Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2021-11-13 13:08:00 |
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Loki witnesses Ikol getting into a scrape with some tough guy types and decides to intervene. But not without waiting to see if Ikol will finally show off some of his magic.
Two blocks back was about when and where Ikol sensed the consistent distance of someone following. Daylight was wasting early as it did in New York this time of year, and the dark was a little more prominent in a city where crime had been let to run free. A minimal tilt of his head allowed Ikol to spot one set of feet staying close enough to be known and seen, but far enough to waylay a confrontation. He sighed. It seemed like this was a given this week. His garb was bright and flashy, his appearance was less imposing than most, and he had fleeced a few unsavory types of their likely ill-won money. Plus, he’d left Thori back at the penthouse that Sylvie had secured for them both, which meant that in this moment he was entirely alone. It wasn’t a miscalculation, really. It was the usual hubris that a Loki possessed: that they were often too sneaky to be caught in a situation they couldn’t slither out of. He was already mapping out the streets and deciding his route to shake this person. In a pinch, he could always go invisible and scale the side of a building. There were ways to get out of this without having to strain or stress. There were ways. Those ways diminished on the spot when someone approached from across the street, met him mid-crosswalk, and both hooked his arm and thrust the end of a gun against his back. “Let’s take a walk, huh?” The man didn’t quite ask, so much as ordered. From behind, the man’s partner caught up, and looped his arm around Ikol’s shoulder with a wide grin. Perfect. The one thing not counted on was how brazen crime could be in the eighties in the City. Ikol looked between the two men who’d sandwiched him, but then felt a secondary gun pointed into his side. “Can I help you?” he asked, but his ease of tone was starting to ebb. “Oh, now you don’t remember me? You got something that’s mine, pretty boy…” “Ah, right.” One of the unsavory types he’d fleeced of their likely ill-won money, then. “Take a walk down this alley and don’t say nothin’.” Was it coincidence that Loki just happened to be in the same neighborhood as, well, Loki? Possibly. Then again the universe had been doing a fair job of consistently dropping Lokis in the same proximity as other Lokis, so perhaps there was a greater plan to it all. Or, more likely, Lokis simply shared certain interests in common. And those interests caused both Loki and Baby Horns to be in vicinity of each other. Or — and this was everyone’s favorite option — Loki was keeping track of his older little brother. Sylvie, too, probably. Albeit both with a bit of cautious distance because even though Loki had made his apologies he hadn’t made his amends. Not that anyone said he had to, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Needless to say, Loki was further up the street, having a rather vibrant conversation with a man at a magazine stand when the two swindled Midgardians caught up to his mischief brethren. Loki saw the scenario play out from the corner of his eye, but didn’t pay it any real attention until Ikol was sandwiched in between the larger men. And even then he had absolutely no intention of getting involved. Why should he? Ikol was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He was a Loki, after all. And besides, the worst thing Loki could do was intrude on another God of Mischief. Uninvited, at that! How rude. But Loki did pay attention. Mostly because, from his view across the street, it seemed as though Ikol wasn’t doing anything to protect himself. Well, that was just odd. Because those burly gentlemen didn’t look too pleased with him. Loki set the newspaper back down on the stand and quickly crossed the street. He gave the three fellows a wide berth, following from behind. He wasn’t entirely inconspicuous — what Loki ever was? — but he wasn’t trying to gain attention. Just a normal man taking a normal stroll down a normal New York City street. Why, exactly? Because he wanted to see what Ikol would do. More specifically he wanted to see Ikol magic his way out of this mess. Because that’s what Loki would do. And the fact that Ikol hadn’t already made this little encounter easier on himself intrigued Loki. Ah, an alley. Loki slowed his gait, waiting until the trio turned the corner before he caught up and peeked around after them. Alright. This was when Ikol would finally show off some of those real trickster skills. Loki watched and waited. “Well?” The