☪ Day 1, early hours ⛿ Peaslee Theater, rooftop (Loft Loki)
After a week of having zero agency, the Lokis muster in their usual spot. Ikol finally lets the other two Lokis into
his world.
⚠
Everyone is feeling guilty! Everyone!
Alligators were not good at emoting. That was the top tier, most shallow thought that drifted across Ikol’s mind. The teeth were, generally, always pointy and suggestive of a threat. The eyes lacked eyebrows, and then the lips...
There were none. No alligator lips. It wasn’t the sort of thing anyone ever thought about until presented with a situation where an alligator was holding steady eye contact with their hel-hound, who was holding steady eye contact back out of either challenge, confusion, or… plausibly, because the hel-hound was also contemplating that alligators were not great at emoting. Not even in the face of a fire-spewing canine who seemed to think he could exert superiority in a silent, unblinking face-off.
At least with Thori, he had speech. It was always crude -- composition and subject, both -- but he made his feelings known. This alligator, Ikol reflected, was a mystery. He had been wandering the Green alone with his Loki-esque helmet, and when Ikol crossed the alligator’s path, they exchanged what could loosely be framed as an understanding. Again, hard to confirm without having a good means of communication with a reptilian creature, but there was no struggle when he picked up the alligator with a careful touch and brought him to the rooftop of the Peaslee Theater: the usual haunt of at least one Loki and a place away from prying eyes and ears. To Thori’s credit, the hel-hound even lowered his usual spunk.
Their trek upward had been quiet. It took some effort to avoid thinking about something that kept trying to force its way to the surface.
Last week had been bad. To dip below the shallow thoughts of alligator facial features and the weird way that Thori’s stump of a tail stuck up at a right angle when he was focused, there was a week’s worth of recollection that churned around, waiting to be processed. Ikol kept his gaze focused on the hel-hound and alligator instead. He was used to a head of memories that weren’t truly his so much as his inheritance from the Loki who created him and the Loki whose body he took over. At least both of those cases had been with a Loki in the driver’s seat. They were both known and knowable. They were both intrinsically branches of one tree.
Last week was a non-sequitur. It was a tangent wherein something had taken his identity and thrust a new one upon him. Outcast. Then, villain.
Or was it merely that he had always been those things, and it never really mattered what world, what time period, or what planet? Same old Loki. Outcast. Villain. Loki.
Thori finally blinked, and the gutter growl that came from the alligator seemed to be some sort of gloating. Flustered and unwilling to face defeat, the canine circled around to his master’s other side and huffed into a pile of flames and fur beside him.
“Can’t win them all, Thori. The sooner you realize that, the less surprised you’ll be.” Ikol raised a hand to stroke the hel-hound’s crown, but a snarl paused him mid-motion. “Oh, stop. What did I just say?” He lowered the hand and Thori relented.
It seemed that all the Lokis were of the same mind: get up earlier than everyone else and hide somewhere. Loki found Sylvie, and it seemed only fair that they go look for Ikol. She didn't want to count on it — count on anyone really — but maybe Loki had been right. Maybe they could be the people they wanted to be here.
And they did have each other.
There was griping and sniping and growling, but they all understood one another in a way that Sylvie felt like no one else could. They were Lokis. They were survivors, and this blasted place had put them all on the villains side once again. No one else would understand what it was like to be forced into that role but the others.
There was a tiny part of Sylvie that felt a little maternal toward Ikol now, which felt strange to her. Ever since that Variant Loki came into her life, her feelings seemed to be larger, more volatile. Sometimes confusing and absolutely uninvited. They were exhausting — mentally and physically. If they were voluntary, Sylvie figured no one would have them.
Outside of the theater, she'd seen Thori and Ikol disappear from the edge of the roof. The void was that weird grey haze that indicated at some point soon, it would switch between black and white. They'd probably need to get up there soon if they wanted to avoid being seen. Getting up there wasn't tricky, but it did mean taking the long way.
"Can you do that portal thing to get us up there without having to go back inside?"
Loki also felt a peculiar kinship with Sylvie and Ikol. But, truth be told, it had started well before the events of the previous week. Like Sylvie he was also struggling with the remnant emotions from Supreme Leader Loki, whose passion for his Lokian family was much more intense than anything Loki had ever felt before. But it was complicated by the fact that he’d already begun to open himself up a bit to the other two Derleth Lokis. Granted, he hadn’t exactly been forward about this change of heart. But his temper tantrums, particularly where Ikol was concerned, had been less frequent since the three of them had their roller coaster conversation on the net board. And his standoffishness with Sylvie had withered some since she’d been honest with them. Since she told the truth. And when it came right down to it, Loki didn’t want to be around anyone else. No one else could understand him.
But other Lokis could.
