Part II

Sweeney still didn't know what the hell was going on. He didn't know what drove him, but he did know that the alternative was hovering around Grimnir, and that wasn't going to fucking happen. He'd had his fill of that one-eyed prick.

As they walked through the camp, something began to tug at the back of Sweeney's neck. He couldn't immediately identify it, not even if it was a good or bad feeling, but it was there and grew stronger by the second. His whole body tingled under the weight of something unseen. He knew he was in someone else's territory and they were fucking strong.

The crowd had parted, which didn't really surprise him. Who knew what he and the ladies looked like to them. But when they did, they revealed the source of the strangeness.

Fuck me he thought to himself. It almost looked like the air vibrated around those two.

"Who, de fuck, are you?" The man in the top hat asked. He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes glittered with warning, as though the wrong answer would end very badly for them.

"My name's Tove." His Viking said, sparking that memory of introduction in Sweeney's mind.

"And?" The woman asked sharply.

"I serve Odin." She said and they bristled. "A war for New Orleans begins tomorrow. We're here to partake."

His anger seemed to be growing. "You tink you can come 'ere and invade us?"

The guy's accent was strange to Sweeney's ears. It was a mix of French and African –soft rolling syllables with undeniably strong and deep consonants. They were in Louisiana, after all, and surrounded by the French-African slaves who likely brought these two with them. They must have been relatively new, too. Most of the Gods he'd met had lost their native accents the longer they were in America. Not all, but most. He was still pleasantly Irish. Trouble was, Sweeney just didn't know who these "people" were.

"No," Tove remained calm as she shook her head. "I'm here to give you these." She held up the bag. "And tell you that once this war's done, we'll be moving on."

The two on their thrones glanced to one another. A silent conversation seemed to pass before the woman rose. She approached Tove, hips swaying as she did, but her eyes still cold. She was so damn small, barely reaching any of their shoulders. She took the burlap bag and glanced inside. Sweeney saw her surprise before she returned to her throne. From within, she pulled out a brown bottle with a wax seal and a bundle of cigars. She handed the man the cigars, kept the bottle, and tossed the burlap into the fire where it was quickly devoured.

Tensions eased almost immediately. The small redhead even smiled when she tore the seal on the bottle and smelled whatever liquid lay within.

"Merci," She said. Tove offered a small nod.

The man at her side said nothing. He rose from his seat, cigars in hand, and approached them. He was thick -thick-shouldered and thick with muscle. He was intimidating, a feat only added to when it became clear he was their height.

He reached Tove and glanced her over once more before offering his hand. She took it.

"I am Baron Samedi." He told her. "My wife, Maman Brigitte."

"My sisters Skuld," She pointed behind her at the respective woman, "And Hildegund. And this is…"

She hesitated, which Sweeney expected fully. He wasn't offended and spoke on her behalf.

"Mad Sweeney," He said, offering his hand. The Baron shook it.

The Baron eyed him briefly. "You're not like dem." Sweeney simply shook his head. The Baron's attention went back to Tove. "And de others? I know there are more. I felt dem when you came to my territory."

"Many more." She replied. "But they're in the city limits, I suspect. I'm here on my own."

His thick brows furrowed slightly. "Why?"

"Respect." She said plainly. "I wouldn't want someone playing in my backyard if I didn't know about it."

The Baron smiled at that, smiled wide and happily. He was apparently amused by Tove's reply and whatever tension remained, however little, lifted. When he chuckled, it was deep and low, like thunder.

"Come," He said, still smiling. "Der's a party to have. Brigitte!" He beckoned to his little wife. "Drinks for our guest."

She smiled too as she rose from her seat and disappeared to do just that. The Baron then turned his attention to his people and with loud, happy words, told them that the celebration should continue.

At one point during the festivities, the Baron and Brigitte took Sweeney and the Valkyries into the depths of the bayou, far beyond their little camp so they could be alone. Samedi told them that "this party's not for mortals".

Deep in the trees with only a few candles and a small fire, it was right about then when he noticed Maman Brigitte toss a powder into the blaze. It sparked and engorged the fire briefly before thick, purple, and noxiously-sweet smoke filled the air. It rose high above them until it suddenly dropped. From there it blanketed the ground where it would curl around their legs, slither and eventually infect them all.

Sweeney was surprised with how quickly Skuld and Hildegund joined the festivities. It seemed that the moment they were accepted, they didn't hesitate to participate. Tove was a little more reserved. Sweeney couldn't tell why. He'd seen her before, seen how ready she was to give in to vice and fun, and yet... Perhaps it was because she was the apparent leader of the Valkyrie? Maybe she didn't fully trust her sisters or their hosts? Whatever the reason, it took some cajoling. In his increasingly clouding mind, Sweeney somehow knew that was why Brigitte threw the powder.

