a dream where the fallout lies {Beowulf}

[Deleted]

Beowulf could tell that Sunny was excited. Excitement was practically radiating out of her, which wasn’t a bad thing. She was excited enough to cover the lack of excitement that Beowulf showed. But make no mistake. Beowulf was excited, a little, he just didn’t show it. Excitement fell under the category of emotions that he pretended he didn’t feel and wouldn’t admit he felt.

He didn’t really care what kind of food Sunny made as long as it was edible. And because Sunny would be doing the cooking, Beowulf could be certain that there would be no poison. So no matter what Sunny made him, whether it looked strange or smelled funny, he would eat it. Honestly, he wasn’t all that picky.

But Sunny seemed a little hung up on names at the moment. Beowulf shrugged. “Either.” It didn’t really matter too much. “A name with meaning,” he amended. It was better if the name had a good meaning.

He looked over at his own axe, propped up by the door. “Hel,” he said turning back to her. Then he frowned because she would probably misunderstand. There was a heathen Hell, but that was a place and not a person. “Hel is the ruler of Niflheim. The place where slaves, heathens and people who died of sickness or old age go after death,” he explained, though it felt awkward. Everyone in Geatland would have known. Any Norseman would have understood. It left a bitter taste in his mouth too. He had called Sunny a heathen (and he was pretty sure she was), but she was one of the few that he didn’t mind. And she had sought him out so she couldn’t hate his company. Not completely anyway. And no, Beowulf wasn’t thinking about how he would die valiantly and be chosen to go to Valhalla and sit with Odin while Sunny would go spend a miserable afterlife with Hel. He also wasn’t thinking about why he would even care if another heathen spent their afterlife in misery. Not at all.

[Deleted]

A name with meaning. Sunny contemplated that briefly, and decided that whatever she was going to name her axe, she probably wouldn't be able to make up her mind until she'd actually met said axe. Once he explained the meaning behind the name of his axe, Sunny was even more convinced that she was going to have to come up with something really good.

This Niflheim place didn't sound like a lot of fun if all of those people got lumped in together. You had to go stay with the slaves forever just because you got sick and died? That didn't sound fair, but Sunny wasn't about to say so...mainly because she was becoming a little worried. She was pretty sure having never heard any of this before classified her as a heathen. She frowned, concerned, and drew her knees up close to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

"If I..." She was getting worried, and when she got worried, talking got more difficult. "Learn to axe. Use axe. And die in battle, then I have to go to Niflheim too?" She wondered if there was some kind of exception for heathens who died in battle, or if they had to go be with the old people and slaves and sick folks too. "But you don't," she deduced, brightly. She couldn't imagine Beowulf ever getting sick - besides, if he did, she would make him chicken soup and he certainly wouldn't die of it. That made her feel a little better. Maybe wielding an axe and feeding soup to warriors would ingratiate her in the eyes of whoever ruled whatever wasn't Niflheim and they might let her in.

[Deleted]

Beowulf could tell immediately that Sunny was uncomfortable. She had put the pieces together, figured out that she was a heathen and she was uncomfortable. And of course that instantly made him feel uncomfortable too. What was it with the women here? Were they all going to make him uncomfortable? It certainly seemed so. Beowulf frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, determined not to let his uncomfortableness show. He did not approve of such things and would fight it.

His face took on a dark look when Sunny asked about dying in battle. He would never let her near a battle, never mind fighting and dying in one. He would rather protect her than put her in harm’s way. The fates had determined that their paths were connected in some manner, and if that meant fighting for Sunny then Beowulf would do it gladly. But to let a woman fight in a battle would be disgraceful. The Geats had warrior women, but they never fought in battles. They stayed behind to protect the village. It was rare if they even saw any fighting. He would never let Sunny into a battle. The gods would probably be offended. But he couldn’t tell her that. Something in him didn’t want to tell Sunny the truth. He shrugged finally. “The gods will decide.”

Sunny was right though. Beowulf would never spend his afterlife in Niflheim. He was striving for Odin’s hall. “I want Valhalla,” he told her. And he would get there if he got his way. Freya’s hall wouldn’t be a bad place to be if push came to shove. But Valhalla. That was the dream. It had been since he had been a child sitting around the hearth. But it was this dream that was making him uncomfortable. It was this dream that was making Sunny uncomfortable. This didn’t sit well with him. He was a Viking warrior. He was supposed to want Valhalla. But at the expense of such an innocent little heathen girl who had done nothing wrong? Really, she had only the misfortune to be born a heathen. It was such a shame too because she would have made an excellent Viking.