He created a portal the way Julia had taught him. He was getting better at it and had turned it into something more of his own. It didn’t look the same as her portals anymore, although it functioned the same. He gave it a bit of Loki flair. Added color to it. Green, of course. And a glow. Very reminiscent of Asgardian magic. Possibly because, at its core, it was. He could have learned it years ago if he’d put more effort into his magic than his daggers. Pity he’d been so foolhardy on that account.
Magical aptitude. That was also something he planned to change.
Loki waited for Sylvie to enter first, then he followed. The portal opened on the roof of the theatre. It was a smooth transition. But when Loki stepped out he paused.
“Is that…” He blinked. “Is that the alligator?”
His eyebrows furrowed and he made a face that was both surprised and a little bit annoyed. He felt like this was another cruel joke. That he was somehow purposefully being played by Derleth. But that was selfish thinking on his part. Maybe the joke was on the alligator.
Alligator Loki responded by staring at him, his shiny eyes unblinking.
“You know what? Nevermind. I’m just going to go with it.”
The first few sparks of magic had lifted Ikol’s attention, although he noted the green and something familiar about the aesthetic -- something Loki about it. If he had the wherewithal to cast his own magic, his wouldn’t look too much different. Of course, he wouldn’t. He hadn’t. Not since even before his arrival here had magic been anything more than the ultimate last ditch choice. Sometimes his fingers itched for it, but he willed that back. Better to abstain than to open the door that kept old Loki habits at bay.
He should have expected the two arrivals to the rooftop hideaway. Both Sylvie and Loki knew this was his spot. It was more that he hadn’t considered they would both come here, as if looking for him. As if they knew he would be here, keeping at distance from the rest of Derleth as much as anyone could within the bubble of the Void.
“He’s smaller,” Ikol replied, even though it was apparent that what had been a 50-foot alligator stomping through idyllic Dunwich was now a scrappy 3-foot alligator hanging out on one of the pillows that had taken up residence atop the Peaslee. “Portable. Felt wrong to leave him out in the Green to fend for himself. You know, should justice be waking and setting out on the prowl. Unless it’s having a bit of lie-in. Hard to say in this crowd.”
Ikol tipped his head back, his vision unfocused on some distant part of the Void sky. “Sorry, that lacked manners. Good morning. And what a fine morning it is here in Derleth. Lovely shade of gray on the planar limits, don’t you think?”
Sylvie saw the alligator and her demeanor brightened. There was recognition there, and though she and this Loki didn't get to bond, they were friendly. She squatted down and reached out to pet his snout. Alligator Loki looked apprehensive (and that hand did look delicious) until he discovered that he liked the pets. If an alligator could look content, this one most certainly did. Thori, on the other hand, looked a little green around the edges.
"Well, hello there, Loki. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
Did that mean the kid was around? Or had this one shown up on his own? She glanced around curiously before turning her attention on the younger appearing one of them.
"Hi Loki," Sylvie said with a close-mouthed smile. "I thought we might find you up here."
She flopped down on the roof near the alligator.
Loki, for his part, was still suspicious of the alligator. The reptile was giving him a look. Loki wasn’t sure if he was supposed to stare back in defense of his territory — not that he had any territory in Derleth, he’d given up trying to maintain ownership of anything less than a week after Ikol’s arrival — or just roll his eyes and pretend like this was normal. Thankfully he didn’t have to do either. Sylvie drew away the alligator’s attention.
Loki made his way closer to the little sitting area Ikol had arranged on the rooftop. Careful of course to keep distance between himself and Thori. Just in case.
“Morning,” he finally said and — surprise! — it wasn’t in his normal irritable grumbling voice. It wasn’t exuberant, but it was polite. Someone was making progress. Loki glanced over the edge of the roof to the grounds below. No one was up yet. Good. He’d even turned off his mobile phone to avoid receiving messages from anyone who might have a grudge from the previous week.
Maybe they could all pretend like they didn’t remember anything and avoid any aggravating conflict.
Loki sat down near Sylvie, but not too near because alligator, and adjusted one of the decorative throw pillows to rest at the small of his back.
“You thought he’d be up here. I knew.” Loki offered a half-quirked smile as if to suggest he was teasing. But it wouldn’t be a Loki party if there wasn’t some show of ego. He glanced over at Ikol. “Starting a new career as an exterior decorator? Could do with some fairy lights. Maybe some aesthetically pleasing palm fronds.”
Ikol noted the motion of Sylvie towards the alligator, and he was able to draw a conclusion from her words that she -- and possibly even he -- found a mutual friend in each other. Great. If anyone was going to be placed in the caretaker spot, she was up for it. Her greeting had him lift a hand and give a lazy wave; the other hand remained atop Thori’s head, smoothing the wiry fur down although it kept rebelling at the attempt to be tamed.
