Summary:Elmo has to go brag about being rescued by OMG Captain America! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related Logshttp://empirestateheroes.wikidot.com/log:2019-03-13-nobody-tolerates-bullies Theme Song |
The spring sessions for the universities are Soon<tm>, and that means any used book store which carries text books, like this one, has regular clients coming and going. It was Gabe's idea that Halgrim carry used class texts and that the shop keep tabs on what General Education classes were using which volumes. Not everyone wants to use PDFs and eBooks downloaded from torrent sites, and some professors even require a specific edition as a physical copy. (Halgrim scoffed at the notion of requiring a specific edition, but was happy to provide a more affordable out to students struggling to find something which would satify class requirements.) There's a dozen students milling through those particular stacks, grabbing various math, biology, chemistry, and physics tomes. Gabe is behind the counter for the moment, and Halgrim is in the back room, repairing a first edition of Grapes of Wrath. No one's lined up to check out just yet, and the first batch of students has already left. Zipporah is busy re-shelving books which were taken down, pushing a little cart ahead of her.
Elmo manages not to burst in this time like his hair is on fire. He pushes the door open (the bell jingles) and looks around. He can't decide exactly what it is he wants to do. So he wanders over to the counter and leans on it like a friendly drunk, grinning at Gabriel. "Hey pal." Although his elbows are on the counter, it's obvious that his palms are bandaged. This isn't that unusual; Elmo burns or cuts himself on a regular basis.
Zipporah catches sight of Elmo out of the corner of her eye as he comes in, says, "Hello, Elmo, how are you doing," as she reaches up to place a book. Gabe looks up from a book he's reading (The Devil in the White City), grins a greeting. "Hey, Elmo, what's up." Gabe knows this look; Elmo has a story to relate. He spies the bandages, glances towards Zipporah then cranes his neck to make sure Halgrim's pre-occupied in the back, lowers his voice. "What happened?" he whispers, not wanting to attract their attention. Elmo won't escape without a full assessment of his injuries if either notices them. Obviously Elmo has no idea how to bandage himself; only someone over forty can be trusted with that.
"Hi, Tante Zip!" Elmo says back to Zipporah as he goes by her. What is unusual about the bandages is they're on both hands, evenly. Usually Elmo only burns one hand at a time, or both in different places.
He ducks towards Gabriel, that untold story dancing in his clear black eyes. "You are not gonna believe this. I met Captain America!" Voice low, but intense. He's thrilled.
"There's some of that cider in the back room," Zipporah calls back. Fortunately she remains occupied. "Tjenare, Elmo," Halgrim calls from the back room, though he keeps at the book he's restoring.
Gabe leans forward, eyes wide. "What?" he asks through clenched teeth. He looks around surreptitiously, maybe to make sure no one else heard that. He keeps his voice low and equally intense. "Show me, you got a picture right? Oh my God, Captain America."
"Gut margn, Grim!" Elmo calls into the back room. He shakes his head at Gabriel and whispers. "I couldn't ask him, he literally pulled me out of traffic." Yeah, leave it to Elmo to be too shy to ask Captain Flippin' America for a selfie. "I didn't even know it was him at first, then he took down his hood and—" Elmo makes an eloquent little grippy motion at Gabriel, eyes wide. "It was him!"
It might be painfully obvious that the two of them are gossiping over the checkout counter.
"What?!" Gabriel's voice threatens to escape their sacred space; he looks like Elmo's just destroyed a perfectly good tablet. But then Elmo's explaining the rest, or part of it anyways. "Out of—" He realizes he's talking too loud, clears his throat. "Out of traffic?" He frowns, gives Elmo's hands a renewed look of concern. "Just what was all this?" He doesn't wait for an answer, though; he props his elbow on the counter and puts a hand to his forehead. "Saved by Captain America."
Zipporah drifts to the edge of the stacks. "And what are you two whispering about over here, hm?" She has more books to shelve, though, and doesn't come to join them, just gives them each a critical, shrewd look.
"Right?!" Elmo's grinning madly. "He's so pretty. He carried me out of the street!" He ducks as Zipporah notices them, guilty as anything. How this kid ever got on parole is a mystery. Doesn't stop whispering with Gabriel, oh no. "Eh, well…" Elmo turns over one of his injured hands and winces. "Kinda, got pushed into traffic."
