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Drunk, tired, and in the middle of what appeared to be a round of Chaos with the Gods, Olaf knows that he saw someone going into Mike's bar and if his eyes don't deceive him, it's Kvasir, who still owes him a caravan from that time he burned it down, after sleeping with Olaf's girlfriend. Honestly, why do they ever trust gods?

He stumbles after him, fumbling through the door.

And that's when he trips over something solid like a doorjamb or a rug or maybe even a person. Clad in nothing but a pair of board shorts, Olaf thinks this might not look the very best, but he's not entirely in his right mind to know. He peers up from where he's landed to see someone standing over him in what looks like his very favourite rent-free hotel's lobby and turns on his back as he groans, the pain of smacking his torso on the way down radiating through his body.

"Did you see him?" he asks. "Did he come this way?"

If he has to beat Kvasir into repaying his debts, he'll do it. He might be an old man, but he's no shrinking violet. Maybe the rest of the family is dealing with the madness that afflicts the Johnson family, but he's got more personal scores to settle. If Axl happens to find Frigg in the meantime, then bully for him, but Olaf's got bigger, smellier, all-knowing fish to fry.

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Nick looked down at the guy on the floor and sighed.

"Seriously, man. We have got to stop meeting like this."

Not a God. Olaf peers up at him with a squint and makes him out, recalling that he'd once towed the man back to Auckland with him to solve the whole 'Odin is sick and infecting all the Johnsons' issue, but this time, he doubts he's going to be much help. "Did you see a smelly, homeless bloke rush past you?" he asks.

"In my experience, they're all fairly rank," Nick observed with a grin, "but no, I haven't seen anyone I'd consider domestically challenged. Why, did you lose one?"

"Many times," Olaf grumbles, rubbing at his temples as he searches around them for the nearest source of water. "The trouble is, he's slippery," he confides, already wandering around the hotel. "Literally." He can't make the same mistake twice and by not telling Mike and Axl the first time, that's how he got away.

Nick considered the guy for a long moment. Then he laughed a little and shook his head. "You know. I've always been the first to say that my life is all kinds of fucked up. But I'll tell you. You make me feel almost normal." After a breath in and out, he shrugged. "Does it have to be a particular homeless guy? If not, head to New Orleans. You can always find a few dozen in the Quarter."

"Never been over the ocean that far," Olaf says, trying to clear his head of all the drugs and the alcohol and the oracle crap that's clouding it. It's been fucking bonkers in his head since Gaia's birthday started to approach. "It has to be a specific one," he says insistently. "This one is a girlfriend -stealing, van-burning arse."

"Looks like I'm not going to be any use to you at all this time then," Nick said with a shrug. "I haven't seen him and I have no girlfriend and no van, so I don't have anything to tempt him out of hiding."

"The van and the girlfriend haven't been around in over thirty years," Olaf admits, though he's never going to let it out of his mind and that's what's important -- not letting go of the grudges that matter. "Kvasir, though, he's important to know. Might make the maelstrom in my head go away."

"If you have any luck with that, let me know," Nick snorted, thinking of all the times his demon side chose inopportune moments to show him pictures, and memories, of times long past. Times when his father had been the Malachai and had embraced all that came with it.

"Luck tends to run in rashes, when it comes to my family," Olaf advises, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly to try to get the headache to go away, but it doesn't really do the trick. "I need a drink," he says, even though he's already had plenty.

"See who?" Chuck nearly tripped over the prone figure and was about to give a good haranguing for it when the man had shouted his nearly-hysterical question. It was only the kiwi accent that kept him from just walking away entirely.

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, then.

Olaf doesn't hold any contempt for his neighbours to the West. In fact, they've provided him with a great amount of amazing herb over the years. Still, there's a lot of rivalry that he can't just let go, which is why Olaf gets his back up -- as much as a drunk, high oracle can. "He's homeless, long-haired, smells like piss, you can't miss him."

Oi, oi, oi.

Chuck had only seen New Zealand a few times. Mostly from the cost. And mostly with at least some part of the surrounding landscape on fire.