question was more of a one-syllable force, and came in time with one of the men turning Ikol on his feet -- something that routinely was not feasible for a Midgardian given the density of those Asgard-adjacent, but in this case guns were the oil between such cogs -- and shoving him up against the windowless brick of a building. If anyone saw this happening, they surely weren’t intervening, and Ikol understood the logic. Minding your own business was the best policy for survival. Also, not being an incorrigible smartass. This, unfortunately, was not his way of things. “Well,” Ikol began, his eyes tracking down to where a hand was pressing him to the wall and then to the other shoulder where a gun was selling the threat. “You said to not say anything, so I --” “This one’s got jokes. He don’t seem to realize he’s in a predicament.” The gun was pressed in harder. The man’s partner was keeping watch at the entry to the alley, just in case someone was thinking to be altruistic on this fine November evening. “You stiffed me, Limey. Thought you were clever, huh? I checked those bills and all of them were counterfeits.” Limey? Ikol thought, but then realized the perception was that some British kid had -- for the sake of avoiding the gory details -- broken change with bad money, and picked a pocket or two to tie a ribbon atop the whole transaction. Then he gave the gun another glance, and wracked his brain for how to work this particular encounter for an exit. A shot in the shoulder would hurt, but he’d live. Overpowering the man was easy for his clearly underestimated strength. But, that left the lookout, who had something packing a little more heat. The probability here was… dicey, at best. “If they fooled you, then they should work on plenty others. I don’t see the problem…” “The problem is you’re gonna pay me back and then some.” A nerve had been hit and the gun shifted from shoulder to temple. Bad. Bad move. Dicier odds. “Turn out your pockets -- or better yet, get undressing. I like that coat.” Loki leaned against the brick wall of the building on the main drag, listening to this conversation as though he were reading it straight out of the funny pages. He even snorted at some of Ikol’s retorts because, well, he was witty. As he should be, of course. As they all were. When they were in a good mood at least. Well, maybe not Sylvie. But Sylvie was still a little backwards from having spent a millennium in isolation. She’d get up to comedy speed eventually. He peeked around the corner again, quick enough to see that the second guy had taken up the role of watchdog. He wasn’t very good at it though. Loki caught him picking his nose in between answering the other guy’s retorts. And still Ikol did nothing. What was wrong with him? Loki understood not wanting to waste his sword on a pair of Midgardian buffoons. But a simple spell would have sent them on their way. Or better yet would have removed Ikol from that wall he was pinned up against. Or at least took the gun out of the equation. Up until this point Loki just assumed Ikol didn’t use his magic because he didn’t want to give away his abilities. Because he didn’t want to let Loki or Sylvie know how powerful he was. (Or how weak he was, but Loki doubted there were many battle weaknesses among any of the Lokis.) But Ikol was alone here. Seemingly. What was the harm in playing his cards now? Why didn’t he defend himself with even the simplest of spells? Why did he allow these Midgardians to push him around? It infuriated Loki. The man shoving the gun into Ikol infuriated Loki, too. But the coat was the last straw. “Going to have to stop you there, gentlemen,” Loki said, finally stepping around the corner and into the alley. Cue that mischievous swagger. Grin and all. “First of all, that’s no way to entice a god to take his clothes off. Secondly, I called dibs on that coat weeks ago. So, if anyone’s taking it, it’s going to be me.” Ikol didn’t mean for his groan to be audible, but in the moment his self control slipped. Maybe it was the gun pointed into, admittedly, a fragile spot for even a Frost Giant. Maybe it was because this was the second time this week someone had crossed into his path without invitation. Maybe it was just that his pride was having trouble contending with Loki appearing to play hero. Surely Ikol would have figured this out. Surely. The man who had the younger(ish) god pinned toyed with the trigger for a second before yelling to his lookout to take care of the unwelcome guest. He was smart enough to not break focus, and that robbed Ikol of a chance to leverage the distraction. Alright, maybe he didn’t have a good way out. What were the odds that his skull was