"It's nothing, we're just chatting about celebreties," Gabriel assures her. Zipporah makes a sound of exaggerated disapproval, goes back to her shelving. "Movie stars, super heroes…" she says to herself as she goes.
As soon as she's more properly out of earshot he gives Elmo the most frustrated smile possible. "Carried, you, are you kidding me, and you didn't get a picture." He runs a hand over his face. "How did you get pushed into—" He stops, looks at Elmo's hands, back at Elmo. Raises his eyebrows. "Did, ah, something get a little…" He asking hesitantly and delicately, because he knows what it's like to get harassed for a variety of things, and isn't expecting Elmo to spill all the details. (Really, he's just checking that he's okay.)
"I couldn't!" Elmo rasps, blushing sudden and hot. He fires a glance over his shoulder to make sure Zipporah is safely not paying them any attention. "Are you kiddin', I'm lucky I could talk to him." He winces, raises a hand to almost rake through his curls, then aborts maneuver at the last second, just kind of combing through his forelock. "These guys I went to high school with. Had shop classes with 'em. Mad because I was always better than they were."
"I know, I know," Gabriel says on a sigh. He can sympathize; really, it's not like he'd be able to make a single cohoerent sound if Captain America had saved him from being pushed into traffic either. "Still. Man, if you — you know, see him again…" He raises his eyebrows in a 'help a friend out, yeah' gesture.
The subject of high school bullies coming back for more has him utterly flumoxed. "High school? The hell they doing carrying a beef from—" He cuts himself off, waves a hand. "Ech, whatever. Idiots. Jealous, gotta take it out on you instead of coping."
"High school, was it?" Halgrim says, because he's managed to walk up right next to them without either noticing. Gabriel jerks back from Elmo on reflex, despite that this not only won't convince Halgrim they weren't trying to gossip without him or Zipporah, but will actually confirm for him they were.
"Please, is anybody going to believe I met him twice?"
Then Halgrim sneaks up on them. Elmo actually squeaks, jerking back from Gabriel in exactly the same kind of guilty reflex. A crackle of static pops off him, grounding on the metal lip of the counter. "Jesus Christ, Grim! Ya scared five years off me." Now there's no hiding that his palms are bandaged; he tries anyway, folding his arms extremely casually and in no way trying to hide anything. "High school? Who said anything about high school?"
Gabriel winces and pulls back from the counter; a couple of customers peer out of the stacks. "Heheh, man, these staticky days, huh?" Gabe says, smiling uncomfortably and waving one of his hands. Halgrim gives them a mild look, and the college kids go back to their textbook purusals, because that's the kind of effect Halgrim has on people.
In response to Elmo's question, Halgrim points at Gabriel, and Gabriel clears his throat. "Ah, yeah, we were, ah, talking about…you know…" He doesn't want to lie to Halgrim, but it's also not Halgrim's business. He finds himself stuck. It's okay, though; Halgrim's already seen Elmo's hands.
"Those bandages on Elmo's hands, maybe?" he suggests, and raises his eyebrows at Elmo. It's a gentle enough request to see them, if Elmo's willing.
Occasionally Elmo reacts to Halgrim like he's a grownup in a position of authority rather than a good friend. This is one of those times; he looks at him with a blend of defiance and willful ignorance. It's a look easy to imagine him presenting to guidance counselors and teachers and prison guards.
But Halgrim is his friend, and Elmo's expression softens, his body language relaxing. He offers over his left hand. "They used to beat me up a lot. Guess they thought they'd do it again for old times' sake. Pushed me into the street." Now he seems more upset, a quiver to the set of his jaw.
Gabriel grimaces. Hiding things from Halgrim is next to impossible, something they're both quite aware of. But Elmo relents, and so does Gabriel. He just barely manages to not spill the beans on why Elmo's alteration didn't end worse than it could have. He can let Elmo give the better news. "See, he cleaned it and bandaged it up just fine," he says, careful to keep his voice low. Fortunately Zipporah is helping the college students find some more books they're looking for, so she doesn't hear any of this.
Halgrim takes the hand, inspecting it gently and thoughtfully. He nods his approval, satisfied by the job Elmo's done. "I suppose it's not with the effort to report them?" he asks, eyebrows raised. Beneath this calm demeanor there's a sense of something watching, waiting, listening, for any detail on his attackers. His eyes might be a little more yellow than usual, though maybe that's just the light.
