Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2021-12-07 21:39:00 |
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Mobius asks for Loki’s company after arriving in the real world. Loki is hesitant and suspicious, but decides to visit him anyway. How does the saying go? Keep your friends close and your heavy stalker-vibe TVA agents closer?
There was a lot of philosophical stuff going on here - questions, probably, that Mobius would probably want to consider under most circumstances. Questions such as what is a soul and what does it mean in a world where consciousness could be copied like it was a computer file? This dystopian landscape, this dark city - it was all squid sentinels, cold spaceships, cold everything. Much different than the falsely comforting warmth and whimsy of the TVA - which wasn’t as straight up bleak as this; no, instead it was a bunch of cognitive dissonance and lies, nothing that slapped you in the face with how awful it truly was. At least not at first glance. Mobius was still feeling kind of sick but he was with a bunch of other humans plucked from the clutches of the sewers and goo - the temporary quarters he had no choice but to hunker down in because he couldn’t exactly move much wasn’t very bright or aesthetically appealing either, but he didn’t quite care. The idea of something being bright right now, and actually having to look at it, made his eyeballs ache in their sockets. Then again, everything ached right now. He was at least clothed and moderately fed - nutrients through needles had to do until solid food could be kept down but he wasn’t even trying to work on the oatmeal sludge right now. Leaning against the wall, attempting to find a comfortable position on something masquerading as a mattress, was his goal - that, and talking to Loki. Whom he hoped would show up soon. There was a lot he had to say and a lot he was feeling - but unpacking all of that when nausea didn’t threaten to turn his stomach inside out was probably a good idea. Then again, lots of things were technically good ideas. And sometimes he gave them the figurative middle finger anyway. For a meager moment—a fleeting slip of a second when Mobius popped up on the net board—Loki felt a surge of excitement in his chest. He hadn’t had the opportunity to really mourn, not that mourn was exactly the proper word, (they hadn’t been that close after all,) Mobius’s disappearance. And his sudden reappearance, on the heels of Fandral’s painful return to death’s promise of Valhalla, gave Loki hope that mistakes could be mended. Relationships could be repaired. But he was wrong. This wasn’t the Mobius he’d gotten to know over the last month. This wasn’t the Mobius he’d threatened at knifepoint and who supported him and his desire to change even though he wasn’t him. The Variant. This wasn’t the Mobius who’d sat with him at the edge of the Void or laid down beside him in the grass the night before the ghosts tore Derleth into a panic. This was someone else. A stranger. Another copy. A replica. Like the Lokis only not. But he spoke the same. He had that same supportive tone with the mocking edge. Perhaps Mobius was the same in every universe. And perhaps, like everyone else in Loki’s life, he’d leave him. A good reason to avoid any sentiment. The man wanted to see Loki. Fine. Loki could do that without getting attached. Who was Mobius to him anyway? No one. Just a man with an affinity for another Loki. To Sylvie. To the alligator. Not to him. Loki shouldn’t have been important to Mobius. Why? Because as Sylvie said, Loki had done everything right. He’d followed the TVA’s path to perfection. Right to his own demise. And that made him sacred. It was absurd. But it was enough to make Loki feel worthless compared to his counterparts. Loki heard through the underground grapevine which quarters were being doled out to the newcomers and he made his way to them at a languid, thoughtful speed. He had to prepare himself, after all. Had to get his wits about him. Had to pretend a particular part since he didn’t have his illusions or his glamours. Only old fashioned tricks would do. Acting. He was a competent actor. He could put on a false face. And that’s how he entered the room Mobius was occupying. With a fabricated air of confidence and lack of concern. Mobius looked … well, pathetic. And young. That mustache and grey hair added at least fifteen years to his face. Now he looked fresh and naive. Even a little vulnerable. Loki wasn’t much better himself, but a soft fuzz of dark hair had grown back on the top of his head and his eyebrows were coming back in. Slowly but surely. He tried to quirk a brow but it looked weird. “Have you ever seen a baby mole? Hairless and slimy with its eyes glued shut? Like it's five seconds away from stumbling over a cliff or being snatched up in the jaws of a snake? That’s what you look like. Mobius the Mole.” “I didn’t realize you had such strong thoughts about baby moles,” Mobius replied, scooting over to make room for Loki to sit - he did it slowly, carefully, since his muscles felt like they were made of boiled Jello. “But I guess it doesn’t surprise me.” Not surprising that he’d say something like that too - because Mobius’s arrival had shaken him up (that was obvious) and here he was, fighting to take control back in some kind of way. That was what Loki did. There was only ruling or being ruled, there was no in between - dichotomy was difficult. And maybe Mobius was difficult to look at now, but he didn’t think the same thing about Loki - who was beautiful. Always beautiful, that was how he hooked Mobius - Mobius, who had been advocating for Loki longer than the millennia