Disclaimer: Though this chapter contains "OCs" (not technically but whatever) the world I'm writing is Kamiaso's
Interlude
3 Months Ago
Wandering Midgard was an adventure to Odin. At least it used to be. The world was vast and worth the detour on an ill-forgotten path through some brush or forest. Now it was tight, too tight that he spent more time in his battle garb in Asgard. Now the restlessness had awakened some desire to wander again. He found himself wandering the west. The northwest. Or rather it was in the upper middle of the very center of the world.
There past the cities called Chicago and Milwaukee, he trudged the earth in a smaller city called Sturgeon Bay, part of a larger territory that the original inhabitants of the land called Wisconsin, meaning "It lies red", according to the proud hare, Michabo.
Odin liked the area. He could see the footprints the descendants of his worshippers trotted. The area known as the North Woods reminded him of the tall formidable trees his people used to make their proud ships.
Many of people held the names of the proud Norsemen, but any and all connection between was gone. Because to acknowledge their foreign heritage and who their ancestors worshipped wouldn't be "'Merican".
Sturgeon Bay was an odd city. Quaint in every respect, and despite its main industry being shipbuilding—being a rather tired industry in this day and age-it still managed to crop up small shops and restaurants without hassle and continued to thrive. The small city was divided in two by a channel that ships passed through to the Great Lakes. On one side the biggest monument was an old brick school, rotting and abandoned, but still standing rather proud on top of a hill. On the other side—the north side—was the giant gray hut that hid the barebones of ships as they were being constructed to be fine beautiful vessels for sheiks and Arabian princes.
Especially one splendid orange yacht the size of a neighborhood block for a Turkish benefactor by the name of Durgan Serí, or as Odin knew him as, the Persian god Rostam.
He had been in Sturgeon Bay for about a week, mostly staying the nights with young college women that worked the diners part-time who were taken by his charm. In his current guise to the humans, he looked like a dodgy old ship builder, with his plaid jacket, washed out jeans, and graying black beard. Nothing out of the ordinary except he was about twice the size of the average man, and one of his eyes were massively scarred.
It was hard to believe that an older, disfigured man could capture the hearts of young ladies with one glance, but he was Odin, who may have been lauded as a warrior but was also quite proficient in speechcraft and sorcery and could draw in whomever mortal he chose. But he wasn't like Zeus, who seemingly had this urge to plant his seed everywhere. No, Odin was careful, conscientious, especially after Heimdallr established the class system through similar means in which Zeus conceived his demigods. Odin had put up precautions to avoid such things.
No Norse god would beget children with a mortal. Period.
That was then. This was now. He needed a breather from Asgard, from the reminder that he had failed his kin, his own blood.
He opened the door to the Pudgy Seagull, a supper club, lounge and bar, a rather quintessential North Woods invention in terms of dining. There, men from all walks of life could spend their earnings on their alcohol and at least enjoy a comfortable atmosphere.
There at the lounge, in the corner of the venue next to the bar, was a series of leather chairs next to a stone empty fireplace. Even though it was lunchtime, there were downtrodden, grungy men, spending their last dollars on liquors to experience the pain of their most treasured hobby of drinking.
Ignoring the blue-collar wretches, Odin walked, boots heavy against the wooden floor to the lounge, where a tall, alluring, dark-skinned woman in a dark suit and skirt, sat in a leather chair by the fireplace, her sharp, black painted nails drumming on the armrest, the other hand stroking a white and black cat settled on the other armrest. Two more cats sat at her feet, straight, as if they were on guard.
She looked impatient or distinctly proud of herself, her back straight even against the cushiness of the chair. One leg crossed over the other, looking like someone nobody wanted to mess with, but everyone wanted to meet.
Odin sat in the chair across from her, pulling his gray hood down.
"Kind of a strange place to show up in, don't you think."
The beautiful woman's golden eyes closed slowly, hiding an eyeroll even as Odin continued, "Not a great hiding place. Generally beautiful black-skinned women don't exactly blend into blue-collar small midwestern towns."
"The area has changed," the woman shot back her voice was heavy and rich, portraying her strength with a little hint of sensuality. "You should be worried too. In what place would a man as big as a prized ox blend any more?"
Just then a young woman, a server came up to the two, "Hi, there. Welcome to the Pudgy Seagull. My name's Kirsten and can I help you get you started with a drink or appetizer?"
Odin smirked at the woman across from him and then turned to look up at the young lady, "A tall mug of your Leinie's Canoe Paddler, if you please darlin'." He flashed a rather engrossing smile that seemed illuminate his otherwise rugged and weathered disguise.
The young woman blushed and smiled and nodded, "Certainly."
As Kirsten walked off, the woman across from him gave him a rather annoyed, scolding look, "What? Have you slept with every single woman in this town already?"
"No, but give it a few days..."
"Damn," she sighed, "And you criticize Zeus."
