hexstrom

[hexstrom]

"Sann. Donkeys are cute; men, you are much cuter." Astrid commented, allowing herself be led without protest, the corners of her mouth tugging into something that might’ve been a real smile as Nell linked their arms. It wasn’t often someone touched her without warning—less often that she didn’t flinch. But Nell’s warmth had a way of slipping in under her guard like sunlight through lace curtains. It was no wonder the woman gravitated towards solskensbullar. Like the sun, they matched her personality.

"I-I understand that. I have been very busy lately also." Astrid shared, her voice light but honest. "Running the bakery by myself is a lot." She was up before the sun rose almost every day to ensure the pastries were freshly baked for the morning commuters; and she found herself slaving away behind the counter and in the kitchen until late afternoon most days. Downtime had become something of a forgotten luxury... But the business of her routine also meant she had little time for her thoughts to wander—which wasn't necessarily a bad thing as wandering thoughts led to thoughts of what she had lost. She adjusted the bag in her arms again, her gaze drifting briefly toward the sidewalk before returning to Nell. “I keep telling myself I will take a proper day off soon—just curl up somewhere quiet with a book och a pot of coffee all to myself. Sounds nice, eller hur?” A pause, then a softer smile. “If you had that kind of time… What would you read?” While she still struggled to read larger volumes of English text, the Swede was still searching for suggests to add to her bookshelf.

Eleanor knew Astrid didn't mean any harm, even when speaking an old language with a sharp tongue. Ever since stepping into the bakery, it has become clear that Astrid also has a lot going on in her mind, and with Nell being the type of person she was, she wanted to be a source of freedom for the other. Listening to her explain, Nell raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "Oh, well, donkeys are super cute, and I've absolutely been called worse." Working in therapy meant you saw people at their worst, and it was often that she would get a new client who not only spoke meanly to themselves but also to her. This was part of the job: becoming a safe, non-judging person for whoever needed it.

Brushing her hair behind her ears, Nell nodded her head and stood beside Astrid, a beaming smile on her face as she linked arms with the other. "I'd love to take a coffee break with you, and you know I can never turn down those pastries." Sun Buns weren't always in stock; it appeared to be more of a springtime dessert. Only being in Cardinal Hill for less than a year, she would buy far too many of them and place them in the freezer for later. This was normal for Eleanor: she'd find something to obsess about and needed it in large quantities, only for her to randomly decide that the obsession was over. Luckily, she had roommates and coworkers who made sure that nothing went to waste.

"So, how have you been? I feel like I haven't seen anyone in a week since I got a ton of new clients. I have a love-hate relationship with being busy; sometimes it makes everything more exciting, but I also really just want to sit on the couch and read a book for several hours."

[hexstrom]

Astrid held her cup steady; though her fingers had gone a little numb around the porcelain. She could feel the heat, barely, like it was passing through layers of memory instead of skin. Across from her sat a stranger who was not a stranger at all. Syster. Sister... The word still pressed at the edges of her mind, asking to be let in, asking to belong somewhere. There was too much to feel at once: confusion, ache, guilt, wonder, joy... The Swede had come to this town with no family left; and now, here sat Ingrid—nervous and sincere, asking for nothing, yet offering truth. That counted for something. No, it counted for more than something. It mattered in a way Astrid could not yet put into words. She had family again.

She studied Ingrid quietly, not just watching her movements, but listening to the shape of the space between them. “I can read auras.” She shared after a beat, thinking back to the years spent in the kitchens of Mora, picking up on each and every little aspect of magick within their wisdom. “The elders in Mora taught me, um, how to read someone's truth.” It was not something she shared often. Most people simply wouldn't understand, couldn't understand. But this—this was different. Ingrid was different. Astrid had been taught to use the gift for protection, for discernment in times of need. But sometimes it helped her feel less alone, like she could still reach for the threads that connected her to something deeper. Ingrid’s aura was not guarded. It was flickering, like a candle trying to stay lit in wind. It told Astrid what she needed to know about the woman sat before her.

“I know you are not here to take anything of me.” She said softly, more to herself than to Ingrid. “You are not asking for a place. I am just offering one to you, as family.” Her eyes fell for a moment, breath slow and full of weight. “Och if we are family, I am not about to lose you also. Min pappa—our pappa—was killed when I was eleven, min mamma died when I was a baby, och min son is—” The words left her lips before she even realized what she had said. Her mouth closed, the air catching sharp in her throat. For a moment, it was like the world tilted sideways. She had not spoken of him aloud in years, not like that—not like he still belonged to her. Her stomach twisted at the sound of her own voice, at how naked it felt to have said it without thinking. Her heart kicked against her ribs like it wanted to flee before her feet could follow.

She stood abruptly, the shift jarring in its swiftness. “If you are going to stay..." She began, ocean hues purposely focused on anywhere but Ingrid's face. “...I should tidy the spare room. It is not ready yet.” Her voice was quieter now, but firm. She moved toward the hallway at the back of the bakery where the staircase to her apartment was located, each step a silent request for the subject to be left alone—for now.

