Meat and meet (Beowulf)

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A public place... perhaps it was not the best of ideas, to surround himself with these mortals when they irritated him so, but what was the point in being here if he did not take at least a few small steps towards... what was the word for it? Being sociable? Making friends? He wasn't entirely certain it was wise, but he hoped it would help him learn to hold his temper a little better.

He was hungry, so he decided to attempt a trip to the area known as 'mess hall', where there was sustenance to be found. Sustenance and people, yes, but it was good to try new things - even without the potential benefits, what would be the point in escaping his confinement and coming here if he didn't actually explore the place a little.

He was resolutely ignoring everybody, however, despite all his thoughts, as he bought the meatiest thing they had available and found a seat in the corner at an empty table. He would at least stay here long enough to eat his meal, that was a good step, wasn't it?

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Beowulf despised the fact that he had to eat at the miserable place they called the ‘mess hall’. It wasn’t even worthy of the term hall, for it wasn’t a hall. It didn’t provide a comforting hearth fire and there was no feasting. This place was only a mess. It was certainly not a hall fit for a Viking prince.

Beowulf had no tolerance for his other ‘classmates’ as they were called here in this tongue they called English. It was a stupid language, but very few here spoke any of the languages he knew. It was all stupid. The young Viking had half a mind to write to his father and demand that he come home. This place had never been fit for a warrior like Beowulf. It certainly was no place for a Viking either. This was only made better by the fact that his gods were here too. And it was nice to have another Viking to spar and train with as well, even if he had probably broken her nose. At least her presence made this awful place somewhat bearable.

What wasn’t bearable was the food. At least there had been something edible looking today. He grunted at the person as he handed over his money and then looked around for a place to sit. The only place that looked alright was over in the corner where a lone man sat. Well, that would do for Beowulf. As long as he didn’t have to speak to the other person he would be fine. He walked over to the table and sat, grunting his recognition of the other young man, before decidedly picking at his food.

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Fenrir wasn't sure what to think when the other young man sat at the table. On the one hand, he didn't really want anybody bothering him, he had chosen to sit alone because he wasn't exactly ready to do any proper socialising with people who might irritate him - which was most people - or confuse him - which was probably all people. On the other hand, people were the reason he'd come here instead of staying somewhere on his own, and at least the young man who'd chosen to sit there had expressed himself just about as eloquently as Fenrir would have done, and didn't seem intent on idle chit chat that might enrage the wolf.

He nodded an almost experimental greeting before continuing with his food himself, almost congratulating himself for how strangely companiable the silence was. Neither of them seemed particularly interested in speaking where it wasn't necessary, so there was nothing awkward and no forced attempt at conversation just because social convention dictated it. If things continued in this manner, perhaps he would manage to eat lunch in somebody else's presence without a fight breaking out. Even without conversation, he would still count that an accomplishment.

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Beowulf hated this food and he especially hated the term ‘lunch’. It was a stupid term and he’d rather just not have to speak stupid English. There were some words that sounded the same or were exactly the same as Norse, or even, Odin forbid, Anglo-Saxon. And honestly he’s rather speak Anglo-Saxon than this stupid English and that was saying a lot. He hated the Anglo-Saxons with their stupid little tiny island trying to build a country. They didn’t even understand how it all worked. Stupid Anglo-Saxons.

Beowulf basically ignored the other guy. They looked about similar in age and he seemed to prefer the quiet, which was good because the young Viking didn’t feel like talking to anyone. If anyone talked to him he might just stab them with the knife that was in his pocket. It was easier to deal with people when you were fighting them rather than speaking to them. Words were pointless. Actions spoke louder than words ever could.

The utensils they gave out at this ridiculous place were useless and it was pointless to try to keep using them. Throwing down the bits of useless plastic Beowulf reached into her his pocket and withdrew the knife that he had hidden away there. He then used that to stab at his food instead.

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Fenrir was mostly keeping to himself, he only really watched the other boy out the corner of his eye, and that was only to ensure he didn't intend any hostility towards him. People said Fenrir was violent, but more often than not he found he had to be to defend himself from other people's violence.

He glanced up, the thrown plastic catching his attention. He was somewhat intrigued, interested that somebody else was just as frustrated with the utensils as he had been. He was doing his best to keep calm and avoid frustration, so he'd been eating his vegetables while he contemplated a more effective way to eat the meat. The knife made him tense, until he realised that the boy was going to use it to eat his food, at which point he relaxed just slightly and had to admit he was somewhat impressed.

