Boot to the Head
by Meimi

Theme: #8 - The Heart of a God (...lol)
Character(s): Rufus, Freya, random Aesir
Warning(s): END GAME SPOILERS (VP2)
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with Square Enix, Tri-Ace or anyone who hold rights to the Valkyrie Profile series. It isn't mine, I'm just playing with it.
Summary: Eternal life wasn't anywhere near being as cracked up as it was supposed to be.

Rufus blinked heavily and stifled a yawn. The throne of Asgard was two shades away from being comfortable enough to fall asleep on. Odin must have had one hell of a hard ass. That's the only likely explanation for the padding-less dip in the center of the seat cushion, which was always a mite uncomfortable. He still wanted to sleep though. Listening to the usual, daily petitioners had to be the most boring thing ever and he would love to be anywhere but here. But sadly, he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Risking Freya's wrath was worse than anything ever. He'd rather be consigned to an eternity of listening to that lunatic, Lezard Valeth --the rat bastard--, wax on at length about his beloved goddess than have to deal with Freya in yet another snit brought about by his inability to act like a proper god, much less the king of the gods.

No one said eternal life would be this miserable!

Or maybe that was the point. Live forever, experience everything, realize how dull it all ultimately was and wish you could just die from it. Except, of course, you never did unless another lunatic surfaced in Midgard and decided that they didn't like you and "oh, wouldn't it be fun to create our very own separate world for the sole purpose of furthering our sexual harassment". It was a testament to just how damned bored he was that he even toyed with the idea of going down to see if Lezard had managed to get himself reincarnated or something yet. At the very least it would be better than listening to some idiot go on and on about the reasons for needing new barracks for all the Einherjar that had been stuffed inside of Valhalla over the ages. The great halls had been overpopulated with the souls of dead mortals for as long as anyone could remember, and didn't the Aesir deserve to have a little elbow room by now? Surely their lord agreed with such a plan of action. He still needed to breathe what with being a half elf and all, right? Cleaning out the place would make it that much easier on his oddly formed constitution. And hey, had that been some thinly veiled insult or something? He couldn't be sure, but he certainly wouldn't put it past them. It wasn't as if Freya didn't go out of her way to humiliate him in public if she thought it was necessary for character building.

Hel, his life sucked.

He should have stayed with Brahms and made Arngrim bring back that stupid, cursed --oh, excuse him, holy-- lance. It would have been the smartest thing he'd have ever done in his entire life. But no, he had to be responsible for once and bring it back himself and hey, maybe he could do a better job at ruling Asgard than Odin had. Yeah right, thanks to the knowledge gained through his own stint as king of the gods, it was a wonder that it took Odin that freaking long to go crazy. He almost pitied the old bastard. Nobody deserved to have to put up with this crap on a regular basis.

A sharp crack impacted against the back of his head, nearly sending Rufus sprawling out of the throne and most likely right onto the petitioner. Did he-? Rufus straightened up after a moment spent wondering whether she was going to kick him again, gingerly licked his lips and tasted something that sizzled with just the faintest tinge of iron: blood --or at least as close as it would ever get for him again thanks to godhood--. Yep, he'd definitely bit his lip this time. Sparing a baleful glare at the goddess floating above him on his left, one that was returned tenfold, he leaned back against the seat and bent himself to the dull as hell task of paying rapt attention to the Aesir petitioner.

No rest for the weary, and Freya would make him pay for every little misstep he made along the way. He wasn't Odin. He knew that. She knew that as well, and she was apparently quite dead set on making sure that he never forgot it either.

Next time there was some universal crisis of grandiose proportions, he would be the first one to eagerly step up to the plate and become the next Valkyrie conglomerate. A fate of turning into sparkles was infinitely better than getting kicked in the head by a goddess of creation multiple times every damn day. Anyone who said otherwise obviously knew nothing about women.