Closed The worthless one

[Astrid Kvalheim]

Astrid looked up at the functional, boxy apartment building. How boring and sad. Her lip curled. The address had been easy enough to bully out of their ill-mannered, foul-mouthed nephew. If Astrid didn’t have more interesting things to do, she might have wired him right then and there and dumped his body into the harbour.

She looked over at Ingrid and tilted her head at the structure. “Mum should have given them an allowance. This is pathetic.”

Astrid pulled out the slip of paper. Apartment 305. If that boy had given them the wrong address, they would send him on an express train to the afterlife.

@Ingrid Kvalheim

 

[Ingrid Kvalheim]

Ingrid was less than thrilled to be coming to a place like this. It was so... dreadful to say the least. Ingrid had the same idea as Astrid, which was wiring the nephew if he were lying about the address. Ingrid chuckled a little bit at her little sister's comment. "I don't think he deserved any allowance, dear sister." Ingrid scoffed.

Apartment 305. Right. She took her sister's hand into her own, and walked toward what should have been the right apartment. Should they just let themselves in? "Knock or barge?"

@Astrid Kvalheim

 

[Astrid Kvalheim]

Astrid grinned at her sister. “Oh, Ingrid, is there no sense of charity in your heart?” she laughed. She wondered if Ingrid would take that attitude towards the worthless one of her own when the time came.

“Hmm,” Astrid said playfully, acting like it was a tough decision, but really, it wasn’t. “Barge.”

 

[Ingrid Kvalheim]

Ingrid cast a small, pestering glare to her sister out of jest. She whipped out her wand and outstretched her arm to ensure that the sisters would be protected. "Barge it is." It did not take long for her think of the best spell to use to bust that door in.

"Expulso!" Ingrid intoned, to make the door explode off of the hinges, to announce hello in their own, unique way.

 

[Erik Drage]

It was well past midday and Erik was still in bed. He had no reason to wake up. His next client’s order was due two days from now, and he had all of tomorrow to brew up the potions they had requested. So, he was taking full advantage of the siesta. He'd spent the weekend with Lou, who had to leave early to deal with some business on the farm. Now, Erik had the bed all to himself.

Erik adjusted the blinds, blocking as much sunlight as he could, and crawled back under the covers. He was dozing when a sound like a cauldron steeping reactive, un-complementary ingredients rattled his apartment. Erik all but fell out of his bed, holding onto the sheets for dear life. He was wearing only his pajama pants when he ran out of the bedroom, wand in hand.

His eyes widened when he saw two witches standing in the front room, both taller and broader than him. The front door was blown clear off its hinges. “Excuse me?” he said, breathlessly. “Ladies, I think you have the wrong flat.” Whatever business these witches had in this building, he wanted nothing to do with it. Even though it added more excitement to a Sunday afternoon.

 

[Astrid Kvalheim]

Astrid held herself back from complaining out loud. She wanted to do the crashing and bashing. But, she supposed it was Ingrid’s turn. The witch stepped into the apartment after her sister. Merlin, the interior was even worse than the exterior. Basic, functional, common. However, she admired Ingrid’s handiwork. The entire flat, and building, for that matter, could do with demolition.

There was no doubt in her mind when she saw the wizard run into the dining room. He looked like a fool, shirtless and startled like a rabbit. But there was no mistaking the inky black hair, the fine cheekbones. Astrid ignored him entirely and turned to her sister. “Ingrid, did Mum ever tell you he was the runt of the litter?” she asked, ready to burst into laughter. Not a kind laughter, mind.

 

[Ingrid Kvalheim]

This whole apartment lacked so much class, it was ridiculous. Ingrid held up her slightly pointed nose in absolute disgust. When Erik emerged and told them that they had the wrong flat. She snickered a bit when Astrid told her that he was the runt. "More like the reject, Astrid. He was born, and that was his mistake." Ingrid smirked as she turned her attention to Erik.

"Right, our pathetic excuse for a father never told you that you were a triplet. We are your sisters," Ingrid did not hold back when she spoke her mind, which she never did, to be frank.

