elinor dashwood (![]() ![]() @ 2011-02-11 17:16:00 |
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There was a familiar crush of people as Elin made her way up toward the restaurant, of noise and the press of bodies while camera flashes and clicks intruded on what had formerly been a relatively calm scene. It wasn’t the usual for her, the sea of photogs, but her father’s presence inspired frenzy. He may have been her dad, afterall, but a god walking around the streets of Boston – with only two bodyguards at that – was still an unusual sight, even in 2037. She smiled and it seemed genuine, but Elin was having difficulty keeping herself from yelling at them. Everyone needed to give her some breathing space – she didn’t want to be touched. Inside, she felt immediately at ease. The posh air and overly-deferential treatment she and her father received didn’t make her in the slightest uncomfortable. Though congenial to the staff, friendly and sweet and heavy-handed with her compliments, she was by no means humble: Elin luxuriated in this kind of special treatment. Her childhood hadn’t been so full of it that it had lost it’s keen, enjoyable edge. No, she thought to herself as she delicately tucked in to her ??? that she would enjoy this sort of privilege until she drew her last breath. Having spent the afternoon walking about the city, they’d managed to cover most of the catch-up: her mother’s latest gallery showing, the unexpected halting of renovations in their Stolkhom flat, Anika’s recent foray into the world of modeling (still new – still enough to incite a green sort of annoyed envy in Elin). Tyr talked about all this as if they were his own – his own flat, his own daughter, his own wife, when none of that was true. His manners were easy and casual, he flipped through his Blackberry like a well-adjusted (and therefore, of course, entirely unplugged) mortal. Everything was in its place. “So how’s Zisa?” Elin asked, eyebrow raised as she took a sip of chardonnay – the finest, naturally. Her stepmother was a contentious subject between the two, especially given the fact that Tyr still spent weekends with her mother, when she wasn’t otherwise engaged. The arrangement had not exactly strengthened Elin’s faith in monogamous relationships, nor had her vicious step-mother’s reckless temper. Tyr raised a dark eyebrow and wiped his mouth, looking at her as if to gauge the tone of the question. Elin so rarely tried to argue with her father that he was slightly taken aback, as the subject was one of the few they disagreed on – at least outwardly. Being ruled by an overly-temperamental consort wasn’t exactly the fair-minded Norse god of battle’s idea of a good time. But there it was, all the same. But then, here was his opening. With a long breath and a sip of his own drink (lager, buttery) Tyr leaned forward some and watched his daughter carefully. He wasn’t sure how she would react. “Zisa has had a lot on her mind lately. We all have.” Were such a thing possible, her eyebrow would have raised higher. “Oh? Trouble in Valhalla?” Paradise? Same thing, wasn’t it? His lips quirked with the ghost of a smile as if to acknowledge her joke; had she been sitting closer, he would have ruffled her hair endearingly, guffaws of protest his answer as she attempted to batter down blonde hairs. Instead, just the smile. “Well. Despite your attempt at humour, the easy answer is yes. I had hoped Freddie would be here, but perhaps you can relay the message. There’s no easy way to say this kiddo, so I’m just going to get on with it: Loki’s gone off the grid.” He watched as some confusion clouded her features, forgetting that even after two and some years, her Americanims weren’t what his were. “He’s gone missing, Elin.” But that didn’t clear the confusion. Elin let her fork fall with a clatter and pushed back some from the table, an uncomfortable, anxious feeling rising in her stomach. It was enough to erase the nerves at returning to Amazon; thoughts of the spectacular party debacle now seemed so obviously enfantile. And worst of all was not knowing what to make of it. “How?” She asked, louder than she’d intended; her words thrust out, sharply, as if there was some accusation in the question. “How can Loki just go missing? Can’t Thor – surely someone must –“ But she couldn’t finish her sentence. What else are you supposed to say when someone informs you the world is a step closer to going up in flames. Patrons threw curious glances in their direction and Tyr looked cautiously around. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to have this discussion afterall. Calling over a staff member, their dishes were quickly tidied for them and their coats proferred. With a protective arm around his daughter’s shoulders, the Norse god escorted Elin back out to the waiting black SUV, where she slipped in still confused. Still shocked. “When did this happen?” She blurted out, her voice shaky. “Does it change things? I mean for us? For me? Do you think Thor knows that you want –“ He cut her off, a reassuring hand placed comfortably on her cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing her temple. “Hey. This isn’t about you, Ellee. Not everything is, you know.” A wink, only the smile didn’t reach his lips. “You’re safe. I’m safe. Right now, we have everyone on this. Thor’s not happy – none of us are happy. But for the time being, we need to maintain a calm outward appearance. He’s a trickster. This could just be a prank.” They both knew it coouldn’t be anything so simple as a prank. Leaning back into the leather, Elin closed her eyes. “I just don’t get why now. And what about Fenrir? Is he looking?” A pained look crossed Tyr’s face, as if he was deciding to be complicit in some act Elin couldn’t begin to grasp. “He’s looking. Of course he’s looking. No one wants what could happen if the situation isn’t brought under control immediately. It’s been three weeks. In another two, we go to Greece. And then to Italy. We speak with the Native Americans and then South America. We speak to Axiom.” She still looked anxious, and his face softened in response. “Hey. There’s nothing to worry about, kiddo. Your dad’s got this one, okay? You leave it to the boss here.” This time his smile did reach his eyes, and he reached across the leather seat and hugged her. “I know it’s been a rough few months for you and I know this can’t make it easier. But I’m staying with your mum and Anika and we’ve got people watching Camulus. Freddie will know soon and as long as you stick near him, I have ever possible belief that you’ll be safe. Those obelisks have a good track record, whatever the screw up was.” With an easy childish comfort taken from her father’s embrace, Elin closed her eyes and leaned into his enveloping chest as Boston sped by. “I don’t want you to go back,” she said sulkily, mustering just enough residual anxiety that she hoped he’d fall for her emotional manipulations. He didn’t. By the time they arrived back at Camulus, it was clear he was going back. On the sidewalk in the snow, he hugged her again and she tried to voice further concerns: where do deities go? How can Thor not See? What if it’s already begun? Did anyone even understand the psychology behind desperately wanting to wreak chaos on everyone and everything? He answered her questions patiently (Wherever they wanted, he didn’t know, he would know that, ask someone who watches Criminal Minds) and kissed her even more patiently on the forehead. “Remember what I said, right? You go talk to Freddie. Tell him what I said about sticking together.” “Okay. And what about Felix?” “Who?” “Dad! The guy who asked me to be on his team!” Tyr looked up, somewhat distractedly, as his blackberry was chiming. At the look of annoyance on Elin’s face, he smiled. “I say go get ‘em, kiddo. Winning team this year, winning team next.” |