Their silence stretched for what seemed like ages, a one-word response the only thing that even attempted to break it. Freyja shrugged, tamping down the craving for another cigarette. She wasn’t sure if her connection to Veljara could prevent her from the negative side effects of nicotine, but she was in no rush to find out. Idly, she wondered how long these blankets had been out here. The fire escape, both the one they rested on and the one for the apartment above, provided little cover from the elements, and Spork seemed to leave all manner of things buried within their folds.
Freyja had just begun to consider risking it and pulling one of the blankets over herself for a change of scenery when Spork pulled themself to their feet, the pack of cigarettes crumpling slightly in their hand. She was about to follow them, grateful that their movement had managed to interrupt her morbid curiosity, when she stopped, hand still clutching the railing, the cold metal seeming to burn against her hand.
Their first sentence had confused her for a moment. What did they mean ‘I should’? Then they kept talking, and Freyja felt her heart plummet, streaking through the sky in another ball of flame before crashing, crumpled, next to her cigarette butt. While there was some of the typical rambling Spork there, the sheer
casualness in their tone and the way they’d dropped it in her lap made Freyja feel a little sick. Had she misjudged them? Had what she’d been feeling truly only been one-sided, and this was nothing more than some particularly rough and competitive sex?
Spork seemed indifferent to her plight, dusting ash off themself nonchalantly before ducking into the window, pausing halfway through. They gave her a
look and for a brief moment Freyja wondered if her dismay was truly so apparent on her face that even the blind could see it. They continued their stare, and although Freyja wanted to look away she found she couldn’t, gaze unwittingly locked with Spork’s.
Another bomb carelessly fell from their lips and dropped right into her lap. Freyja blinked in surprise, now thoroughly confused, and it wasn’t until she saw them waving her back into the apartment that it fully set in. Her earlier despair had been for naught. It wasn’t rejection they were giving her, merely a time for another meeting along with what passed for a Spork-gentle request to leave.
Freyja did her best not to lunge for the window, attempting to calmly and gracefully step onto the bed from the outside. Unfortunately this was only her second time attempt at this trip, and the first from this side, and she found it easier to step off a bed rather than onto it. With a rather dignified yelp, Freyja tumbled onto the bed, just managing to twist and avoid landing on Spork, but unfortunately not managing to catch herself before faceplanting in a pile of blankets. While soft, this did little to quell her embarrassment as she rolled off the bed and slid to her feet, letting out an awkward chuckle as she did so.
“Alright. So.”
Freyja began, scrounging around for wherever the hell she’d left her shoes. She remembered she’d launched one at Spork when they’d first entered the apartment, and had used them as projectiles several other times.
“Friday, coffee and cigarettes. Bring change.”
She managed to locate one that had somehow become wedged behind a dresser and yanked it out before looking for its sister.
“You know, you should also bring some quarters. Just in case it turns out you like my ‘disgusting’ cigarettes. They aren’t cheap, y’know.”
Freyja finally managed to find her other shoe buried in a pile of clothes that had gotten tossed around during Spork’s search to protect their chest from the winter air. Clutching both of them, she scooted back onto the bed and out the window (taking much greater care this time).
Perched on the windowsill, Freyja finally tugged her shoes on and glanced back at the messy, but comfortable room, oozing life from every odd trinket and knick-knack scattered around the place. She let out a sigh, thinking of her significantly more spartan living arrangements, how even for a few hours the blond whirlwind had breathed more life into that space than she had in the months living there.
“Well,”
Freyja began, shaking her head to dislodge that thought. Best not to get too far ahead of herself.
“See you Friday.”
With an upbeat note in her voice Freyja stood, placing a hand on the warm metal railing and leaping over it.
Streamers of red and orange trailed around her, faint wings of flame that seemed to do nothing to slow her fall. She tapped into the power that lay within her, and felt it growl in response, eager to rip and tear. She tamped it down, letting the smallest dregs leak through for only a few moments. She hit the ground with the dull thud of metal and flesh on concrete, tiny flames still licking at her edges even as they dimmed.
“Þetta er stefnumót!” She called back up, the crackle of sparks trailing in her voice. If Spork had come back out to face her direction, they might have felt the last lingering bits of heat, smelled the faint smoke. What they wouldn’t see were the orange-red flames that gazed up at the blanket nest from the alleyway below, emotionless and hungry.
With a blink, they were gone, and only pale blue remained. Gaze flicking downward, Freyja stooped to scoop a pair of cigarette butts off the ground, one burned down much farther than the other, and left in search of a trash can.