The reality was slowly but surely sinking in, and Ingrid could feel her body growing to be shakier and shakier as she could only assume that the adrenaline was wearing off. She could hardly believe that she had actually done it, that she had met her sister, and that she had told her sister exactly who she was. This was a life changing moment, and it was far too deep in it now to even think about backing out out of fear.

As she watched the information settle into Astrid's mind, Ingrid picked up her own cup, taking a sip of the warm drink that she had been so kindly offered. Perhaps grounding herself with some hot tea would help with the shakes, though even if they didn't, at least it would give her something to do rather than sitting there and staring, looking utterly and completely terrified.

Strangely enough, the offer to reside in Astrid's spare room for the time being sent a wave of strong emotions over her. Did that mean that Astrid was accepting her as a sister? That she wasn't going to simply send her away, cursing her out? Ingrid didn't cry, but she certainly could have if she thought about it hard enough.

"I didn't come here to ask anything of you, I will only accept if you're absolutely sure." Ingrid didn't want Astrid to feel pressured to offer her the spare room, though the thought of being welcomed into her home created an emotional knot in her throat - in a good way, though an intense way at the very same time. "We definitely do," Ingrid wanted to learn all about her sister, though she knew she couldn't bombard her with them all right there, right now. "It would be... Well I would be honoured to have more than this moment of your time, if you're interested, too."

[hexstrom]

Astrid blinked in surprise at Nell’s comment, then quickly glanced away, trying to hide the subtle tension in her expression. She hadn't realized Nell had picked up on the use of Old Norse. Of course, the girl had been in and out of the bakery often enough; Astrid's slip-ups weren't exactly rare. "It was not anything bad." She said quickly, trying to smooth over the moment with a small, apologetic smile. "Jag lovar... Old Norse just has a way of making things sound… mer... intense." She shifted the bag in her arms slightly, looking at Nell with a brief flicker of amusement. "‘Asni’ is, uh, 'donkey.' Not the worst thing to be called."

Astrid's smile softened a little more as she adjusted the bag again, fingers brushing the paper as she spoke. “I am sorry if I startled you. It was not my intent." The Swede paused for a moment, then gave a small, knowing smile. She’d heard the other mention coffee; and the familiar warmth of the invitation bubbled up before she could stop it. "Do you want to take fika with me?" She asked, voice light but inviting. “I think I have some leftover solskensbullar." She added, clearly remembering the love Nell had for that particular pastry. It wasn't one the brunette featured in her bakery very often; but whenever she did, Nell was bound to order one.

"You're lucky I don't know Old Norse because that sounded intense." A laugh followed by a faint snort left Nell's lips before she allowed herself to relax. Tilting her head, she looked at the turnip and nodded in agreement. "You're right, that turnip appears perfect, and I'm okay, I really should've been paying attention." Despite being a very attentive person, Eleanor also was a bit scatterbrained. Her thoughts were always going, even at night when she was lying in her bed it was as if her many ideas lulled her to sleep. However, not many people knew that was what was always going on up there. Even Corey and Mae would give her this look as if they wanted to ask but didn't know how.

Astrid was a familiar face thanks to Nell always stopping by for coffee and several Solskinnsboller, something Nell called Sun Buns cause it was impossible to say it the same way Astrid did. Taking a step back into some shade, Eleanor began looking for her sunglasses again. "I was just on my way over to the cafe. I haven't had coffee yet and if I don't do it soon I'll get a terrible headache." Her lips pouted playfully before finding what she was looking for and placing them on her face. "That's much better."

"Do you need help with your groceries?"

[hexstrom]

She let him talk. She let him chew and drink and ramble—just like so many others who filled silence with noise because they were afraid of what it might say back. Astrid didn’t look at him. Not at first. She only watched the small flame flicker and curl in the drum like it was breathing, like she had given it breath. The magick still hummed faintly in her veins; and part of her wanted to leave it at that. Let the fire burn, let him stew in confusion, let herself be without explanation...

But then came that word—'lady'—spoken like a leash, like a tug on something he thought she owed him. That was enough. Her mouth curved, not quite into a smile, but into something sharper. She turned her head just enough to let her voice carry, low and unbothered, the syllables ancient and cold as mountain stone: “Kannski ek em dæmon… Hefir þú hugsað um þat?”

Then she turned fully and walked off with the intention of finding her friend, boots crunching softly in the dark. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. One hand lifted lazily, a whisper of breath shaping the syllable: “Los.” Behind her, the fire she'd reignited collapsed into smoke and shadow—obedient, faithful, hers.

Assuming the bonfire was done, Jesse had already planted his bottom on the end of his tailgate to get comfortable for the movie. "Good thing 'bout hotdogs is..." he said, again technically to nobody but she was still right there as audience, "... you can eat 'em raw." They just weren't as good. Jesse fished out a bun and one of the wieners, used his teeth to tear open a packet of ketchup and mustard, and had the raw dog decked out by the time that flicker of flame started back up in the trashcan. He frowned, head lifting some to peer over at it with little curiosity now. Must not have gone all the way out and now that little flame was doing its best to come back to life.

