Wrizzit
For everything, down to the scribbles.
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Talk in the farmhouse’s cozy kitchen turned, as it did most mornings, to whatever VFW drama had unfolded the night before. They traded stories over mismatched mugs: the drunk mortal who’d gotten handsy with Riley and been thrown out on his ear, which Einherjar had driven Old Bill home after last call, and the latest round in Milligan’s ongoing feud with his two-time ex-wife, Sharlene. With the exception of Dakota, third of the Nine and responsible for running Odin’s Hall while the two eldest were on tour, not a single Valkyrie was happy with the new schedule she’d posted. The twins were especially sore about it, stuck working both the Wednesday‑night all‑you‑can‑eat spaghetti dinner and the Friday‑night fish fry. Screw that. Carrie-Ann spoke up and told them they should be grateful they weren’t working Karaoke Tuesdays, and that she’d gladly work every Friday from now to Ragnarök if it meant she never had to hear Ivar Hoarbeard try to belt out Friends in Low Places ever again.
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