It was slow with Tove, but he'd been watching her closely and saw it happen. While he sat back on an overturned tree, drinking something dark and strong from a bottle, Sweeney saw Tove flinch. She'd been stood off to the side monitoring her sisters when he saw her eyelids begin to droop. They would flutter every now and again, as though she was attempting to resist whatever was happening to her, but it was futile in the end.

It finally happened with a sigh. Tove's shoulders suddenly loosened, she let out a soft sigh, and her eyes finally drifted shut. He even saw her sway slightly where she stood. He knew in that moment she'd succumbed to whatever Brigitte had put in the air. Finally, whatever reason that had kept her from being the fiery woman he knew she was had crumbled. He probably would have reacted the same had he been standing. As it was, the effects washed over him slowly.

The atmosphere had taken on a strange tone, something felt by everyone there. The women danced around the fire, their hair wafting in the breeze and dresses shifting as they moved. Their bodies twisted and writhed, they undulated and gyrated, and Sweeney could have sworn they were changing.

He was drunk, he was high on the sweet smoke and the magic that surrounded them, but he knew he'd seen them change –all of them. Through flickering glimpses he saw what lay beneath the surface for each of them. They were all so different, and he couldn't look away.

Maman Brigitte was the first he spotted. He would see the paint on her face, the black circles around her eyes, the illusion of teeth painted across her lips, and lines across her skin. Sweeney had no idea if it meant anything, but he saw it nonetheless.

The Valkyrie's clothing would change, shift between the modern dresses of the early 19th century to something much older. They wore leather breastplates and thick cuffs over linen tunics and leather pants. He'd catch glimpses of shining mail, too.

Hildegund's hair was suddenly twisted into knots, half of her head shaved completely bare to add to the ferociousness of it. Skuld's was messier, wilder, like the woman herself. A series of five braids made close to the scalp kept her hair off her face while the rest was left to wave freely, resembling fire more than anything.

I've done that with mine before, he thought randomly to himself. Wait… no, not me… Was it me? Someone else…

Sweeney put the bottle to his lips and took another long sip of alcohol while his gaze drifted to Tove. She looked different from her sisters and yet the same. Three thick braids close to her scalp kept her hair out of her face. They were brought together at the crown of her head, forming another massive, thick plait that fell nearly to her waist. There were hints of silver tied into her hair, thin chains that glinted against the ebony locks. And her eyes, those ungodly-bright blue eyes were lined in black making her look all the more ferocious.

His blood began to surge and a noise must have escaped him because the next thing he heard was a deep, rough chuckle. Sweeney looked to the side and saw the man himself sitting less than ten feet from him, a wide smile plastered across his lips, and a half-smoked cigar clamped between his teeth.

"You see de truth now, mon ami." He said in that rumbling voice of his.

Sweeney furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes on the man. "The fuck are you people?"

Samedi met his stare still brandishing that fucking smile. "We Loa, Irishman, brought 'ere by de slaves."

"Voodoo." He replied.

Samedi nodded deeply, shielding his face briefly with the brim of the hat. When he looked up fully once again, Sweeney was given a glimpse at his true face, too. His face was painted with a skull, brilliant white paint shining in the night and exaggerating his features. All the while, those silver eyes shined through empty black sockets. Samedi laughed again.

Sweeney shook his head to try and straighten his thoughts, but it didn't matter. It didn't help. The magic of the Death Loa had already infected him. It had a strong hold on the leprechaun. It wasn't going to leave him. They were too powerful, too well worshipped by the people who brought them to America.

His attention returned to the women surrounding the fire, the women whose dancing had grown more and more sexual by the minute.

"We bring passion to dis world," The Baron said in a slow, echoing voice. "We ask the spirits' blessings, and in return, we offer ourselves."

Samedi's voice began to fade into the distance, disappear in favor of what Sweeney saw before him. Everything began to disappear, in fact, as his focus sharpened on Tove. She seemed to feel his eyes on her and when she spun in her dance, she met them. Hair swept across her face, pale skin flushed, lips parted with heavy breaths… all of it was there for him to ogle.

He called to her in his mind, beckoned her to approach, and to his immense joy she did. Tove began to glide toward him, her bare feet making no sound as she slithered across the campsite. He never looked away from those eyes, though. He couldn't manage it.

Tove gathered her dress, tugging it further and further up her legs as she drew nearer. By the time she reached him, she held the hem at mid-thigh. Tove swayed in her spot, staring down her nose at him while he craned his neck to meet her gaze. Sweeney reached forward and ran his fingers up the back of her leg. He drew her closer the higher his hard-worked digits climbed until Tove decided to simply straddle his legs. She lowered herself into his lap at a nearly agonizing pace until finally coming to sit.