Well, while it breathed itself back to life, Jesse would enjoy his cold ass dinner and beer. Honestly, that didn't sound half bad to him at all. He took two rather large bites, clearing half the hotdog in a matter of seconds. With his cheeks a bit poofed out as he chewed, Jesse's eyes roamed over the foreign woman as she said more stuff. Again, he didn't know what it was, but it was something.

Thought he heard the word 'man' in there, at least.

"Lady," he spoke with his mouth full, "if you're gonna chat me up, at least do it in a language I understand — English or shit, body language, too." Jesse's mind already came up with a score of different ways he could communicate through body language — or imagine how she might. A few of them weren't exactly... PG either. "You're lookin' like a damn demon just standin' there, ya know that?" he asked, a bit bemused by her at this point as he took another swig of beer to swallow the food down.

[hexstrom]

Astrid had just stepped out of Hometown Grocers, balancing a paper bag against her hip and squinting against the sudden sunlight. She wasn’t used to it—this kind of warmth, this early in the year. Back home in Dalarna, spring took its time. Some years, snow still crunched underfoot until after Valborg. Here in Washington, spring had snuck up on the brunette when she wasn't looking.

Her bag held the usual suspects: heavy cream, fresh dill, a wedge of decent-enough farmer’s cheese, and a turnip she’d spent far too long inspecting for the right kind of firmness. She’d been meaning to make a rustic gratäng like the ones she had as a child in Mora; and with the cream already spoken for in tomorrow’s buns, now seemed like a good time to attempt a recreation. She wasn’t in the market for much else—just topping up what the bakery hadn’t needed in bulk.

“Ósvinnr asni—!” She snapped under her breath, the Old Norse insult slipping out before she could stop it. Her jaw clenched, pulse flaring—but then she turned; and her expression flickered in recognition. "Nell... Hej..."

The sharpness left her voice at once, replaced by a small exhale and a flash of apology in her eyes. “Förlåt. I dit not mean—I did not drop anything.” She adjusted the paper bag and pulled the turnip from the top, holding it up with a faint, self-deprecating smile. “See? Still in one piece. No bruised turnip." She paused, studying the woman before her for any sign that she'd been negatively impacted by the run-in. "Are you alright?"

❁ Location; Leaving Hometown Grocers ❁ Open Starter for @cardinalstart

Despite Eleanor's love for bulky sweaters and a cozy blanket, she couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as the warm air brushed against her bare skin. It had been months since the outside world had seen her in anything other than jeans, a large sweater, and a long scarf. The ensemble gave her the appearance of someone who had never faced the cold before, something that wasn't true, but still Washington cold was so different than Bristol cold.

There was a pep in her step as she made her way out of Hometown Grocers, now aware of the time the band would meet for practice tonight. Knowing that right after a few sessions, she would melt into music and decompress with close friends, brought a smile to her face that she couldn't get rid of. Reaching into her tote bag, she fumbled for a pair of sunglasses. It was impossible to find anything quickly in this bag, but it was the only thing that held everything she needed to make it through the day. Books, headphones connected to her trusty CD player, packs of gum, and several other things that came in handy daily. With the sun in her eyes, she didn't notice the people walking near her and managed to bump right into their back.

"Oh, gosh! I'm so sorry!" Nell's voice was an octave higher than she hoped, causing her to grimace from the added embarrassment. "I haven't needed sunglasses all winter and now I can't manage to see without them. Are you okay?"

[hexstrom]

Astrid didn't flinch at the man's outburst, nor did she offer him the satisfaction of an immediate response. Instead, she just turned back around to watch the theatrics, one hand wrapped around the warm cup of coffee she had no real desire to drink, the other hanging loosely by her side. Her gaze, though, never left the now fireless metal drum. The shadows of the trees behind her flickered faintly as if in anticipation. "Fyrendr." She murmured again, low and deliberate. A curl of flame reignited in the center of the drum, small but stable—just enough to catch his attention. She didn’t look at him right away. She simply waited, expression unreadable.

A part of her knew she shouldn’t have done it. She should’ve let it go and waited in the car for her friend to return. That’s what the polite version of herself would’ve done—the one who smiled too much, handed out kanelbullar, and played the kind-hearted baker everyone expected her to be. But inside, something had been unraveling for a long time. The fear, the guilt, the ache of loss—it all lived under her skin like splinters. She was tired of holding it in, tired of being soft and careful and nice. Magick, at least, was still hers. The old language still listened, even when no one else did. And right now, this loud, arrogant man with his beer and bravado was the perfect excuse. He didn’t know her, didn’t care to. She could be a storm to him; and it wouldn’t matter. Maybe this little flicker of flame didn’t fix anything; but it felt good—like breathing for the first time in years.

She finally looked back at him then, eyes bright and sharp. With her free hand, she gestured to the flame and gave a small, lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Titta på det där!" She exclaimed in a tone that walked the line between amused and cutting. "Elden lyssnar bättre än de flesta män." The words were warm, teasing even—but there was something colder beneath them, something that hinted at just how much she was holding back. The fire crackled obediently before her, casting gold across her pale face.

