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It's not precisely wild terrain, but it's reasonably close. There's forest. Trees and underbrush. Animals that flit in the trees and dash through the brambles. The burble of water, the occasional splash as a fish strikes a bug from the water's surface. The sounds of the city invade, though. Mostly the hoarse whisper of traffic behind and above, coming from Germantown and its trolley tracks inlaid in the roadway.
Sigrun is there, wearing an old pair of blue jeans that fit her like a glove, torn in places, some held closed by safety pins. Her doc martens have their heels dug into the loamy bank of the creek, keeping her stable as her ass rests on a lichen covered stone. Her blue t-shirt bears the Philly FD logo. Her hair is down and out of its braids-- a rarity on any day but Sunday --and the open end of a baseball cap serves as a pony tail tie. It has the IWW logo on its front. She's occupying herself by tossing acorns at the water. Just waiting, or so it appears.
Lif's dressed in a tank top and boot-cut jeans, paired with a sturdy pair of boots and a black cowboy hat. She has a small black backpack on her back, a teal Nalgene water bottle clipped to it. As she sees Sigrun, there's a polite upnod and something that's shaped kinda vaguely smile-like. Hard to tell sometimes. I mean, she also looks like she's crying, but that's her constant state, water running from her pondwater blue-green eyes down her cheeks, leaving rivulets on the surface as it falls.
Sigrun looks rather instantly uncomfortable. Poor Lif's can't know the progress Sigrun has had to make just to keep sitting there and keeping her reaction to merely uncomfortable. She has to break eye contact with Lif after a second or two and says something to herself under her breath in some vaguely scandinavian sounding language or other. Who knows, maybe Lif speaks Faroese, too!
After whatever she says, Sigrun pushes up to her feet and turns around to look up the creek bank at Lif, her hands sliding slowly and awkwardly down into her pockets. She tries on a smile, but it's a brittle one. "Hi," she finally offers. This is followed by an awkward (for her anyhow) silence after which point she asks up towards Lif, "Can. Um. Do you. That is. Um." She worries at her lip with her teeth before clearing her throat and stating, "The last time I did this didn't go so good. Do you hug? Can we hug?"
Sadly, Lif doesn't seem to understand the Faroese, and reads the hesitation and awkwardness enough to just...not be too forward with anything, here.
"I do hug. I can hug. I'd like to hug." They open their arms, but wait for Sigrun to be the one to close the gap; it seems prudent. "With you, specifically. Right now, if you're up to it."
"Yeah, it wasn't so much an abstract question as a statement of intent, there, so that's good on you for picking up on that." Sigrun's sense of humor is still functional, at least. When Lif doesn't continue down the bank, Sigrun picks up on the fact and startles out of her stillness to begin picking her way up the bank, using trees and stones to balance her climb. The wet ground and dead leaves make it a bit precarious.
Once she reaches level ground to Lif, she dusts off her hands and takes a few moments to inspect Lif from up close. The request to hug came before any attempt on her part to really see Lif. So she takes that opportunity now. Then she sucks in a breath and sighs out a calming breath. "Okay."
Sigrun then steps forward and opts to go high-low with her arms, splitting the difference, there. She settles her chin on Lif's shoulder and gingerly closes her arms around Lif's back. Nothing explodes. And thusfar, a knife hasn't appeared between her ribs. So this is probably okay. Lif can no doubt feel she's tense as a coiled spring, though. A fact that Sigrun tries to stave off by closing her eyes as tight as she can and squeezing a little harder. They may be at this a while.
Lif holds on gently, humming quietly. Her voice has a deep resonant quality that befits a well, echo-y and ethereal, and her hands--empty of all instruments--rub lightly at Sigrun's back. Lif is definitely aware of that tension, and is trying everything she can to avoid adding to it.
It's a solid 45 seconds before she speaks. "Just to check, this tension's due to the trauma of the last time you met someone else from There, not any Clarity injuries? If it is, I can help with that. I used to be a Joyeux, see."