“I’m a creature of habits. You cornered me,” he offered in reply to them both. There was a shrug, then an exhale. Day One. This was going to be a drag of a week if he had to spend it warding off the impending emotional onslaught alone. That rational consideration had him straighten up and bring his focus back from some distant orbit to the company that had arrived. He looked from Sylvie to Loki, noting both smiles and immediately pulling an expression of skepticism.
“Is this the Ferris Bueller moment? You both look scheme-y, and I can’t tell if it’s that I distrust smiles because I’m inherently distrustful, or if it’s because I usually give them before I work my deal-making finesse… which may point back to the first thing.” There was a pause, then he added. “Fairy lights sound delightful, but Derleth was fresh out. I’ll put it on the list along with a cast iron fire pit. Also, Ferris Bueller… am I making pop culture references to the wrong audience? I can never tell.”
"I've seen it," Sylvie replied, jerking her head to the side and sniffing. Sometimes hiding out meant spending a few hours waiting in a Roxxcart with televisions on. Sometimes, she'd pop something in when she was feeling bored. Happened a lot. "Bueller is an arse, though, so I'll leave that bit to Loki."
She was teasing. It might have been the first time she'd tried it with this crew in person. Maybe it fell flat, but she was trying to be less intense. Even though her eyes darted around to make sure they weren't disturbed, she was not poised to run if necessary. She pulled one of the pillows onto her lap.
The cast iron fire pit reminded her of home, spending long hours by a fire pit — not usually cast iron, and not usually nice — to keep warm in whatever apocalypse she'd found herself in. She might have been a Frost Giant, but she appreciated the warmth, like a lizard. Like this alligator might.
"Maybe next stop that doesn't involve brain rubbish, we could try and find something. Maybe get some actual lounge chairs up here."
“I don’t know what either of you are talking about. And I am not an arse.” Loki turned up his nose as though he might actually pout or throw some kind of hissy fit. Then he shot Sylvie a sly smirk. “Not this week anyway. Or not today. Definitely going to do my best to be a minimal arse. At least until lunch.”
Or until everyone else woke up. Loki could not be held responsible for any cutthroat net post replies or sneering commentary should anyone decide to start throwing blame in his direction. Or towards any of them. The Lokis as a group might not have been friends, per se, but none of them had any control over the events of the previous week. That was all Derleth. And if anyone started a witch hunt directed towards any of them — yes, even the alligator — Loki would have something to say about it.
“I’ve seen most of the James Bond films though,” Loki added as a halfhearted afterthought. That gave him some cultural reference, didn’t it?
One of these days someone would have to show him what he was missing. One day he needed a real tour of Midgardian life. Then maybe he’d stop trying to overthrow the planet.
Maybe.
“Lights I can do.” Loki waved his hand above his head and suddenly a string of twinkly bulbs appeared above their heads. They blinked a golden hue like fireflies. Would have been more impressive if it were night, but alas. “Do you have anything to drink in this rooftop abode or is it just boho decor pillows and fleece throws?”
“He’s not Marty McFly, that’s for sure,” Ikol mused in response to Sylvie’s assessment of Ferris. “And if you want to draw a line, I suppose you can put Bond and Bueller in the same box of…” There was a gesture, which was more Ikol summoning the descriptor he thought best suited. “Overconfidence. One is funnier, and I don’t think I have to say who.”
He pointed at Loki, then, tone a bit more purposeful. “Also, don’t think I forgot. You owe me sitting for a movie. Perhaps not this week, but the deal is the deal.” Below and to the side, Thori snorted. Possibly a bit of ash got stuck in his nose, or he just wanted to assert his presence as he was wont to do when things were too quiet. Too calm.
And now that the lights overhead were dappling the rooftop in a bit more light, it did feel calm. Cozy. Of course, that just drew contrast to the internal worry that was waiting for its moment to spring. Surely this wouldn’t last: sitting here and talking as if they were all friends, discussing decorating -- as if this were natural in any way.
“But, no. No drinks up here. A lack of foresight on my part. I hadn’t expected that day drinking would be my next goal. Day drinking? What time is it?”
It was a question he didn’t actually expect and answer to, but Thori had taken it as his moment to pipe up. “Murder time.”
“Ah, no. No, it’s not that.”
The alligator snapped its jaws with a harumph. He didn't like being up here without something to drink — preferably boxed wine — and a bit of pool. Sylvie had to remind herself to find something that would work before they got to a place where they'd be able to accommodate him.
"He needs a pool. One of those little paddling pools — "
And there it was: the hel-hound on the roof.
Now that Thori had brought the word to the forefront, it was impossible for Sylvie to continue thinking about Ferris Bueller and Marty McFly. Her shoulders sank enough that it was visible in her posture. She gnawed on her lower lip. Too much and too hard and it would bleed.