As the woman didn't heed his warning, Jesse shrugged and went back to the set-up of his night. If she wanted to play with fire, that was on her. Hopefully she knew stop, drop, and roll. "Jag min din, totally," he repeated foolishly, or rather uncaring. "Good to see ya dropped the pretense." That's how he figured, anyway, seeing as the tone of her voice had certainly dropped that fake sweetness to one that held a clear note of 'you're a fuckhead' to it. See? They didn't need to know each other's language to be able to communicate after all!

Jesse pulled the ice chest towards him and took out the hotdogs, condiments, and buns. He also grabbed one of the Budweiser bottles. While she was busy being strange by the fire — honestly, he was doing his best to shut out the odd mutters — he was busy uncapping a bottle and taking down a healthy swig. He should have brought two six packs... One was starting to look like it wouldn't be enough.

The fire snuffed out just as the man skewered a couple of hotdogs and turned back to get them roasted. He had missed most of what happened, and barely caught the sudden death of flames. "Shit," Jesse cursed as he stood there, stupidly, with a skewer of hotdogs that weren't going to be cooked now because he hadn't brought anymore materials to start another. Nor did he have anymore matches — he had used the entire booklet.

"What the hell, man?" Jesse exclaimed to nobody, though he glared up and around at the sky. As if to blame whatever strange weather or gust of wind that must have caused the fire to go out, because what else would it have been? Right? Nevermind the fact he hadn't felt any gust of winds tonight. "Right, fuck me then," he muttered moodily, tossing the skewer down on the tailgate.

One pack of Bud definitely wasn't enough.

[hexstrom]

wynne-keyler​:

10 ways to call someone an idiot in Swedish

1) Jubelidiot – Applaudable idiot

2) Ute och cyklar – Out bicycling

3) Fårskalle – Sheep skull 

4) Dumskalle – Dumb skull 

5) Tjockskalle – Fat skull

6) Har inte alla hästar hemma – Doesn’t have all horses home 

7) Född i farstun – Born in the entryway (and the related saying “I wasn’t born in the entryway!”)

8) Dum i huvudet – Stupid in the head (Just calling someone Dum means they’re mean, not stupid)

9) Bakom flötet – Behind the fishing float

10) Hissen går inte hela vägen upp – The elevator doesn’t go all the way up

[hexstrom]

Astrid didn’t move when the fire caught. She just stood there, one brow raised, ocean hues trained on the sudden burst of flame like it had personally offended her. The heat licked too close for comfort; but she didn’t step back. If anything, she leaned a little forward, as if daring it to test her, the warmth of the flames allowing her to feel something other than her own internal war. The cowboy's mocking display earned a slow, unimpressed blink. She took another sip of her coffee before speaking up again, a small, mirthless smile spreading across her features. “Det är människor som du som får det här vackra landet att verka som en soptipp.” Her voice was calm, quiet—but laced with venom all the same. “Och min engelska är bra, tack så mycket för din omtanke... Jag föredrar bara att inte slösa den på jubelidioter.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, catching on the edges of the flame still dancing in the drum. The longer she stared, the tighter something in her chest wound—memories pressing against her ribs, sharp and suffocating. She hadn’t let herself feel much lately, hadn’t had the time. She'd filled her days with her work at the bakery, using it as a much-needed distraction from her true reason for being in Cardinal Hill. If she kept busy, her thoughts didn't linger. If she kept busy, she had no time to mourn. But here? Now? In the middle of a dirt lot surrounded by strangers and cheap cars, something finally gave way. She exhaled softly; and the old Galdur slid out between her teeth before she even realized it: “Fyrendr.”

The flame obeyed. It rose high again, licking up with unnatural speed, stretching toward the sky in a sudden, ravenous bloom. For just a moment, it looked as though the barrel might tip from the force of it. The heat surged outward. Astrid didn’t flinch. She tilted her head just slightly, eyes reflecting firelight like glass. After another beat, she added with a cold finality: “...los.” The flames died instantly. Not down—out. Snuffed like a candlepinched wick, not a single ember left glowing. She didn’t speak again. She simply turned back to the car, calm and composed now, as if she hadn’t just silenced a blaze with a single word, as if she hadn't needed that release more than she realized...

The foreign words immediately caused Jesse's face to scrunch up in displeasure. He never trusted anyone that spoke a language he didn't understand, because it meant they could be saying any damn thing. Who knew if any of it was good or bad? Not him, that's for damn sure. People like that made him feel stupid, because he wasn't cultured enough to even be able to decipher what language she was talking. It could be Latin for all he knew.

Definitely not Spanish. Not French, either. Those were easy enough to figure, even if he didn't understand. Just about anyone could recognize those staples.

As he took in the female's calm demeanor and rather deliberate sip of soda, Jesse had a hunch most of what just got said wasn't nice. She looked too damn sure of herself. Whatever she'd said might have come out pleasant-toned enough, but there was a certain edge to it, too. It was akin to someone laughing at you, not with you. His eyes narrowed some and the corners of his lips dipped into that familiar frown Jesse wore everywhere.

