InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I'm not drunk."

Eric Wednesday (_wanderer_) wrote,
@ 2010-10-26 09:50:00

Entry tags:

hati, huginn, skoll

Perched on a street lamp the Huginn peers down at the yellow car below him. Wolves driving cabs – for all their prophecies and signs surely the Norns had forgotten to add this one as a true sign of Ragnarok. The raven shook his head letting out a loud squawk. Tempting as it was to shit on the car and fly off he refrained. He had found one of the wolves and the All-Father’s instructions had been remarkably vague (as they tended to be and really as Odin’s own thoughts he ought to automatically know certain things, right?) and he was at a temporary loss as to what he was supposed to do now.
Which only meant one thing – he was free to heckle.

HEY FURFACE!

((OOC: Short scene if you’re game, Tess. We can work up to a full blown log later ^_^))

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_fimbulvetr_
2010-10-27 02:59 am UTC (link)

Hati's taxi is parked along the curb, the wheels closest to the curb actually on the sidewalk. Narrow parking on these streets. He is waiting for two portly broads to vacate the back seat. One woman, as she stumbles from the car, mutters something about the driver. As they both toddle off in a way befit roaming cattle tittering amongst themselves about the awful music and the creepy driver, Hati is taking a moment to light a cigarette.

And then he hears the rodent with wings, and leans out the window, to look up. He is almost surprised not to see Huginn in human shape, as many once-beasts tend to be these days.

But he does not answer with any more words - only with a finger, a wolfish flash of teeth in what might be a grin or a snarl, who knows, really - and he starts the car. He does finally speak now, but more of a mumbling growl. Hati is hungry.

On the clock, pay for my time. And yes, he starts the meter. He will bill the Guardian of the Gallows for this.

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_wanderer_
2010-10-27 06:33 pm UTC (link)

The bird made a noise that sounded like air being let out of a tire. Less a cackle and more an expression of thinly concealed mirth. Paid! A novel concept if there ever was one! How long had the wolf been wearing that skin? How long had it taken him to adapt to two-legged nuances?

There was a wolf underneath there still. Huginn could see it, smell it even from his perch on the lamp post.

How far had it been buried?

Visa? Mastercard? Cash? Milkbones?

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