guess I'd feel the urge to step in. But he's lost consciousness, so I doubt he'd mind me leaving. Granted, I remembered still feeling pain even though I couldn't die, and that'd go double or triple for him the second he woke up.
Well, I did the unheroic thing and turned to leave, only to get hit by a piercing shriek when I found that I'd tread right on that cat's tail. I winced hard when I heard the Scarecrow killer yell "Who are you?! What are you doing here?! Are you tailing me?! You're with them, aren't you?!" right at me. I presumed by 'them' he meant the cops, because if there was any wacked-out conspiracy junk in his head I didn't want to know.
"All a piece of scum like you needs to know is that I'm the one who took away your ability to kill," I tell him, my eyes narrowed and arms folded. "The reason you keep failing to kill this guy, that's me. Nobody shall ever die by your hand again."
For a second the Scarecrow looked utterly aghast, but then he started quietly chuckling. "Heh, you're bluffing, that or insane. How do you 'magically' stop someone from killing? Just watch." Yet all that followed was his own knife suddenly showing itself to be blunt, plus more failed attempts at throwing broken glass.
"Face it, you're killing days are over," I told him as I moved firmly between him and his victim, "My sisters and I removed every successful kill from what's left of your thread of fate." It was only then I saw that I'd been too late to stop the Scarecrow's victims having his feet cut off, left as bleeding stumps. He'd live, Skuld and I had seen to that, but right now it would still be a life lived in agony. "Now tell me, why did you target this man?" I then spat out.
"Now I'm hoping you're insane," the Scarecrow hissed out, of course not answering my question. He pointed a shard right at my face and went, "You're saying you can just take away a person's free will as you please? You accuse me, when you can just make anyone your slave anytime you want, violate any right they have to choose? Why even bother with me personally when you can have world leaders bowing before you?!" his pitch rising ever higher as he glared at his victim, "Why ever bother saving a mediocrity like him?"
Okay, definitely sensed some projection there, though at least that last sentence of his gave me an idea of why he went after this man. The shit he spewed also gave me the urge to clarify, "We do not use our powers for personal gain, we don't even weave ourselves into any of our threads of fate. And when control a person's fate, we at least let them live." Okay, Urth and I do, but death is kinda Skuld's thing.
"Don't you dare take the high ground with me," the killer snapped back, I had to move slightly to dodge his spit. "I don't just kill anyone; I only get rid of those who contribute nothing to humanity. I was providing a far greater service than you, but now you've taken that service away. My very identity's gone because of you… wait," his rant suddenly slowed to a chilling calm, "You said you don't weave yourself into any fates, which'd include mine. Therefore, I can still kill you!"
Before I could correct him, even at risk of exposing my identity, he'd already plunged a glass shard through my ribcage and into my heart. Or rather, where my ribcage and heart would've been if I really was human. Instead, gritting my teeth through the piercing pain I still felt, I yanked out the shard and tossed it away. I didn't even dignify him with words. Because even a sharp stabbing like that was nothing compared too… one wound I once suffered.
My glare beating down on him, the Scarecrow immediately started hyperventilating. His voice managed to quiver out, "Y-you're not bleeding, t-that was right in your heart- What, what the hell are you?!"
"What, you never thought fate-weaving was a power for mere mortals, did you Anastasios?" I told him blunt. "You can't kill the Present."
The Scarecrow had now collapsed on his knees, as he slowly muttered, "The Present? So, if you're divine… or a demon, then… you're Lachesis, aren't you?"
Wait, Lachesis? Look, I'm no fan of syncretism. I don't like being lumped in with a bunch of goddesses I've never met or even seen, doubly so as I'm not a goddess myself. But I'll take an alias where I can get it, especially with how close I came to giving away that I'm Verthandi. "Yeah, that's me. The Moira Lachesis, Measurer of Lives," I said. I mean it's Greece, kinda shoulda seen the comparison coming. And if the real Lachesis does exist, I don't think she'll mind me borrowing her name. As we're both immortals, she's had plenty of time to get mad about me existing.