"Yeah, okay, ja dig my bill back to you too," he waved a dismissive hand, as if to shoo her away like some annoying fly. "You ain't gonna get much outta this flick if you don't know English, so keep playin'." Jesse felt sure in that, anyway. There was no way he would believe this woman didn't know exactly what he was saying, even if she couldn't speak it back to him.

"Stand back," he warned, as he drew a pack of matches from pocket and scraped them against the barrel, "I ain't gonna be responsible if you catch fire."

A few of the matches struck up immediately, then the rest of the pack lit up in quick succession, causing it to appear like he was holding a ball of fire. Jesse tossed the matchbox into the drum, which caught with the accelerants inside and suddenly, a bellow of fire and smoke welled up from within as he took a quick step back. The spectacle of it died down fairly quickly, though. "Dumb caveman make fire," he grunted at the woman and waved his hands in the air in that 'ooo, magical' way.

[hexstrom]

Astrid hadn’t wanted to come. She’d had a hundred better things to do—knead dough, inventory supplies, clean the kitchen, reorganize the spice shelf for the third time just to keep her hands busy... But her friend had insisted, practically shoved her into the passenger seat with a blanket and a thermos of hot chocolate. You work too much. They had said. One night won’t kill you. So now, the Swede found herself at the Moonlit Drive-In, surrounded by the smell of exhaust and butter-flavored oil, wishing she was elbow-deep in flour instead of waiting for some cheesy double feature to start. At least the coffee from the concession stand was drinkable.

She returned to the car alone, expecting her friend to already be there like they’d said they would be—but the driver’s seat was still empty. Of course. They were probably still in line, debating between sour gummies and red licorice. She was just reaching for the door handle when she noticed the truck. It hadn’t been there when she left. Now it loomed directly in front of them, all rust and attitude, parked so aggressively close that it was clearly intentional. Her lips pressed into a tight line. The man behind the tailgate looked like the kind who thought courtesy was a personal attack. When he called out to her—loud and unprovoked—Astrid turned, slowly.

She looked him over once, gave the metal drum he was dragging a pointed glance, and offered a polite but flat smile. “Förlåt.” She began, voice honeyed but sharp at the edges as she decided now would be a great time to pretend she didn't speak a word of English... She could use the laugh; and she had a strong inkling the man's response would be worth it. "Jag visste inte att skitstövlar fick förstahandsval på platserna." She gave a small shrug of her shoulders, pausing momentarily as she brought the cup of concession stand coffee to her lips and took a slow sip. "Det här är inte min bil; men kan jag hjälpa dig med något?"

LOCATION: The Moonlit Drive-In Open starter @cardinalstart

A shitty truck with rusting green paint swerved into the dirt lot early enough that most folks hadn't even arrived yet, so theoretically had its pick of any decent spot. But what Jesse wanted was the decent spot, the one that was smack dab in the middle aisle with a straight-on view of the screen and one of the better speaker poles left. However, this coveted spot was currently in use. If they had been in the vehicle, Jesse would have pulled up and demanded they beat it, he wasn't above causing a ruckus.

Fine, whatever. Doing the next best thing, he whipped into the spot directly in front of them, driving forward with the bed of his truck facing the screen. He pulled up obnoxiously close to their front bumper, almost certainly blocking their view as he angled the vehicle just-so on the slight hump to give himself the greatest view. There was a certain smug tilt to the corner of his lips as he cut the engine and lights, and hopped out with zero care that he'd be ruining another guest's experience. They should have known better than hogging up the prime spot.

Jesse rounded to the back of his truck and smacked down the tailgate, so he could start getting prepared to enjoy the next four-ish hours of tonight's double feature. He jumped up, going for the 55-gallon drum that did an ear-splitting grate across the metal as he dragged it along. Yep, he planned to light his own trash fire and roast some wieners over it, too. Think he was paying those expensive popcorn and nacho prices at the concessions stand? Hell no. Some franks and a six-pack did just fine.

The drum hit dirt just as he thought he heard approaching steps. "Yeah, what?" He looked that direction, almost itching for a problem. Jesse was keyed up tonight, for no good reason. Well, there were reasons, but nothing anybody else deserved to catch strays for.

[hexstrom]

Astrid didn’t smile outright; but there was the faintest pull at the corner of her mouth—just enough to be noticeable if one were looking for it. She slid the plate the rest of the way toward him, fingers brushing the edge for a second longer than necessary before she pulled her hand back. “Jo... I will keep your secret.” She began, reaching for a clean towel to dry her hands. “My lips are locked." She added, placing the towel down and motioning as if she was locking her lips shut and throwing away the key. "Men only because you are constant... Mostly.” She turned toward the counter again, methodically gathering the day’s other unsold pastries—mainly dammsugare and chokladbollar—into a paper bag she’d set aside for a local shelter. They weren’t bad pastries, just not the kind that rushed off the shelves. Still sweet, still soft, still worth something... She hated the idea of them ending up in the trash as she could no longer sell them once the bakery closed for the day.