"I'll do my best. You dying?"

"Every day," Olaf says, even though the lucky thing for him is that when he wakes up in the morning, it's all undone. He peers at the man through the haze, trying to figure out if he's actually managed to get to Australia or if this is the universe being wild again. "I need a drink."

"That I'll agree with."

He hadn't really stopped feeling like he needed a drink since he got here, between stints at the infirmary for his seemingly innumerable breaks and bruises.

"'M Chuck."

"Olaf," he replies, looking over the bloke and feeling like he ought to know him from somewhere. Or maybe it's just the rugged look, maybe it's the colouring, and maybe it's the stance, but something about this man screams Anders to him. "What do you say to an international procuring of beverages?"

Chuck shrugged, still not entirely sure of what was eating at the guy, but suggestions of alcohol were certainly not to be ignored, particularly during his early retirement.

"Sounds like an imperative."

That's why Olaf's always been able to get along where previous people might have fallen by the wayside. They, after all, did not have the charm that Olaf did or the ability to solve all problems with alcohol. "There's a bar here. You got any money on you?"

And maybe Kvasir is squatting there, lured by the smell of alcohol.

Alcohol had always gone a long way in improving Austrlian-Kiwi relations, Chuck found. Throw in a little bit of fire and then everyone won.

"Some, yeah. You?"

"Yeah, of course, some," Olaf lies because it's easier than admitting he's going to be the one who stiffs the bill. That's something better found out at the end of drinks when everyone is happy and emotions are loose.

Chuck had a feeling he was going to regret this, but the siren song of alcoholic balm was overriding any good sense.

"Lead the way."

Olaf is beginning to wonder what brings people from all parts to this place. He's yet to find an explanation, but maybe someone from a geographical place of closeness will help in that sense. "What year is it for you?"

"2025. Twelfth year of the Kaiju War, if that means anything to you." It probably wouldn't. Becket, damn him, had been right. It didn't even seem to touch this place and had sent him rocketing back in time along with it.

"You ever heard of it?"

"Those words mean absolutely nothing to me, but words like rent and money and responsibility also don't do much for me," Olaf says with sweeping hand gestures in regards to those very things. "Honestly, where I'm from, it's 2012. We've got a long way to go."

He shouldn't have been disappointed but he was, all the same. "Supposed to be 2013 here, if that all holds."

"So I've managed to travel forward in time and you've come back," Olaf says, since no one seems to be consistent when it comes to this place. "Time does what it wants, though, and we're merely subject to it. I wouldn't pay much mind to the year, really. It's your state of being that you care about."

"Very philosophical, mate." Which was the politest way Chuck had of saying that it sounded like a load of shit.

"Yeah, philosophical," Olaf agrees, happy when something like that is put right in front of him as far as explanations go. "So who're you, then, where you come from?"

"Jaeger pilot." Which all meant jack shit here, bothering Chuck more than he could ever say. "Kaiju war and all."

Olaf blinks.

And then blinks again.

No, he can't exactly mean that he drives a bottle of Jaegermeister, but to Olaf's drunken mind, it's the visual that he comes up with and he lets out a bemused snort at the thought. "Must know your way around a drop shot, then," he deadpans.

Clearly the man had no idea what Chuck was talking about so he just nodded. "Something like."

Olaf raises his hand to order a round of drinks, happy to be doing something he's very good at. "The last time I was in Australia, the only terrifying thing there was the bounty of terrifying wildlife, but your Kaiju don't sound like they fit in the same category."

"Well, the wildlife's not changed much. The kaiju are just uglier and bigger." Maybe that's why so many Australians had flooded the academy; they were used to quadrupeds trying to kill them.

"About...Twenty-five hundred tons or bigger. And poisonous."

"Sounds definitely ugly. Maybe not as bad as some of the spiders I've seen in the outback." While on acid, he does not mention. "But still, sounds pretty bad. "That's the future, is it? Makes me happy that I'm living in the present."

That got a rueful laugh out of him and Chuck nodded. "Imagine a twenty-story tall combination of a spider and a coconut crab and you've got it about right."

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