Sonatorrek: Þrymskviða - 1

[x-dominion.livejournal.com]

WARNING: MATURE SUBJECT MATTER

A meeting is arranged between the Valhallas and the Sons of Hel



There was the anticipation of something big in the Valhallas clubhouse. Sylvie had shown up an hour ago, but instead of disappearing with Don into his room, she'd ended up speaking to Deke instead. As she left, he took a seat at the head of the long table and slammed his fist on the wood to get everyone's attention.

Deke let the silence build, feeling the draining exhaustion slough off him and letting that old gift, that somethingswell and grow about him, fill the room with his authority, his presence.

He always had it, and always knew he had it. The same thing that made his Da able to take over a town when the Valhallas were nothing more than half a dozen of souls lost within a Golden Age.

Charisma, confidence, baraka - he'd heard it called so many things. It was an old friend, and it was a shocking relief to feel it spread its wings again, after months of poisonous worry about Donny had made the world into a gray and aching wound.

It was a relief to feel the ground firm up under his feet again and to, once more, feel the certainties and sureties of being what he was. Clean and simple; the compromises and corruptions of the world beyond the clubhouse falling away for one more day as his father's dream stood between the grubby dirt of the modern and the last bastion of the truly free men.

And so he let the silence build, and listened to eat, ate it up with bloodthirsty relish, drawing strength and joy from it, making himself forget the weaknesses and fears, the big scarred hands flexing, as if he was gripping and mauling the air itself.

"I AM FUCKING DONE."

The President's roar seemed to shake the very walls, and incongruously, the older generation among the bikers present in the room (already exchanging knowing glances as the pause had stretched), began to grin - slyly or with relief, expectantly.

Deke was, in fact, surprised himself. He had meant to start softly, without raising his voice, building emphasis and pressure. But he was a rider of the thing now, swept away by his instincts and frustration's catharsis, just like everybody else.

"We have played it smart, and we had played it fair. We waited and we looked for allies. We stood back and tried to spare the town the bloodletting. And I am done with that shit."

Deke swept the eyes gone grey with rage across his audience. "DONE."

"This is our turf. This our town. Our fathers built this club for nothing and held this land against all comers. We did the same as the all of them came around to take it - the Ivans and the spicks, the slants and the Guidos. This is my town. Mine."

"MINE." The answering roar of the bikers came out in unpracticed unison, unprompted by anything but that somethingthat had its hooks deep into the undermind of the now, tugging them along with Deke.

"We have all gotten too fucking soft." His voice dropped now, into the soft, almost sibilant hiss of fury and scorn. "Too fucking used of living apart from the shit-ocean that our fathers kept outside this backyard, and we were supposed to. Well, that ends now."

"NOW!" They screamed back at him, their eyes now reflecting his madness back at him, the air between them almost crackling with electricity.

"I am leaving my son a one-percenter club of MEN and town free of SHIT, just as my father had left me. So this is how it is."

Deke rose slowly, his fists flat on the surface of the table and leaned forward to fix his club with a dark glare of pure intent. "We are meeting the Sons. We talk it out one last time. We give them one last chance of getting the fuck out of our town. And if they refuse..."

He smiled, a slow hungry expression of fanged anticipation. "We kill the Nazi motherfuckers. Just like our fathers did."

"KILL!"

The returning roar was deafening, no doubt audible from some distance away, shaking the building down to its foundations, it seemed, as the gang bayed for blood, a single entity of rage in the face of Deke's words.

All, of course, apart from their 'guests'. The mutants were all listening politely, of course, though Callisto appeared to be picking her nails with a knife, 'Mandy' draped across her lap where she lounged. As she realised some attention was turning on them, she glanced up. She waited for the rumble for blood to die down before clearing her throat.

"Sure," she said with a shrug. "One last chance then kill kill kill. Got it."

"Play nice, baby," Amanda purred to her. "We're guests here."

Angelo was sitting looking less than impressed, but nodded to Deke. "Claro. They'll refuse, then there's blood."

"As long as it's not our blood." Marie-Ange said quietly. She'd been leaning against the wall a fingertip or so away from Angelo, looking bored - but keeping a careful eye on Don.

For the first time in ages, it was just Don Blake, yelling back as loud as the rest of them in support of his father. He clasped Walt on the shoulder with a wide grin. It was dangerous, but it was also definitive. It was about time.

"You ready, Donny?"

"Fuck yeah. Those Sons assholes will..." He petered out, blinking rapidly, and then thrust his fist in the air. "Woe to those who oppose our might! The skells of Loki will bleed before us, and the lamentations of their kin will be their death poem!"

There was less and less of 'Don', more and more of 'Thor'. Things were reaching their peak, Amanda could feel the energies rising, threatening to sweep the Valhallas away entirely. "Here we go," she murmured to Callisto. "Showtime."