Sweeney had dropped his bottle at some point, he didn't know when, just so he could hold her thighs in his hands. Her skin was warm beneath his palms, soft and strong, too. A light sheen of sweat graced Tove's brow, her neck, and even her chest. She was glistening.

The world had disappeared in those minutes. There was nothing but him and the woman in his lap.

Sweeney grabbed her waist. He massaged it, caressed it, and did the same with her hips and thighs. His body was reacting. It was becoming filled with a torrent of desire and urges. Maybe it was spurred on by the liquor, maybe it was the smoke, or maybe it was the Loa's magic. He didn't know. He didn't care, either.

Tove threaded the fingers of both hands through his hair, from the nape of his neck to the crown of his head, and fisted his locks. She pulled harshly, forcing Sweeney's head to snap back. He let out a low, guttural groan. The sharp pain of it mingled perfectly with everything else he was feeling at that moment, and it only served to make him even more excited.

With his head still back, Sweeney relished in the sensation. His entire body pulsed and his groin ached with each heartbeat. His grip on Tove tightened and he even pulled her closer, grinding her into him as he did. Not a second later, Sweeney felt the damp heat of Tove's tongue as she ran it up the length of his exposed neck. He shuddered and bit down on his bottom lip just to keep from going through his skin.

When she withdrew, he finally brought his head up and saw that Tove was no longer alone. His intoxicated mind was slow to realize that Brigitte had joined them at some point while he wasn't looking. He didn't know why at first, but the purpose was soon to show itself.

With her pale blue eyes focused on him, Brigitte laced herself around Tove's shoulders. She pressed her cheek to the Viking's while lithe fingers began to untie the bodice of Tove's simple dress, and Tove seemed entirely at ease with it.

Sweeney's head was swimming and the warmth that had filled him a second ago, that willingness for anything, was dwindling. He didn't understand what was happening, didn't know how he got from point A to point B, and the predatory glint in Maman Brigitte's eyes made him nervous. He didn't know these Loa. Hell, he didn't really know the woman in his lap. Because of those simple facts, Sweeney was aware that he was either about to have the best night of his life, or wind up a voodoo sacrifice to Odin.

"Fuck's goin' on?" He somehow managed to get out.

Brigitte let out a soft, innocent giggle while she continued to untie the front of Tove's dress with surprising dexterity. And when the garment was finally undone, Brigitte tugged sharply on the neckline, opening it up so she could tenderly guide it down around Tove's shoulders, exposing them. She then proceeded to run the tips of her fingers from the slope of Tove's shoulders and up the sides of her slender neck at a slow, tender pace.

"Why?" Brigitte cooed. "It scare you?"

Her accent was just as strong as her husband's, but because she was so much smaller, so much daintier, it seemed almost innocent in comparison. That made her more dangerous.

"So, this is you two, then, is it?"

Brigitte giggled once more, her lips spread into a wide smile. Sweeney could have sworn that, just for a second, he saw her face painted just like Samedi's again.

"We jus' bring out what's already der, mon cher." She said sweetly. "We give de people what dey want." She nuzzled the crook of Tove's neck, just behind her ear. Sweeney watched Brigitte place small kisses on the Valkyrie's skin. Tove sank into the action, her eyes fluttering with each kiss while an animal stirred within Sweeney. "And dey give us what we need."

And for the first time in a while, Tove spoke.

"What about you, darling?" She asked him, drawing his attention to her once more. It was only then that he'd realized what she was doing. Tove had apparently decided to finish what Brigitte had begun: tugging down the bodice of her dress. Slowly but surely Tove revealed herself to him, bare from the waist up. He didn't bother stifling his growl. "Are you going to give me what I want?"

The question was intriguing, and one he had an immediate answer for.

Sweeney lunged forward and claimed her lips with a deep, long kiss that Tove greedily reciprocated. He was ready to tear her clothes away by the time they parted. When they had, Sweeney was suddenly aware that Brigitte was now at his side, running her small, delicate hands across his chest. A bolt of fear touched him, a strange sort of panic that he was about to piss off her intimidating husband, but when his eyes drifted to Samedi, a clear picture arose in Sweeney's mind. The Baron was preoccupied with Skuld and Hildegund, the two draped over him and the trio's intent very clear. It was in that moment that Sweeney realized what sort of couple the Loa were and his reservations vanished.

When Brigitte leaned in for a kiss, he was too happy to oblige. He kissed her deeply and passionately, all the while he felt Tove begin to undo his clothes.

The Mad King knew he was in for a hell of a night.