|nishka//loki (nishka) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2017-10-09 06:53:00
I know there is strength in the differences between us
Who: Nish and Loki
What: Loki claws his way out of the Ginnungagap to speak with his host.
When: October 9, 2017, about 4am
She opened her eyes, her bedroom around her, but she knew that she was still dreaming. Sitting up, she saw him sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her. If anything, he looked relieved.
“Good,” he said with a smile, “the damage wasn’t permanent.” She frowned at him, shifting in bed so that she was sitting now too.
“Damage?” she asked, still unsure of who he was. She was trying to place his face - it was familiar, but his identity was eluding her.
“They stole your memories,” he explained. “Did...something...to keep me away from you.” He looked on her with a sad smile, “you don’t remember me, do you?” She paused, looking at him a little more closely, studying his icy blue eyes and his handsome face.
“No, but...you’re the one in the paintings, aren't you?” she realized. “You’re Loki.” It sounded like an accusation, but he smiled widely.
“Yes, that’s right,” he said happily, leaning forward to put a hand on her arm, “we painted those together. What else do you remember?” Suddenly, her expression hardened, and she stood from the bed, stepping away from him.
“I read about you,” she said coldly, “about the things you’ve done. Horrible things.” Loki signed with a hint of frustration, though the smile stayed on his face, now more of an amused smirk.
“You humans and your books...don’t believe everything you read, my dear,” he said, “not everything is as it was written by people who didn’t even know us. You of all people should know how lies can ruin a reputation.”
Nish grit her teeth, turning back to look at him with a stony expression. “You dare…”
“Yes I do,” he said, standing and crossing the distance between them. “We were friends, Nish, before...but they did something to you. I need you to remember.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But I almost couldn’t come back. You need to be careful now.”
“I still don’t trust you,” Nish frowned.
“You did. And you will again.”
With a sigh, Nish turned away, taking a moment to think. “Why now?” She asked, turning back to look him in the eye. “You said you needed me to remember…” He nodded, stepping towards her.
It was such a simple phrase, meaningless to her, and yet she felt the weight of it as if those words were something she'd been waiting a long time to hear.
“I don't want to spoil the surprise,” he said. The look on his face was somewhere between nostalgia and…was that love?
He stepped forward, wrapping his hands around her shoulders. “Look, this is important...whatever they did to you...well, it's getting easier now, but I still don't have much time. You need to forgive, Nishka.” She frowned at him.
“I don't understand…”
“You will.” She felt the pressure of his hands lighten on her shoulders, but when she looked down she saw that he hadn't let her go, he was fading; turning to mist in front of her.
“You have to trust me,” he said, his voice fading along with his body. “Forgi-”
She woke up, her eyes snapping open in her dark room. It took her several moments to work through the confusion and disorientation the dream had left behind, before she realized where she was. At home, in bed.
She stood, crossing the room to look out the window at the still dark sky, full of stars. She sighed softly, intending to go back to bed, but instead she found herself walking down the hall to her office. Flicking on the light, opening the closet, and pulling out the paintings.
She still had no memory of doing them, but when she looked at them she got the sense that it was something she used to know, but just forgot. She sighed in frustration, looking through them for some kind of clue. Her hands stilled when she finally found the one she was looking for.
A feeling, like being punched in the gut, accompanied it this time. It was as if she was just on the cusp of remembering something important, but it still maddeningly eluded her. The painting was one of many of the man - Loki, she now knew - tied to a stone in the cave. There were several paintings of this scene, from different angles, some close up on various details, but this was the only one with another figure in it. A woman. Relief flooded her when she studied it, as if this was something she'd been waiting a long time for. Or...not her, Loki.
“Is that her?” she asked aloud, her own voice startlingly sharp her in the quiet. But he was silent now, either unwilling or unable to answer her.