He was far too used to having tooth and claw to remember to carry weaponry, but Beowulf's casual disregard for modern table manners had made him slightly more willing to forego them as well. With an approving nod at the other boy, he put aside the plastic and reached for his meat with his bare hands. Fingers, as they say, were invented first.

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Beowulf hated modern table manners. They were stupid and should be done away with. It was also stupid to have a “drinking law” to impose who could drink and who could not. It was stupid. What if the water was bad? People died drinking the water back in his village. No one drank water there and the stupid heathens here always drank water. Well, if they got sick and died it wouldn’t be Beowulf’s fault. He wasn’t drinking the water for anything.

The young Viking looked up at the young man across the table from him who had begun to eat with his hands. At least someone else here had the common sense to do away with the stupid plastic things they tried to make them eat with. He grunted his approval at the other boy, then went back to eating whatever they had pawned off on his as meat. It was really awful, but he was hungry and he didn’t particularly feel like hunting for food right during the middle of the day. He wouldn’t have caught anything at this time of the day anyway. Hunting was better suited to early morning or twilight when game was out and about.

Stabbing his knife violently into the meat, he skewered a piece and took a bite. He couldn’t even taste what kind of meat it was. For all he knew it could be rat meat or something equally as vile. He grunted his distaste for it. “Stupid heathens,” he muttered. “Trying to kill us or something.” He looked at the young man. “Can you tell what kind of meat this is?” he asked darkly and very unhappy about the whole affair. “We’d get better meat hunting and roasting it over a fire,” he grumbled. And it really wasn’t a bad idea on the whole. He’d have to remember to go set traps later.

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For a second, Fenrir almost thought Beowulf was talking to him, and he was quite ready to get defensive - could a demi-god really be a heathen? - but almost as soon as he had tensed for a fight, the other young man continued and Fenrir realised that the comment had not been aimed at him, but rather to him. For once, he found that the conversation was not unwelcome, for the other boy was voicing thoughts not all that far from his own. Perhaps that was how one engaged in this 'making friends' thing, by finding those people who think the same way you do.

Lifting a piece of the meat to his face, he took an experimental sniff, lip curling in irritation at the sub-standard abilities of his human nose.

"Cooking changes the scent," he grumbled, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully "and the taste. Could be boar, or something like it." his look of distaste changed to one of approval at the mention of hunting, and he nodded in agreement. He had no idea how good he'd be at hunting the human way, but surely he would still have some of his skills?

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Beowulf watched at the other boy sniffed the meat. The Viking didn’t know what to make of that. It was like he was some kind of animal or something, which apparently seemed to happen at this absurd school. He’d heard about it briefly before, but Beowulf had assumed that those rumors were false. Besides, he had no reason to think that about this boy. At least not yet anyway.

The comment about cooked meat was odd too. Beowulf didn’t say anything to that. It was just strange. How would he know that cooking the meat made it taste differently too unless he ate raw meat, which would be absurd. All Vikings knew that eating raw meat would make any warrior sick. It was a stupid idea. “You eat uncooked meat?” Beowulf asked with a hint of disbelief.

At the idea about hunting for meat was met with some enthusiasm. Many of the students here thought he was barbaric for going out and killing his own meat. The stupid heathens must not realize that their meat had to be killed at some point for them to eat it. “Do you hunt?” Beowulf asked. It might be nice to have someone besides Astrid to hunt with. There was only so much time that he could be with Astrid before wanting to murder her in cold blood.

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"I used to," Fenrir answered bluntly. He didn't take offence to the disbelief, after all he was aware that most humans found it strange and uncommon, and indeed he had discovered why. Their bodies were just not equipped to handle raw meat it seemed, it made him feel ill the first time he had tried it, and after that he had learnt to cook his meat as the humans did "this form is not able to."

He really didn't mind telling people he used to be a wolf, as far as he was concerned he still was one, he just happened to be looking human right now. That would change if he went elsewhere. It would feel good to get his own skin back.

"I prefer to hunt. Is there good hunting to be found here?" he hadn't expected it of such a civilised place, but if this boy knew where to hunt then Fenrir was glad to meet him. Not only would hunting provide much better meat than what he was currently eating, it would also cut out having to deal with the money and socialising that was involved in buying food.

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Beowulf didn’t understand the young man that sat across the table from him. He didn’t even seem to care that he had at point eaten raw uncooked meat. He didn’t seem to care what Beowulf thought about that. And then he confirmed that he had not always been human. The Viking just nodded, deciding that he probably didn’t want to know. It would be better to just accept it and move on.

