Asking for Help

Bea sat in the back seat of the rented Scooby van, adrenaline still blaring its warning through her system. Holy shit. She replayed the evening's fight in her mind, thinking over and over again what she could have done, what she should have done, to keep her friends from getting hurt.

She'd been reading up on Norse mythology. Her father was, evidently, the guardian of the gods. Didn't that make it her job to protect her friends? And she didn't have anything better than her fists to defend them with. Hell, she hadn't even brought her lacrosse sticks this time.
It was clear to her that she needed something. Something she could use the next time they fought Danica, which, god willing, would also be the last time they fought her.
Were they really talking to angels?

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. You shall have no other gods before me. But maybe... maybe after was okay? She closed her eyes, and quietly asked forgiveness for what she was about to do.

Heimdall, father, I need to talk to you. I don't know if you can hear me, but I need help. We were in a fight tonight, and I couldn't defend my friends. I thank you again for the gifts you've already given me, but I need a weapon. Something I can hide when I don't need it, something inconspicuous, but something that will help me defeat the people who killed Chrys. Please. I know you're probably busy doing other stuff right now, but if you get the time, it would really help us out.

She sat up and relaxed into the seat, adrenaline finally starting to ebb away, feeling weak and vaguely guilty. What a hell of a night.