When he mentioned making her something in return, she paused with the bag halfway open. She looked back at him over her shoulder with a brow slightly raised. “You bake?” She asked, no hint of sarcasm, only a thread of genuine curiosity stitched into the evenness of her tone. “Eller is it going to be a surprise I have to pretend to like?” Her gaze lingered a moment longer before she turned back to her task; but there was a flicker of amusement behind her eyes now, subtle but there. It softened her edges—just a little. "Because if that is the case, I should just have you come help me in the kitchen one day och teach you the basics." Honestly, she could use the help—if even just for the afternoon. The 'help wanted' sign in the window had yet to attract the right candidate for the job; and she was drowning in flour, butter, and sugar.

Clover was doing well now, but he was no stranger to hard times. Most of his life had been survival, making do with what little he could find. Sometimes he could rely on the kindness of others, but after leaving his last foster family he'd found that kindness to be few and far between. And years of couch surfing had eventually led him to Cardinal Hill, where he had a friend or two who had offered places to stay here or there. That said, it wasn't every night that he had a roof over his head, and it wasn't every day that he'd had a good meal to eat. Not to mention, when he'd first gotten to town, his dealer had been on him about Clover making money for him. Which was a whole other layer of stress that he hated thinking about. This bakery had been a lighthouse for him. The smells, the warmth, and then the owner had been so good to him from the get-go.

Now he had a place to stay. He was eating meals regularly (when he remembered), and while he still had the stress of his own dealer and the work he felt forced to do, for the most part he felt he was doing better. He was under less pressure, and things seemed to be getting more and more stable for him every day. Stability itself was kind of scary, but he was almost used to it now. Still, he made a point of regularly visiting the bakery that he felt was a turning point in his journey in this town.

As he walked in, he heard the familiar bell, smelled the familiar scents, and smiled at the familiar face. When she mentioned him being on time, he lifted a finger to his lips with a feigned urgency. "Shh! If anyone else hears that, they'll start expectin' it, and I won't guarantee punctuality for anyone else," he joked, grinning. Clover lit up when he heard she had his favorite, knowing it wasn't something she made every day like some of the other treats. And while he was absolutely never disappointed, there was definitely a special sort of thrill at knowing that weird marzipan-y cake was waiting for him. "I love to hear it," he said, almost jogging up to the counter to meet her. "One of these days I'm gonna make you somethin' in return," he added, nodding.

[hexstrom]

closed starter for @puddlexdeep location: Lilla Bakstugan, late afternoon

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, its deep red frame standing out against pale walls. It was one of the few bright spots of color in the bakery, a nod to the rich falu red of home. Astrid had picked it out deliberately when setting up the space—something small but familiar, a quiet reminder of her beloved Dalarna. By now, she barely needed to glance at it to know the time. The lull before closing was always the same—ovens cooling, the air still thick with the scent of cinnamon and cardamom, the last of the day’s light filtering through the windows...

The display case was nearly empty, save for a few stragglers under the glass—a couple of dammsugare, a few chokladbollar, and a lone hallongrotta. They weren’t the fastest sellers; but they had their loyal fans. She never minded having a few left at the end of the day. Better that than running out too early. And if they didn’t sell, she’d rather give them away than throw them out. Waste was waste; and waste was something the Swede couldn’t stomach, ot when she knew what it was like to go without, to wonder where the next meal would come from, to stretch what little she had for as long as possible. There had been a time—brief, but long enough—that she’d counted on the kindness of strangers, on small mercies that didn’t feel small when she was hungry. She had sworn, when she finally had enough, that she wouldn’t forget, that if she could help someone in the same quiet way, she would.

As she had done nearly every week for months now, she set aside a particular pastry on a small plate near the counter. It wasn’t much, just one of his favorites, saved from the day’s leftovers. She had made a habit of this; though she never said anything about it—just a quiet ritual, a way to make sure he had something warm and familiar when he stopped by. When she first met Clover, he had been gaunt and weary, barely speaking beyond what was necessary to order. He had come in hungry; and she had offered food, warmth. Now, months later, he carried himself differently—cleaner clothes, a steadier presence, a little more weight on his frame—but he still came. Habit was habit; and waste was waste.

The bell over the door jingled. Astrid didn’t look up right away, just nudged the plate a little closer to the edge of the counter. “You are always in time.” She stated, her tone as even as ever, the joy in seeing the other enter her bakery clear behind ocean hues. “I have your favorite today.” And today, it wasn't just any favorite. It was prinsesstårta, a slice left over from the custom cake order she'd filled that morning.

[hexstrom]

Astrid’s fingers idly traced the rim of her coffee mug as she listened to Elias, his words of admiration met with a small, thoughtful smile. “I appreciate that.” She began. “Men... I do not know if it was admirable of me. More practical.” She hesitated for a moment as she contemplated sharing a deeper part of her story, of her past. Finally after a long pause, she continued, voice quieter, more measured. “There was a time long ago when I did not have a home. I-I did not know where my next meal would come from. That kind of feeling… It stays with you, makes you see food differently." It led to a strong desire to never waste perfectly good food.