[Deleted]

Sunny had a knack for making people uncomfortable. Usually it was a little less complicated than this. Most of the time people were made uncomfortable by her because they didn't understand her, or because she chewed on leaves, or because she said something random in a language she didn't actually speak. Not because she was worried about being sent to the wrong part of the afterlife in a religion she hadn't even considered until that moment.

If the gods were going to decide, Sunny figured she ought to at least take a shot at making those gods like her. The trouble was, she didn't know them, and she was pretty sure you couldn't bake brownies or other baked goods for gods. Reluctantly, she decided that was another question she was going to have to ask Beowulf, and hope he wouldn't change his mind and decide she was too much trouble.

"Gods are nice?" she asked, hopefully. "I can make them like me? If I name my axe a good name? And learn to use it?"

She didn't know what Valhalla was, but even the name sounded glorious, a lot better than Niflheim, which just sounded scary to her. Immediately she decided that if there was any chance at all that she would get into this Valhalla place instead of being sent to the darker part of the afterlife to spend eternity with heathens (she was pretty sure there were much worse heathens than she was), she wanted to take it.

"Valhalla too, maybe?" she asked, quite nervously, putting a fisted hand against her chest so there would be no mistaking who she was talking about. "If I work really hard?"

[Deleted]

Beowulf also had a knack for making people uncomfortable. He also had a knack for getting himself into uncomfortable situations, like right now. But the part that was making him the most uncomfortable was the fact that he cared so much. Most of the time he could get past anything, but not this. It frustrated him that he couldn’t tell her the truth. She looked so hopeful that Beowulf couldn’t bear to crush her hopes and dreams. Why had he even had to open his mouth? If he hadn’t said anything Sunny would never have known about any of this and wouldn’t have asked questions that he wouldn’t have to answer. And Beowulf would have been able to live with himself.

Sunny was asking about the gods now and that would be difficult to answer. The gods were only nice when they wanted to be. They could be vindictive and cruel, but they could also be kind. It really depended on the day or the event or the person. There was a lot that factored into the gods’ decisions. Beowulf shrugged again. He seemed to be doing that a lot today. “Depends. On the god. On the day. On you. On them.” He shrugged yet again as if to say that it was entirely out of his control.

He shifted uncomfortably on his trunk because now Sunny wanted to go to Valhalla. But she didn’t know that Valhalla was a place reserved for only men. Only the very best of warriors sat at Odin’s table to amuse him. And Sunny wanted to go there too. Though, the gods were unpredictable. But even so, Beowulf was fairly certain that even if he could turn Sunny into a little Viking warrior, she would never get to Odin’s table. Though Freya’s table was definitely a possibility.

He sighed. This was so difficult because she looked genuinely afraid of spending an afterlife with Hel. Which she should be. Niflheim was not a nice place. It wasn’t glorious. It was just miserable. But she wanted to learn Viking ways, so maybe she wouldn’t have to go to Niflheim. Maybe, if she was knowledgeable in Viking ways and she spoke Norse, and if she was a good little wife and remembered to praise the gods and pray to them in need, then maybe, just maybe, Sunny would have a good chance at spending an afterlife in a good place. So he nodded once, still not quite convinced. “Maybe,” he conceded. “Maybe.”

[Deleted]

Having her hopes and dreams dashed was another of those things Sunny was used to. Her childhood had been essentially one mishap after another...going from one awful thing to another. If she'd been in a dark place and found a light, chances were the light would either be an oncoming train, or some kind of poisonous fluorescent bug. That was just the way things had gone for her, and her siblings, since she was only an infant. Somehow, through all of that, she had maintained a remarkable ability to dream outrageous things and hope that they'd come true.

Like becoming a Viking. It was such an extravagant dream, so over the top and unlike anything she'd ever imagined, she held onto the smallest hope that whatever spiteful thing was governing her life wouldn't have thought to prevent this particular thing from coming true. If somebody was making a list of all the things Sunny Baudelaire would never get to do, just to spite her and make her life tragic and miserable, she was hedging her bets that they wouldn't have thought to put "becoming a Viking warrior" on that list.