Gabriel scoffs at his question before Elmo can. "As if the cops would do anything about it."
"Hurt like hell," Elmo confesses, permitting Halgrim to touch him. Touch is different when it's for practical purposes. "Skinned myself up real good. Sprained my wrist, too. That's the worst of it. These guys made my life miserable in high school. Worse after I—" he stops, mouth curling down. Suddenly the gentle way Halgrim is handling him is overwhelming, not in sensation but in how much Halgrim cares about him. Suddenly he's telling himself don't cry, don't you dare cry! Elmo sniffles, manfully.
Gabriel looks alarmed at Elmo's sudden shift in mood (well, to him it seems sudden, at any rate), but just then, there's a distraction. The college studetns are ready to buy their ridiculous numbers of books, and are on the approach with handbaskets, lead by Zipporah.
Knowing Zipporah will dote on Elmo even more than he is, Halgrim gestures at the back room. "Come sit with me and havbe a cider, hm? Take a moment to yourself." He means 'get away from the herd of approaching people and bit in a quiet room without too much hovering', really.
"I got some more of that pear cider," Gabriel assures him.
Elmo mutters, "Thanks, Gabe," and taps the counter near Gabriel with two fingertips, twice. "Tell ya all about it, promise." Grateful for the offered escape, he follows Halgrim to the back room.
"Feel like you oughta put another sign up, Crying In Progress." He sniffles again, getting watery, but a self-deprecating joke is ready to hand.
Slinging himself into one of the comfy armchairs, Elmo props his forehead in the curve of his forefinger and thumb. "Sorry, Grim. Ain't at all what I came to do."
Zipporah watches Halgrim and Elmo as they go, gives Gabriel a Look demanding an explanation. "It's nothing, it's fine," he assures her. Her mouth thins, but she lets them go, getting back to her organizing. Gabe sets to getting the students checked out, glancing after Elmo with a worried expression.
Halgrim fetches two of the ciders from the minifridge, one for each of them. He opens them on the corner of the work table expertly, sets one in front of Elmo. "It's absolutely alright. As I've told you before, I'm honored you feel comfortable enough to do it." He sits in a chair opposite Elmo. "No need for such a sign, or I'd have to add 'Brooding in Progress' and possibly 'Extremely Frustrated, Use Caution'." He bobs his eyebrows, gives Elmo a wry smile, sips from his cider.
"More seriously, though, if these young men are harassing you regularly, it might be time to do something about it. Shoving you into traffic…" He winces. "That's an escalation."
Elmo picks up the cold cider bottle to wrap his palms around it and cool them. He sighs in relief, then quirks that lopsided smile of his at Halgrim. "I like the frustrated one. Could use that for my workshop."
Rolling the bottle gently between his hands, he shrugs. "I was gonna pop 'em, pulled out my screwdriver. They thought it was a knife. They're actually kinda scared of me. S'why they got worse after I came back from juvie." Has he told Halgrim about that before? He's not sure, so he just keeps going. "I went because I hurt another guy, real bad. Excessive force, the judge said. So these guys, hell, I dunno what goes on in their ferschtuppkopf skulls, they decided they had to show me my place. Maybe they wanted to send me back, make sure I didn't get out. That's when I dropped out, got a GED. Yesterday they saw me and—" Elmo holds up his gauzed palm. "Push around Rosencrantz, why not, he's five feet tall and flaming." Bitter, bitter as hops and grapefuit, his tone.
"I'll see about getting one made up for you," Halgrim says, his concern retreating in place of a brief smile. He knows a few calligraphers; perhaps one of them will be willing to trade.
He settles in to listen to Elmo's explanation of things, crossing his legs and taking sips of his cider. He doesn't bother to hide his reactions; sympathy mixes with disappointment that here, so many decades later, they still fight to be accepted for who they are. If there was anything he'd hoped would have changed when he escaped the commune, it had been that.
"I'm sorry to hear that they plagued you then, and continue to now." He sighs, rubs at his temples. "Ah, I wish I could say this is the kind of thing you can wait out but you already know it's not, and anyways it'd be a lie." He gives Elmo a rueful smile. "I didn't have," he nods at Elmo, "any kind of ability to bring to bear, so in my case it was fights. A great…many, fights."