 

[Erik Drage]

Erik’s head hurt. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t slept off the night before, or that these two strange witches had stormed through his entryway and created a hell of a mess that he couldn’t begin to explain to his landlord. The words ‘runt’ and ‘sisters’ and ‘triplet’ bounced off his traumatized skull. He walked through the dining room, past the women, still shirtless. “I think you have the wrong flat,” he repeated. Erik moved to make a pot of coffee, strong and hot. He hoped they would be on their way by the time it was done brewing.

 

[Astrid Kvalheim]

Astrid’s eyes glinted with mischief as she looked back to her sister. Ingrid was always the more serious and blunt of the two. Astrid, on the other hand, liked to play with her food. She looked back to the man, her brother, she supposed. He acted apathetic about their arrival, or the information Ingrid had just laid out for him. Astrid admired the stupidity. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of cheap coffee.

“Shame, Ingrid,” Astrid pouted, running her finger along the edge of the cheap sawdust table. “If this is the wrong address, we might have to torture our bad nephew, after all.” She laughed. “Although that would be fun. He called us some very nasty names.”

 

[Ingrid Kvalheim]

They, excuse me, they have the wrong flat? Ingrid looked to Astrid to see what she had to say about it before Ingrid laid it down on him. She did mention torturing the nephew, which made her smirk a little bit. "Right, torturing Slade does sound like a good idea. But I want to just burst this mutt's bubble real quick, sister."

Ingrid had no patience, and it was easy to tell. It was hard to guess that she even had twins anyway. "We know we have the right flat, Erik Malkolm Drage. To sum it up, Yrsa Kvalheim is your mother, and Tristan Drage is our father. We were all born in April of 2018. 27th is the date. In other words, you were a triplet, and discarded by our mother because you were born as the weaker sex. Get it now?"

 

[Erik Drage]

Erik had his face turned away from the women when they said the word Slade. He frowned, the color draining out of his cheeks as they suggested torturing him. Slade had always been a contrary little sh!t with something to prove, but Erik loved that kid as much as the rest of his nieces and nephews. While he was initially irritated that Slade had shared his address with strangers, Erik’s worry for him was even stronger. He was about to open his mouth when the more serious of the two spoke again.

Yrsa- what? Definitely a name he’d never heard before. He’d asked his dad, long ago, what his biological mother’s name was, and it definitely hadn’t been that. What he did know for sure was that she hadn’t wanted him, that she didn’t want to raise a child. But Erik being a triplet? Dad had never mentioned anything of the sort.

He looked back at these women, with their strong jaws, wide frames, and their dark hair, and he saw his dad, he saw Evan, and the rest of his siblings in smaller ways. Erik didn’t want to accept what he already knew.

Erik sighed, pouring himself a mug of coffee and stirring in the milk and sugar. One of his sweaters was hanging over the back of the chair. Feeling a strong chill, he slipped it on and moved to sit down at the table. It was some time before he spoke.

“Why now?” he asked. “We’re all a bit old for this kind of thing.”

@Ingrid Kvalheim

 

[Astrid Kvalheim]

Astrid grinned when her brother crumbled at the mention of their rotten nephew. Her mother had told her that the Drages, especially the men, were highly emotional, and soft when it came to family matters. It was nice to see that this one had a weak spot. But really, she could tell just by looking at him that he was weak all over.

In a way, this meeting was strange for Astrid, too, though she wasn’t as visibly bothered as Erik. She’d learned this information recently herself. Apparently, their mother had told Ingrid years ago of their discarded brother. Ingrid cared to know such things, as the future Matriarch of the Kvalheim family. Astrid was less invested. It was the Kvalheim way to nurture the girl and throw the boy to the wolves.

Astrid looked over as an elderly man, presumably one of her brother’s neighbors, stood in front of the space where the door had once been with an open mouth. “Scram, you ape!” she hissed, waving her wand at the mess. With a touch of magic, the door repaired itself violently. It had been fun to break it down, but they didn’t need any more witnesses.

Astrid sat down next to Erik, uncomfortably close, sitting the wrong way on the chair. The cheap furniture creaked under her large frame as she leaned into the backrest. “Truthfully,” Astrid blurted, “I could care less to meet you. But I hear we need to keep track of our assets. Not that you’re much of one.” She looked up to her sister, her eyes glittering.