She could recall those who wanted their blood. Too many of them rushed to curse the name Loki as if they'd formulated this plan to lure them all into a sense of American idealism before yanking the rug out from under them. Most of Derleth didn't even know her or Ikol, they still called for their heads — as if they had their own.
She didn't like being used in any manner. Not by a bureaucratic machine that accused an eight year old of crimes against a timeline and not by some Derleth magician who thought they could play with other people like puppets. Sylvie's head swiveled toward the skyline, to the last place she'd seen the void monster. She narrowed her eyes, desperately looking. Her expression hardened.
"That's not who we are," she insisted quietly, Loki's words still filling her ears.
Unsurprisingly, most of the pop culture references were lost on Loki. But he shrugged it off with one of his smug, slightly complacent looks. And a bit of a hair flip over his shoulder. “I said I’d honor that movie-watching promise, didn’t I? Well, only if there’s something to drink. And food. And not the canned, boxed, half-frozen microwave dishes that Derleth resets every week. I want appetizers. Maybe a fancy dip of some kind. I had a spinach and artichoke mix at Disney World. That’s what I want for movie night. Maybe some nuts. And red wine.”
Because if Loki was going to suffer through what would probably be a boring Midgardian experience, then at least he would suffer in style. “Are we going to watch it on the roof? Or is this something we have to invite everyone to?”
He didn’t even try to hide his tone at the term ‘everyone.’ Clearly there were people in Derleth that Loki would rather avoid. Some more obvious than others. Needless to say, he wasn’t in the mood to placate the masses. But if that was the best method of maintaining a gentle peace with the non-Lokis, well … How did that Midgardian song go? ‘You can’t always get what you want.’
Thori gruffed out something about murder and Sylvie turned stoic. Loki glanced over at her with a mild amount of concern. Mild, but considerably more attentive than he had been before. At least during any of the other Loki run-ins. Then he smirked.
“Speak for yourself. I am absolutely a day drinker.” Oh, wow, was that a joke to deflect the serious lull in the conversation? Or was that an actual attempt at trying to make someone else feel better by poking light at himself?
Maybe they didn’t leave all the pod people behind.
If there was a list that contained anything to seek out -- cast iron fire pits, kiddie pools for alligators, and whatever that special request Loki had made for an 80s action comedy -- it wasn’t being actively logged. Thori’s general insistence on murder, blood, rending, gore was more of a background buzz to Ikol than not, but Sylvie had focused it into something that peeled once again at uncomfortable truths.
Except uncomfortable truths begot uncomfortable lies. He could hear Verity’s voice, that voice of rationality and reason, reminding that even omissions were evasions of the truth. They weren’t really any better than misleading with falsehoods.
What he wouldn’t do to have Verity here, acting as moral compass and grounding his chaos. Calling him on his bullshit, really. The hardest part about trying to remake a Loki into someone worth friendship, worth trusting -- it wasn’t finding the right moment to carry out some act of heroism, but finding the right support to keep on the track, even when no one was looking. Who did he have here? Thori, harbinger of destruction? Sylvie and Loki, who were still being kept at a distance despite that Ikol knew the major notes of their own stories now? There was Rey, but even she seemed to have framed him in the context of some more altruistic Loki she’d known in another world.
Maybe it was the morose feeling in the air, or maybe it was a certain acceptance of defeat, but Loki’s attempt to inject some levity was met with a silent frown. The way his thoughts were tracking, it was probably luck that his guilt hadn’t arrived on the scene yet. Surely it would. Soon.
“This may well be everyone. You do notice the overwhelming pattern of who we all ended up with first thing, aye?” Loki, Loki, Loki, Loki, and hel-hound. It was a damning scene, even if it might have been born of dealing with one shared experience. “Besides, neither of you even knows anything about…”
Ikol closed his eyes. It could have been because seeing the gap he was to jump across would have made him back down from the edge. “New game,” he started again. “Each of you gets one question to ask of me. I’ll answer it, no tricks. What the Hel, right? Anything I could say now would be stacked against last week, and considering that I don’t think anyone here wants to talk about that...”
He sighed. “Your choice. It’s on offer.”
New game.
Sylvie snapped out of her reverie, her head instantly turning to face the pair. Feeling sorry for herself hadn't gotten her anywhere before, so why did she always turn inward? If she wanted to belong somewhere, she had to give a little. Compromise. Something. She had to be open to the idea.
She wanted the idea. Wasn't that enough? Maybe if she faked it long enough, it would become true openness. At least with the Lokis.
Which, yes, she realized was a bit of an oxymoron.
Sylvie thought about the last time she was on this roof, talking to Ikol about sacred timelines with Twizzlers and Jolly ranchers. He'd said something that she meant to ask about, but the reset cut him off when he was yelling at someone. It wasn't Ikol's typical demeanor, and quite frankly, it had been unnerving until everything stopped.