"Sort of. Trauma, anyway," Sigrun admits while her brain screams at her not to. The answer briefly spikes that tension again, but only briefly. Eventually the tension begins to recede in earnest which has the paradoxical effect of making her redouble her hug and hold Lif a little more tightly. But eventually even Sigrun has to admit much more hugging would be inappropriate, and she slowly begins to back off. No sudden movements involved in any of it, really. And after she's put a pace between the two of them, Sigrun's hands slide back into her jeans pockets and her shoulders hunch. "My touchstone is Asatru. My faith. So I talk to Freyja a lot. Skade. Frygg. It helps."
"I'm glad it does. I never managed to be able to figure out how to work religion into my life, after getting back, if I'm honest, but it's pretty interesting to see someone who made it back from there who found their way to Asatru." Lif crosses their arms over their chest--it's something to do with their hands that keeps them both mostly visible, while not feeling as awkward as letting their hands just...dangle.
"It's safer than heroin." Sigrun states with further stark raving honesty. The candor seems deliberate, at least. Rather than impulsive and regretful, it has a determined quality to it. Pushing past the warning bells in her brain. "Which is what I tried first. That didn't go so great. Freyja came to me at my lowest and lifted me back to my feet. I owe every moment since to her one moment of compassion." It seems that's all the more explanation Sigrun feels like offering on that point.
"I was one of His favorites."
"Makes sense. I'm pretty sure my sister must have been, too. Given how she looked." Lif nods slowly. "You know what I was."
"Yeah." Sigrun nods her head once, "I do."
More silence. This one is a lot less awkward. "I don't remember much about my sist-- the other Valkyrjar. I remember names. Sometimes I see faces in my dreams. But they all kind of blend together." There's only so many ways to remix 'perfectly beautiful women' until it gets a little one note. "If I remember anything. A-about her. Or you. Or us. I'll tell you, okay? I know that, like. With Sturm and I, the sharing. The cooperation there. Helped us piece some things together we wouldn't have been able to on our own."
"Thank you. I don't...have strong memories about individuals at all. I know I spoke to a few of the einherjar, when I was planning my escape. And some of the valkyrjar, but not at length. Mostly just begging for their help." She tucks some of her hair behind an ear. "I'd sort of like to focus more on who I am now, as a person, though. Not that I don't want to hear anything you remember but...but. I like to think my value is more now, as someone rather than as something."
"You don't have... things about you that you're curious about? I came out speaking a new language. I have skills I don't remember learning. Foods I crave I never ate before I was Taken. I'm all about living free. Doing me. Remaking myself in my own image. But I hate feeling like there's pieces of Him still in me. Surprises I don't know about. Habits and fears and..." Finally Sigrun comes up a concept her radical attempt at honesty won't make her say, but her face starts turning a bright shade of pink before she lets out a sharp sigh, self aimed.
"I need to know this stuff. Myself. Because I don't trust myself sometimes. Especially around others like us. Escapees from him, I mean. So. I'm sorry if you feel this is stupid or unimportant or whatever. I know. You want me to train you in spear fighting. I know that. And I'm sorry if this feels like a waste of time to you. I am."
"No, no, it's no...stupid or important. But I..." Lif gestures at herself. "The self-mocking joke I make is 'I was a puddle', or sometimes 'I'm a puddle'. I didn't do much of anything, Over There. I was made into not-a-person. An object. Stuck in the ground. I...you changed, as a person. I had to work to become one again at all. It was a ground-up sort of building, but not because of anything that He put in me. Because He took all of the me out of my me. Does...does that make sense?"
"No," Sigrun admits, "but only because he eclipses everything about over there for me. I know what you're saying. Intellectually. Like. Yes, I get it. Rational lab coat and hair clip with eyeglasses Sigrun is right there with you, Lif. Screaming rage battle axe to the skull Sigrun? Not so much. Every moment around one of his escapees is a flight or fight thing for me at first. Because that's all I ever did over there. That and..." Her brow furrows and she looks away again, then down for a long period of time, then back up to Lif's gaze again.