"I didn't until I was fifteen. That's when the juice turned on. In more ways than one." Elmo rolls his eyes at himself. "Got in a lot of fights before that. Lost most of 'em. Got in a lot of fights after, too, but lights would start exploding, freaked guys out. How about that, huh?" He snorts, shakes his head. Has a drink of cider.
Then he leans forward towards Halgrim, getting excited. "Okay, so, the schmucks pushed me into traffic. And then a guy came out of nowhere, grabbed me, and carried me out of the street. Big guy, real big, real, real strong, he picked me up like I weighed as much as a cat. He ran 'em off!"
Halgrim's mouth flattens. He ''also'' got into fights at that age, but he'd been a good fifteen centimers taller then than Elmo is now, probably a fair bit heavier to boot. What a difference a few kilograms and centimers could make. The reputation he earned was of someone it wasn't wise to open your mouth around, not if you didn't want to defend what you had to say with your fists. Seventy years on, he wasn't entirely proud of that, truth be told; certainly it had given his parents no end of grief.
"I wish you hadn't had to go through that." He means the fights, but also juvenile detention and the getting pushed into traffic as well. But now, there's a rescuer.
Halgrim is relieved to hear it, even as he feels odd that someone ''else'' came to Elmo's aid. Is he jealous? No, he can't be. (Maybe he is. Ridiculous, and yet… He'll blame it on Fjorskar, this kind of odd emotional reaction is usually because of her.) "Thank the gods he was there." That he can at least say with sincerity. "Did your rescuer have a name?" He arches an eyebrow, tries not to sound like he's teasing Elmo, fails.
Elmo grunts, a wordless Yiddish remark. "Fifteen wasn't a great year. Also the year fightin' over mutants got real bad." He tips the bottle up for a long swig. At Halgrim's question, an irrepressible grin grows on his expressive face. As ever, Elmo is oblivious to the finer nuances of odd emotions. He's too eager to tell his story, anyway.
"Yeah, he had a name." Elmo slides an elbow on the table, casually leaning over. "His name was Steve Rogers." Unable to hold it in anymore, he grin turns wild and he clenches his hands at Halgrim. "He was Captain Flippin' America! …Ow." That hurt; he opens his fingers again with a wince.
Halgrim can't help it; for a momennt a very real pang of we should have been here ripples through him to Fjorskar and back. He looks down at his cider, turning the bottle in his hands and trying to get himself under control. "Yes, that was a bad time," he says, tone absent. It takes him a breath or two. "Gods this world can be ugly and cruel." He sounds like he doesn't intend to say it out loud.
The mention of 'Steve Rogers' jogs Halgrim out of his morose thoughts. "''Really''? Not just," he gestures, "someone dressed as him? I've heard that's a new fad, dressing as various super-powered beings and running around, pretending to be them." But how many ''non''-supers could haul a young maneven one Elmo's sizeand carry them off out of traffic, ''and'' chase some young punks off? Not many, he expected. Hells, he couldn't, not in his own shape.
He frowns at the wince, pulls another bottle of cider out for Elmo to use to chill his hands. "Careful," he murmurs.
Elmo sinks down over his arm, laughing near-silently, flushing red. "Grim he — he wasn't in uniform. He was just wearin' regular clothes. He took down his hood," Elmo mimes this, sweeping his fingers alongside his temples, "and it. Was. HIM! I should know, I saw those PSAs enough! His voice, his…jeez, his everything."
More than a little star struck, Elmo is not noticing at all that Halgrim has mixed feelings about this escapade. "He was gorgeous. He looks way different in person. He like…shines. Like, I dunno, like a beautiful animal, somethin' different and amazing."
He takes the new bottle with a nod of thanks. " I shook his hand," he goes on, mystified at his own courage. "I didn't even realize my hands were all torn up until a good ten minutes later. Gabe's mad because I didn't get a selfie. Selfie, nothin', I could hardly breathe."
It hadn't actually occurred to Halgrim that Captain America existed outside the uniform. Logically he has to, but now he realizes he has no idea what that must look like. "PSAs?" he echoes, frowning. He repeats the acronym phonetically, like he's unsure if it might be a word in English he somehow doesn't know. (With American English that could easily be the case.)
He laughs, though, as Elmo continues to gush, jealousy-like pang forgotten in the face of an honest celebrity crush. Attempting to smother his amusement, he says, "For the record, I don't recommend calling him a beautiful animal to anyone who might mention it to anynone else." He holds up a hand to forestall any protests. "Which, I won't. I swear."
