#technically Drifter makes an appearance again...but its painful and short one >.>

[julik0vatay]

Two chapters bc I was impatient to get it all out ><

Ch4: Collector asks for a favor. Talking about work?

Ch5: Homecoming Means Death

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter Twelve

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 12

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“She knew herself, how she had slowly, over years, become a cat, a wolf, a snake, anything but a girl. How she had wrung out her girlhood like death.” -Catherynne M. Valente

+

Laura has learned not to carry expectations when it comes to Gods.

Odin was just some old drifter, Ostara looks like she could beat Martha Stewart in a home decorating contest any day of the week and Mad Sweeney is six foot and five inches tall leprechaun. Clearly, it wasn't text book mythology rules.

Still, Isis surprises her. Laura had vaguely assumed she would look like an older Nephthys. Just as high cheeked and blessed with model perfected features. No doubt blessed with a matching leg length, to work a powerful goddess stride.

Instead Isis is cute.

Isis is nearly as short as Laura herself, curvy with a heart shaped face. Making her plush lips and large eyes look all that more beautiful. She looks young.

Everything about her seems to glow, but less like something other worldly and more like joy. She smiles brightly at sister and son, bubbling with soft laughter as they talk. Nothing about her movements is overly graceful, she is frantically eager and emotional. In this moment, she is not elegant and stately. Nor is she trying to pretend to like so many other gods and goddesses have tried.

Laura can't help but stare, trying vainly to find the line where goddess and woman meet but in Isis she realizes maybe there isn't one. 

In midst her staring, the small goddess finally calms down and cuts the distance between them. The laser focus she once had for her son, now locks on to Laura as if she physically marked a target on the dead girl. Who can do nothing but freeze and accept the woman's space budding onto her own.

“You and I are long over due for a talk.”

Laura pulls back her lips into a dry, tight smile.

“You could say, I've been waiting a life time.”

Isis’s eyes glitter with amusement even when behind them Mad Sweeney groans in mock pain at her line. With a gentle touch, Isis moves her aside to look the leprechaun up and down. Her expression a cross between unimpressed and curiosity.

“Let me guess, Mad Sweeney?”

Laura gets some sick satisfaction seeing him go pale and nervous. He even takes his hands out of his pockets and attempts to look polite.

She wants to tell him that particular endeavor is hopeless.

“Aye.”

Isis nods, “Well, you can go now.”

“What?” Laura surprises herself by asking, not even sure why her voice sounds mad. Fuck, not even the idiot himself questions the goddess. He just stands there looking at the pair of them. “Go where?”

“Away?” Isis answers bluntly. “The conversation we need to have should be a private one, don't you think? At the very least, I assumed you wouldn't want your killer to take part in.” -and before Laura can get a word in to question that, she answers, “And yes, we know that too. Odin’s ravens were not the only things watching that night.”

“She's got a point dead girl…I should go.” He adds.

Laura glares at his stupid sad face, “Shut the fuck up. I did not suffer your presence all this time for you to just leave. Let alone to be dismissed like some serving boy.” Though some private part of her knows this is illogical. That if she finds him so annoying, she should want him gone. But she is a possessive dead girl these days, and she doesn't have much but him and a coin to call her own.

(She refuses to look too deeply into that fact she claims him at all)

Instead she turns her attention back to Isis, “Look, no offense but if anyone is going to tell him to fuck off its me. And I didn't, so he stays, okay?”

Isis’s soft smile blooms into a wider, altogether more wicked one. Like she is utterly pleased by Laura's response, and its only when Nephthys starts to laugh does she remember that Isis loves a good trick.

Shit.

If she had any hot blood in her, it would be rising to her cheeks. Maybe even her ears. Right now, if she were alive. She would be flushed with embarrassment.

But she's dead and thank god for that.

Ha.

+

In the end, Mad Sweeney and Laura join Isis at a small seating area in her office. Nephthys and Horus leave them, saying cheerful goodbyes that don't seem like such, as if one day soon their paths will cross again and soon.

