Kristoff was drunk. Filthy. Stinking. Drunk.

And why the fuck not?

Here he was, at noon on Wednesday, with nothing left to look at but the bottom of another bottle of Bjornfossl at Flaming Hilda's. It tasted like Moose piss (and he knew what that was like). However, it got the job done.

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Naturally, his thoughts drifted to the days of uncomplicated bliss: go up the mountain, get ice, come down the mountain, get money, get drunk, see whores. Repeat. Life amounted to a series of rote exercises.

They were his rote exercises and, goddamn it, they made him happy. He'd long come to realize that, when you're raised by a cohort of rock trolls, no therapist on earth could help him. A bit of a fixer upper? Fuck that. The repetitive debauchery debased and inured him from having face his own demons. Life lived simply. Happily.

Then, of course, he met Anna. His adventures with Anna invigorated him. They made him feel alive in ways he never thought possible. Events he'd experienced sober, for god's sake.

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His time with her had been complex, confusing, and arousing. He loved the way she ravished him with attention; in and out of bed. She was also wild and unpredictable - traits that he typically shied away from. In Anna, though, he found them endearing and irresistible. Her peccadillos were even lovely. What was with talking to the pictures on the wall after their lovemaking? One could only guess.

With Anna, however, came Elsa, the frigid, both literally and figuratively, bitch. She had never approved of him. God how he loathed her.

She'd never even apologized (not once!) for basically ruining his livelihood. After all that work, the business was now in shambles. WHO IN THE HELL NEEDS ICE WHEN THE QUEEN CAN CONJURE IT UP AT WILL? Hell, in the old days he could've turned the ice cubes in her chamber pot in 45 ruolbles (local currency).

And what does Anna, that crazy wench, do to help out? A new sleigh. A NEW GODDAMN SLEIGH. WHAT WAS HE GONNA DO WITH A SLEIGH TO HAUL ICE WHEN THE QUEEN OF ARENDELLE CAN MAKE ICE POPS WITH HER ASS?

Ugh. Anna was hot and a minx at the time. Still, those were terrible years of marriage. Wasted years.

He'd been formulating the plan for a while. Today, though, he decided it was time to put it into action. Elsa would have to go. Heck, she deserved to go.