And Beowulf was doing nothing to discourage that sentiment in her. He was, in fact, encouraging her, whether he meant to or not.

"How do I make them like me?" she asked, quietly, almost reverently, just in case there was a god or two listening right at that moment. Another question occurred to her, and she thought she'd better ask. "How many are there? Names?" Religion wasn't one of those things that had ever seemed like a solution to all her problems - in fact, chances were, if she'd declared her allegiance to some religion early on, Olaf probably would have used it to try to manipulate her or her siblings.

But Olaf couldn't have anything to do with Viking gods...mainly because she was sure the fierce Viking gods wouldn't want anything to do with him. Olaf was the kind of person she thought would most definitely end up in Niflheim...and that worried her even more.

"Olaf might be in Niflheim," she confided, nervously.

[Deleted]

Beowulf, for his lack of hopes and dreams (seriously, that was more of a woman thing), he was not a dream crusher. Not usually anyways. Besides, he saw nothing wrong with Sunny wanting to become a little Viking. It wasn’t an over the top dream. Or at least, not to him. He felt that everyone should want to be a Viking. Learning to use weapons was healthy and always useful. And it never hurt to have more than one god to pray to. Those Anglo-Saxons with their one God were absurd. One God couldn’t do as much as many gods. And Viking weapons were much better than those that the Anglo-Saxons had. So what if they had better horses? The Norsemen had much better weaponry and skill and most of them preferred to die on the battle field, making them much more fierce enemies. If Beowulf hadn’t been a Viking, he would have converted on the spot.

It only seemed natural to encourage Sunny. She may not talk much (which Beowulf appreciated), but she had other qualities that made up for that. And surprisingly, besides making each other uncomfortable with talking about who would go to which afterlife, Beowulf liked Sunny. It didn’t really happen often that the young Viking took a liking to particular people. He often found there were people he could tolerate, Door being one of them, and people he couldn’t stand. Most people fell into that last category. But Sunny fell into the people-Beowulf-can-more-than-tolerate category. They weren’t quite friends, but maybe, somewhere down the line, whatever this was between them would turn into friendship. It was obvious that their Fates were intertwined and this was meant to be. He would just have to wait and see why.

But how did one get the gods to like you? That was an interesting question. And a difficult one to answer. There were many gods. Many liked sacrifices, though Beowulf had learned that the people here did not like sacrifices, even if they were made to the gods. How absurd these people were!

He thought for a moment before answering her questions. There was a lot to think about. “The gods are many. Animal sacrifices are good. Or prayers of praise. Feasts in their honor.” He sighed. There was a lot and Sunny was probably going to be confused. “I will teach you.”

There was a lot about Viking ways that he’d have to teach her. But if they both worked hard then they could manage. But she was still concerned about Olaf. That could be good to fuel the hard work she put into learning to handle an axe. But it also might make her timid. He would have to wait and see. But for now he reached over and awkwardly patted her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

[Deleted]

Sunny, in her highly limited experience with religion, hadn't seen anything before that had seemed worth her distracting herself with. For a while, being distracted could have meant being dead. Agents of Olaf were everywhere. Maybe if she'd known about the Viking gods back then, she could have prayed to them and perhaps it would have gotten her out of some of the horrid situations she'd been in. Maybe even that time she'd had to climb up the shaft of an elevator using only her extraordinarily sharp teeth.

She was about ninety percent sure now that Beowulf wasn't an agent of Olaf. It was always possible that he was still trying to fool her, lull her into a sense of false security, but if he had been working for Olaf, she couldn't imagine that he would be agreeing to teach her how to use an axe. Olaf wouldn't want her to know how to use an axe, she thought.

Sacrifices? That word jerked her out of her reverie, and she glanced over at Beowulf a little nervously. What kinds of sacrifices was he talking about? She wasn't sure she had it in her to go around killing little animals...maybe if she absolutely had to, though, and maybe if the animals were going to a good place when they died.

She wasn't expecting the pat on the shoulder. He hadn't struck her as a touchy person - kind of like that other guy she'd encountered who had gone into a fit of transformation just because she'd hugged him when he looked scared. Not that she expected Beowulf to be terrified of a hug, but really, she doubted he had ever initiated a hug in his life. That made her all the more grateful for the gesture.

She decided in that moment that she was going to be a Viking warrior, whatever it took, not just so that she could avoid spending eternity in Niflheim with Olaf, but because she suddenly cared very much whether Beowulf could teach her and be proud of the end result.