“Do you want anything?” Isis asks, as she pours herself a glass of red wine from a near by table of assorted drinks. Mad Sweeney approaches cautiously but once he knows this isn't a trick question of sorts, points to the southern comfort bottle. She hands the bottle to him and goes to hand him a glass too but he takes the offered bottle and runs. Choosing to put as much physical distance as he can between him and the goddess without actually leaving the room.

“Am I really that scary?” She asks the dead woman, taking the empty glass with her as she sits down to hand to Laura. Who promptly shoves it under his nose. With a gruff sound of annoyance he pops the bottle open and fills her glass.

Isis watches.

Under her stare Mad Sweeney bristles, wants to tell her “Yes, Jesus fucking Christ, yes! YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING. AND THIS IS EXAMPLE FUCKING ONE” -but instead he finds his voice and says, “I already have one small overly strong bitch who has my balls in her pocket. Not really in the market for another.”

(Never forget he has a death wish)

Isis chuckles and lets his insult slide, “She has more than just your balls.” She says it with such knowing that it freezes his blood. Like she has reached in with clever hands and stolen a secret he wasn't aware could so easily been taken. “Don't look so surprised.”

Mad Sweeney attempts to keep his shit together, gently coughs and looks at the goddess, “Not surprised, more like mystified.”

“Its common knowledge by now that she is only walking because of your coin. Your luck.”

Do not sigh in relief. He tells himself while taking a long gulp straight from the bottle. Mostly to buy himself an ounce of time and the chance to look away from her iron gaze. It’s easier to breath when he isn’t.

“Is it now? Wasn't aware that Grimnir and you were so close.”

Just like that, the warmth of the room vanishes and Isis's good mood with it. Replacing her joy with fury. She doesn't hide it, the rage is in her like a storm, radiating from her eyes. In her voice.

“I am no friend of your former employee. If I could smear his name from my memory I would. Just as I would burn him to ash. To let my sons consume him whole. If there is a punishment too cruel to name, I want him to experience it a thousand times.” Isis promises this with venom, spits it out like a rattle snake, forcing Sweeney physically leans away from her.

“Aye, alright. So you didn't hear it from him. Am I allowed to ask how you did?”

The goddess visibly cools her anger and shrugs, “Well, the coin is technically one of mine isn't it? Or rather of an Isis.”

Mad Sweeney and Laura both balk, but he more than her as he quickly forgets his place, “No, it ain't. It's mine. Always has been.”

“Always?”

“YES ALWAYS.” He shouts only to promptly remember…not always. He didn't make it after all, he was no black smith. “It was given to me as a gift when I was a king.”

The petite goddess doesn't smile, but her gaze softens. “Like any good coin, it was made to be used. Not locked up in some vault, to collect dust. I am not mad it fell into your hands, I'm sure it was meant to.” From no where, she plucks a similar gold coin into existence. So much like his own ability that for half a second he feels disjointed. Jealous. 

“Now, my coins, here and now. Those are just shades of magic I have left to spare to the occasional customer who spends it here. What you have Laura, is a piece of the original Isis's magic. Meant not just to bring luck, but justice. Strength to obtain it. Maybe it was placed on your grave without intent, but I have a funny feeling it would just as easily been rolled out of a pocket. The wind would have carried it out, a stray crow or cat would have helped it along.”

“It's meant for a king.” Sweeney tries again, refusing the idea that this is the part of the story always meant to be told. That she was always meant to have it, because if that is true, it means he was always meant to kill her.

And that is too fucked up for him to take.

Isis chuckles warmly at his indignation, “Is it such a strange thought that a king is sometimes a woman?”

Mad Sweeney bites his tongue is muted anger; he’s not good at it, he knows he looks pissed and he can’t stop tapping his foot, but there isn’t a damn thing he can say or do. Isis isn’t wrong, and nor will she allow herself to be to the likes of him. 

He has no power here, no strength and no fucking clue. 

+

“I am not a king,” Laura says in Mad Sweeney’s silence. 

Just short of outraged since this isn't answering anything. In fact, it's just drawing in more questions. “I was just a normal, if really shitty and depressed chick who made some terrible choices. So, you’ve got the wrong dead girl, sorry.”

