Sylvie Laufeydottir (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_variant) wrote2022-06-24 02:20 pm
the_variant) wrote2022-06-24 02:20 pm
(no subject)
Sylvie hates that they're here.
Nothing about the festival itself is interesting to her, not the music, not the camping, none of it really. But the possibility of an island having simply appeared, now that is absolutely fascinating. So she goes, she demands Loki goes with her, to see what they might be able to discover about the island, about Darrow, about the impossibility of it all. Their intentions are good, even if she doesn't know what they would have possibly used any of the answers for.
All this time, all these months, and she still doesn't know if she wants to leave or make sure they stay.
Things begin to go wrong almost immediately. The festival itself is a joke, with little food being supplied, and almost nothing Sylvie might call music, even within the loose definition Darrow uses for the subject. The tents are barely more than tarps and she's intent on getting back to Darrow properly at the first chance they have.
Except they miss the ferry. And they miss the ferry because, for longer than she'd like to admit, Sylvie had been floating following a bloody bee sting. By the time she finally figures out how to get down -- a second sting, which is really more luck than anything -- the first ferry is gone.
And the second ferry is on fire.
The first time Sylvie sees someone in a cloak, they're preparing to swing a bat toward Loki's head, and while she's certain he can protect himself, she still grabs his arm and yanks him back, shouting, "Down!"
Nothing about the festival itself is interesting to her, not the music, not the camping, none of it really. But the possibility of an island having simply appeared, now that is absolutely fascinating. So she goes, she demands Loki goes with her, to see what they might be able to discover about the island, about Darrow, about the impossibility of it all. Their intentions are good, even if she doesn't know what they would have possibly used any of the answers for.
All this time, all these months, and she still doesn't know if she wants to leave or make sure they stay.
Things begin to go wrong almost immediately. The festival itself is a joke, with little food being supplied, and almost nothing Sylvie might call music, even within the loose definition Darrow uses for the subject. The tents are barely more than tarps and she's intent on getting back to Darrow properly at the first chance they have.
Except they miss the ferry. And they miss the ferry because, for longer than she'd like to admit, Sylvie had been floating following a bloody bee sting. By the time she finally figures out how to get down -- a second sting, which is really more luck than anything -- the first ferry is gone.
And the second ferry is on fire.
The first time Sylvie sees someone in a cloak, they're preparing to swing a bat toward Loki's head, and while she's certain he can protect himself, she still grabs his arm and yanks him back, shouting, "Down!"
no subject
Maybe it will be alright.
"I love you," she answers, turning toward him again. A tear has escaped, trickling from the corner of her eye, toward her temple, and she doesn't bother trying to hide it.
no subject
"I love you," he echoed, thumbing away the tear before it disappeared into her hair. "I love you," he said again, breathless and muffled against her lips,