Tord Larsson is in love. Of course it had to be with that damned alcoholic. He had forgotten about this affection all until he arrived back at the house he once inhabited. So to counter these unwanted feelings of affection, he decides to be as big of a douchebag as possible towards him.
They're off for another "adventure", raring to go and do whatever. Tord looks about himself, at the surroundings, at the ground, at the sky. Currently, the four of them are just milling about outside at some park. Dandelions are blooming everywhere, due to Spring rolling in. Glancing around, he kneels down, plucking a bunch of taller dandelions out of the ground and grouping them in his hands. For a mere moment, he considers offering the pathetic bouquet to Tom, perhaps punching him afterwards to prove he holds absolutely no feelings for him. Frowning, he crumples up the yellow weeds into a ball and tosses them behind him, letting the crushed plants fall to the ground, small bits of yellow petals fluttering away in the breeze.
"What are you doing, commie, reminiscing about a certain song while picking pretty little flowers?" Oh, Tom. Always being a pest, as usual, even picking up a horribly pulled off high-pitched voice to taunt Tord with.
"Why do you care, Jehova?" Tord retorts, brushing stray bits of yellow off of his hands and onto his pants as he stands up. With a scoff, he shoves the blue hoodie-wearing alcoholic out of his way and walks off, but gets stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
"Tord," Tom starts, frowning and using a serious tone of voice, "what's with you? You weren't as much of an asshole even when you still lived with us. Before, I mean."
He wants to say why, but mentally insists that no, that'd just make him get made fun of. Oh, no, he's a commie AND gay! A heavy sigh slips out from between grit teeth, anxious fidgeting hidden by the burial of his hands in his pockets. "...have you ever wanted to act a certain way, but you're so insecure about what people think about you that you act completely opposite of that?"
"I lost you at insecure. You? Insecure?" Tom raises his eyebrows.
Deciding to take a more blunt approach, Tord says his next series of words in a completely serious tone of voice. "I have no idea why, but I think I might be in love with you. Or something. Either that, or I am deathly ill, or possibly losing my mind. Who knows."
"Are you serious? This is-- I'm-- pff--" The other bursts out laughing, almost to the point of having to hunch over and hold his stomach. Upon looking back at Tord, he sees that his face is still the same neutral expression. "...you're serious." He looks as if he doesn't know what to say, like he's at a complete loss for words. "I can't say I completely hate you either, Tord."
Tord weakly chuckles, tossing a look back at the other. "I was going to give you the most pathetic bunch of flowers ever, but I decided against it."
"Almost as pathetic as your idea of a good gift."
"Shut it." The pair laugh a bit, their smiles fading as the other two walk over to them. "So, Tom, want to-"
"Same to you, buddy."
The group of four go off for some other wacky escapade. Internally, Tord is beaming. Everything is going to turn out fine, now that he knows he has a chance.
Perhaps they could get together sometime.
Perhaps they could be happy.
Okay, so Tord might have gone a bit too far this time. His act of pretending to hate Tom, mixed with ambition, and the power of being in a massive robot, has definitely gone too far. Bullets spray everywhere, nicking holes in walls and blue cloth. A wild, power-crazed grin stretches wide on his face, illuminated by the red glow seeping from within the cockpit. Deep down, he wants to stop, he wants to stop, but he can't. Pure instinct and forced habit makes him want people to suffer to get his goals achieved, with "people" translating directly to "Thomas Ridgewell".
"I thought we were friends!" He hears Edd shout from below. An emotional knife pierces Tord's chest, making him almost slam his fist on controls set to deactivate the machine. He shakes his head, laughing off the ache throbbing inside of him.
"H-hah-- what? No! What would I need friends for when I have this?!" There's tears building in the corners of his eyes. "I'm unstoppable!" Another laugh erupts from the Norwegian, barely held back from becoming a sob.
One missile. It strikes the neighbors' house.
Another missile. It makes short work of his own house. Edd's house. The only place his friends could currently call home. And from what he can tell, it also strikes down Tom.
Oh, God, no. Tom.
Everything freezes for a moment as his eyes lock onto the blue-wearing mass sitting in the middle of ground zero. But something is off. That's not a hoodie. The hair is too short. That's not Tom.
Who the hell is it?
He feels darkly relieved to know that the body that dropped doesn't belong to Tom. Perhaps after this is all over, he can reconcile. Maybe see exactly how mutual his feelings of not-actually-hating-him-that-much are.
It's about time he stopped. Perhaps after this, he can go into hiding. Perhaps.
"...so long, old friends!" Tord calls, doing a salute - with the robot, that is - and flying off.
And then it happens. Five words that shoot right through him, like bullets. Or, in this case..
"I AM NOT! YOUR! FRIEND!" Tom's voice. Before he can even turn around to see where he is or what state he's in, a harpoon bursts through the back of the cockpit, nicking off the elbow of his pullover as he shrinks away to the right. If he didn't move just then, he'd be a shish kebab. Apparently the harpoon had done a good number to the core of the robot, because next thing he knows, his ears are ringing, and everything is burning.
Everything goes black.
Everything is spinning. Everything is burning. He can't hear anything but ringing or feel anything but pure agony.
Perhaps he could see Tom again, sometime. Perhaps they could make up.
He sits up, pushing out of a heavy pile of rubble, groaning as his right side protests against every move he makes with a wave of pain. Tord can see a carmine-colored car in the distance, a pair of people sitting in the front. Paul and Patryk. His entourage. He faintly remembers calling them, telling them to come pick him up if anything bad happened.
He scoots over to the edge of a drop-off near where he impacted the ground within the robot. For but a moment, he considers tossing himself off. But he decides against it. After his comrades patch up his face and arm, he stands up and takes a look around himself.
The hill he stands upon, where it isn't full of rubble or scorched grass, is covered in a soft blanket of short foliage. Small, yellow-flowered weeds sprout between blades of grass.
Tord looks down at the dandelions and weakly smiles, grabbing a bunch of them in his good hand. After thinking over some things, he looks off at the trio walking away from their ruined house. "Tord, hurry up, we gotta go!" Paul shouts from behind him, reaching into the car and pressing the horn a few times.
"Right, right, I'll be right there." He lets go of the bundle of flowers, letting the golden petals get taken away by the breeze.
He wipes his face with a sleeve. Oh. Tears.
"...so long, old friends." The Norwegian murmurs, turning to go over to the car.
Paul starts up the car, and the three drive off.
"Why're you staring out the window like that?" Patryk inquires, looking back at Tord.
april fool's it's sad