"A goddess, a r-real goddess?" he stuttered. "Would that mean… Zeus, Hades, Poseidon, they're all real too?"
Not according to the word of Odin they aren't, but like the Allfather's never been self-serving. I settled on telling the Scarecrow, "That's for me to know. And I wanna be extra clear, just because a goddess has taken notice of you, Anastasios, that does not mean that you're anything above 'mediocrity' yourself," wanting to cut down the slightest chance of his ego inflating again. "We have to be there for all humanity. For instance, you wanna know why us N- Moirai" whew, good save "intervened in your fate? It's because a bunch of bratty kids thought it'd be cool if we messed with an oh-so-scary serial killer, that's all. Nothing special, just like you."
The Scarecrow was sent seething for what must've been minutes, till he finally rasped out, "Nothing special? No, don't you ever call me a mediocrity! What mediocrity would have the guts, the vision, to ever actually kill someone? Oh, people may think about it, may joke 'Yeah, I'm totally gonna kill my wife or boss or sibling'," I then wince for Skuld's sake, "but they're always too timid. Too afraid, that's what makes them mediocre. Me, even if you say I can't do it anymore, I'm still special because I have done it, without needing an officer to order me to!"
I just tuned out his rant, as if tons of other megalomaniacs hadn't said the same spiel, confused their callousness for exceptionality. He even got increasingly high-pitched just like them all. But then at the height of his desperate reverie, he came to a complete halt and asked plainly, "Hold on, if you're Lachesis, why do you have a Swedish accent?"
Seriously, that's what he picked up on? "I'm in charge of everyone's present, I travel a lot," I told him on impulse. Also, Swedish? It's a Jotunheim accent, well, Jotunheim with an Asgardian dialect given I work at Urth's Well up there. True, there's no way he can know that, and better if he doesn't, but still.
"Anyway, you said I'll never succeed in killing anyone again… because of teens? Goddesses controlling people's fates, that I can at least understand. But a bunch of adolescents was all it took to make you do this to me, you put my life in their hands?!" The Scarecrow went back to shouting, and I couldn't help but be satisfied when tears started filling his eyes.
"And a lot more lives out of your hands. But if it helps, I didn't like dealing with them either. Though you might like to know that they originally wanted us to kill you, it was me who talked them down to just making you never kill again," I told him. Then I flashed a wicked smile as a thought came to me, "Though maybe this is the worse fate for you. Sparing you means you'll have to live with what you've done. Maybe even confront the families and friends of all your victims, knowing you'll never be able to silence them. We can easily arrange that."
He was sent stumbling back, not seeming to care about the broken glass in his way. "Just… just stop," the Scarecrow manages to say. "Look, if you had to do this to me, why did you also come right up to me and rub it in? Couldn't you have at least left me blissfully ignorant? Leave me thinking that people can have their own fates, that teenagers can't dictate a whole person's life?"
"First, you're a serial killer, why would I ever have mercy on you? And don't give me that 'mediocrities' shit again," I hissed. "Second, I came here to remind myself that my actions have consequences for real people, something you should've taught yourself long ago."
And that did it, he was finally drained of words and sent scurrying away. I thought to go after him, but I'd more than left my mark on him by now. There's the chance he'll try to kill again to spite me, but he'll fail every time, so he'll learn how useless it is to defy his fate. Assuming he's not hunted down before then, if the police don't care then some vigilante mob will. His real first name is already public; I presume he won't be hard for them to track down.
I then heard a moaning behind me, turned around, and saw this guy's crucified victim was starting to regain consciousness. I mentally beat myself up for forgetting about him, yet another thing I can blame on the Scarecrow, then mentally tore into myself when I saw Scarecrow had cut his feet off, leaving an oozing puddle of blood and bone beneath him. I still knew this guy was fated not to die from this injury, but I swooped into help anyway, I'd already left him there on his own long enough. Unfortunately, any first aid skills I might've picked up in all my existence had faded with the rest of my memories, right when I genuinely could've used them for once. So I was left to feebly wrap my anorak sleeves around the stumps that'd been his legs for lack of any other option.
