The moment Michael left to milk the cows, Signe stopped feigning sleep and slid out of bed. She dressed in her pre-prepared clothes, fumbling a bit in the dark, then climbed a chair to retrieve her pre-packed suitcase from the top of the cupboard.
And came face-to-face with two golden, glowing eyes right above where the suitcase should be.
“Shoo, Magnus.”
The eyes glowered, accusingly.
“I am a free spirit. I cannot be chained: not to a job, and certainly not to a man.”
No change.
“I know he cares. So what?”
Still no change.
“And yes, he is kind, and also rude enough that his kindness is not nauseating.”
The eyes blinked, slowly. Signe found herself blinking tiredly in response.
“Fine, you win. I wanted to sleep in, anyway.”
And so she did. Above the cupboard, Magnus slept as well.
***
“So… two percent for the leaders, and half a percent for the regular members, including Emil?” suggested Siv.
“Hmm.” Torbjörn stroked his beard. “How about… one percent, and half a percent? That’s already a huge bonus, compared to their base pay.”
“True.” Siv did some mental arithmetic, then started filling in the pay column. At the third entry, she paused. “Tuuri Hotakainen… it’s not like she needs the money.”
They looked at each other.
Bosse chose this moment to jump up onto the table, and walk across it before collapsing in a sunbeam, right on top of the income report. He blinked up at them, his expression mild.
“The contracts say that the salaries of any deceased members will go to their next of kin,” said Torbjörn. “I know a bonus is not salary, but, still…”
“Still,” agreed Siv, feeling quite virtuous. “The poor girl does have living next of kin.”
Bosse yawned, and slept.
***
Lalli came out of the bathroom, his hair no longer annoying now that it had been shortened by between zero and two centimeters, depending on the strand. As he walked through the living room, he spotted Reynir, asleep on top of one of his weird picture-books of Icelandic magic. (Reynir was very bad at studying, even when he cared about the topic.)
Reynir’s braid dangled annoyingly, falling to the floor. Just last night, it had fallen on top of Lalli’s mattress, hitting him on the shoulder and provoking a moment of panic.
Lalli looked down at the scissors in his hand, so much handier for cutting hair than his knife, and stepped closer.
He froze as something moved behind Reynir’s wool-clad shoulder: the cat. She must have been asleep back there. Now, she yawned, then fixed Lalli with her suspiciously innocent gaze.
He stared back, hissing.
She meowed pleadingly. Then blinked.
Lalli was not going to let a stupid cat judge him. He turned around and headed outside, to see if Emil noticed his new haircut.
Notes: Yes, Siv and Torb are still evil in my stories, sorry.
And I am not sure that Lalli's last impulse is in character. I expect that he doesn't care about how people perceive his appearance. However, I do see him as someone who sets people secret tests, then judges them in his mind: look at the whole post-coma scene. So I guess I meant the last line as a setup for yet another moment of judgement by a (pseudo-)cat. I wonder if Emil passed? 2cm is not a lot.