"You'd think for a Goddess of Joy, whose celebrations are known for their sensual pleasure, you'd be less judgmental, Bast."
The woman paused, keeping her cool, her focus on giving the cat at her armrest a nice pleasurable scratches on the back of its neck, "I support mutual pleasure among people who respect one another. I don't support mass impregnation."
Odin laughed at the ridiculousness of the notion. He pulled himself away as the waitress laid a tall mug of beer on the coffee table in front of him. "Thank ya, dear."
Kirsten beamed before asking, "Anything else?"
"That'll be all for now, thank you."
As the girl left, Odin took a sip of the beer, asking before he did so, "So why are you here, Bast?"
Bast shook her head, "Waiting. And making sure you're alright."
"I'm fine," Odin said rather abruptly, before taking a deep breath. "I'm just worried..."
Bast wasn't buying it. She arched her elegant eyebrow and practically purred, "You're more self-loathing than worried I can tell."
Odin's face grew grave, annoyed. He wanted to change the subject badly, "What does it matter? I'm worried, for the obvious reasons."
"I know. I had a conversation with Hermes the other day. Apparently any and all contact with Poseidon has been lost."
"And Zeus isn't holding one of his meetings? How is he going to assert his superiority to the rest of us in this time of need?"
"Poseidon and Zeus aren't exactly buddy buddy," Bast replied, taking a small glance at the cat she was petting. "It isn't rare for Poseidon to shut himself away from the other Olympians."
"Some family," Odin chuckled shaking his head. "Perhaps I should give Zeus my spear. He'd probably have an easier time in killing his son than I did mine."
At that, Odin's face contorted with pain, his eye glancing down at his feet, his beer forgotten. Bast went silent, allowing Odin to gather himself. Then, she whispered, "It's not over yet. There's still time..."
At that, Odin's focus turned to a man who entered the lounge. He was a thin man, with a patchy stubble, wearing a baseball cap and a dingy plaid shirt. He sat at the bar and asked the bartender for a rather stiff drink.
Odin turned to Bast and shook his head, "No. There is no time. See him? He's seen something. Something he can't explain. If he could explain it, people would think him crazy. He thinks he's crazy."
Bast laughed in her chest, eliciting a glare from the man across from her, "There is still hope."
"Hardly..."
She leaned over and pulled on his beard, "What if I told you your son's alive?"
Odin paused, his eye wide open, his jaw slack, before whispering, barely moving his lips, "I'd call you a liar."
"I'm not a liar. My...sources have found him. Strangely, your slip of the hand did everything you wanted planned, instead of killing him. No memories, no power. Should I send Zeus over to tell him? Have him submit your little boy to fate. He seems to let the strands of fate weave everything out. Will you sit and relax and hope for the best?"
"Not in your mind," Odin seethed at Bast. He pointed to his rather grizzled face, more specifically his missing eye. "Zeus was born with all the gifts and power in the world. I made myself this way. I burned, worked, and bled for what I am today. I hung myself and recited impossible runes. I plucked my fucking eye out to gain the wisdom to be a proper leader. So, no, Bast. No. There is no way I'm going to sit by and relax my feet while the repressed bitch known as Fate destroys something that I had a hand in creating and raising for the illicit sake of irony. No way."
He threw back the entire mug of beer, his eye set in determination, "Have I made myself clear."
Bast was not impressed. Not one bit, "Oh stop being overdramatic you miserable old crow. You have no right to be so self-righteous."
Odin's eye narrowed, perhaps fearful that the feline goddess could see right through him.
"You don't give a damn about mankind. Not to say you don't have reason what with seven other worlds to take care of," Bast continued, "But don't sit there and lie that killing your boy was just an accident. Come out with the truth. You wanted him dead."
Most people would not have the gall to suggest such a thing. But the silence was heavy, deadly, and greatly saddening. Odin's eye, normally peircing and virile, now downcast and weary. The truth added more stones to the weight he carried. Bast seemed to like this-dare she say it-human aspect of the Norse supreme god. But Odin was all business, no matter how personal he made some of his business. If even his own son held any sort of detriment to the balance of orders within the gods, he would dispose of him...as he very well did. That certainly didn't mean he liked it.
He was done with this conversation, and he had better things to take care of than stroke that feline grin on Bast's face. Odin stood to his great height, staring down at Bast's rather satisfied form, "Find everyone you can to track my boy. We cannot tell him everything. He wouldn't believe it. But not matter how weak he is, we must keep him safe. Safe from the darkness that lurks out there."
"We'll do what we can," Bast straightened her back in her seat and tilted her head with a smile that Odin had faith in. It was a mischievous smile that if he were her enemy he would be uneasy. However, as far as he knew, she was his ally and that smile was one of sureness.