"Who… who are you?" he struggled to say, his voice reduced to nearly nothing.
"Vera Norin. I'm the one who saved you," I told him, feeling now wasn't the place for elaboration.
"I'm… Nikos," was all he could say in return.
"Hang on, I'll get you home. Just, er, point which way to go if talking's too hard," I told him. Good thing for Scarecrow he'd already run away, since I was now tempted to saw his own feet off. All that pain for being a 'mediocrity'.
"Oh thank you, thank you ever so much for saving our Nikos!" Nikos' wife, I heard him call her Dorothea, congratulated me upon me bringing him back to his place after we'd laid him down to recover. As opposed to her husband's office attire, she was dressed in more traditional Greek costume, all colourful embroidery above a flowing white dress, along with a little headscarf. "Well, I truly don't wish to sound ungrateful," she followed up, "but maybe bringing him to a hospital first would've been better. Ah, but then there's the issue of wait times and payment, so perhaps here was your only option."
This was… weird for me. I lived so long, yet being complimented and congratulated still isn't anything I'm used to. Eventually I told her, "Hey, even if you can't get him to a hospital, I've still got a hunch he'll live."
"That's very kind of you to say," Dorothea smiled at me. "Oh Vera, would you like to stay for dinner? We don't have much, but it's the least we can do for Nikos' saviour."
My instinct was to tell her no thanks, I'd be wanted back home. Especially as I don't need to eat, though obviously I don't let that slip. But then I thought hey, maybe just this once I could not just take off into the ether? And my sisters are immortals, they can literally wait forever. So I brought myself to say, "Sure, that'd be great."
I also strained myself harder to say, "You have a lovely home." That couldn't be any more bullshit, the dingy apartment Nikos' family lived in rivalled the factory for sheer dismalness. The wallpaper was stained yellow if not peeling, the couches and beds looked like they'd collapse if you sat in them a little too hard, and it was all so cramped I kept worrying I'd get stuck. But Nikos had been kidnapped and mutilated by a serial killer, his family didn't need more negativity.
Dorothea smiled at me again, before she turned and called out, "Children, your father's home safe."
"Yay, Daddy's back!" two little tykes exclaimed in unison as they ran into the room, like he'd just gotten back from work and not from being kidnapped by a killer. Granted, both were still pretty young, how would you even explain serial killers to them? Still, I predicted a lot of awkward questions about feet in Nikos' future. "I was worried we'd never see him again," the older of them said.
Meanwhile, the younger of them looked up at me and outright asked, "Are you Daddy's guardian angel?"
I… was not at all equipped to respond to that, especially since it was the wrong religion entirely, but then again so was Lachesis. Ill-equipped to talking with kids as I was, I eventually came up with, "You could say I'm everyone's guardian angel, or everyone's fairy godmother. Well, for everyone who deserves it," which was kind of the truth. But the Scarecrow knew full well I could just as easily be a punishing demon, as did quite a few others across history who only uttered 'Norn' with disgust. As an extra little treat for the kid, I briefly materialized wings behind my back, a hidden part of my body in the same way those spider pincers were.
Much as Nikos struggled to move, even he rose to smile at his two children. I began to feel queasy. All this… affection his family had for each other, even in such miserable conditions. I was told this was normal for families, but it was hard for me to get through my skull. Millennia of Urth constantly ordering me around and Skuld getting away with being a little monster will do that. And seeing a father who cared about his children, it reminded the only thing I know about my own purported dad is he's apparently named Mogthrasir… and that's it.
