Fergus Finlay was the boy who would be seen causing trouble around Midtown High, walking around with his pack of cards and wit to save him from trouble. However, he was in for a rude wake-up call; history was awakening, and it had set its eyes on Fe...
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Fergus was awake earlier than he had thought possible. He had silently watched the night be replaced by eerie morning light thats dawn.
“My name is Fergus, Fergus! I'm telling you, these people here got it all wrong. In some way, I'm still convinced that this is some kind of bull. I mean, how could you possibly be pulled into another world by some mythological female-smeagol?” he ranted, going to push a piece of hair away from his eyes only to realise it had been cut. It was a reflex.
“More mead, m'lord?”
“Yes, of course, but I said it's Fergus, please call me Fergus. Also, wasn't the mythological wolf in chains anyway?” he asked, throwing his legs up on the bed as he reached for the full goblet. The maid, whose name he had learned was Aerith, was sitting on the chair where Stiorra had been sitting last night. She hadn't wanted to, but Fergus was very convincing. Now the poor maid was sitting there, short legs dangling over the edge and gripping the jug between her fingers, tense and very much trying not to squirm in his presence.
“But you were, m'lord.” his green eyes landed on her, making the maid freeze under his calculated stare.
“I'm not particularly fond of these kinds of games.” he said, looking at the flustered maid with amusement.
“I- my lord I didn't, it's not what I-” a knock sounded, pulling Fergus' attention away from the maid who was on the brink of passing out. Aerith let out a relieved sigh, melting into the chair as she took a couple of seconds to try and get her heart to calm down.
Before Fergus could answer, the door opened, relieving the small woman. Stiorra snorted at the scene before her, stepping into the room. “couldn't you put a shirt on before you go terrifying the maids. Also, it is highly inappropriate.” she glared at the maid who hopped off the chair, avoiding eye contact at all cost before placing the jug on the table. Aerith apologised profoundly, scurrying off.
“See you later Aerith!” Fergus called out, waving at her as she disappeared out of the door.
“You're ruining her reputation, stop it.” Stiorra said, crossing her arms as she looked at the tall demigod who didn't seem to mind being half-naked.
“It's not really a crime to have a shirt off, is it? I mean, it's some kind of underworld does it really matter if— omph” he coughed, gripping the boot that had been thrown at his abdomen. He had closed his eyes for a second and there he was already abusing him.
“It won't do anything to you but she will be the one receiving all the unwanted attention by everyone.” Stiorra said nonchalantly, perching on the windowsill as she looked out, eyes landing in the dark forest the stretched in the horizon. There were cliffs in the distance, almost pitch black as a trail of water seemed to fall from then into oblivion.
“Yeah I almost forgot, it's the Medieval mindset here, got it. Also, why are you here again?”
“Because Aurgrímnir will probably pretend to forget all about you and you need to start training. Of course, I'll fill you in about everything. And would you get ready? Is everyone on Midgard that lazy? If that's true, it's gonna be a child's play to get.” Fergus' head perked up as he craned his neck to stare at Stiorra.
