Chapter 1 – The Slaughter

The air is crispy and so cold it stings the skin. The western wind is playing lightly with the fallen leaves that covers the ground. The waves rise up threatening only to fall limply against the shore as is their custom along the western shore of Denmark, where, on a small island secluded from the rest of the world, our little family of misfits have made their home. Half the island is covered in a thick forest for Vali to roam freely and hunt in, the other half has a wide open plain for Sleipnir to stretch his legs in, and right in between sits the house. The house has been built to fit modern comforts, Viking ideals, and Asgardian sizes. The whole first floor is nothing but wide windows letting in as much light as possible, while the second floor, which holds the bedrooms, is less open and more cozy, with natural materials for the walls and a roof of grass. 

This is how the family of misfits have chosen to live in Midgard, and this is where Max and Ian are traveling to for the holidays. First a car ride to the airport, then a plane from NY to Billund, then a cab ride from there to the small harbor where Loki was waiting to pick them up in the small boat and take them to the island. After such a long and tiresome journey, one could not blame Max and Ian for simply wanting to sleep for the next several hours once they got to the island. They took their bags and left Loki to tie up the boat and carry in the rest of their luggage, but rather than the warm greeting, perhaps even a familiar hug, they were expecting, what they got from Sigyn was something else indeed. 

She opened the door with a wide smile, and with a flick of her wrist sent a splatter of thick, red, liquid straight at their faces. 

“What the hell?” Max exclaimed, wiping his hand across his face and realizing to his horror that he was covered in blood. 

“Happy Solstice!” Sigyn greeted in an excited voice. Max and Ian looked at each other, and both of them knew instantly that this was not going to be the relaxing holiday they had been expecting. “Sadly Hel isn’t here yet,” Sigyn explained. “This is a busy time for her, after all, but we are hoping she will be able to show up for a quick visit at some point doing the Solstice.” Sigyn might as well have been speaking Danish, there’s a higher probability the couple would have understood that. 

“What are you all doing standing here?” Loki complained, having arrived to the scene as well. “You are letting all the warmth out of the house.” For a second Ian froze at the sound of domestic Loki, as if his gut was telling him there could be no such thing, and that surely it must have been a facade to trick them somehow. Sigyn noticed, and with a sly smile she moved her hand just a centimeter or so closer to Ian, as if to indicate to him. In her hand was a bowl of fresh blood and a coarse brush, the brush she had used to stain both the men in blood. He had no idea why she did it, or what it was for, but the silent offer or the bowl and the silent hint that maybe he could get Loki before Loki got him with some unknown horror, well, it was somehow just too much to pass up. In a swift movement Ian dropped the bag in his hand, grabbed the offered bowl of blood, spun around on his heels, and let the entire content of the bowl fly in a stripe through the air where, just a moment ago, Loki had been standing. Ian stared in confusion as the blood flew unhindered through the air and spread across the frost crispy lawn in a wide pattern. Then he felt something at his ankle. He froze in horror as Loki in his snake from slithered up his leg, around his waist, up his stomach, chest, and finally settled around his neck, staring him dead in the eye. Ian didn’t know if he should apologize or if that would insult the god, and he couldn’t really tell if Loki was seriously angry or just playing with him. Honestly, even though Ian would have counted Loki as a friend, enough so at least to travel to crispy cold Denmark to celebrate Christmas for all of twelve days, at this exact moment Ian knew nothing about Loki. The snake eyes bore into him like a cold hot fury only Odin should have been capable of, and Ian couldn’t help but believe those eyes. And then something thick and warm fell on his head, his eyes shutting instantly as it slowly ran down his face, over his eyes, dripping from his chin. He reached up a hand and wiped the sticky blood out of his eyes, and saw first the Loki snake drenched in blood too, the sticky mess running down his sleek body. Second, he saw his husband with an empty bowl in his hand and a self satisfied smile on his lips, and arched eyebrow to go with it as if to say “what are you gonna do about it?” Thirdly, as he turned around slowly, he saw Sigyn standing all too innocently with her hands behind her back. 

In the split of a second Loki had let go of Ian, somehow jumped off him in his snake form, and landed on the floor on his human feet. He stepped close to his wife, a mischievous glint in his eyes, a promise of trouble in the crooked smile on his lips, and an undeniable declaration of love in all of it. He stepped so close their noses were practically touching as he looked down into her face. She kept her innocent expression, teasing him by raising an eyebrow in question. The second he parted his lips to speak, her hand flew out from behind her back and landing squarely in his face, his nose in her palm, her fingers spread wide from his temple to his cheek bone – her entire hand covered in blood, as if she had dipped it into the bowl before handing it to Max. She slid her hand slowly down his face, reveling in the satisfaction as her bloody handprint smudged over his eyes, nose, lips, chin. 

Loki isn’t one for hesitation, and so, with one swift movement, he wrapped an arm around her waist, turned her around so her back was pressed against his chest, and buried his face in her blonde hair. 

Max and Ian didn’t need telling twice, and while Loki was taking his revenge on his wife – who laughed loudly as he rubbed his cheek against her braid – the two men rushed behind the kitchen counter and grabbed a bowl of blood each from beneath the birds hanging from the hooks on the underside of the kitchen cabinets. Within seconds blood was flying everywhere all at once. Loud screams of delight at a good hit, or grossed out screams when the blood hits somewhere unfortunate, or soaks its way through clothes, eventually woke up Nari and drew him downstairs. His untimely arrival was met with four flings of blood, all perfectly aimed at his face. For a second he stood on the middle of the stairs, seemingly frozen in shock. Then he leaped happily down and joined in the fight. Not 30 seconds later Vali joined too, coming sprinting from the forest and almost crashing into the door before remembering to push it open. 

Instinctually, it became an all-against-Loki fight, and soon the god of mischief, the Jotun who can talk his way out of pretty much anything, was lying sprawled out on the floor of his Midgardian home, Max and Ian on either side of him, pinning him down as one of his sons was licking his hair and the other was holding his legs down as best he could. Sigyn calmly went to the kitchen and picked up the giant pot she had been emptying the small bowls of blood into as she slaughtered the animals they were going to eat during the 12 days of Yule. As if it was the most every day task, she walked over and stood at Loki’s head. He smiled up at her, a laughter in his eyes he couldn’t suppress. She smiled back, and tipped the pot over. At the very last second Loki yanked himself to the right, practically burying himself in Ian’s lap and pulling Max in under the flood of blood. The blood fell thick and heavy over Max’s head, neck, and back, running over his broad shoulders, soaking his shirt, and dripping down on the hardwood floor. Max didn’t move, he just lay there. The laughter died awkwardly as the guest lay in the pool of blood. Ian held out a hand and softly stroked against Max’s arm to see if he was okay. Max didn’t react in the slightest, but Ian smiled none the less. 

“Objection, your honor!” he said loudly. “Counsel is testifying!” Max remained still for another second, drawing out the silence, but then he slowly raised himself up off the floor in almost zombie-like movements, slow and jagged. 

“Overruled,” Max said overly sternly with a lifted finger, and then with one quick movement he pushed himself up, turned over, and let himself fall back on the floor on his back. He spread his arms and legs as wide and high as they would go without bumping into anyone, and then he collected them again, lying like a tin soldier all straight. He repeated this move no less than five times, making a sad little angel in the pool of blood and making his husband break down in laughter. 

And that was how the holiday get-together between the two families started, with the old Viking tradition called the Slaughter, where all the animals for the 12 days of Yule were killed and prepared, and where people happily flung blood at each other as a festive greeting. What more can happen when you mix the old and the new, the Nordic and the American? The next 11 days ought surely to show us.