Author: indeliblememories PM
Neurotic, fearful, weak. Alien she is, warrior she is not. And she is far from prepared to be called back to Asgard. My interpretation of Sigyn from Norse mythology, in the Marvel Universe.Rated: Fiction T - English - Fantasy/Romance - Chapters: 5 - Words: 5,374 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 08-16-12 - Published: 08-11-12 - id: 8420134
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Chapter One: Closeted
People come to Las Vegas for different reasons. Some, to get hitched. Others, wasted. Some need an excuse to lose their money at the roulette tables and wake up next to a stranger in an unfamiliar hotel room. Many of the people who come to Las Vegas are just looking to get away from something.
Sigyn fell into that last category. But the something she needed to get away from was far from the usual vindictive spouse or unreasonable employer. No, it was something a little less ordinary. And this thing she had to get away from- it was much more difficult to shake than the usual vindictive spouse or unreasonable employer. Which was why she needed Las Vegas. It wasn't a matter of choice.
So here she was, waking up from a nap in a cramped little studio apartment smack in the middle of Sin City. Preparing for another day of bartending at the Bellagio's Hyde tavern, another day of people-watching and cocktail mixing, all against the backdrop of majestic fountains and tacky buildings that slowly gained appeal as the day turned to night and the lights winked on all around the city. She loved it. Couldn't get enough of it. Because living in a place where indulgence came above all else and culture was more important than substance was the perfect thing to remedy a sour past filled with broken relationships.
Sigyn stared leisurely up at the ceiling, buried in blankets and not ready to get up just yet. Right now she felt she could spend the whole day in bed. Or maybe she was just trying to put off the inevitable panic attack that would grip her the moment she really got started. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she discovered that it was three-thirty. Maybe hitting the snooze button in favor of studying her ceiling fan hadn't been such a good idea.
Slowly Sigyn dragged herself out of bed, stretching and rubbing her eyes as she tried to work the shroud of sleep away. When she had woken herself up sufficiently, she turned to address her bed, which she couldn't stand to see unmade for any reason. She made it three times before she decided it was good enough. Then she unmade it and remade it again, just to be safe.
The OCD had started around the same time she had started doing strange things- things that a twelve-year-old girl shouldn't have been able to do. And this wasn't just a matter of, "Oh, she's a little different" or "She's just special". This was a matter of a seemingly-normal girl growing wings. Having an arm that turned into a vicious, gigantic claw. Being able to fight. This was a matter of supernatural, and it was what resulted from a Valkyrie of Asgard having a child with a human man. So yes, she had OCD, as well as a slew of accompanying phobias. But that was barely the beginning of it.
Finally able to look at her bed without getting nervous, Sigyn quickly dressed out of her nightgown (being sure to fold it neatly before putting it in the laundry basket) and got into the shower. She had become adept at getting immaculately clean in a short amount of time, scrubbing herself thoroughly and washing her hair twice to make sure it was clean. When that was done, she set about dressing and getting her hair perfect (a crooked part or stray hair was enough to stress her out more than it should) before taking a moment to straighten up her already meticulously clean bedroom.
By the time she'd applied makeup with artistic precision and gotten around to breakfast, it was already four-thirty PM. My, how time had flown. Sitting down to a meal of fruit (she gained weight viciously whenever she wasn't dieting), Sigyn was finally able to collect herself in preparation for the night ahead of her. Eyes narrowed, she drank coffee and looked over the newspaper, all morning activities reserved for the afternoon due to a night shift and a royally screwed-up body clock. After arranging her dishes neatly in the washer, she tugged on her boots, grabbed her purse and hurried out of her apartment. Her shift started at five PM and ended at three in the morning.
I shouldn't have made the bed that last time, she thought as she rushed down the stairs and out the doors, glancing at her watch in a panic. Four forty-five. Running now, she almost tripped over the curb as she rounded the corner and made a beeline for the bus stop.
Ingrid was on the bus. Sigyn took a seat nearby the moment she saw her friend. "Hey," she said breathlessly. Ingrid was a vision: a tall, curvaceous brunette with poise and stature that a runway model would kill for. Sigyn had a hopeless crush on her when the two were in high school, but now only saw her as a friend (she refused to believe, however, that Ingrid was her only friend). Sigyn paled terribly next to Ingrid- Sigyn, with her shapeless figure, honey blonde curls and flat gray eyes. Sigyn, with her snub nose and washy complexion speckled with scabs she couldn't help but pick at.
"Hey," Ingrid replied, pulling her purse into her lap and turning to get a better look at Sigyn. "You almost didn't make it."
"I know," Sigyn acknowledged as the bus rumbled away. She shook her head. "Is it just me, or is this bus coming a little earlier every day?"
"It's you," Ingrid told her. "Is everything all right?"
"Oh, yeah." Sigyn forced a smile. "Well, I was taking a nap."
"I don't blame you," Ingrid replied. "I keep wondering why I ever took this job. All I ever do anymore is sleep- this shift is going to kill me. " She grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes. She had clearly seen through Sigyn's chipper façade. There was a pause and her eyebrows furrowed, a concerned frown appearing on her face. "It's getting worse, isn't it?"
Ingrid rolled her eyes. "Come on, Sigyn."
"Shit," Sigyn muttered, closing her eyes. Then, turning to Ingrid, "Yeah. It is."
"Have you ever thought about seeing someone?" Ingrid asked cautiously. "I mean, it's a pretty common disorder…"
She had thought about it. But there was no way. If it meant having someone know about what she could do, the reason she'd cut ties with her mother, moved somewhere she could disappear, she would gladly suffer with neurosis. Sure, mutants were getting more common, slowly gaining respect from the world at large. After what the Avengers had done to stop that psychotic Asgardian bastard, Loki, the general public wasn't exactly in a position to mistreat gifted individuals. But she wasn't a mutant. And she wasn't a costume, either. She was just a bartender who'd gotten stuck with some interesting genes. And regardless of the ties- to Asgard, to Odin, to the Valkyries- that some might say obligated her to help her own kind, she felt no connection to any of it. Or at least, not enough of a connection to warrant trying to do something with her abilities.
As if on cue, Sigyn's shoulder blades began to itch. Damn. It wasn't even seven and already the wings wanted to come out. Soon the same thing would start nagging at her right arm, demanding usage, even if it meant exposing her true nature to all those around her. Which meant she was in for a day of discomfort all the way up until she got home again, could let the stupid wings come out and the claw form, satisfying that primitive need while she pored over books of Norse mythology and binged on potato chips.
Such was the life of a closet Valkyrie.