he’d studied him, it felt like. He’d watched every moment of his entire life - the click and whirr of that holoprojector became a comfort for him while he racked up years he couldn’t even measure, as he learned what yearning actually felt like. “I’m really glad to see you.” Loki’s eyes narrowed, his gaze turning from Mobius’s hairless face to the space he made beside him. There were a number of excuses Loki could use to avoid putting himself in close contact with the man. First and foremost being that they were strangers to each other. Or, at least, this Mobius was a stranger to Loki. Granted, Loki didn’t know too much about the previous Mobius either, but he’d heard enough from Sylvie to have an idea. The man who traipsed across time collecting Gods of Mischief like baseball cards. And most of them? Most of them never made it out of that collection. Sure, Loki had briefly heard the story about how his alternate self had teamed up with both Mobius and Sylvie to bring down the bureaucracy that was regulating time, but how did Loki know he could truly believe that? He was so accustomed to lies that the truth felt fake. He pursed his lips together and made a step towards the bed. It was a slow, purposeful motion. In another time and space it might have even been seductive. Taunting. But that’s not what Loki was trying to do this time. He was trying to pretend. Pretend that he didn’t want to come closer. Pretend that he wasn’t afraid that this—like everything else—could end disastrously. And why did he think that? Because he’d been fool enough to spend the night in the grass beside another Mobius. And while nothing happened but Loki’s first restful sleep in months—while there had been no promises or indication that it would ever be anything more than that—he’d felt one of his barriers shudder. A wall, so precariously built, threatened to crumble. And after what he’d done to Fandral, and likewise what Fandral had done to him, Loki wanted to maintain a cautious, sturdy perimeter between himself and others. Even if he knew that’s exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do. His mother had returned from the grave to tell him as much. “Why? Why would you be glad to see me?” Loki reached down and ran his finger along the edge of the mattress. It was old and used. Cleaned up as good as it could be considering the circumstances. But he could see the lumps in the springs and how they sank too easily beneath Mobius’s figure. “You don’t even know me. You don’t even know which one I am. How many of me have you run into across the centuries? Hundreds? Thousands? I’m not important to you. I’m just another pawn in the twisted mind game of your employer. How does it work again? Forgive me. It’s been a while since I’ve had it explained to me. Oh, yes. I only matter in so much as I follow the proper progression of time. After which, poof! Expendable. As if I wasn’t already.” He paused, looking to that empty space beside Mobius. Then, with an inaudible sigh stopped halfway on his lips, he sat down. Because Loki was tired too. Not physically tired, but mentally tired. Tired of expecting the worst of everyone and of himself. Well, that was a lot of words - talky, talky. Clearly Loki hadn’t deviated from the enjoyment of hearing himself speak. Some things never changed - life carried on, and everything came from something. “They’re not my employer anymore,” Mobius said with a snort, about the TVA. “Pretty sure my job was terminated when I got pruned and sent to the Void for talking back.” Ah, yes, a prime retirement plan - being ripped apart at a molecular level and then stitched back together again, falling into the Void where the rest of the TVA’s discarded rubbish also fell from the ashen, black skies patrolled by a smoke monster. He had been serious as a heart attack when he told Ravonna there was nothing necessary about that - it was why he thought it was the right thing to do, to take out He Who Remains (Mobius didn’t have all the details - he just knew that Loki and Sylvie were damn well gonna try). No one got to decide who did or didn’t end up in the Void. “You’re wrong about how important you are to me,” he added, drawing his knees up to rest his elbows there - even that took effort, and all he really wanted to do was sprawl. “It doesn’t matter that you might not be the exact variant I met at the TVA. You’re still Loki and you’re still my...person. And I’m always going to find you, even when the universe has been orchestrated to prevent that.” Mobius was always going to put his trust in Loki - with an open heart, a generous heart, ready to extend that trust even if everyone around him constantly said don’t. True. Some things never changed. Like Loki enjoying the sound of his own voice. Or Loki not being trustworthy or being able to trust. Or Loki constantly suspecting everyone around him of deceit. Which, of course, was only the tip of the hypocritical iceberg. He was composed of so many contradictions and conundrums, he couldn’t even tell them apart himself. And therein lay his greatest struggle with this real world. He couldn’t put on a false face. He couldn’t hide himself. He could only put up a wall. And that wall wasn’t quite as productive as he thought it was. If anything, it gave away his true feelings more than if he’d just tried nothing. But Loki never could accept himself easily. He didn’t like seeing his ego stripped bare. That meant he was vulnerable. That meant he was like everyone else. “Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Loki said. It was a half-truth. Sylvie told him that her Mobius—his Mobius, as in the variant who would not be named—had switched sides. That