daringyoungman | Camping

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Camping

Dick and Cat wanted to go camping. Dick asked Bonnie. Dick asked around, then somehow the word got out and it was a CAMPING TRIP.

Which he's okay with, really. He doesn't get much chance to hang around with other kids.

They pick a spot a good distance from the bar, near enough to the lake that washing and swimming can happen, not so close to the forest that demon bunnies are a severe threat, and set about pitching a camp for the weekend, or whenever they all get bored...

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"What is all of that?" The crackers look the most familiar, and of course she knows what chocolate is, but the white, fluffy stuff is strange to her.

In her hand is a small sausage on the end of a stick. Given how food here is cooked over the fire on sticks instead of a proper pot, this was the best way to go about it.

Autor turns to her with a smile, accidentally burning his marshmallow off of his stick. "Oh, shoot," he says, blowing out the lingering fire. "They're ingredients for s'mores. These are graham crackers, this is chocolate, and these are marshmallows. Would you like some?"

"I know what chocolate is." That was one of the first foods she'd tried in this place. "Maybe after having this."

She put the hotdog into the fire, watching it cook.

"I'm Autor, by the way," he says, gesturing with his skewer. "What's your name?"

"Gyda." She looked back to the fire, adjusting the stick so her hotdog wouldn't burn. In her hand was a bun used to hold onto the sausage when it was done cooking. "Is the marshmellow done?"

"Gyda? You're Ragnar's daughter? Nice to meet you," Autor says, taking the marshmallow out of the fire to inspect it. "Yes, I think it's done. Thank you. You're in my patrol. Do you have an opinion on patrol badges?"

"I am." She still wasn't sure what to think on him and the princess. "I like the owl and cat." Both meant something to her, and were nicer options than say the rat or demon bunny.

She pulled the sausage from the fire and set it in the bun. This sort of food was something she was familiar with.

Autor sets about smushing his marshmallow between his graham cracker and chocolate. "I'll mark you down for owls and cats, then," he says, beaming at her. "Are they special to you in some way?"

"Freya's chariot is drawn by two large cats." She answered, taking a bite. "And I like birds." Owls have no real significance within the stories, but birds overall were significant and so that had to count for something.

"That's an important job for cats," Autor says, nibbling on his s'more. "I can see why you like them. And birds, too. Who was Freya?"

"Freyja is the goddess residing over love, fertility and war." By now she was used to people not knowing who the gods were. "She resides in the field Folkvangr and her hall is called Sessrúmnir, where she recieves half of those who die in battle."

He'll have to excuse her table manners. While she's not nearly as bad as her father or some of the men, there are times at point when she'll talk with her mouth full.

"Only half?" Autor asks, tilting his head. "What happens to the other half?"

"They're chosen by the god Odin. The Valkyries choose some of the slain on the battle field and they go with him to Valhalla, a large hall by the field. By day, all the warriors go into the field and do battle with eachother until they're all killed. Then at night, they raise up again and go back to their halls for drinking, games and telling stories."

Almost like milliways, except without the killing.

"I've heard of Valhalla before but I didn't know about the eternal battles," Autor says, tilting his head again. "That's interesting. I wonder why the Valkyries only choose half of them. I imagine your father will end up in Valhalla."

"Odin chooses those he finds are the bravest, and sends the valkries to retrieve them." As for why, she didn't really know or see a reason to question, it was just how things went. "He will, he and Floki and my uncle."

Even with her uncle repairing himself, she didn't doubt that's were he'll be headed.

"I've met Floki before, but I'm not sure if I know your uncle," Autor says, nodding thoughtfully. "Does he come here as well?"

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Camping

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