Odin nodded, placed bills on the coffee table and headed towards the bar of the supper club. He sat next to the thin man with the baseball cap, purposefully, ordering another beer. Odin kept his eye on the man, saying nothing. The man too didn't seem to notice him, nor did he care. He appeared so deep in thought, he could pass a day without taking a glance at the time.
"Tough day, right?" Odin offered. The man snapped out of his pensive gaze.
"Sorry?"
"You look like you're going through some tough times, friend." In truth Odin knew everything about this man. He was Michael Baumgardner, orginally of Chippewa Falls and he was on his last straw, drinking the last moments of all efforts to feel like a living breathing being.
"You've been holding onto a secret right?" Odin asked, at this Michael turned away biting his chapped and stinging lower lip. Inexplicably, this...man knew a secret, a pain he held for weeks now.
"What did you see?" Odin asked calmly, trying to let Michael feel more welcome to speak freely.
Michael stared back at Odin with red-rimmed, tear filled eyes, "You wouldn't believe me. No one will."
Odin's lips curled as he took a drink from his beer, "I've had a lot in me, I may just believe you."
Michael stared at the ice melting in his third gin, lips thinning and trembling. The man next to him was friendly, possibly as drunk as he. Still, even he had a hard time coming to terms with everything.
"You don't understand. If I say anything, people will think me mad. My bosses will do an investigation. I'm a drunkard, in case it wasn't obvious. They'll find I was drinking on the job. I can't afford to lose my job. That's the one thing I have left. Not after my boy..."
The frantic man stopped himself, not wanting to reveal more. His tongue felt loose. He felt like he could spill every single secret he's held. Like he stole the tires from his neighbors truck once. He stole money from his aunt for drinks when he was a teen. He had slept with his brother's girlfriend once. All of that.
"What's wrong with your boy?" the smooth voice of the one-eyed man urged on.
Michael sighed, and relented, "My son, Eric. He's been real sick, ya know. Only eleven years old, ya know. Leukemia. They say he's gonna die if he doesn't continue treatment."
He glanced at Odin with a rather accepting expression, "Do I look like I can afford any sort of treatment? I can't even afford to keep my kid alive."
This gave Odin pause, a twinge of sympathy settling uneasy in his massive chest. He never felt sympathetic towards humans, but this man's quarrel, to him, was relatable. His own boy, sick from fate, could not be cured, no matter how hard he tried.
"What if I said if you told me, your boy would gain his second wind," Odin said cheekily. Of course Michael didn't believe him. He may have drunk and drawn to trust this man, but he didn't believe him in this respect. How could he when all the doctors had said over and over that treatment would only drag out his son's life, not heal him.
"I'd call you a liar," Michael said succinctly.
"You'll never know unless you tell me," the big man replied. "I actually have a tendency to believe fish stories."
After a short pause, Michael leaned towards Odin, shoulders blocking away any other listeners who would happen upon their conversation.
"I saw something in the water," Michael said in shaky breath.
"In the river?"
Shaking his head Michael answered, "Lake Michigan. I was sailing my schooner at the mouth of Lake Superior and Lake Michigan, when I saw it. There was this log ship I suspect was sailing from Canada, but whatever it was it was totally engulphed by these...tentacles."
"Tentacles?"
Gritting his teeth, Michael looked down, "I knew you'd never believe me. I know what I saw."
He turned to Odin with a quivering lip. He whispered with every air of desperation, "A giant octopus."
He took a drink of his gin and continued, "But that couldn't be. There's no such thing. And octopus...they don't touch fresh water, do they?"
Odin felt himself smirk but pushed Michael, "If an octopus can't be in fresh water, then there is another explanation. Correct? What thing that haunts the human fantasy is that big and can break a log ship in half."
Michael paused, eyes shifting from side to side as he searched his brain. "That's impossible. A kraken? No, no that's wrong."
"Is it? There was a once a fictional man who stated that if you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains-however improbable-must be the truth."
"Then you believe me?" Michael asked desperately. Odin did with every ounce of fear. The kraken in freshwater was not something he could have anticipated.
"I wish I didn't but I do," Odin finished his beer and turned to his new charge, "My friend, I have heard your story and I believe you. Now I ask you to trust me. Do you?"
Michael stared at Odin, the empty gin glass slipping from his fingers. As he stared at that cold blue eye and felt like he could follow this man to the end of the world. He was big and strong, he seemed well put together and wise, and Michael had nothing.
"Yes," his lips finally moved. Wordlessly Odin left the supper club with Michael following close behind.
That was the last anyone saw Michael Baumgardner alive. They found him a day later in Dan Anderson's cherry farm, swinging naked from a noose tied on an oak tree, black birds perched and pecking at his corpse. Most thought he hung himself because he couldn't deal with the downtrodden life he was given. Curiously, at the very moment the police investigated his body, Michael's son awoke, much to the astonishment of the doctors, completely and miraculously cured and ready to take on life.
A/N: I really like writing Odin. Makes me hope that Infinite may introduce him.