he’d joined the Lokis in their fight. But Loki didn’t have those memories. He’d never stood on a hill and embraced a dear friend. One of his only friends. He’d never palled around with Mobius trying to impress him by being the best Loki. Those were all experiences the other Loki had gone through. Hence, this Loki’s suspicion. “You can’t talk to me like that. You can’t say those things. Do you even hear yourself? First of all, I hate him. But to say that I’m your person? Well, what an insult to the Loki you left behind. Is he so replaceable? Are we all so equal in your mind? Might I just as well be an alligator? Is he your person too?” Loki rolled his eyes. “My person. Hmmph. Please. I belong to no one. I am my own.” Loki caught how difficult the sheer movement of pulling up his knees had been for Mobius and his forced frustration stifled a little. “Stop trying to coordinate multiple large motions at the same time. That requires too many neurosynaptic responses. Start with something smaller.” To demonstrate Loki clenched his hand into a fist and opened it. Then he repeated the action four times as though squeezing a stress ball. “Dexterity of the smaller neurons will stimulate muscle memory in the larger ones.” “Yeah? You hate yourself? Let’s talk about that,” Mobius replied. He wasn’t in this to rank the Loki’s on a scale of who was better or worse - maybe it made Loki feel better to do that (he’d always been seeking validation, hadn’t he? He’d go to any length he could to get it). Mobius just knew that he’d gone off whatever path had been written - they both had - and they’d said to hell with maps, and yet Mobius found home anyway. He found it again - he found it right here, even if Loki didn’t believe him or didn’t care about him, yet he was still sitting here regardless. Trying to impart wisdom about neurons. A sigh escaped Mobius then, as he mimicked the open-close fist motions, which went...relatively decently. If he was more of a violent type he probably would have wanted to punch something because this was awful, but mustering up the energy for that seemed impossible. And he wasn’t much of a physical fighter anyway. No, instead he’d keep calm - when he lost his temper (and, say, jealousy reared its green serpentine head) it wasn’t pretty. “I like that alligator too though. But - he’s not you, technically. The Loki I met? It’s still you. You just don’t remember the same things I do. Yet.” But it would happen. Somehow. “What? That’s not what I mean. Don’t twist my words. He is not me.” Well, that statement required a bit of mental gymnastics in order to believe. True, the Variant that Mobius had befriended wasn’t him. But he was. He was an earlier him who’d gotten off track of his predetermined destiny and managed to live. That was one of the reasons Loki hated him. The fact that he had real friendships was another reason. Although, Loki was doing his best to improve himself on that account. And he’d been marginally successful. He had a few friends. Then again he did sometimes catch himself wondering if they were actual friendships. But that was because Loki’s experience with those kinds of relationships was tenuous at best. “He’s an entirely different entity. We aren’t the same at all. I’m well within my right to despise him. Or to despise any of them.” Except he didn’t hate the others. Just that one. The Loki who’d somehow managed to succeed where he had failed. Envy might have been green, but it was an emotional hue that didn’t look quite as good on Loki as he might have imagined. “How am I supposed to remember something that never happened to me? The Loki you know veered off his path and became someone else. Me? I did exactly what I was supposed to. Right up until the end.” Loki tried to say this with pride. Sylvie was the one who’d explained it to him. The Sacred Timeline. The Sacred Loki. Maybe that was supposed to make him feel special. He pretended like it did. But it didn’t. It just made him feel like a fool. The only Loki dumb enough to do what someone else wanted him to do. “Don’t make it out like we’re friends. We aren’t.” But Loki quietly wanted to be. Because if an earlier version of himself found something worthy in this man then, didn’t that mean he would too? Loki paused. Perhaps he’d been too vicious in his approach. Mobius was a newcomer to Derleth, after all. And he’d arrived at a particularly bleak time. It wasn’t his fault that he was there. No one truly wanted to be there. Except for maybe Loki, who had nowhere else to go. “... Are you okay?” How was he supposed to remember something that never happened to him? Well. How did any of them end up here? How was anyone supposed to do anything? “I don’t know,” Mobius admitted. “Things just have a way of happening, once whatever cosmic switch is flipped. And there’s no stopping it. I do see some differences though.” It didn’t change the way he felt about Loki, but he did see them. “I think - “ He glanced at Loki, eyes pale blue - the sky in winter - and he squinted. “Maybe you did what you were supposed to in the Sacred Timeline because everyone wanted you to. To be a hero is easier than being a disappointment, right? But the other you I knew - I think a lot of you changed because you wanted to let go.” Maybe it didn’t matter much now, because they were caught in the throes of a dystopian landscape and on the verge of deciding what would matter - did they help other people in their situation? Did they break back into that fake world? Did they just sit around and hope it all ended? Yet Mobius still wanted to be honest. “I’m - dealing, I guess,” he answered the question. “Probably will be better once things are a little more