She gestured vaguely toward the glass display case, where the remaining pastries sat under the warm glow of the lights. “At the end of the day, I cannot sell what is left over." When the end of the each day neared, the brunette had a tendency to give out extra pastries for free to her friends and loyal customers." If I closed the bakery because of the storm, everything I had baked that day would go in the trash. I cannot eat it all myself; och I do not have anyone at home to share.” She shook her head slightly, glancing back at him. “Så, when I saw people out in the storm in need of shelter, giving them the extra pastries made sense. No one should be cold och hungry." She'd been there more times than she could count; and she wouldn't wish such a combination of feelings on anyone. "Also…” She exhaled softly, a flicker of something unreadable passing over her face before she finished the thought. “Cardinal Hill is the first place since I left Sweden I feel I could call home one day... I-I wanted to give back to the town that has given me så much."

Once she finally found what she was searching for, Astrid had a strong feeling she'd no longer return to Sweden like initially planned. Cardinal Hill had become something to her. Lilla Bakstugan had become something to her. She had friends here, a life—things she'd not known since long before her world had been torn apart.

"Oh, yeah, you're probably used to bad winters then," Elias stated. He was no stranger to a blizzard having lived through a couple of very substantial snowstorms in his life but even then the city never closed as suddenly as it did when the storm hit Cardinal Hill. The paper had already covered all the multi-day closures that had occurred due to the storm. He could understand why she was thinking to close like almost everyone else. The storm had shutdown life in town and Elias felt fortunate to have been safely at home with his partner and not stranded somewhere in town.

Hearing her reasoning was heartwarming. It was nice to hear there were people out there who cared. It was a dying breed of person as it felt like most people were all consumed by their own lives to take the time to think of others. "Still, it's quite admirable, not just anyone would do that," he stated. Even though Elias would consider himself a compassionate and caring man and seen as such by many in his circle he wasn't sure he would've done the same had he been in her shoes. He wasn't a business owner and had no mind to be one but he was sure her generosity impacted business.

[hexstrom]

Astrid watched him for a moment, thoughtful. She understood that exhaustion—not just the kind that came from lack of sleep, but the kind that settled into your bones, that made every secret feel heavier with time. She let the silence linger for a moment, mulling over his words. “I think… Kanske... Maybe home is not about looking for the next place. It is about finding something to stay for, even when it changes.” She met his gaze, offering a quiet certainty. “We change also. Så it is understanding that home can change.”

His next words struck something deep in her, something she hadn’t let herself acknowledge before. That fear—of who she was without the weight of her secret—was one she knew all too well. Would she even recognize herself when this was over?

“I-I think I understand what you say.” She admitted. Her fingers curled lightly around her cup, seeking warmth. “Sometimes, a secret is our armor. It keeps people out. Men when it is gone… It is just you.” She exhaled, her breath barely audible. “That is why it is hard letting go.” Ocean hues flickered to him again. “Men, we are not only our secrets, Leo.” The words were spoken softly, as if testing their truth.

“You do not need to apologize.” She stated gently after another moment's pause. “It has been a long night.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Och a long winter.”

Leo wasn't really surprised that Astrid could relate to what he was saying; they seemed to have a lot in common despite maybe not seeming so similar on the surface. Still, despite the fact that it made him feel a little more understood, part of Leo wished that Astrid couldn't relate because this feeling wasn't something he'd wish on anyone. "Do you really think so?" Leo asked, interest piqued. He had never thought of it that way, of home being something that shifted and moved, that changed as he did too. It wasn't the sense of permeance he had been talking about, but it was something. "Maybe I'm like that," Leo said quietly. "But I don't really like the idea of continually looking for the next place to call home."

"I don't know if I completely agree with that," Leo responded to Astrid's next words, deciding to be truthful. "Sometimes the fear is what keeps you in a place, but other times it's what causes you to leave. And aren't they both choices? Maybe they're not always the right choices, but they're choices nonetheless." Leo hadn't expected to have quite so philosophical of a conversation today, but he didn't mind it.

It seemed that Astrid had a secret too, perhaps one as big as Leo's. He looked at his friend, eyes locked on hers, and he felt like they could really relate to each other. "Sometimes you have a secret for so long that it sort of becomes just part of who you are," Leo stated soberly. "And then like...the thought of it not being part of your identity is the scariest part of it coming out because then it's like...who are you without it?" As he said this, Leo laughed, though there was no humor in it, and he ran his fingers through his hair. "Sorry," he apologized, "I'm just very, very tired. It's been a long night."

[hexstrom]

[hexstrom]

Astrid’s fingers curled loosely around her cup as she listened, letting Leo’s words settle. She understood that doubt—the quiet wondering if some people were simply meant to drift, never quite fitting anywhere. There had been a time she believed that about herself. But now… now she wasn’t so sure. “I used to think that also.” She admitted, glancing at him. “That some people do not get to have the feeling of home. Men, I do not believe it is impossible. Maybe it is not one place forever. Maybe it is not what we expect. Men, I think… everyone can find it.” She exhaled softly, as if saying it aloud made it more real.

