First Date

Gunnr fiddled with her water glass, making designs of the rings left by condensation atop the stained wooden table nestled in the back corner of the restaurant. She had to stop herself from automatically forming patterns her date wouldn’t appreciate. An ability to create magical portals to Valhalla wasn’t exactly first date conversation material.

Although her date in question was about to be late, and if he didn’t show up out of breath and full of apologies, she wasn’t sure she’d stay for dinner. Even if the smokiness of good barbeque did make her mouth water.

Anyone who thought Valkyries—reformed Valkyries, she sternly reminded herself—didn’t have military precision and a whole lot of self-respect to boot needed a lesson. Why, the number of idiot warriors who’d wound up wearing their mead rather than drinking it—

She cut off her train of thought and stood as a man who actually resembled his photograph raced up to her table, hand extended.

“Gunnr, right?” At her nod, he continued. “I’m so sorry. I showed up early, then only realized I went to their other location across town when I walked inside.” He gave a half apologetic smile and squeezed her hand before letting it go. “Anyway, you look beautiful, and I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

Plausible. The other location had to shut down last year. But how did he not notice it’s a kebab restaurant now? Gunnr told her internal worthiness detector to shush as she smoothed her skirt and sat back down. “It’s nice to meet you in person at last, AJ.”

He smoothed his beard and gave her a once over as he settled in and picked up the menu waiting for him, catching the server with a waved hand and rattling off his order. And hers as well, waving off the server before she could stop him.

Gunnr gritted her teeth. “I don’t drink sweet tea.”

“You’ll love it,” he reassured her. “It’s great here.”

Something tense in her neck twitched with a painful twang. She slapped the menu off to the side, the plastic slightly sticky under her fingers with the ghost of sweet barbeque sauce.

His eyes roamed over her again, this time with a faint frown. “Yes, quite the beauty, aren’t you? Other than the tattoos.”

Her free hand crept up to stroke the ravens decorating her bare shoulder. “I beg your pardon?”

“A little aggressive, don’t you think? Ravens, swords, wings. You’re covered.”

“Aggressive?” Gunnr stared. “My name literally means ‘war,’ and you think my tattoos are aggressive?”

She pulled her phone from her skirt pocket with one hand, texting a quick frowny face to her sister Bryn. It had been their emergency exit signal since they were children, although the frowns had been on faces then, not screens, and filled with exaggerated nuance lost to technology.

“Maybe if it were a dainty butterfly or a flower, someplace hidden, that comes with a cute innocent story. Not, like…a drunken Cancun story.”

AJ shrugged. “I don’t think it’ll work out between us, honey. That’s a dealbreaker for me.”

Her phone pinged with a message. Sorry. It’s early. Are you sure?

Gunnr firmed her jaw and gave the message a thumbs up, then dropped the device back into her pocket. “I don’t believe you’ve given me enough of a chance to be your ‘honey.'”

“We can still split dinner if you want,” he offered, and turned to study the restaurant’s other patrons.

Her phone rang. The opening strains of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” rose through the dining room, cutting through the din of conversation and silverware.

“Rude,” AJ commented primly, and finally turned to meet her wrath. His face paled behind the dark beard.

“As rude as ordering for someone you’ve just met, then asking them to pay for it?” Her voice was a silk-wrapped bar of iron, ready for the forge. Centuries of experience watching her sisters told her that storm clouds swarmed around her head.

She could feel the crackle as lightning ran down her white-blonde hair with a friendly hello, dancing with the freedom she’d not permitted the battle-storm in well over a decade.

Her phone stopped, and silence filled the room. It rang again. It would continue ringing until she answered.

“As rude as showing up late with lies on your tongue?”

Gunnr’s wings burst forth from the shoulder blade tattoos AJ had sneered at earlier.

da da da DAA DA da da da DAAAA DAA

Her phone stopped ringing.

AJ was the only person stupid enough to relax.

The rest of the diners broke and ran when the music restarted a third time. Though it might have been the ravens comfortably perched atop her shoulders.

They can handle wings and lightning, but never my lovely flying death omens. Gunnr licked her lips and gave the birds a fond smile as they launched to circle above her date, cawing.

“Uhhh…” AJ attempted. “Maybe I should go.”

The sword tattooed on her arm vanished and reappeared in her hand, winds whipping stray paper towels around the restaurant.

“I am the chooser of the slain!” she howled into the storm. She dropped her head and bared her teeth at him. “And you — you — are not worthy.”

She headed for the door with a shimmy of her hips, her steps almost dancing to the familiar music of death and battle. “Come back when you’re done with him, my feathered friends.”

***

Finally done, a few days late, after some house hiccups. Thanks, A.C. Young! I weaponized your Wagner inspiration. Leigh Kimmel got my prompt about the villains’ newsletter last week. And onto this week!