Speaking of Urth and Skuld, I took it now would be a good time to advertise Wyrd Sisters Inc, but on second thought it'd be a terrible time. 'Hey, I saved your husband's life, here's an ad for the place I work', you can just feel the skeevy opportunism of it. So when we sat down to eat, with a lamb meal that was much more generous than Dorothea had made it out to be, I compromised with, "Listen, if you ever need me again, here's my contact info," then handed them my card. Naturally, I never got any say in its design, it was all Urth. You could tell from the runes and the Yggdrasill-style branches.
"Why, thank you, but it's just," Dorothea said then sighed, "it's an international number, and our internet connection is, well, not the best."
"Don't worry. I got down to Greece easily enough before, I can do it again," I told her, trying to smile at her this time.
"Thank you again, that's reassuring to hear- huh, what's this, fate-weaving?" she muttered as she took a closer look at the card.
"Yeah, deciding people's destinies. It's how I knew your husband would survive. My sister and I removed what would've been his death at the hands of that killer, and made it so the killer would never kill again," I told her.
I too hastily expected Dorothea to light up, but instead she bit her lip. "Don't get me wrong, I am ever grateful you used your… powers, I guess that's what you have, to save my husband and others from that- that monster. Ahem, however," she hesitated as a thought sunk in, "this is controlling people's fates we're talking about. Well, I'm just glad such a power seems to be in the right hands."
The right hands? Hoo boy, I've spent millennia wondering if us Norns have been that at all. I struggled to find any response to that, any response that didn't feel completely sugarcoated. The best I can come up with is, "I assure you, there are no better fate-weavers out there." Which is true, by default.
The long meal over, which I'll tell you certainly beat Swedish cuisine, Dorothea and her children gave me one last hug before I left. From the look on Nikos' face, he would've joined in too had he still been able to stand. So instead he waved and said, "Vera, I-I really do owe you my life. What you did was a miracle, more than I ever could've asked for."
I just smiled back, utterly lost for words. No 'dreaded Norn', no 'cruel mistress of fate', just… people being happy because of me, saying I'd made their lives better. And then after all this warmth, I'd be going right back to Urth and Skuld. Back to managing so many fates that I'd porbably never get to see Nikos' family again.
But with another Yggdrasill trip, back to my sisters I went. No surprise, Urth showed up right away the instant I opened our Stockholm office door. "I trust it all went well, Verthandi?" she asked with all the warmth of a glacier. Well, better her at the door than Skuld going 'Hey, wasn't it totally cool you got to meet a serial killer?' that would've sent me volcanically fuming.
"Eh, the serial killer was a little shit just as I expected," I said, "but getting to do something good for once, having people thank me, it's not something I experience often. Yeah, I'm grateful."
"I'm glad to hear that," Urth said simply. No 'that's wonderful' or 'that great', just 'I'm glad'. The usual for Urth. Still, even if she wouldn't be open about it, at least I was feeling pleased with myself. I didn't really care about proving myself to those teens anymore. Seeing Nikos' family so happy, that felt like more than ever could've asked for.
Crossover omake with A Little Vice. Heads up that this takes place after the ending of that story. Also an Omake Challenge entry.
The Wyrd Sisters! Weavers of Past, Present, and Future!
Just when they thought it was all over, the Angelic Saints received a mysterious message. Written on browned parchment with a runic font, it read, "To Inessa, Ida, Temperance, and Chiro: Meet us by the oldest tree in your town tonight. -The Wyrd Sisters."
"What the- I thought we'd defeated the Abyssal Forest?!" Inessa was quick to gasp. As it risked the whole group being heard in the cafeteria niche they frequented, Ida promptly had to shush her.
"Other than that tree, what says they're from the Abyssal Forest?" Temperance said. "The Wyrd Sisters is no name I've ever heard, well, not in relation the forest anyway."
"Y'know, that implies you've still heard of them in relation to something," Ida muttered, rubbing her chin.
"Just from other myths and legends, that's all," Temperance shrugged, "I picked Macbeth back when we were all assigned a Shakespeare play, if only because I had to pick something. It's another name for those Witches Three. But the word 'Wyrd', so I've heard, has Norse origins." Incidentally, Ida tackled the big one with Hamlet, Chiro picked Twelfth Night but insisted it wasn't for any personal reason, and Inessa went with the unexpected choice of The Tempest.