Beowulf shrugged at the question. He hadn’t been hunting much and when he had the one time Astrid had scared all the game away. But there were some animals that roamed the forest. “There’s some game. Nothing bigger than deer and nothing so wild as boar.” It was a shame that there was no wild boar in the woods. That would have made quite the feast. “Plenty of birds.” He’d seen wild pheasants and the occasional wild turkey. It would be alright for hunting, but it was nothing like the wild game back home.

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Fenrir frowned at the response - though not at Beowulf, in fact the young man was doing rather well in the wolf's estimation, for one he hadn't started asking a lot of irritating questions and for another he seemed to have a personality and attitude much the same as Fenrir's - he would have liked to hear that there was some good game to be had in the forests. Mind you, anything was probably better than the meat they were being served, so even birds would do.

"I suppose that will do," he shrugged after a moment. At least he would be able to hunt something, and the idea of that pleased him. It wasn't just about the meat, it was about the act itself - he hadn't exactly gotten a lot of hunting done on Lyngvi after all.

"I shall hunt, and eat better than this tomorrow." he decided.

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Beowulf awaited the decision patiently. It wasn’t the best hunting, but it was better than eating whatever it was that they were feeding the students in the cafeteria. For all her could tell, he could be eating skunk meat or something equally as vile. But the act of hunting was good. It allowed him to focus on something other than how much he hated this school.

The young Prince nodded. It would do well enough to keep them well fed. And if he had a hunting partner that wasn’t Astrid, then he might actually catch something. And anything would be preferable to this rubbish that the school provided. Beowulf wasn’t sure it wasn’t going to poison him.

“We shall hunt,” he corrected. And they would indeed eat better than this tomorrow.

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Fenrir looked momentarily surprised, it was a very long time since anybody had volunteered to be in his company, and Beowulf didn't exactly seem like he was often prone to being particularly sociable. He wondered how quickly that offer would be rescinded once the other young man found out who he was - if he recognised the name, of course, but Fenrir had a sneaking suspicion that he would. Still, the offer was made and perhaps a hunting partner was a good idea. It was a start, and Beowulf was certainly agreeable enough company.

"Very well, we shall hunt," he nodded firmly. Wolves were pack animals after all, it was just that most people didn't really fit into 'his' pack.

"I am Fenrir," he figured this was the moment for introductions, and it would be best to get any potential unpleasantness out of the way now, since the other boy would likely be substantially more armed tomorrow.

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It wasn’t often that Beowulf would volunteer to be a hunting companion. Mostly it was because he hated most of the people at this ridiculous school. Plus, most of them were heathens which made them even more unbearable. At least this young man was quiet and only spoke when necessary. He was like Sunny in that way. They were similar and people that Beowulf could appreciate.

Beowulf nodded at the confirmation that they would hunt together. He wouldn’t have blamed the other boy if he had wished for a solitary hunt. Beowulf often found that hunting alone was peaceful and he could away from the heathens , though he was pleased that his offer hadn’t been turned down.

However things took a dive when the other boy introduced himself as Fenrir. Beowulf had only ever known one Fenrir and that was the wolf Fenrir, son of Loki. The wolf that had been sent to exile along with his brother and sister. That Fenrir was the young man sitting across from him. Beowulf wasn’t sure how to react. It made sense that he had eaten raw meet at one time in a different form. The young Viking had met Hel and Loki so he knew of the gods’ presence here on Midgard, but it was disconcerting nonetheless.

“I am Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, prince of Geatland,” he answered formally, with a respectful nod of his head. The least he could do was be respectful. Fenrir could probably still rip his throat out, human or otherwise. “Have you ever hunted as a human?” It would be best to know how much or little experience his hunting partner had before they went hunting.

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Fenrir waited silently to see how the young man would react, hoping that it would be less violent than Astrid's response to hearing his name. When he introduced himself in return, it became obvious that he definitely should have recognised the name, and Fenrir tensed just a little as he waited for the real reaction, the introduction was surely just a pre-cursor to demanding a fight. If Astrid was anything to go by, the vikings would know him as an antagonist, the same way the Aesir saw him.

Instead, Beowulf was calm, polite, and apparently not looking for a fight. The question confirmed that this news didn't affect him - at least not on the surface - and he seemed still inclined to hunt even after learning Fenrir's identity. The former wolf relaxed again, glad that not all vikings were immediately jumping on the offensive, it gave him hope that he might find more people worth meeting here.

"I have not," he admitted, as casually as he could manage. He was an expert hunter, and he didn't like having to admit that he was less experienced in this form.