"You rebuilt a person that I am going to try to like very much."
Lif looks at Sigrun briefly, perhaps imagining Sigrun in that lab coat and glasses, then smiles crookedly. "I hope to be able to give you actual reasons for you to like me, eventually. So it's not as much of a very hard effort."
"I have a couple already," Sigrun admits with a small shrug of her shoulders. "But you don't need my approval to deserve respect and friends and all of that." Sigrun's shoulders hunch back up again in a tense, awkward little shrug, which she eases away with a long, slow sigh. "So. I've done all the ... steering on this so far. I was going to say talking, but that's not true. My head gets in these cycles." She lifts a hand from her pocket and gestures circles at her ear. "I can get caught in sometimes. And I feel myself doing that. So. You can maybe take over. Talking."
Lif nods, thinking a moment. "I became a Summer courtier after seeing the benzene levels coming out of the Philadelphia Energy Solutions refinery before it burnt down. It was a matter of realizing that approaching environmental justice as a Spring was ineffective and I needed to fortify and get more serious about it than letter writing campaigns. And also Cedric pointing out that I'd been fuming for long enough that he was sure it just wasn't a passing mood."
Sigrun's eyebrows lift in surprise at this turn. This is not a thing she expected to be discussing, which helps knock her out of her obsessive cycle. Quite handily, actually. "Are y-you like. Like an eco-terrorist now?" The fact that Sigrun sounds perhaps the mildest bit hopeful may be cause for concern, there. "Because if so, that really makes my tagging and vandalism some weak tea stuff."
"Not quite. Yet." Their smile is crooked. "But someday I probably will be, once I've got the right sense of who needs a little eco-terror in their lives. In the meantime, I've been working closely with Dover, regarding the Tree at the Crossroads and the effects it's having. And I'm studying environmental science at Temple and working as a student trainee with the EPA."
The anarchist punk that is/was Sigrun Ljosdottir is not as impressed by the notion of working with the EPA as she is with the prospect of blowing up a DuPont building, or something. So it's a polite smile that notes the present work with said government organization. "You're in school? That's cool! I feel super old now, but that's cool." Sigrun is definitely a ripe grape, as such things go. Sweet on the vine, but aging. "I never went. Dad didn't really believe in investing in educations for his daughters. And anyway, I ran off after high school. To New York." Sigrun glances off in the direction of the city mentioned. "How's Dover working out, anyway?"
“We’re going to be sending two separate teams into the tree, which is pretty frightening. But...but. I think I’ve worked it out so that when we do start Doing Shit, the Patriarch Tree freehold won’t feel obligated to gut us in defense of the Tree at the Crossroads. Because the oath they swear is to Meriday’s tree, and she’s bound herself to an uninfected sapling I grew from root samples, and the sapling is planted at the Crossroads now.”
Here, they actually sound proud of the work they’ve done on the matter, flashing Sigrun a grin.
"Cleverrrrr," Sigrun says approvingly and with a little backwards lean that makes it clear she's not just blowing smoke. "I love doing that. I helped buy us some time in Baltimore by promising their head bitch that if your plan fell through, I'd personally lend my sword to their cause in fighting Dover. So. If we fail, I'm going to go personally deliver my sword to her and ask for it back when she's done. Art is in the technicalities." This realization has Sigrun sizing up Lif for a third time.
“I personally will be on the team going into the tree, to rescue Meriday Cypress. She visited me in a dream I was trying to give to the sapling, while I was growing it.” She chuckles. “And that is a tidy turn of phrase; I’d almost like to see the look on her face when you make that delivery.”
"I'm kind of hoping she throws down with me over it, if it becomes necessary. Put an end to their whole foolish campaign with one tidy decapitation. It's a rare person who can top me when I've got my hands on a sword and a shield." Sigrun's words don't sound like a boast so much as a tactical consideration that went into all of the aforementioned cleverness. "Even if they ended up putting me down, I'd take enough of them with me that they'd have to call the whole stupid enterprise off. So." She shrugs mildly. "I'm not going to sit back and watch war engulf my new home. Not over something this rock stupid. And certainly not so Baltimore can profit off all of our suffering. Fuck that. And fuck that bitch."