“A king isn’t just someone with a crown, or a throne, sometimes it is earned. You need the right spirit, to be strong enough to handle that kind of power.” Isis explains, taking a sip of her wine before placing it down. 

“And who says I have that?” Laura digs, this is starting to hurt. She wanted answers, she wanted to find a way back to life. Not to peel back the pages of her dirty end, she knew that part of the story. She was there, wasn't she? 

She knew what fueled her, the sick and overwhelming emptiness that demanded anything and anyone to fill it; of what mistakes came from that sickness, how she had hurt everyone who ever knew her name. She knows all the players involved, of Odin and Sweeney, of Shadow and the ravens who watched.

Just as she knows that part of the story won't change. It's not a rotted tooth she can remove and get away with. It's bone disease, infecting the whole jaw. It's cognitive heart disease. It's apart of her, and it was always going to kill her, one way or another. There is not enough black ink and faith in the world to erase it.

“I know Shadow didn't mean to give me the coin, that I’m only getting this chance because numb nuts over there made a mistake...that even in death, I’m still massively screwing up. I don’t know what am I doing, like at all.” She gives a hysterical chuckle, “I kicked a dude's balls right through his mouth because I didn't know my own strength. I nearly gave my best friend a heart attack because I forgot for one second what I am. I kidnapped a cute little Salim-not Salim for his car, before I knew how much I was getting in the way of his love story. I killed Odin without knowing what that would even mean in the long run. I let Shadow go like it didn't even matter. Even now, I haven't learned anything from this whole mess, haven't found one damn thing that makes sense. Actually, it's been pretty much the exact opposite. I feel like I'm learning less, because now I have to worry about who will eat me because I'm dead or how fucked I am if I’m glued to Lucky Charms over here, and what that means.”

“Oi!” Sweeney hisses, but she ignores him and continues.

“It's obvious at this point, I am doing whatever the fuck I can to keep myself literally together. And yes, I know it's not going well. I know an old Mcdonald's french fry has a better chance of coming back than I do. I am not a fool, you don't have to pretend with me, okay? I don't have the strength of spirit, just like I don't have a light heart. I am not a king or a queen, I am a dead girl who wants something more than nothing.” Laura's voice trembles out of her, and she realizes slowly that Odin hadn't managed to spill all her secrets. 

She still has one left.

“And...and if that's not possible. If I can't get it from you or anyone else, fucking tell me now, because I am tired. I am so tired. Of rotting away and shoving air fresheners down my shirt just so ginger bitch over there doesn't puke all day. I am tired of being followed by every fly and insect, of spitting out maggots and embalming fluid. Of feeling my skin tear, of my nails dropping off and my teeth rattling around in my skull.” The truth pours out of her now, as if the stitching on her chest has come undone, “Of sewing myself up, alone in the dark. Like the world’s saddest Frankenstein girl.”

There's silence and then a clack and a clang, a loud ringing after her confession. Someone downstairs has won big time.

Laura wonders if there was a word for suicidal for the already dead.

She refuses to look at Sweeney when she's done speaking. He's been with her all this time; has seen more sides of herself than she would ever be comfortable with from anyone else. Fuck, he might be her last real tie to the world, might be the last thing she believes in but she never ever wanted him to hear this. 

Admitting it feels too much like confession.

He has been an unwilling witness to her so many of her failures and some small petty thing in her really wishes she could tell him to fuck off for good.

-but then she would be alone, truly alone.

He's done more for her, bitching aside, than anyone has ever done for her. Maybe she'd never forgive him for his part to play in her death, but worse things have happened to her since then and in the grand scheme of things, she knows he's low on the list of villains.

Unlike anyone else, at least he's been trying, and she has noticed. Not grateful, never fucking grateful, but she's noticed.

Sad truth is, if she can't be brought to life, if this whole journey has been for nothing and her getting the coin at all has just been some cosmic joke -she’s ready for it to be over. Laura is done, and the only reason she’s even trying now is the small hope she has that it isn’t. Not because she deserves it, but because now it’s not just her at stake. 

-he is too.

(She is tired enough to admit, that she really doesn't want him gone.)

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