actually, physically thick enough to withstand this? By Odin’s one good eye did he occasionally miss that obscene horned helmet. It might have looked overkill and gaudy and it might have fetched attention, but it would have come in good use right now. “You’ll make my father angry if you even try to pull that trigger, you know,” Ikol told the man. “Father, huh?” “Oh, yes. Can’t you see the resemblance?” Ikol couldn’t actually see Loki from this vantage point, but he hoped the stolen seconds were enough for the trickster to do whatever it was he planned to do. Oh! Ikol was turning it into a game. Delightful. Because, to be fair, Loki was having a fantastic week. A Grade-A 100% Perfection of a week, really. And the last thing he wanted was to have his high ruined by something depressing like another death. So, it was good to know that Ikol could still tell jokes. Even if they were bad ones. Honestly, as if anyone would actually believe that Loki looked old enough to be his father. Technically, if truths were actually truths, then it probably should have been the other way around. Pity Loki didn’t have any desire to look like a boy band reject. Otherwise they could go as twins. Or uncomfortable doppelganger cousins. “To be fair, Daddy is always angry.” Loki blew a kiss to the lookout. Then he waved a hand, a gentle flick of the wrist, and one of his daggers appeared. “What are the rules in this game? I was planning to go a week without bloodshed, but I suppose if I stab you in the right place I could kill you without making a mess. I do adore a challenge.” The lookout stumbled back a few steps before calling back to the man holding Ikol against the wall. “Hey, man! This guy looks fuckin’ crazy. Maybe we should scram.” Loki smirked. “Too late for that.” He disappeared. The lookout jerked frantically from left to right, trying to figure out where he’d gone. When Loki reappeared he was crouched down behind the man. One quick slash to the achilles tendon on the back of the right leg. Then to the left. The lookout fell forward, hitting the pavement hard with his palms. Loki heard a crack and winced. “Ooh. Was that a wrist? My bad. Completely unintentional.” The lookout tried to get up but his legs didn’t comply. “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Loki said. “Best to just stay where you are until a paramedic arrives. Good news is you’ll live. Bad news is your football career is probably over.” “Bastard!” Loki shrugged. “Possibly. It’s a long and complicated debate. I’ll have to get back to you on that one.” Loki turned towards Ikol and the other man. The blade of his dagger cleaned itself off with a bright green glow before Loki stowed it away in one of his many magical pockets. Then he held out his arms to his sides. Very provocative. Very theatrical. “My son! Fear not! Father is here to protect you! But don’t say I didn’t warn you about going out on dates with strangers you met on the internet.” It would have been enough for the man’s lookout to be slashed, toppled, and deflated like a balloon on the spot -- but the razzle and dazzle of magic sent the primary crook off a ledge he hadn’t expected to be up against this evening. It made his attention slip. It bought Ikol the window needed to grab the gun from his hands, although it still discharged with mere millimeters to spare from hitting anything vital. “Rude,” Ikol told his assailant, but the gun was fully wrested away and the chamber was emptied before -- for lack of having a better option -- the weapon was dumped into one of his coat pockets. To throw it would mean it would end up in someone else’s hands. No, best to do one small favor to NYC. “Hey! What --” “No, no. Shh,” Ikol told the man, as he pressed his palm face down over the man’s mouth with his fingerless gloves muffling the voice. “You made a mistake here. Also, you don’t know what the internet is, so someone needs to work on his material. I digress…” The man was wriggling, but it wasn’t much good in the trappings of his present situation. Ikol sighed, because he was debating his options and the only way to walk from here was to expedite both gentleman’s journeys into the land of the unconscious. “Right, not truly sorry about this.” It was a solid thump upside the head with his free hand. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes. Ikol gazed down at him for a moment before shrugging and stooping to check his pockets. When in Rome, right? “Father, if you wouldn’t mind seeing after the wailing one? I think he’s sprung a leak.” On cue, the other man screeched an unholy noise. How exciting. Finally! Loki and Loki. Side by side. Protecting Midgardians from the fiendish bad apples of the big city. It was fun, wasn’t it? At least, it should have been. Would have been if Baby Horns had set aside his personal judgments for two seconds and just done a little bit of magic. Just a teeny tiny hint of that traditional mischief that Loki knew he was capable of. Knew because, well, Ikol was Loki. And he paraded about in magic boots and an invisibility cloak. Logic dictated that he was more than competent in some form of mystical abilities. His relationship with his mother might not have been as fond as Loki’s had been, but there must have been some teachings. Ikol didn’t have Sylvie’s excuse. Or the Alligator’s excuse. Then again, maybe the Alligator could do magic but simply chose to not to in order to deceive and manipulate the rest of them. Well played, if that was the case. Needless to say, when Loki whipped around to watch Ikol deal with the other man he was brimming with anticipation. Which meant he was smacked with incredible disappointment when all Ikol did was whack the man upside the head and send him into an unconscious spiral. Loki held his breath as the criminal slumped to the ground. Then he exhaled an overly dramatic and deflated sigh. “Really? Is that it? So boring. Where’s your flair? Where’s the—” But Loki was cut off by the screeching howl of the man at his feet. A howl which meandered into an agonizing groan. “Oh, stop your whining. You know, my son—my beautiful boy over there—stabbed me last week and you don’t see me crying about it, do you?” The lookout tried to crawl forward, dirty nails digging into the grimy concrete of the alleyway. “Fine, fine! I’ll fix him.” Loki rolled his eyes, snapped his fingers, and poof! The man turned into a rat. A rat with all four working legs, mind you. Loki tried his very best never to be cruel to animals. Then he glanced back to Ikol. “Happy now?” The rat squeaked. As the rat scurried away, likely after using his small rat brain to determine his odds, Ikol turned to Loki and gave him a quiet consideration. He played the events unfolding back in his mind. He thought on the implication that Loki just so happened to appear in a key moment. He walked back the questions asked -- about his strategy, about the casual brush-off of being stabbed the other week, about if he was happy. Finally, Ikol gestured at the entryway to the alley with a graceless arm swing. “Were you waiting for a moment to jump in here and use all your quippiest quips? I was handling this.” Poorly, but Ikol left that out. “I’ve handled worse with less.” He let his arm flop back to its side, then continued to pick through the unconscious man’s pockets. A bag of something that was definitely illegal by NYPD writ was inspected and then tucked into a coat pocket. Not long after that, two wads of bills, rolled up and rubber-banded, were extracted. Ikol weighed them between his hands, then looked back to Loki. “Catch! Your reward.” Because surely a giant roll of money would be enough to satiate those unanswered questions. “Don’t spend it all in one place, pops.” Loki caught the wad of money with a dissatisfied stare. For the record — or for anyone actually keeping track of how accurate their quips were — that actually was an unintentional dad stare. The kind of stare that was annoyed, disappointed, but also quietly amused all at the same time. “Are you buying me off? Is that what this is? What am I supposed to do with this?” There was nothing challenging about being handed a bunch of money. Loki liked to earn his winnings, by one means or another. And he wasn’t blind. He could see that this was simply Ikol’s poor attempt at distracting him from the obvious. Loki tossed the money back in Ikol’s direction. Was that a poor choice? Eh. Sure, he probably could have used it to buy some extra wine or some high-end bedsheets, but really there wasn’t much that Loki needed that he couldn’t just cast an illusion for. Besides, he’d already manipulated his way into many of the luxuries he was missing from Derleth. Sometimes a well-timed smile was all a person needed to get what they wanted. “And I have better retorts, but they would have been wasted on these two.” Loki made his way closer to Ikol and the unconscious fellow. “You should turn him into a guinea pig. It’s okay if you need a moment to warm up. I can wait.” The cash roll was caught, deftly, in one hand. It could easily be spent in a number of ways, one of which was buying out an entire candy store merely because he could. Call it a belated wish for a second young adulthood. He wasn’t even that keen on candy in general, but it did have a substantial shelf life. See? Practical. He was so practical. It was practicality, however, that was currently under interrogation. Ikol gathered his limbs up