"Mafanikio," she blurted, then blushed and pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to calm the heat that flared up. "I mean...I won't let you down. I promise."

[Deleted]

Beowulf could tell right away that Sunny did not like sacrifices. He was only marginally disappointed. Sacrifices were usually long and involved and involved priests or priestesses and he was pretty sure there were no Norse priests and priestesses wandering around Tintagel. It was fine. He’d never liked them anyway. They were very strange. And sacrifices were usually bloody and he really hated getting blood all over his nice leather. It was always so difficult to get off. And it really put him in a bad mood.

They could talk about sacrifices later though when he told her about the different gods. That would take a long while. Several days. And then he could probably teach her Norse words, little by little by integrating them into the lessons about the gods or something. He supposed he could give her a nickname. Something that only he would call her. But, like when naming all things it had to mean something. He would sleep on it he decided. He was definitely going to give his new little protégé a Norse name.

Beowulf had never really been one for touching. He avoided it when he could. And he didn’t hug. He just didn’t do that. Hugging was not something that he did or really liked. It was getting close to people and Beowulf did not like to be close to people. He had very few friends. There were very few people he could really tolerate to spend more than a few minutes with, so touching was out of the picture. He kept to himself, both physically and emotionally. So patting Sunny’s shoulder he had deemed necessary, but was very awkward. And strange. Very strange.

Speaking of awkward, that’s what Beowulf was feeling again when Sunny blushed after saying some word that he didn’t know the meaning of. He really didn’t understand girls. He probably wouldn’t ever understand girls. He didn’t understand why she was blushing. But he nodded. He would turn her into the best little Viking warrior woman he could. She would be like a kitten. She looked weak (and adorable though Beowulf wouldn’t admit that ever), but she had claws. And that’s when it struck him. He would call her Kettlingr. The word for kitten in Norse. “Kettlingr,” he said seriously. “That is what I’m going to call you,” he explained, though he wasn’t going to tell her what it meant. Not yet anyway.

[Deleted]

He was naming her? Sunny had no objection to that, as the name he had given her sounded perfectly nice. She had gone by some very strange names in her life, not the least of which was Chabo the Wolf Baby, and whatever he had just said sounded not nearly so strange as that. If he wanted to call her that, well, she'd answer to it. Anyway, Sunny had labeled enough people and things with strange words that nobody understood, she couldn't really complain when she earned such a label herself.

"Kettlingr," she repeated, nodding seriously. "Thank you." It seemed appropriate to thank him for the new name...he had just stressed the importance of naming things, and now he was naming her, so maybe that meant she was important. If she was important, though, he was more important because he was the one who knew all these things and would be teaching her. Did that mean she ought to come up with a name for him? She suddenly felt very nervous about that. What if the name she gave him wasn't a good one?

She didn't know languages - she knew words. She knew words that meant certain things, and she used them to represent entire sentences. None of the ones that came to mind would be good to call someone you actually liked or wanted to stick around. She knew plenty of synonyms in plenty of languages for awful things, things that would have described the people who had pursued her and her siblings through her younger years. But when it came to positive things...things you would want to call someone nice...

She squeezed her eyes tightly, and willed the blush away from her cheeks. The whole reason it had been there in the first place was because she felt horribly embarrassed that she'd been doing her blurting-out-random-words thing, and now she was trying to come up with some word to blurt out...albeit a little less random this time. The last word she'd suddenly come up with had been in Swahili...she didn't want to give him a nickname in Swahili. Did she know anything even close to Norse?

"Väktare." She said, almost before she had time to think about it. Not Norse. But not Swahili, and as soon as she said it, she knew that it was true...at least, in her mind. Then she blushed again and grasped the edge of the bed, fingers curling around the covers. "Or Beowulf. Or...Mr. Ecgtheow." No, that was getting worse. She stared down at the floor, and wished fervently that she had thought to bring a pie too.

[Deleted]

Yes, Beowulf was naming Sunny because she couldn’t be a Viking without a Viking name. Honestly, Kettlingr wasn’t really a Viking name per say, but it was a start. It was the closest he had right now. It was more of a nickname, as the people of this time called it. Beowulf didn’t think that Sunny would want to convert to the Viking ways completely. Most people didn’t. The Anglo-Saxons certainly didn’t want anything to do with the “old gods” (which Beowulf found completely absurd). If Sunny wanted to really become a Viking then he could give her a real Viking name. Something like Hedwig or Ælfgifu. But they would cross that fljót* when they came to it.