He sits back in his chair, sips from his cider. "Hands bleeding, saved from on-coming vehicles by Captain America, I…suppose you can be forgiven for forgetting a selfie. ''This'' time." A sly grin. "You owe your life to Steve Rogers, then."
"PSAs, public service announcements. Tony Stark tellin' you to stay in school and whatever." Elmo dismisses that with a wave. "What, they don't got those in Sweden?" He's teasing, with a glint in his eyes.
Then he covers his face, embarrassed. "I shouldn't say that? Okay. I won't, even though it's true." Peeking out from between his fingers, he protests, but not that part. "I dunno about saving my life. …Maybe. I coulda hit those cars with an EMP if I had my equipment. Which, I didn't, and I didn't exactly have time to put something together. And that's assuming they wouldn't have plowed into me anyway. Okay, yeah, he probably saved my life. Hell, I'm practically an Avenger." Elmo cracks up, laughing helplessly into his bandaged hands. "Oh my God, I might be a little bit losing my shit, sorry buddy."
Halgrim's expression lands somewhere between apalled and flabberghasted. He'll never not be mystified by the nature of the American education system. "Not in school, no," he says, eyes a little wide. "What, they, sit you down in front of a TV or a computer monitor or, something?" He groans, rolls his eyes. "Ludicrous, how does anyone get an education in this country. You'd think they'd have done something about that in the last fif—teen years." He barely catches himself.
Elmo's embarrassment proves a much-needed distraction from Halgrim's near slip. He tries not to enjoy it too much when he says, "That sounds a great deal like saving your life." He doesn't really succeed. "No, don't apologize for that, how often does a," he makes a gesture out towards the shop front, "real live world hero pull you out of traffic and then shake hands with you? I'd have made a complete idiot out of myself at your age. You're fine, really."
"Oh yeah, we had whole assemblies for 'em." Elmo wipes at his watering eyes. "Oy vey, okay, so anyway." To calm down, he sips at the cider for a few minutes. The alcohol relaxes him, and it's just really good cider, too.
"You know what he said to me?" he says quietly. "He told me that the important thing was I got back up. That I did good." A sudden sob makes his chest hitch; he clenches his jaw, biting it back. Then he's crying with hoarse little sounds and turns away so Halgrim can't see.
Halgrim starts to say something, stops. He leans forward, the gesture he's learned to use for giving comfort in place of actually doing anything like reaching for Elmo's shoulder. "He's right. That is the important thing." A small smile, and he adds, "Also that you weren't seriously hurt. I'm glad he was there." He sighs, knowing there's not much he can do save be here for Elmo while he reacts to what happened. (Or, rather that the only thing he can doput the fear of himself into these bratswon't help, arguably just makes things worse.)
Elmo digs out his hanky (he's old-fashioned in some funny ways), to mash his face into it. "Fuck, this is stupid," he mumbles. "I don't know why I'm actin' like this." He wipes his eyes. "Uhm, would it be weird if I asked you for a hug?" Elmo's voice cracks and he grimaces wetly. "It'd be weird, right? Nevermind, it'd be weird."
Halgrim smiles at the sight of a handkerchief. Old-fashioned in this day and age, and yet not that old-fashioned to him. He still carries one himself. "You've had a terrible thing happen. You were saved, yes, but that doesn't change that it was terrifying. And done for ugly reasons."
He sighs, soft and, oddly, almost amused. "Oh, Elmo, it's not weird at all. I'd be happy to, if it'll help." He waits, though, knowing without knowing it should come form Elmo first.
Elmo leans over and grabs Halgrim, hugging him fiercely. His fingers curl into Halgrim's shirt. It's the most physical contact between them yet, this awkward half-embrace. Elmo is flushed from crying, his face hot where he presses against Halgrim's shoulder. His thin bony frame is shivering.
"If you can, uh, do it tight, it helps. Like those shirts they put on dogs?" Elmo's tone wobbles with embarrassment.
Halgrim nods his understanding at the request, unashamedly slips an arm around Elmo and grips him comfortably firm. "Jag är så ledsen, men du är här med oss nu," he murmurs in Swedish. He quiet a time, just letting Elmo be held. Then, "Captain America has defended you and now you're here with us. You're safe."
Again he squelches the desire to run across this pack of bullies. He knows it would be disastrous. He's lost all ability to respond to such threats in proportion. Yet it's so hard to remember that with Elmo crying.
