It's a Slow Fire of Sorts: Part I

Water Break

Brunnhilde pauses the story to get water, because talking non-stop is wrecking her throat. She suddenly has a newfound appreciation for Loki's three-hour performances. She still hates them, of course- because they're god-awful and melodramatic- but he gets a pass for his commitment to the cause.

"Wow," Chavez says, stretching out on the floor. "I'm really digging the enemies to lovers vibe we've got going on."

"Right?! It's so romantic... love at first fight..." Little Marv's voice is high and floaty: head clearly in the clouds.

"Did you guys kiss? Did you think she was pretty because the way you're describing her makes me think that you thought she was pretty and oh my gosh the yearning I bet there was so much yearning, was there yearning? Please tell me there was yearning."

Her sentences have combined into one horrendous run-on. Brunnhilde has to rewind it in her head.

"Did I yearn?" she finally asks. "Really? You're asking me if I yearned for the woman that made me puke?"

She opens the fridge and takes out the filtered water before turning back to Carol with a humored smile. "Um... yeah- no," she says, taking in Marv's upturned lips and bright eyes.

"The answer to both of those questions- the yearning and the pretty- is no. I hated her. I completely hated her guts. She was a cocky, infuriating Starforce soldier whose first real words to me were something along the lines of, 'I'm in charge,' and then, 'Alcohol is bad for you-'"

"Because alcohol is bad for you. Moderation is key."

"Yeah, and you wouldn't shut up about it for about ten years." Brunnhilde takes a long drink of water and leans against the counter. Carol's rolling her eyes, and for a tiny moment, Brunnhilde is transported back to purple veils and shattered beer bottles.

"That's because I cared- and still care- about your liver," Carol says firmly. "Wasn't going to let you drink yourself to death-"

"Yes, Marv- and I appreciate it now. Back then, however? Absolutely not... I dreamt about killing you on multiple occasions," but as soon as the sentence leaves her mouth, Brunnhilde cringes, because 'dream' is probably not the best choice of words. Little Marv is latching onto the statement with far too much enthusiasm.

"Oh my gosh... ohmygosh you dreamed about her?"

Brunnhilde groans. "I dreamt about murdering her-" she corrects. "The whole friend thing doesn't come into play for at least another four years, and the love thing takes even longer. Honestly, most of our interactions before then were just periods of tolerating each other."

"Ugh, I both love and despise the timeline of this story."

"And there was no hate sex?" America chimes in, as Brunnhilde places the filter back in the fridge. "Be honest. There was hate sex in there somewhere, wasn't there-"

"Absolutely not!" Monica says. "We are NOT going there."

"I bet they went there-" Chavez smirks and Monica raises a finger.

"Strike one!"

Her face is all kinds of uncomfortable. She takes another sip of Pinot, finger still raised, and after downing an appropriate amount of wine deemed necessary for the conversation, she grimaces in Chavez's general direction. "I've given you a generous amount of leeway this evening, Miss Chavez, but you are on the line."

"What happens when I get to strike three?"

Monica's eyes narrow. America raises her hands and sits up. "Okay, okay. America Chavez, winding down. Forcing all of her personality into a bubble for the remainder of the night." Brunnhilde just shakes her head.

"Both of you are reading too much into this. Do you wanna hear the next part or not?"

"Obviously yes," Chavez murmurs. She brings up her hand to shield her lips from Monica's view and mouths, "Especially if there's hate sex." Monica loudly clears her throat. Her fingers slide up from one to two, and Chavez immediately falls in line.

"Yep, got it- message received."

"Well, I'm ready," Little Marv says as Brunnhilde settles back down on the couch. Her palms are yellow from all the popcorn butter.

"Tell me everything. Every single detail."

Her enthusiasm has Brunnhilde chucking. "Maybe not every detail," she replies. "This next part is a lot of material. It's basically a life-times worth of toxicity smashed into half a decade, and then it turns into respect, and then friendship, and then... well, not friendship. I guess?" She takes Carol's hand in hers and squeezes. The warmth of her fingers is grounding...

"What do you mean 'not friendship?' Did you guys have a fight or something?" Little Marv's smile is fading. Chavez and Monica are confused as well, but before Brunnhilde can respond, Carol does it first.

"It's really complicated," she explains. "There are a lot of heavy things that happened. I guess you could say that it's... hmm, hold on. Wait a sec-" she squishes her lips and narrows her eyes. A few seconds go by, and then she's snapping her fingers. "It's a slow burn," she states. "Full of mutual pining... with lots of action, enemies to... not enemies, I guess? Oh!- and the main thing is, it gets worse before it gets better."

Her gaze falls to the floor, where Kamala is smiling again, body quivering in excitement. "That was perfect," she says, and Carol beams. She whispers the word, "yes," to herself, fist to chest, and it's so sweet and disgusting that Brunnhilde has to turn away.

Little Marv's face is beaming as well.

"I'm so proud," she says, hand stretched over her heart. "My baby girl... all grown up and understanding tropes." There is absolutely no sarcasm in her voice, and at her cheesy words, Chavez physically cringes.

"You both disgust me," she says. "Here I sit: mortifyingly disgusted."

"Mutual pining?" Monica asks, and Chavez rolls her eyes.

"Please don't encourage them. They're going off about nerd stuff again, and I'm hoping that maybe if we ignore them, they'll stop-"

"I will never stop," Little Marv promises. "Not as long as I live. Not as long as I breathe!"

"That's incredibly dramatic.

"I'm being authentic."

"Yeah," Chavez jokes. "Authentically dramatic," and Kamala punches her in the arm; it isn't hard, but Chavez fakes offense anyway. "Violence isn't the answer."

"You're violent all the time."

"Yeah, but I'm a menace. You're better than me." Her voice drops lower, fingers obnoxiously stroking a fake beard. "Do better, Kam. Be the good you want to see in the world. Be the hero I know you are-" and Little Marv rolls her eyes. They're squabbling again, exchanging words back and forth with sibling-type annoyance, so Brunnhilde takes the opportunity to check in. She gulps down one last drink of water before handing it to Carol, who takes the glass with a happy smile. After a few sips, she's setting it on the side table and rubbing the back of Brunnhilde's shoulder in silent appreciation.

Her body language is relaxed.

"Tell them whatever you want," she's saying, eyes still bright and lips still loose as she gazes lovingly at the two idiots on the floor. So, Brunnhilde decides to take artistic liberty. Kriff, if Loki can do it, Brunnhilde can do it, too. She's going to give these heathens the SparkNotes version because they're not even a year into this story and it's already nine o'clock.

Marv's self-proclaimed bedtime is drawing closer and closer.

"Alright kids, simmer down-" Brunnhilde says, breaking up the bickering. "You ready for a five part wrap up of Sakaar, full of arrogant beams of sunshine, hot-headed alcoholics and a tragic ending that isn't actually that tragic in retrospect because both of our heroes make it out alive?"

"I have no idea what any of that means," Kamala responds. "But absolutely I am."