In the meantime he would call her Kettlingr. Beowulf found that Kettlingr was a very appropriate for Sunny. And it would please the gods that he had given her a Norse name, even if it was only a nickname. It would do for now. She seemed pleased by the name, which in turn, pleased Beowulf. There were very few things that he had ever named and Sunny was the very first person. He’d never had to worry about if someone liked their name, but Sunny seemed to like it, so he didn’t have to worry. Not that he was worried of course. Beowulf didn’t worry.

But he was getting more and more uncomfortable by the moment. And apparently Sunny was too. Beowulf didn’t think he’d done anything to make her uncomfortable, but it was entirely possible. He was always making people uncomfortable. Either that, or they were making him uncomfortable. It was always one or the other. It was always a viscous cycle of uncomfortable moment after uncomfortable moment. He shifted on the chest, placing a hand on either leg, not exactly looking at Sunny because she was making him uncomfortable.

He looked back at her when she began to speak. Did she just…name him too? Well, this was different. But at the same time he was strangely pleased by this. He had a nickname. It would be strange to be called something other than Beowulf, but he could get used to that. Ahh, but it seemed little Kettlingr was unsure if he would like his new name. It amused him that she said ‘Mr. Ecgtheow’, as it it were his last name. He shook his head. “Ecgtheow is the name of my father.” In Norse tradition he was Beowulf Ecgtheowson, if he were to be given a last name as the people here tended to like. “Just Beowulf” he told Sunny. “Or Väktare,” he conceded. It sounded vaguely like Norse, but he couldn’t be completely sure. But whatever it was, he would answer to it if that was what Sunny chose to call him.

*river

[Deleted]

It was probably good that Beowulf hadn't tried to name Sunny Ælfgifu or Hedwig right away. The name he'd given her was much more...well, more like a pet name and less like a terrifying warrior name. She wanted to be a warrior eventually, but...yes, it was better to take things in small steps. An axe and a nickname today, sacrifices and a warrior name tomorrow, maybe.

Beowulf was also the first person Sunny had really named, consciously anyhow. She had probably thought up a few unkind labels for Olaf and his people during her childhood, but that didn't really count because they never knew she was calling them that and wouldn't have answered to the names even if they had. This was different. This was giving someone she actually liked a nickname, somebody who didn't have to like her. He wasn't her brother or sister, who were both sort of required to like her by virtue of their being related. He was just...Beowulf, and Sunny felt a bit like she was going to have to earn his approval...and she wanted it, very badly.

She was secretly very glad that he didn't want her to call him Mr. Ecgtheow. That would have been awkward, and probably would have made her feel a little like she was talking to a friend's father instead of someone a couple years older than she was. But she'd wanted to make sure - she certainly didn't want to anger the gods by being disrespectful to someone who was obviously in their favor. (She did assume he was in their favor...if he wasn't, she didn't see how anyone ever could be, he was so...Viking-y).

She nodded in agreement. She could call him Beowulf, definitely, and she could call him the name she'd just come up with every now and again, too. There was still the matter of what she ought to call her axe (the one she didn't have yet) but she could deal with that when she had her hands on the axe.

"Beowulf," she repeated, and for some reason, it felt a little odd to be saying it out loud when he was the only other person in the room...obviously he'd know who she was talking to. "Purchase axes, where?"

[Deleted]

It wasn’t too terribly difficult to get the approval of Beowulf. You either got his approval or you didn’t. That was all there was to it. And there were several ways to get his approval. You could be a Viking. That was always appreciated, especially considering that Beowulf was the only Viking here. You could have a liking for leather, because really, who doesn’t like leather? That would be absurd. Or you could just put up with Beowulf and all of his lack of smiling and emotions and all that good stuff. Sunny feel into two of the three categories. He wasn’t quite sure if she liked leather though. It would be a pity if not, but he could live with it. It wasn’t essential to their…relationship thing.