"I knew it, there are other pantheons out there! It's not just the Angels and Abyss," Inessa said, but then bit her lower lip. "Okay, I know I'm inferring a lot from a single word. But still, in everything Magical Girl, there's never just a single almighty faction out there! Er, unless they get a really short series."
"Another Pantheon or not, they somehow know our identities. That's already enough of a reason to take them as a threat," Ida spoke up, her hands almost slamming on the table. "If not for what Temperance said, I'd say these sisters really are with the Abyssal Forest, the Angels wouldn't be this mysterious with us."
"I don't know. Saying they'll meet us tonight, that's pretty upfront. The Forest would at least attempt some misdirection and manipulation," Temperance said, continuing her lunch unbothered. "We also wouldn't bother with snail-mail, we weren't that backward after all. Well, except Superbia of course."
"Hey Michael, have you ever heard of these 'Wyrd Sisters'?" Inessa asked as she opened up her backpack.
The archangel stared up at her and went, "The only ones I know by that name are the Nornir. They claim to control fate, ignorant that all have free will under His plan. Yet nor are they with the Abyss, or anyone but themselves, and in my experience they aren't ones to meet people directly."
"...Don't 'free will' and 'plan' contradict?" Temperance asked, only to be ignored.
"Nornir? Ooh, that sounds very Norse pantheon," Inessa perked up, but then perked down as she admitted, "I know the name from an anime."
"I'm guessing these Wyrd Sisters are just using the name, if even Michael thinks they can't be the real Nornir," Ida said as she scratched her chin some more, but then admitted, "I know the name from comics. But like, the cool alternative ones."
"Wow, you still have the time to read comics?" Inessa asked, but on second thought added, "Er sorry, didn't wanna touch a nerve."
"It's okay, I expected that," Ida muttered.
"I don't think I should go," Chiro then finally spoke up, after all of this had sunk in. "They're clearly looking for the Angelic Saints, and I was only one for a single battle, so do I really count? Yeah, the letter mentioned me, but I highly doubt they'd consider me any MVP."
Inessa tried to smile back, but ultimately had to glare at Chiro. "Don't put yourself down like that, you really are one of us. You're coming."
"And your healing will be all the more useful, if these Wyrd Sisters are that dangerous," Temperance said, appealing to the brain as Inessa went for the heart.
"Well, okay, if you really want me there..." Chiro said with a gulp. From what she knew of Norse mythology through her own interests, she could only feel she made a pretty poor excuse for a Loki.
"One last thing. None of you tell Counselor Naotake about us, you just know she'll try to make this all about her," Ida said.
"No one was," Temperance said, then had to smirk, "Worried she'll embarrass you again?"
"Doc- I mean, Counselor Naotake left the school a few days ago. Said she had so many other places to be," Chiro brought up.
"...Huh, we go through Counselors fast, don't we?" Inessa said.
The old ash tree was in a secluded part of town, presumably why the Wyrd Sisters chose it, where ever more scraggly lawns met the surrounding woods. As the Saints approached now night had come, they were swiftly greeted with a giant burst of sparkling smoke, followed by someone playing a weird digital guitar while flying over them on a hoverboard of all things.
As the smoke parted, the silhouette within was shown to be a tall, stone-faced woman, clad in a flowing cloak and gown that looked pitch black under cover of night, her hair cascading into a series of perfectly neat curls, and a lace-brimmed hat tipped down to conceal her face. The hoverboarder, other than wearing black, was dressed entirely differently. She wore a coat made of some strange leather alternative, had multiple spiked belts around her waist and long boots, a pink bow kept her spiky hair together, with a pink blouse to match. A little like Lupin, though not as consistent. And where the older woman looked severe, this girl looked like she couldn't be having more fun, a fanged grin topping it off.