His distinction between staying and not leaving brought a knowing flicker to her expression. “Jo… I think one is about choice. The other is… about fear.” She let the words sit between them, knowing he would understand without her needing to explain further.

At his words about secrets, Astrid nodded, turning her cup between her hands. “I understand what you say. Not everyone needs to know everything.” She agreed wholeheartedly. “Men, when what I need to do is done… I will tell you.” There was certainty in her voice, quiet but firm. “It will not be something I can keep secret forever. Och I will want you to hear it from me.” She didn’t elaborate; but there was an honesty in her gaze as she met his. Some burdens were too heavy to share before their time—but once this was over, she owed it to the people she cared about to let them in. Leo had become one of those people.

When he looked at Astrid as he spoke, Leo could tell that she just understood;he could tell that she knew exactly what he was getting at. “That would be nice,” he replied, “but sometimes I wonder…” Trailing off, Leo tried to sort out his thoughts, and he asked, “Do you think that maybe sometimes people aren’t meant for that feeling of home? Like maybe it’s some unobtainable goal; maybe some people are just meant to be nomads, belonging everywhere and nowhere.” That was something Leo had wondered for quite some time, though he rarely if ever vocalized it, generally keeping it to himself. And another thought came to him then as he listened to Astrid: “Maybe finding a reason not to leave is good enough,” he said. “That’s not the same thing, you know. Reasons to stay and reasons to not leave I mean.” The first one was more about staying out of a sense of purpose or belonging, while the latter was simply that there was nothing better out there. Leo wasn’t sure which applied to him most. 

Even though Astrid hadn’t said very much just now, Leo could tell that what little she said had been difficult for her. “You don’t have to,” he told his friend. “Really, I get it. There are a lot of things I’ve never told anyone, like why I left India…and why I can never go back.” He stopped then, not about to change that now; this felt like a secret he might never want to tell. “People had secrets,” Leo stated, “and that’s okay. Not everyone needs to know everything about you.”

[hexstrom]

January 1967. Bergen.

Astrid sat back slightly, the revelation of the conversation still sinking in. The pieces were fitting together; and yet the picture they formed was almost too much to comprehend. Her mind drifted to her father, the quiet weight of his absence settling more heavily in her chest than it had in years. She had always known there were things left unspoken about him—parts of his life that had slipped through the cracks of her childhood—but this…

The other's birthdate settled uneasily in her mind, the timing working itself out almost automatically. January 1967—that would have been only a few months after her own mother had passed. Her breath hitched at the realization: her father had found comfort in someone else, so soon after losing his wife... Astrid supposed she couldn’t blame him—it made sense, in a way—but it still left her feeling hollow. He had never spoken of it, of Ingrid or Ingrid’s mother. He had always been so quiet, so guarded about the past. Maybe now she understood why.

Her gaze softened as she studied Ingrid’s face, the familiar eye shape that had first struck her now anchoring her to the truth. A sister. A blood sister, sitting across from her, nervous and uncertain but also… honest. Astrid could feel it in her aura—the unease was there, but no malice. Just vulnerability and hope.

Astrid’s fingers curled around the edge of her mug, the warmth grounding her as her thoughts swirled. A sister. It still didn’t feel real. But there Ingrid sat, waiting for her big sister to decide what to do with this fragile truth.

“Y-You do not have to stay at the inn.” The Swede said after a beat, voice quieter now. Her gaze lifted, meeting the other's with quiet steadiness. “I-I have a spare room. You can stay here… om du vill...” Her breath tightened slightly as the words settled between them. But they felt right. The offer felt right. Family should look out for each other—Astrid knew that much, even if the shape of her family had always been empty edges and missing pieces. Offering this was the least she could do. "I-I think we have much to talk about."

Ingrid didn't want anything from Astrid, nothing more than a sisterly relationship at best, though even if Astrid wasn't interested in such a thing, Ingrid believed that she could make peace with that. At the very least, Ingrid felt as though she owned Astrid the truth. Even if Astrid wished to never see her again after this day, Ingrid would be able to rest knowing that she hadn't kept such important information from the other. With all of that being said, however, Ingrid really did hope that Astrid would at least settle for a friendship.

Now that all of the information was out there in the open, Ingrid felt a sense of relief, sure, but nothing could overpower how oddly fearful she felt in the moment, too. She knew that it was life altering news to receive - to share, too - and there was no way of knowing how the recipient would react. Astrid seemed positively lovely so far, but Ingrid wouldn't have blamed her if her loveliness was pushed aside by large emotions when the news hit. Ingrid's heart pounded against her chest, and the rest of her felt shaky with nerves.

"January '67," she told the other, happy to offer up as much information to her as she could, hoping that she could be of assistance in such a trying time - as much as anyone could be, at least. "I was born just outside of Bergen, but that's where I grew up," she answered. "I really never knew him, never saw him at all. It's my understanding that he was no longer around by the time that I was born."