and stood up. Both rolls of cash joined the myriad of items in his coat pockets for later contemplation. “Alright, listen, Professor McGonagall,” he started, one finger raised. Was that too accusatory? That was giving him away, wasn’t it? He willed himself to take a deep breath and focus his thoughts. Last time he’d gotten carried away on a frayed nerve impulse, things had turned a corner. He had lifted his sword. He had sought to wound, and he had succeeded at it. Guilt and regret still shadowed him for it, even if he projected the opposite. His voice deflated, the barbs of a sharp wit dulled. “You know I won’t do it. Can you just stop?” Loki raised a brow both at the Professor McGonagall comment and at the raised finger. This was mostly out of confusion, because the literary reference went right over his head. But it was slightly out of intrigue as well. Not that he thought Ikol was actually going to do anything besides toss more harmless threats in his direction. They’d already had their little rooftop tussle. Now the game was set back to ‘easy mode’. The trick was to jibe and taunt and badger, but not be the one to tip the scales too far in any one direction. It was a mutual balance of name-calling, ridicule, and well-timed insults. But petty insults. Nothing that would actually cause someone to whip out a blade and get angry. So, Loki was curious to see which direction Ikol would go. Had Loki pushed too hard? He didn’t think so. In fact, he thought he’d barely even dipped his toes in the mocking waters. But he didn’t know what Ikol was going through because they didn’t have that kind of relationship. The man could have been at his wit’s end. Thus, technically, this could go either way. But Ikol stayed his temper. He had more patience than Loki in that sense. Was Loki disappointed? Yes. Because he really wanted to understand Ikol better. He wanted to know why he was so averse to using magic. But he knew when to step back and not rock the boat. Besides, Sylvie would lose it on him if he started another fight among the Lokis. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, hands held up in a sign of goodwill. “Alright. I can take a hint. Magic isn’t your thing. We can talk about how peculiar that is another time.” A delicate pause. “Are you okay?” “No, it isn’t…” Ikol crossed his arms and turned his attention away from Loki. There was a fine balance of keeping information closely guarded and letting a bread crumb trail of snippets slip in choice moments. It meant no one could use that information against him, especially if it wasn’t shared in the first place. It meant when he burst out in anger and stabbed someone, that was seemingly less accounted for. “Imagine with me for a moment,” Ikol started again, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the brick of the alley. “Centuries of doing everything and anything to level revenge on your brother. No trick being so immoral that it wouldn’t be considered, no… depth that was too low to sink to, if only he suffered in the end. It didn’t even matter why. Hate sustained the fire, regardless of whatever sparked it. It wasn’t a bad week and then learning some semblance of how to care about… life, others, doing the right thing, blah… blah.” He turned to Loki, his brow furrowed slightly and expression closed off. “Centuries of that. Magic wielded cruelly. Magic learned to harm. Magic… when used, reignites that fire. Because I reclaimed my magic through cruelty, betrayal -- look, I play the game when the odds are in my favor. I don’t know that they are right now.” He shrugged. “I’m okay. Comparatively. I’ll figure it out. I always do.” But apparently when Loki said they could talk about it another time that meant right this very second. Loki listened carefully to Ikol’s elaborate scene setting. It didn’t require a lot of imagination on Loki’s part. True, there was a bit more anger, violence, and malice insinuated in Ikol’s tale than his own, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar story. There were things Loki could relate to. Revenge, jealousy, tricks. Granted, Loki couldn’t claim to ever hating his brother. There were times when he thought he did. There were times when he even said he did. But truthfully it was himself he hated. Some of that self-loathing still lingered, after all. It was a difficult emotion to rid oneself of. But causing Thor to suffer cruelly? Well, that was a fine line of interpretation. He didn’t think he’d ever gone that far. But he could have been wrong. Loki had never been a very astute judge of his own actions in the moment that he did them. He was consciously aware of what he was doing and why he was doing it. But determining whether a trick was beyond playful mischief and just plain evil was a murkier plane of understanding. Although nowadays he used his behavior while under manipulation of the mind stone to base most of his own ‘evil barometer.’ Nothing seemed to ever be that bad. That being said, there were many arguments people could make to the contrary. Mentally manipulating Odin into forgetting who he was and leaving him to suffer in a Midgardian retirement home hadn’t exactly been kind, after all. When Ikol finally finished, Loki stood in silence. He was debating his response. Wit wouldn’t satisfy here. Ikol was being honest with him. Man to man. Brother to brother. Loki to Loki. Only honesty in return would be appropriate. “I understand there are some complexities to who you are,” Loki said. A Loki taking over the body of a reborn Loki. There was a lot that was problematic in that situation, especially for other Lokis. But Loki shrugged. “But that doesn’t strike me as who you are anymore. If you were then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Or any conversations, really. Magic doesn’t have to come from a place of hatred or cruelty. Magic doesn’t make a sorcerer follow a dark path. That’s the sorcerer’s choice.” Loki looked down at the unconscious criminal. There was a flicker of anger in his eyes at the thought of someone trying to hurt another God of Mischief. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so protective of the other Lokis. Maybe because he’d finally realized that they were the closest thing he had left to some kind of family. “But not wanting to do magic at all is also a choice. And if that’s what you want then go forth and don’t do magic.” He paused. “But maybe don’t let bad guys get so close to you next time.” “Thanks for the diagnosis, doc.” There weren’t actually time limits on how long a serious talk could go for, but given that all the major confessions had been made, Ikol felt inclined to slip back into more usual mannerisms. That Midgardian-influenced humor, the informal choice of words -- always cherry-picked and sprinkled in just to suggest that he wasn’t a stuck-up royal brat. Not entirely. Partially? Sure. But not entirely. He pushed off the wall and straightened himself up. Collar fixed, hems tugged straight. A picture of composure, outwardly. “I was handling it. You decided to intervene, and who am I to rob you your moment in the sun? Bleak alley light. Whatever.” Loki would probably sniff out the bullshit from that, but they both knew the need to maintain appearances. He sent a cursory glance down the alleyway, out towards the street where daylight was waner quicker. In his pocket, the two rolls of paper bills were semi-juggled between his fingers. It would be a shame to not put it to good use. “But, if you want to go grab a drink…” He looked at Loki, brows lifted. “Our dear friends are buying the bar. I’m going, anyway. Hel knows that I’ve had plenty of dry nights to make up for.” Was Loki a little hurt that Ikol was making a mockery of his ‘rescue attempt’? A smidgeon. Sure, he’d done it with a swagger and smirk and a handful of mid-range jests, but that didn’t mean it was any less altruistic. Okay, okay. At first he thought his presence might entice Ikol to finally show his Loki side. Or, at least, the familiar side of his Loki-ness. But when Loki realized Ikol wasn’t even going to stoop to magic in order to save his own skin, then Loki’s intentions had deviated from their course. It hadn’t just been about attention. Loki really didn’t want anything to happen to the other Lokis. Was he good at showing that? No. Was it something that even remotely crossed the other Lokis’ minds? Probably not. But it was true. Loki didn’t think any of the Lokis deserved to suffer any more than they already had. Or would. Being a Loki wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. “My apologies. Next time you’re seconds from death I’ll simply step aside and leave it in your capable hands.” Cue that smug facade. The face that hid his gritting teeth. Loki was about to turn and head off to do just about anything else when Ikol offered a sort of truce. Gratitude without actual gratitude. Perhaps even an apology without actually apologizing. Because that’s what a drink would be, right? It’s not like the two of them were friendly — or brotherly — enough to simply do something normal without some kind of unspoken reason. Loki pursed his lips and then flipped his hair back over his shoulder. Almost dismissively. “Fine. But I want some of those celery sticks and ranch dressing too. You know. The kind they serve with spicy chicken wings. But I don’t want the chicken. Just the celery and the dressing. You can have the wings.” |