"You said you were a sum of parts, not all your own choosing. What did you mean?"
Leave it to Sylvie to see a direct route to something, Ikol mused. In the short time knowing her, he had come to respect her tenacity and her ability to leave propriety at the door. He knew from what she’d told him that it was likely a result of being snatched when only a child. She hadn’t been an adolescent under Freyja and Odin, for better or worse. Maybe worse. What was it with Lokis and an inability to stay with family?
There was a way out from her question. He never left his exits all blocked…
But he did say no tricks. He was trying to balance things between them all. It wouldn’t kill him to speak. Right?
Right?
“Asgard… was in Broxton, Oklahoma. No, I know -- that isn’t what you asked.” Ikol waved a hand, willing his nerves to smooth out as he leveled his tone. “Let me stage this. The conditions of why and how are for another time. Above the fields of Broxton, Asgard existed, ill-set and misplaced. There was someone who wished to see it back in its proper place within the Nine Realms. He made a plan, he shifted a board of players -- Avengers and an outfit led by someone else whose machinations and ploys nearly matched his own.
“Someone who unleashed a being who wouldn’t restore Asgard to where it belonged, but would destroy it, resolutely. Completely. The mistake was realized. He pled, for aid of his father, for the Avengers to succeed in protecting against the unleashed terror, and…
“Then, he perished. The Void overtook him, and it gave nothing back,” Ikol finished. He gave Thori a glance, but the hel-hound had succumbed to sleep. There was no reassurance to be had. “‘I’m sorry, brother.’ Loki’s last words. It was a very finite thing, the Void. Cessation of being, nothing left to grieve. I have to imagine Thor was bereft.”
Loki didn’t like the turn of the conversation. He wanted it to stay in that superficial layer of awkward politeness and tenuous friendship. He preferred the comedy to the tragedy. Because every week since he’d arrived in Derleth had been one tragedy after the next for him. And, quite frankly, he was tired of it. Tired of constantly being forced to hash out his frustrations and his feelings. Tired of having his soul crushed by whatever panic-fueled catastrophe Derleth threw at them. He was sick of dying and being mortally wounded. Sick of being forced to the edge of his patience only to have the next week tip him over the barrel.
Couldn’t they just have one moment — one conversation — that was fun? Uplifting? He knew he was mostly to blame for his own depressive episodes over the last few weeks. And he was probably also the reason why the three of them had gotten off to a rough start. Temper tantrums aside, Loki wasn’t the best at making friends. Least of all with himself. But did they have to spend so much time in the past?
He’d spent his entire life stuck in the past. Wallowing in the lies and the heartache and the feelings of abandonment. Lost in the competitive game between two brothers who never should have been pitted against each other in the first place. And what did he get for it? Death. And what did he get for it over the last few weeks in his second chance life? Pain.
Loki didn’t want that anymore. He wanted something different.
So, while he listened closely to Ikol’s answer — while his thoughts gnawed on those very carefully chosen words — he didn’t say anything in response. First off, he wasn’t entirely on board with having this conversation right now. For Loki it was too soon. Secondly, Ikol was still being purposefully vague. And Loki didn’t have enough information to ask the question he wanted to ask.
But they had time. And he could wait.
Ikol knew that was only a partial answer, but the pause allowed for a breath. For the words to be taken and turned over. Obviously, things had not stopped with the demise of Loki in his world. The narrator might be unreliable in the telling of that story, but the narrator was also living, breathing, and currently watching the first real hint of ‘daylight’ touch down on Derleth’s campus.
“What does that have to do with me, you ask? Don’t worry, I can read the roof. Roof. Hah. Well…” He shifted slightly. The discomfort was more mental than physical, so relief was not found. “Loki knew that should any fate befall him that he couldn’t spring back from, the next best thing was to leave behind a bit of magic and weave the spellwork to set it on its way. It wouldn’t be him, but it would be the next closest thing. An echo of himself, placed into a vessel, sent on its way without much in the way of instructions on how to deal with the resulting identity crisis.”
He turned to Loki, brows raised. “You asked how old I was. I don’t know. The answer could be one. It could be thousands of years, if you start the clock from earliest memories.” He shrugged. He supposed this should have felt more freeing to vocalize, but he mostly felt at a loss. What are you? Loki, but not. A copy. A brand new start gone awry. “I didn’t lie. I haven’t been lying.”
"Hang on."
Sylvie's screwed up her face, scrunching up her nose in confusion. She kind of wished she'd had some candy for him to try and explain this with. Might not help, but at least there would be sweets. She tilted her head, still trying to tie what he'd said into some semblance of logic. If she was getting this right, then he was an echo of the Loki who died and shoved into a vessel. This body he was inhabiting.