Then the third presumed Wyrd Sister showed up with no grand entrance, her groaning and asking the other two, "Sheesh, can neither of you just show up like a normal person? 'Cause you know these theatrics make you look like real try-hards, right?", her Swedish accent tying in with temperance's Norse theory. Per her being 'normal', she had messy brown hair and shown up wearing an anorak and jeans.
"Boo! And you keep saying Urth's the buzzkill," the hoverboarder said as she stuck her tongue out at the anorak girl.
"Yes, and it is appropriate we convey just who these Angelic Saints are meeting with here," the older woman, Urth presumably, said in a more ancient accent that could only be described as 'old Norse'.
"But what if someone else sees? Yeah, we picked a deserted spot, but still," the anorak girl said.
She then saw that all the Angelic Saints had transformed while the three were arguing, with Chiro last in sequence. "Great, you only made them think we were gonna attack them. Hey look, you four," the anorak girl then addressed the Saints directly, "We're just here to talk, not to fight."
"Oh come on, I could totally kick all their arses," the hoverboarder piped up, anorak having to leap in and restrain her.
"Sure you could, Scrappy," the anorak girl said through gritted teeth, then addressed the Saints again with, "Look, I'm Verthandi, this here's my little sister Skuld, and over there's-"
"Urth, Norn of the Past, First of the Witches Three, Waterer of the Highest Well of Yggdrasill, and Foremost Weaver of Fate," the cloaked woman said.
Verthandi had to sigh at such an ostentatious introduction. "Right, that. You just have to grab all the attention."
Inessa then gasped, dropping her bow for a second. "Oh yeah, Verthandi, Urth, and Skuld. I really do know you guys from anime," she honestly opened with.
Despite playing peacekeeper up until now, Verthandi had to glare on hearing that and mutter, "Oh, do you now?"
"Well, your name did get muddled in translation, but yeah," Inessa said with a sheepish grin, before she had to admit beneath her breath, "You were much nicer in it."
But Verthandi heard that last bit anyway, then sighed and told her, "Yeah well, never meet your heroes, kid." Though Chiro would beg to differ.
"Okay, you really don't mean to fight? Well ah, not sure what show Inessa means, but your trench coat kinda makes you look like John Constantine," Ida then mumbled in an attempt to defuse things. By now, Temperance was the only Saint with her guard still up.
"Wait, who's Constantine?" Inessa had to ask.
"...It's an anorak," Verthandi said blunt.
"Constantine's an anorak?" Inessa somehow came to the conclusion.
It was then Skuld cut through the awkwardness with yet more awkwardness. "So hey you're, ah, Ida Montgomery?" she hovered up to Ida and asked. "Because you were gonna die in that battle with that dragon, you know?"
As Ida's face went an utter pale, Verthandi let out a groan and said, "Might wanna look up 'tact' in the dictionary, Skuld.
Guess we should finally give you the lowdown, we're-"
"The Nornir," Urth cut her younger sister off, "Weavers of Fate, Decider of Destinies. It was this maiden's fate to die at that confrontation, but we were pleaded with to alter her fate so she would live. Here is her thread of life as proof." She then pulled out a long piece of string studded with dew, with each drop reflecting a scene from Ida's life.
Such a reveal left Ida clutching her head and trembling. She was silent for a long while but then managed to mutter, "Why... why are you telling me this?"
"Because us Norns change with the times and... we've figured if we're gonna control people's fates, it's only fair we be more transparent. It's your death, or would've been, you've got the right to know," Verthandi said, uninterrupted this time.
"No way. Ida's the bulkiest out of all of us, there's no way in any timeline that she could have ever died," Inessa spoke up.
"It would've been because of me," Chiro had to say all downcast, "I wouldn't have casted a healing spell on time, something like that."
"Look, it was nobody's fault. Chance and luck are just cruel like that, so hey, good thing you've got Fate to mediate them, huh?" Verthandi said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself just as much.
