Home is where the heart is

It had been a tiring experience, getting out of the prisons of Jotunheim. I had escaped just in time, greatly helped by the ignorance of the bounty hunter that had captured me. Which was what brought me back to Hotel Valhalla after nearly a century. I needed to train more and the Hotel had the best equipment, which, along with the security and protection it offered, allowed me to rest before moving on with my travels. Even such a safe haven was dangerous for creatures like me and I had to be careful and discreet of my actions. Thus why I had chosen the middle of the night to enter, hoping to find at least the largest past of its population either asleep or otherwise occupied.

Now, you may be thinking: if it's technically night time in Hotel Valhalla shouldn't Chips be asleep or watching Shameless instead of hanging out in the Lobby? Well, that makes sense, actually. Even an undead einherji warrior needs his beauty rest. 

Normally, Chips would be sleeping, or smoking a ciggy, or watching his shows. But there just some nights that he couldn't get any sleep. He didn't know exactly what it was: the war, his own wayward imagination, or that fact that he just wasn't feeling tired at all. Maybe it was a combination of all of them. 

So the Welsh demigod was just wandering around the Lobby at night, no one around, no one up and about--

Scratch that. He thought he saw something move in the shadows caused by the flickering firelight. "Uh....hey, mate?" he called out, though not very loudly as most of the hotel's occupants were still asleep. "Who's out there?"

I was just about ready to climb the stairs up to the training area when a voice called out to me. Frozen in my place, I turned around to face him, glad for the cover the darkness still provided. I was surprised to find it was only a boy - no monster, no bounty hunter. The grip on my ax I didn't even know I had relaxed as I rationalized things - if he was about to attack me, he wouldn't have allowed me to hear him. As I slowly approached, I tried to remember my last interraction with any humans and how they greeted each other. "Hello. I am just a visitor here."I said calmly, making a circle with my palm as I had seen so many do before.

Chips rubbed his eyes. Nope. She was still there. It wasn't his imagination. His occasional PTSD wasn't severe enough to where he would see women who, even in the dark he could tell, stood at a little over three feet with green skin and purple hair....he thought. This wasn't Slaughter House-Five, and he wasn't unstuck in time. "Uh...." he began, at a sudden loss for words. "Well....that's killer-diller--I mean, good," he continued, not meaning for the slang from his era to leave his lips. He had grown better at canning it over the past several decades, but sometimes he just didn't think about it. "Visitors are a good thing, y'know....now, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not sure exactly who you are--I'm Chips, by the way." He held out his hand for her to shake. "Atticus Chips, son of Váli."

I looked at his hand puzzled, looking up at him confused. "I'm Eri"I replied, opting to use the nickname I had been given a few centuries ago since I knew how hard my name was to pronounce for most humans. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Atticus Chips, son of Váli."

Seeing that Eri didn't seem to understand modern human customs, Chips lowered his hand, deciding that, if she asked, he would the divulge in the art of shaking hands. "Eri," he repeated, experimenting with the unusual name, "sounds pretty cool. Do you normally visit the hotel, in the dark, at night, when no one else is up?" He smirked a bit, trying to show that he was partially joking around. "I don't think I've ever seen you before--I've been around for the past 76 Midgardian years or so. Are you from Svartalfeim?" Well, she didn't appear to be a dwarf: her form was too slim, and her features too fair, not to mention the green skin and the purple hair.

"No, I actuay do no't"I replied, confused by his weird smile. "I do not visit all that often so your statement is instantly invalid. When I do though, yes, I try to go by unnoticed. It is logical that you have not seen me here before, I last visited over a century ago, I think. And, to answer your question, my father was indeed from Svartalheim"I replied, his calm demeanor giving off an honest and relaxing vibe.

"Over a century ago? Wow." Chips gave a low whistle and ran his hand through his hair in bewilderment. That had caught him off-guard. He wondered how old Eri really was. She appeared to be about 20, but Chips knew that looks could be deceiving--he himself was around 100 Midgardian years but appeared 22, the age he had died. "Guess I should be used to that kind of stuff by now," he commented, though more to himself than to the mysterious woman before him. He frowned as a sudden thought struck him. "I don't mean to pry, but you said that your dad was from Svartalfeim....so are you just a half-dwarf?" Chips asked. Then, realizing that he might've given offense (since he didn't know this stranger very well), he quickly added "I'm not very knowledgeable about the different species throughout the Nine Worlds, sorry. Uh....most of us einherjar don't really concentrate on learning that stuff as much as the ol' slash and thrash with the sword or the axe."

"Indeed, I am part-dwarf and part-elf. My mother was from Alfheim, from her I get my skin, eyes and hair. My dad gifted me with his height and his power. And his trusty ax." I added, pointing to the weapon hanging by my belt in a clear warning to the still unfamiliar person. "In return, who are you, Atticus Chips? You're clearly human from the looks of it, and you'd better be unless you want your head separated from your body."

"Oh, ya, I'm a human--besides, y'know, the demigod part of it," Chips replied, though he couldn't help but smirk again. "I've been around Valhalla for about....oh, 70-something years, I think. I lived back in Wales--that's a large place on Midgard--during a time of war. That's how I died. War." He tapped his head. "Took a bullet right here," then he gestured towards his chest, "a few there," and then at his stomach, "and some there."

"What is a bullet?"I asked suspiciously, reaching out to touch the spot he showed me on his chest. "Is it some kind of pill? Did you commit suicide? Cause why would have Odin let you here if you did such an awful and cowardly act? You're not fit to be a Norse warrior! They're the stuff of legends, known in all the kingdoms for their bravery and ferocity!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Chips replied, holding up his hands. "A bullet's a round piece of metal that's fired through a....a metal machine with gunpowder and....it can pierce through flesh and bone. It's a Midgardian weapon. I fought in the war. We mainly used bullets and guns--what they're shot through."

"Oh. So, is it like a tiny arrow? With the gun being the special bow? Because being littered with arrows is an honorable and brave way to die."I trailed off, walking a few steps away from him to put some distance between us. "I am sorry for my unjust words, brave and skilled warrior."