“Good. I did float the idea of reparations in the abstract to Jacob Fireheart, but I really don’t want to see him get screwed over more than he needs to be. They can definitely spare some fruit; their hedge is fucking gorgeous right now. But they don’t need to be fucked over completely.”
"They want the Trod," Sigrun points out, just in case Lif hadn't heard, "it's a fucking land grab. Sharing fruits? Sure. Helping to rebuild? Sure. Sharing resources? Sure. But what they're asking is ridiculous." Sigrun flicks her hand over her shoulder dismissively. "Anyway. I could bitch about Baltimore all day. Their harbor smells like a cat pissed on the vomit of a diabetic alcoholic that survived on rotten fish and ship oil." Apparently her anxiety has passed. Nobody point that out to her.
“Like a cat pissed...” She visibly takes a moment to imagine what that smells like, and grimaces, finger gingerly touching the crack on her throat. “Yikes. I feel sorry for that water.”
"Inner Harbors rarely smell great," Sigrun admits, "but it's awful there, if you ask me. We hit the National Aquarium when we were there. Which is really cool. You might dig that, actually, if you ever decided to pay a visit." Sigrun lifts her hands from her pockets and gestures something big hanging in the air right between them. "It's like. SHARK. Boosh. Like. Right there. In your face. SO Cool." Her hands slide back into her pockets as she clears her throat.
“I would definitely dig that. I’m a sucker for museums and aquariums and all that. I want to go to the butterfly garden at the Insectarium here sometime, too. I haven’t found the time or anyone to go with me. But...dunno when I’ll get a good chance to go to Baltimore.”
"In my experience, there isn't one. Baltimore is a shit hole." Sigrun's appraisal given, her shoulders shrug without apology. "But butterflies sound pretty cool. I'd go with you, if you wanted. I'm not super into bugs and such, but I will admit I love butterflies. They're quite lovely. With all the flowers and such?" She smiles a tight smile briefly, hunches her shoulders again, and lets the shrug go. "Or not. You know. Whatever."
“I’d like to take you with me, to the butterfly garden.” Lif tilts her head to one side, giving a Sigrun a considering look. “That sounds like it would be a fun time. I’d like to see if we can convince the butterflies to land on your hair. They’d look really awesome perched on the braids you usually wear.”
"Yeah?" Sigrun sounds perhaps a hair too surprised and slash or delighted when she says that word. "I mean. Yeah! It sounds. It sounds super great, yeah!" She reaches up to touch her hair, her one true vanity, and her white-golden glow turns a decided pink for the second time. That makes her smile stick around this time, and absent the awkwardness and tension it's had at points since they met up again. "I. Um. Thank you, Lif. That's sweet of you." She clears her throat again and notes, "You have my number. So. You can call me." They don't do that anymore, dumb dumb. She shakes her head and tries again, "Or text me. And we can set something up." Which reminds her. "Oh! And you wanted fight training, too. Heh. Right."
“I mean, it would be nice. I’ve gotten a little practice in with Artie, but I definitely could use more training. As I said earlier, I used to be a Joyeux, and that didn’t exactly come with lessons on how to defend myself.” There’s a bit of self mockery in her tone of voice. “I’m trying, I’m working on it. But...I could maybe use some help.”
"Are you just a spear fighter? Or have you seen the good sense in a shield? It weirds me out that I'm the only shield fighter in this freehold. It's a wall. You carry with you." As though the benefits of these two statements were obvious and you'd have to be an utter fool to leave home without one.
“Shields tend to be pretty heavy, don’t they? I’m not very strong yet. I’m not very anything yet, honestly. Smart. A nerd. And sure, sometimes that’s what the Freehold needs, but it isn’t very Summer to go rambling about mistletoe or bladderwort or wild ginger or swallowtail butterflies.”