Ida had spent a while huddled against herself, like she was trying to check she was all there, all corporeal. Then she realised, "Wait, you said someone pleaded with you to save me? Someone was looking out for me?"
"Our client's identities are confidential. Transparency does not mean we'll tell you everything. If they wish, they shall make themselves known to you in due time," Urth proclaimed.
Verthandi then suspiciously tugged at her own collar and mumbled, "Er, yeah, confidential."
"So, fate and destiny... really, genuinely exist?" Chiro asked in trepidation, like she had an even bigger question she was too afraid to ask.
"They absolutely do not!" Michael suddenly shouted as she hopped in front of Inessa, "If you do have power over fate, you are going directly against the Divine. Humanity was gifted Free Will!"
"Cool it, Michael," Verthandi said without needing an introduction, "Who was it who fated that Christianity would take off in Scandinavia again? Yeah, you owe us big time. Not that I've never regretted that."
"Besides," Skuld then flew over to Michael and grabbed her, "We already deal with one pipsqueak loudmouth in Ratatosk, no way I'm gonna put up with a second." She then started bouncing Michael on the ground like a basketball, the angel protesting all the while. That was, till Inessa finally broke through and grabbed her, Verthandi helping by holding Skuld back again.
"I mean no disrespect to Ida, but I must ask. Are there any other 'fates' you've 'weaved' for us?" Temperance coldly said.
"Yep, a whole bunch!" Skuld blurted out, while still having one angry eye on Michael. "Of course, an annoying little doll's gonna get mad if we actually tell you any of them."
"Point was, changing Ida's death was big enough that we had to come and tell you," Verthandi said.
Inessa was still huffy at Skuld, but went back to hyper when she asked, "Wait, if you're from Norse myth, ooh, does that mean Thor, Loki, Odin, they're all real too?"
"Yeah, they are," Verthandi said, but then growled, "though trust me, you're gonna really wish they weren't."
"And it sounds like you didn't grant any special favours to Superbia, since he never mentioned you and, well, we're all still here," Chiro said, with Temperance nodding in confirmation.
"Well, someone by that name came to us once, but we didn't humour him for a second," Verthandi said.
Urth then hissed at her sister, "Client confidentiality, remember?"
"What? Doesn't count if he was never really a client," Verthandi made her case.
"Look, thank you, thank you so much for saving my life..." Ida said then stopped, "but controlling people's fates? That's... quite the power, it's scary." Temperance and Michael both angrily nodded in unison.
"Yeah well, and I say this with love to my sisters," Verthandi shrugged like it was far from the first time this topic had come up, "our powers over fate could really be in much worse hands, if it's any consolation."
"We are the incarnations of Past, Present, and Future after all. Who better to control fate?" Urth smiled with a bit too much pomp.
"Yeah, and us fating stuff is what keeps the Aesir from lording over everything unchallenged. Things would get super lame if that happened," Skuld said.
"Right, that's... good," Inessa said, like they were still thoughts she was leaving unprocessed. "So um, I hope I'm not committing heresy calling you this, but would you goddesses-"
"You are indeed committing heresy, just not the one you think. We are Jotnar, not goddesses," Urth said.
Inessa blushed and said, "Oops, my bad. What I wanted to say was, since you've come all this way, would you like us to show you around town?"
"'Come all this way'? Relax, Yggdrasill lets us zip anywhere anytime," Verthandi said, then dropped to a grumble, "Besides, Urth probably has a whole ton of work lined up for us."
"No, just as long as we're back before morning, we should be able to fit in a little excursion," Urth said, with both Verthandi and Skuld stumbling back hearing that.
"Awesome! The mall would be all closed by now, ooh, so then d'you wanna come to my house?" Inessa swooped to say.
"Might as well. Couldn't be any worse than our place," Verthandi said.
"Ooh, I already got a little something planned," Skuld said, flashing a wicked grin before zooming after a scurrying Michael.
That turned out so much nicer than I thought it would, Chiro thought but then gulped, though this hardly sounds like the end of it...