"So you're Loki with an identity crisis? Do you remember the things from before the death?" It was strange, though, because the Void seemed to be a place for Lokis in all of their worlds. And now this one as well. Were they destined to spend their lives (and deaths) in some never place? "Or you're like a leftover bit of him that took root in that body?"
Why the hell were things so bloody complicated all the time? Why did Lokis always have to be shoved around, tossed away, and mutated into something else by other beings? (Even by themselves.) It seemed like the more she discovered about them, the less she understood what being a Loki was. She didn't exactly have much perspective outside of what the TVA had in their documentation.
Lokis were meant to lift other people up, to give them something to rally around. To better themselves. And Lokis were meant to suffer.
We survive.
And survive. But for what? More suffering? More misery? More betrayal? More loneliness.
Loki snorted a short, derisive laugh and then leaned back against the throw pillows. He didn’t look at either Sylvie or Ikol. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest, stretched his legs out in front of him, and stared at his shoes. Midgardian shoes. Not fancy dress, but a step above sneakers. Midgardian slacks. Derleth sweatshirt. The company of a bunch of Lokis. An enclosed capsule of a campus with zero exits. An alligator craving boxed wine. A fire-breathing hound that smelled like burnt charcoal. A potential mob of people who could wake up at any moment wanting their heads. And what were they doing?
Debating who in the hel they actually were. Running circles around each other for an answer that none of them had. And maybe none of them ever would.
Loki shook his head, that temporary amusement falling from his features. That complicated grin, composed from a place of self-protection, slipping into a solemn frown. Then, after he’d had a moment to wrap his thoughts around Ikol’s story, he looked up. “It doesn’t matter.”
He stared at Ikol a bit longer than normal, searching his expression for a reaction, before turning to Sylvie. “This is what I was trying to tell you. This is what we have to let go of. So what if he’s Loki or half-Loki or a hiccup of Loki? That doesn’t matter here. That shouldn’t matter here. Maybe if he goes back to his world and picks up where he left off. Maybe then it matters. But right now?”
This was Loki’s existential identity crisis. It was something that had been pointed out to him on numerous occasions by various people, but was only now beginning to take root. He didn’t want Ikol to stay in his pattern of whatever or whoever he was before he arrived here. Nor did he want Sylvie to keep stumbling over the thousand years she spent running from the TVA. Because if they couldn’t get out of their ruts — and they were, by Loki’s possibly ill-informed perception, further ahead of the curve than he was — what hope was there for him?
Hel, even the alligator looked like he had his shit together better than Loki did.
Loki withheld a sigh before glancing back at Ikol. “I apologize. I don’t mean to say that you don’t matter or that it isn’t important. I’m just tired of being confined by the things I was. Maybe the two of you aren’t. But I fail to see why we can’t…” A pause. “Nevermind. Carry on. Forget I’m here.”
There was a trade of roles, as Ikol quietly listened now, letting both Sylvie and Loki take their turns on the soapbox. Sylvie’s question lingered, and he could see her struggling to understand the same thing Ikol himself had dwelled on. But it was impossible to frame a definition for a Loki, anyway, so the effort was always wasted. If it walked like a Loki, talked like one… then maybe the origins were less important. That was the natural inclination of the rest of the world, it seemed. Lokis were Lokis when it was convenient.
Because where goeth a Loki, so there could be placed blame. Sometimes rightfully, sometimes before, say, an echo found its own voice to argue back. It was a messy existence. He had been trying to put sense to it, and then Derleth knocked it all off the tracks. That was the part that was impossible to see around. If there was even a remote part of Ikol’s attempts to improve his life that had been working, then Derleth had been a barrier slammed down in his path.
“You’re too tall to ignore,” Ikol replied, reaching out his own foot and nudging Loki’s for emphasis. He offered a grin. It wasn’t entirely natural, but it was a decent approximation to pass muster. “Sylvie, isn’t he too tall? And then the horns on top… I can picture it now. Excessive.”
It was clearly a switch of tactics, as if a timer had rung and Ikol had been eager to drop sullen topics. The admission was done. Check the box, and keep momentum away from the topic. Too much philosophy between this group was surely not advised.
“You know, we should probably go claim enough of the kitchen stock to survive away from prying eyes, ears, and -- dare I even risk saying it -- noses. Is that the lean of this? Assume the week will be one of being…”
There. There was a sparkle of a less bedraggled Ikol. He couldn’t help it as he finished, “Low key.”
How is he doing that?
I think we're stronger than we realize.
There was something about the way Loki spoke just then that had Sylvie's head turning. Maybe it wasn't the exact same kind of momentum here in this increasingly brighter void, but it rang the same bells. It pinged off the same emotions, bolstering her and them. Their potential was raised in Asgard's peaks and valleys by a Loki whose only crime was missing his brother.