Elmo grunts like he was socked in the belly, but, apparently this is good. He relaxes, slow, individual muscle by individual muscle.
"I hate 'em," he mumbles. "Why do they gotta be like that to me? I didn't do nothin' to them."
At this point he's so limp he's just hanging over Halgrim's shoulder with one arm like an exhausted kitten.
Halgrim grunts at the question. His twenties are so many decades gone now, but he can remember them quite clearly. A gift from Fjorskar, perhaps.
"Their families and society teach them ugliness, and give them a will to direct it at anyone different from themselves." He sighs. "The important thing to remember is that it's not you, it's them. Don't internalize their hatred and direct it at yourself. You're not the problem. They are." There's a lot more he can say here—about how it's ridiculous Elmo should ''need'' someone like Captain America to save him from, of all the things, high school bullies, but there it is. The problem of American society in a nutshell.
"I'm just glad you're not more severely injured." And those bullies should be too. That's for sure.
Elmo slumps back, finally, rubbing his eyes. "God, everybody's gonna know I been blubberin' in here," he mutters, trying to drum up some irritation to cover up all the tender exposed bits. He does in fact look like he's been crying, his face flushed and his eyes red. "Like it's raining on fuggin prom night."
He shakes his head in disgust over literally everything. Then, somber, says, "It's kind of me though. I'm too weird. Too queer, too Jewish, too autistic. Too much better than them at shop class, and I got the gall to be short and skinny too. I mean, I know what you mean, but….it's still kind of me."
"Eh, you can freshen up in the sink," Halgrim gestures over towards it, "wait a bit, and it'll mostly just look like you've had an allergy attack. Anyways, what's it their business if you have been. You know Zipporah and Gabriel will only be worried about you, and my customers' opinions about this certainly aren't relevant." it doesn't occur to him that Zipporah and Gabriel's worry might ''be'' the problem, but then it had been a while since he was young enough to dislike such things.
Gently, he insists, "Their perception of you. That being queer, or Jewish, or autistic — individually or in aggregate — are things which should be looked down on is the real issue, and it's theirs, not yours." He lets out a long, slow breath. "It becomes your problem when they make it yours, of course." He smiles, wry and bitter. "I only object to framing it as being you because that can easily lead to you punishing yourself in various ways, and you should never do that, not for being who you are. Those are beautiful things about you. They're you." He looks out over the room. "I wish I could say there are better solutions than fighting back. But there aren't, at least not that I've ever found."
That almost makes Elmo cry again, hearing that those things which cause him such grief at the hands of others are beautiful. His lip trembles; he clamps it between his teeth. Breathes iiiiiin, then out. "Imagine if they knew I'm a mutant," he jokes with that bitter Yiddish humor. "…I know it ain't my fault. Just. I can't help but feel if I wasn't like this…" shrugging, he tosses a hand in a silent you know.
Getting up, he goes to the sink, runs the water cold and sticks his face under it. He does it a slightly unnervingly long time, before he leans out and gasps for air. "Better." Elmo blindly plucks a few paper towels to dry off.
Halgrim's smile becomes a bit more genuine. "That's entirely understandable. It might even be true—but then, you'd not be yourself." He looks out over the scarred work table as Elmo goes to wash his face. "It's a terrible thing, what the world does to those of us who aren't as it expects us to be."
He stays where he is, letting Elmo clean up without being crowded. He'll go upstairs and change his shirt shortly; a benefit of living upstairs from his workplace. "You can stay a bit, if you'd like. I've," he nods at a binding project in progress on the far end of the table from where they were sitting," work I can do, and you can relax and talk, or use your phone…" He shrugs, offering a multitude of options.
Elmo sniffs, nods, and comes back to the table to flump in the armchair. "…Oy vey, I got your shirt all gross," he says, with a mortified grimace. "I'm sorry, buddy."
Thoughts are chasing each other around his brain. Halgrim is always so nice to him and he doesn't understand why. Elmo is clearly a disaster human being. Halgrim even knows that! And it doesn't stop him from always welcoming Elmo to cry on his worktable and feed him cider and listen to his whining. And snot on his shirt ugh gross Elmo is such a wreck.
He half-curls up sideways in the cushy chair, resting his head against the back, closing his eyes. "Okay. Sounds great." He doesn't mean to, but he's dozing off very, very quickly.