"Who told you that? I'll punch 'em in their stupid face." Sigrun grins wickedly at this joke which is not entirely a joke. "I obsess about my hair. I hand embroider my own clothes. That I sew myself out of linen and wool I weave on my own looms. I make my own weapons and armor. Little gifts. I cook. I like horseback riding. I go on hikes. I mushroom hunt. I sing and play music-- neither one particularly well. I pour drinks for my companions. I'm happiest in a domestic setting. I would love nothing more than to hand my shield and sword over the mantle and run a mead house for the rest of my life. Wear skirts for the rest of my days." Sigrun leans forward and thrusts out a pokey, pointy finger, to jab it at Lif's heart pointedly. It's meant to hurt just a tiny bit. That's the point, in fact. "You're summer because you know something is coming for you that will take your butterflies away. And fuck. That. Thing." Three more pokes.
"Let them laugh at your butterflies once. Once. And then show them what you will do for butterflies."
They take the pokes, closing their eyes--it doesn't stop the water trickling from them at all. "I will. I want to, and I will. I just need to get good enough to."
The weight of the world hangs on those two words. As if there's a point where they will magically come to believe that they are good enough, instead of traitor brain constantly moving the goalposts like it does.
Sigrun's got a bit of a hot scowl on her face. Though she's not giving off the impression it's aimed at Lif in any fashion. Someone got her Mead Mom dander up. Which is why she says the words to Lif that she's never said to herself in the history of ever. "You are good enough! And I will train you until you know it for a fact." She claps a hand on Lif's shoulder and gives it a gentle little jostle in an effort to get Lif to open their eyes again.
"The spear and the shield are two of the most ubiquitous weapons in the history of warfare. They made peasants into armies. And turned simple soldiers into world conquerors. If you can fight effectively with a spear, you can carry a shield. And I can fashion you a shield whose weight you can bear. You need to be able to get into the face of your enemy and hold your ground." Sigrun stomps her boots into the earth and turns her heels twice to claim it as her own. "If I set myself to it, no one can move me from ground I make mine. Your peers will want to flash. Shine. Stand out. Excel. Meanwhile, we will be getting the work done. Shoulder to shoulder. One thrust of the spear at a time." She gives another light jostle of Lif's shoulder to impress the point. "I will teach you how to command your part of the battlefield. With confidence. With awareness of your fellows. With calm and reason. I will teach you when to advance, when to withdraw. When to charge and retreat. But only. Only if you never again say that what you fight for doesn't make you summer. It is the only thing that makes you summer."
"Alright. I'll learn how to stand beside you and hold the line." Lif nods slowly, opening her eyes and looking into Sigrun's. "And be proud of exactly what I'm fighting for. The butterflies, the milkweed. Perhaps especially the people."
There's a small hesitation, before Lif jostles Sigrun back. Lightly, making it clear this isn't an attack.
Sigrun acquires a vicious grin when she's jostled back. But her feet never move from their spot, true to her words. She lifts her hand up and slaps her hand into the one Lif used to jostle her. Hooking her thumb with theirs and wrapping her fingers around their palm in a tight squeeze.
"Skoll."
"Skoll." Lif echoes the gesture, wrapping their hand around hers in return, offering a bit of a smile now. "You have to admit now, this meeting didn't go so bad as you were dreading, hm?"
"You should have just said their was a queer person here with self-doubt and a chip on their shoulder. That's my fucking kryptonite." Sigrun's other hand lifts to clap on Lif's shoulder. "But yeah. Honestly? It's Sturm you owe thanks to on this one. She's the one that made me realize I could try this. And Teagan, too. Assured me I would succeed. It's a team effort." Sigrun's nose twitches as she steps back again, giving Lif their personal space back. Sorry about the bruises.
"How noodly are your noodly arms, anyway? Am I making a shield out of balsa wood, or what?"
"Not quite balsa wood, but." They lift an arm and flex and it's not very impressive. "I get by, don't have trouble with heavy doors often, but I can't, like...heft a person over my shoulder all that easily."
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