She glanced down at the alligator who in turn looked at her as if he had something to interject. He made a tiny rumble in the back of his throat which felt like he was excusing himself from the conversation. Don't look at me.
"Fat lot of good you are," she mumbled to him.
He snapped in her direction, but didn't make another move toward her. Any other setting, and she would have blasted him off the roof. Then Ikol poked and prodded in return, and could no one be serious? For more than an instant? None of them. All of them. Jokesters every single one.
She'd wanted to finish the conversation about this place, but maybe they were ready to move on. Maybe they were more unfamiliar with the concept of following through on a topic. Following a plan. It was annoying and frustrating, but she wanted to fit in so she said nothing. She looked between the two of them, eyebrows arched into her forehead.
"Are you two finished? Or will there be more shenanigans? I'm trying to plot my day."
“I’m beginning to sense some latent envy over my horns. Starting to suspect I should actually wear them on a day-to-day basis. Just go all out and cement myself in everyone’s minds as the Loki with the outlandish headdress.” Loki smirked, playfully this time. “If you ever want to borrow them, simply say the word. Just give me those pleading eyes and a ‘pretty please’ and I’ll know exactly what you’re talking about.”
Loki appreciated Ikol’s quick recovery and sidebar into something less serious. Although, he did feel a little bit ashamed for having run the conversation into the ground. It clearly meant a lot to Sylvie to get these things out. To talk about them. But Loki had already had one semi-serious heart-to-heart that morning. Two conversations on a similar theme were definitely pushing the limits of his patience. Not to mention the limits of his compassion. Which was not to say that Loki didn’t care. He did care. He just needed a longer period of cushioning in between. He needed time to process what he’d already heard and already admitted to.
At the low key joke, however, Loki merely rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something in return, but caught a glimpse of Sylvie’s more dejected expression.
Oh, that was his fault, wasn’t it?
Loki pursed his lips in a contemplative frown. “I, for one, plan to reimburse my question for another time. Possibly after I’ve been awake for more than a few hours and have had time to digest something more fulfilling than the memories of a reset. But don’t let that stop you from answering Sylvie’s question, Hiccup. It was a good one, after all.”
He crossed his legs at the ankles. “I’d offer to answer questions myself, but fate has already determined me to be an open book, it seems.”
Ikol leveled his gaze at Loki, and since there was some context now, he knew he could push back on certain things. “I recall those horns.” He tapped his temple. “And I haven’t missed them. You never did ask where I got the image, or how I guessed at it.”
Sylvie would likely sigh, but since they were down a path of good-natured jests and jabs, Ikol raised his hands into a makeshift set of binoculars as he continued looking at Loki. Thori stirred ever so slightly as the hand was lifted from his side, the absence of comforting weight nearly snapping him to alertness.
“You miss a lot of hints, you know,” Ikol told Loki. He offered a grin underneath the ridiculous way his fingers were framing his eyes. The green -- a green that somehow only he seemed to have against the blues of Sylvie and Loki both -- barely showing in the dim morning light. “Have to keep those eyes and ears better attuned. Maybe it’ll help you narrow your field of questions down.”
He dropped his hands, and the one nearest Thori settling back in on the hel-hound’s scruff. The Hiccup moniker was left alone. It was doubtful that Loki even realized there was such a character in a series of movies about dragons if he didn’t even know Ferris Bueller. Across the way, Ikol found himself shifting focus to Sylvie and a twinge of guilt sprung up. Alone with her, he’d been less prone to the bickering and little more open about things, but the three of them… this combination seemed to make him resort to the same things that frustrated Thor.
“I’m done now,” he told Sylvie, and his smile offered was something closer to apologetic. “I do think it’s worth the time to get supplies for the week, should avoidance be the best approach. I can sneak into places unseen. That doesn’t mean undetected."
"You and your shadow thread," she answered. She tried to slip into the easy way they other two did, the bickering and bantering that seemed to come so easy for them. Sylvie knew that she was much more serious than they were, perhaps because of her lack of social engagements and lessons. "I should have gone to Svartalfheim if I knew I could just weave a coat that rendered me invisible."
Socializing was hard, she realized. It seemed there was some sort of unspoken rule of how long you could be serious, how much information was given, and what you could talk about. How was a person supposed to know these things without asking? Was it just hit and miss? Were there lessons people took?
"Well, he — " she jabbed her thumb in Loki's direction " — can get you there faster. You can not be seen, and I can enchant anyone who does to forget they saw us." Or she could just enchant someone to gather supplies for them, but if they were trying not to make enemies, that was probably not a good idea.
She paused for a moment, looking between the pair. "I want cake. Someone's going to have to make me cake. I don't know how to cook."
