Oðin was dreaming in his bed, sound asleep, laying his head against a blue silk pillow. His hair was scattered amongst his blankets, blown apart by the winds of Åsgård, as he remembered himself standing in his old tower.
"And… You tell me of this why?’’ he whispered, fists trembling with anger. Loki had confused his crows, though they clearly understood that what they were telling Oðin was wrong; just another set to throw him off the path of Idulna. "You help me in no way, friends. Part and find.’’
He had given them no time to answer, between his own responses, and turned away from the edge of the tower as the two crows took flight. The winds of Åsgård were blowing against himself, and he took a deep breath.
’’Aståra! To me, now! We ride for – ‘’
‘’Odin, would you just wake up already?’’
He was sitting up straight in a heart-beat, and the maid screamed, clutching a hand over her heart.
’’Oh, diablo, you scared me!’’ she exhaled, collapsing slightly. ’’Sir, you asked me to wake you up at this time. Your assistant also asked for me to remind you that there’s that major party tonight, at your club.’’ She seemed curious herself about what it was; but she simply curtseyed slightly, and rushed out of his bed room.
Oðin scratched at his face, feeling particularly bothered now. ’’Perhaps I owe her more than I give her credit for,’’ he whispered, shaking his hair out as he gently pushed his legs over the side of the bed.
He had on his favorite pair of sweatpants, a plaid-patterned red and black mess with fur lining on the inside. It was truly a thing of comfort, something he could never have had in Åsgård; something that he would have given up to be at his true home, though.
The draw-strings were pulled at, until the unstable ribbon-tied bow was dissolved. He would have to change soon, after all; whenever his assistant reminded him of something, it was in but a few hours.
Finding a suitable tuxedo, black with a nice white undershirt – per usual – and a pocket watch, Oðin changed into the pompous mess quickly. He pondered the benefits of a shower; for only a few moments, deciding he was especially lazy at that time.
Oðin was met by his assistant as he walked out of the bedroom, flipping his pocket watch absentmindedly and trying to finish the last few buttons on his over coat. She was sitting on his leather couch, one leg pulled over the other, smiling. ’’Goðan daggin! Your workers are waiting at the club.’’
He frowned, staring, and then watched the maid as she danced over the kitchen tiles. ’’How did you get in…?’’ he asked, focusing in on the woman again.
’’She let me in,’’ came the reply, as if it was truly nothing. ’’But, your people are in due need of you, Norwegian. Get to it.’’
’’I´d sooner see a pink raven,’’ he hissed, as he always did when he was asked to take orders.
’’It’ll be on your desk when you arrive.’’ She was standing by the door, now; she winked, and disappeared through the oaken shield.
Oðin gave a loud huff, blowing some of his hair past his shoulders, and decidedly picked up his keys. He may as well just drive to the club; usually, he ran with his dogs, but Þórrinn was nowhere to be seen at the moment. He assumed the elkhound was just outside, waiting to be let back in for his daily jog.
’’Elska, my dear,’’ he called, swinging the keys on his fingers before diving through the same portal that his assistant had just dashed through. He heard the straggling call of a response from the maid as it swung shut, and shrugged, turning to the stairs himself.
Someday, I will need a reminder of why I still host these parties. It is truly a disgrace to myself… And such a waste of time. The sickening scent of lost powers. It almost drives me to shutting down that poor place.
He was standing in the lobby room now, with a silent attendant tapping keys before her computer. Oðin gave no attempt for conversation, instead wandering across the cream tiles to find his way towards the parking ramps.
His own car, a black-colored Ferrari, was waiting close by the door. The lights blinked momentarily, and he jumped in behind the driver’s seat, feeling a small burst of pleasure as the engine roared to life.
’’Odin-sama. Um, I, uh. I'm here, reporting for work! Please take care of me- yoroshiku onegaishimasu!’’
Oðin had not realised he was in the club until Shirai spoke to him, then disappeared. He blinked, nodding after her, and looked around himself. He was already beginning to smell the... God scent? He had no name for it; after all, he had never found use for it naming before.
Momentarily questioning whether Shirai could have been the one – preposterous; absolutely preposterous, he thought to himself – Oðin disappeared into his office. He would wait until the DJ showed up.
He grinned at the pink stuffed raven that was sitting upon his desk.