"I'ma... I'ma tell my girlfrien' 'bou' you. This is kidnappin..."
Sigurd promised he could handle it. That a little bit of pain medication and anesthetic would not be able to do shit to him. That was obviously why your boyfriend of six years was stuffed under his favourite deep blue blanket singing the tune of Fur Elise while you pulled up to the window of Sigurd and your favourite ice cream shop.
"I am your girlfriend, Sigurd."
Sigurd lulls his head to the side, drooling on the dark head of his seat. In the back, Hvitserk leaned up to touch Sigurd's temples, massaging him as if that would make any difference.
"See... you halve a si'ekick too! A lil bitty si'ekick..."
"It's me Sigurd! Your brother." Hvitserk says with gruff disapproval. He agreed to come help you with Sigurd. After all, his baby brother was a lot to handle with Ivar. Who knew how the drugs would make him? Would he fight you? That was the whole purpose of him being here: controlling his baby brother.
"I don' gotta brother." Sigurd moans. After an exchange of money, you take in the ice cream from the shop. Raspberry sherbet just for Sigurd. "I gotta sister. With pretty li'l braids. So pretty... so pretty."
You release the brake in preference for driving. In the morning, he'd be kicking his own ass for those words that had Hvitserk pouting around his deep, dark chocolate and raspberry swirled ice cream cone.
"I had braids one time! One time!" He exclaims, making for two idiots driving down the street toward your shared apartment.
"Ignore him, Hvitty. Let's just get him home so that he can eat his ice cream and sleep it off. He's gone loopy in the brain."
"'M not loopy!"
Point and case.