“Maybe I just want you to think I miss the hints. Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment to ask the right question. You said we only get one, after all. I’m not going to waste it. I’ll save it for a more opportune moment. And overexaggerated theatrics does not mean I’m not listening.” Loki paused. “It’s just the Midgardian references I have difficulty with. But I’m a quick learner and we have a veritable eternity here unless one of us gets popped back to reality. I’ll catch up eventually.”
But Loki was getting that Thor-esque feeling as well. Was this what it had been like growing up with him? Was he really that meddlesome and annoying? The thought had crossed his mind once or twice in the last few minutes, but he had yet to really give it any weighty consideration.
Then Sylvie interrupted.
“Hold up. You have an invisibility cloak?” Was that one of the hints he’d missed? He knew there’d been something about the way Ikol always managed to sneak up on him. A way that didn’t involve magic. Because if it had been magic then surely Loki would have sensed it ahead of time. He pursed his lips in a pout. “Oh, I see how it is. Playing Loki favorites now with secrets? Well, maybe I’ll do that too.”
Loki wasn’t serious, of course. He was still in jesting mode. Although he did give one glance to the alligator who looked at him expectantly. As though he were waiting for Loki to tell him something he didn’t know. Waiting for a secret. “On second thought, maybe not.”
Pause. “Anyway!” Blink. He shot Sylvie a deadpan stare. “You can’t cook—Nevermind.” Loki slapped his hands on his knees and stood up.
“Right then. Cake, wine…” He glanced at Ikol. “Anything else from the kitchen I should pick up while I’m out? Or do we all want to confiscate the dining hall for ourselves and teach Sylvie how to bake?”
The grumbly reply from the alligator seemed to offer a willingness to help. Then again, maybe it was just a belch.
“She didn’t try to stab me first thing,” Ikol replied to Loki. He jabbed a thumb in Sylvie’s direction then gave her a nod of his head as if they were in some kind of cahoots. “That means she got to find out about the coat. The boots let me walk up buildings, across rainbows, atop the layer of dew and dust that coats the ground… and, across the Green with nary a sound.” As if to display, he lifted one foot, and the gold of the Seven League boots caught a bit of daylight.
The foot was dropped back down, but Ikol stayed planted where he was. He adjusted himself to look up to Loki’s full height. Again, excessive. Surely the last few inches weren’t necessary.
Ikol hefted one shoulder into a half shrug. “We’ll take only what we need and leave the rest for the others. If they aren’t feeling vengeful, surely absconding with most of the pantry would change that tune fast.” Still, he leveraged himself to stand because there was some shallow grasp of unity here, and he recognized that if one Loki was going, he should have another as back-up.
“I know how to cook and bake. If we’re going to do this, best do it before Derleth starts waking,” Ikol continued, and his tone shifted to something only jestingly resigned. He stooped to pick up Thori as the hel-hound continued to slumber on, likely dreaming of dismantling his foes and charring their remains. “Sylvie?”
"To be fair, I don't have my sword. I might have pulled it on you, but you were up here first. Would have seemed rude," she answered, eyeballing the other Loki with a smug look on her face. She missed that sword. It was from Asgard, had runes all over it. It seemed a fitting choice for a weapon.
She stood up from her post though, pointing her finger at the alligator. She mouthed stay put, but really, where was he going to go? Down the ladder on the side of the building?
"Glad someone does. I never learned. Just took what was around, you know? Kind of hard to prep some fancy dish when you have a countdown going on for the end of a world."
There was this tiny feeling in the center of her chest, a kind of warmth she couldn't explain. For all their faults — and between the three of them, there were many — she felt something like the wind changing or a corner being turned. On the other side was something Sylvie hadn't experienced in some time. Being a part of a world, not watching it burn. She glanced down quickly, but for anyone noticing, there was a hint of a smile on her face.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Loki said with a theatrically exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I get it. You have all the cool accoutrements. And you clearly can’t take a little piercing repartee. We know. We’ve all got a thing about pointy objects here.”
And somewhere therein lay Loki’s unasked question. The coat. The boots. The sword. All very un-Loki-like from his perspective. Very pedestrian. Where was the flair? Where was the magic? But the time for interrogations had passed. They were onto a new stage in their developing relationship as Lokis. And apparently that stage involved cracking a few eggs.
Loki did an overly obnoxious circular wave of his wrist until a portal to the kitchen appeared.
“For the record, I can cook as well. But I’m much better at delegating tasks. And I really only work in the kitchen if there’s cooking wine involved.” He grinned. But maybe he could mix the batter. Or lick the spoon. Or just hover over Ikol’s shoulder and make snide commentary.
He winked at Ikol, but gave no explanation as to why. Then he gave Sylvie an affectionate glance. Perhaps the previous week’s adventures had melted a layer of ice on his Frost Giant heart. “No moping in the kitchen, Sylvie. Those are the rules. Now. Ladies first.”
So, naturally, Loki stepped through the portal before anyone else.