Beowulf wasn’t quite sure he was on good terms with the gods either. He tried. He prayed and praised and feasted in their honor. He even sacrificed to them, but only when necessary. He really hated blood and guts all over his leather. It was never the same after that. And yet, Beowulf knew the gods were subject to change their minds often. He never knew if he was in or out with them. His father and his uncle, the great King Hygelac of the Geats, both seemed to think that the gods favored him. So he was a little stronger than most men, but that really didn’t mean anything. The young Viking just hoped that he would have enough sway with the gods when it came with Sunny. He didn’t want her to spend and afterlife with both Hel and Olaf. That was just plain cruel.

Beowulf looked at Sunny a bit before answering. He knew there was that weaponry ‘shop’ as they were called (an absurd thing to something he thought). He had actually wanted to go in and look at everything. He’d always been attracted to shiny things. And now he had a chance to go play with all the shiny new weapons. And by play he clearly meant examine.

He looked at Sunny. “The weaponry shop.” It would be a start anyway. If they didn’t have good weapons he supposed he could always write to his father and ask for one for Sunny. Maybe. Whatever. “We will go tomorrow?” he asked. It was only polite anyway. He couldn’t just dictate to her. Beowulf was a proud man, but Kettlingr, though a little kitten, was still a lady and deserved to be treated like one.

[Deleted]

Sunny had no idea whether someone could vouch for you when it came to earning the gods' favor, but if they could, she was pretty sure she would want it to be Beowulf. She had never met another Viking, but she had already made up her mind that Beowulf was probably one of the best ones. He had to be. He had an axe named after a god he didn't even want to hang out with, that was devotion right there. If there was anybody she wanted helping her shop for an axe, it would definitely be him.

"Weaponry." She repeated the word, committing it to memory as if she would never have suspected the weaponry shop would be the appropriate place to go to purchase an axe. Which, come to think of it, she hadn't. Axes had never really been used as weapons in Sunny's experience - she had seen people use them to chop wood, and volunteer fire departments used them to help save people's lives if they were trapped under stuff in burning buildings...if anything she would have expected them to be at a hardware store. Did this city even have a weaponry shop?

Not that Sunny would really have been aware of if before now...

"Tomorrow!" she agreed brightly. "I will cook." She frowned thoughtfully after that, though...what time was he talking about? Before class? After class? "Breakfast. Or lunch. Dinner maybe. Time?"

She stood up and stuck out her hand, and immediately wondered why she'd done it. Shaking hands on a deal really just didn't sound like something that Vikings made a habit of doing, and now she was probably just demonstrating her heathen-ness. What would Vikings do instead? Something with cutting a hand and mingling blood, maybe...Sunny didn't have a knife, though, and...that seemed a little weird this early in the game. She curled her fist, thinking that seemed more warrior-like, then realized she was asking for a fist-bump, which was even less Viking-y than a handshake.

"Arrangement," she said, staring at the floor and blushing again.

[Deleted]

Beowulf knew that he was not the ideal Viking. He never seemed to train. He kept away from people as much as he could. He never talked. And as the nephew to the King, he lacked quite a bit in leadership skills. But he was fierce when it push came to shove. He would always do his duty to his King and his gods without thinking twice or regretting it afterward. He was a fierce warrior. There were few people that he truly cared about and the ones he did care about were worth fighting and ultimately dying for if that was how his Fate turned out. He had named his axe Hel, not for his devotion, but for the irony. That was where he was going to send his enemies.

He nodded when Sunny repeated what he had just said. He knew about the shop only because he had happened to wander by it. And of course, being a Viking, he had really wanted to go in and play with inspect all the shiny new toys weapons. He was Viking. It was practically in his veins. Don’t judge.

He considered Sunny’s question about time. It would probably be best to go after class. That made the most sense to him. And it would give him something else to think about rather than attempting to understand the absurdity that was called Algebra. “After school,” he decided. “Dinner?” He didn’t want to tell little Kettlingr that she had to cook anything specific at any certain time. That would make him seem tyrannical and Beowulf was by no means a tyrant.

Beowulf stood when she stood, as courtesy demanded. But he only looked at the hand that was held out to him. He still hadn’t fully grasped the concept the idea of a handshake. It confused and confounded him to no end. What was the point? He just didn’t understand. And when she held out her fist he was even more confused. He hadn’t even heard of the fist bump yet. And that when he did it would confuse him even more than the handshake. But Sunny seemed to realize that he had no idea what he was doing and settled for just a word. “Agreement,” he replied with a curt nod, even though probably didn’t see it because she was staring at the floor again. Beowulf would never understand women.