stable but I’m not giving up so soon. I just got here.” Loki didn’t know how to respond to this unfamiliar level of support and optimism. Mobius was an enigma to him. A puzzle. And that made him curious. It made Loki want to understand. Because knowledge was more than just power. For Loki it was everything. That’s how he’d made it as far as he had. He didn’t have the brawn to beat his way through life like his brother. He only had his wits and his smarts and a mind capable of storing a vast amount of information. That’s how he stayed a step ahead of everyone. “Well, I don’t want another Loki’s memories. I’ve already had that happen to me once since arriving in Derleth.” He idly thought about the Lokians reigning terror on the people of 1950s Dunwich and shook his head. “I don’t want to go through that again.” Loki stretched his legs out on the mattress and awkwardly placed his hands in his life. “Being a hero isn’t easy.” In fact, for Loki the opposite was true. It was far easier to be a disappointment. Not easier on the soul or the mind, but easier in general. Easier to fulfill and accept. Loki had centuries of disappointment that had numbed him to it. He barely even hurt from it anymore. He scratched that soft spot behind his ear. And then he allowed himself to slip into a more sympathetic mode. “I’m sorry this place took you away from him. But the alligator is here. As is Sylvie. I imagine they won’t let you be alone.” “And neither will you, I hope?” Mobius supposed that was up to Loki, but - personally, this box was already knocked open for Mobius himself. He felt how he felt, there was fire in the walls - no getting rid of it, no containing it. He couldn’t shut it off. He didn’t want to. Sacred Timeline Loki never had a Mobius before. Never had that person who was a calm presence, a voice of reason, someone who told Loki it was okay to just stop and breathe and be himself, a real person and not just an actor putting on a show. That wasn’t something Mobius would take away from him, simply because this Loki didn’t know him. “Because I’m stubborn,” he admitted. “Or at least - I won’t go away, provided I don’t get blipped out of here again. Which...sorry about that, from before.” No, he didn’t have any control over it but he still thought it was kind of shitty that it happened. Again with the boundless hope. Loki didn’t understand that. Of everything about Mobius that was the most uncomfortable for him. Why was Mobius so determined to make him his friend? Why did he care? Why didn’t he just moan for his Loki? That’s what everyone else did when someone they knew but didn’t know arrived. Even Sylvie still pined for the other Loki. And Loki was fairly certain the alligator would rather have the Variant there as well. It left Loki with an emptiness in his chest. The Sacred Loki but not the best Loki. Never good enough. Not even for his own timeline. “You have to start over from the beginning with me. There are a lot of people here I have a history with, but you’re not one of them.” Loki couldn’t even count the Mobius he’d been getting to know over the last few weeks. Because they weren’t the same. Just as the Lokis weren’t the same. “I’m sorry if that hurts, but…” Loki shrugged. Then he glanced over at Möbius’s hands. “It’ll improve in a few days. And your hair will begin to grow back within a week.” This Loki didn’t realize that, honestly, not being the Variant (L1130) didn’t matter. Because it was this Loki who Mobius had fallen in love with - their lives were the same, up until that point the variant grabbed the Tesseract and poofed the hell out of New York. But Mobius had seen Loki. He watched the rescue of that baby, the ice runt. The child who grew up hearing stories about how cunning and evil the Frost Giants were (truly, they were impressive and always had been the few times one ended up in a TVA interrogation room with Mobius on the other side of the table - they were created to endure and to survive and Loki was no exception), who learned to name his enemy. Learned to fight, to dance, saw the bright smiles dimming and the pain of those inner wounds projecting outward. Mobius had seen all of that and more. But actually saying that, well - he knew when to keep his mouth shut and when to let the word vomit flow. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he mirrored the shrug. “I’m a patient man, Loki. I have to be.” Carefully, he reached out and patted Loki’s arm - it was barely a brush of a touch, not much pressure there, but Mobius would do better later. “If you want to stay here and keep me company, we don’t have to talk. Or if you have things to do, that’s okay too.” Loki was also unaware of just how much of Mobius’s life had been devoted to him. Well, not just him, but Lokis in general. That wasn’t a conversation he’d ever had. He might have had a subconscious idea of it, but Loki had never thought too much about it. He didn’t know how long Mobius had been scampering across universes doing the bidding of the notorious TVA. He had no idea how closely his life and Mobius’s had been entwined. Nor how often their paths might have crossed were it not for some split second decision keeping Loki on the sacred highway of life. He blinked when Mobius mentioned—yet again—being glad that Loki was there. It made Loki feel ashamed for being so antagonistic. This man merely wanted to be his friend. This man was just looking for a connection to his past. Something familiar. Someone comfortable. And what had Loki done? The same thing he’d done to Sylvie and Gator and Baby Horns. He’d gone on the offensive. He’d made them feel lesser and inferior. He made a point of letting them know that he was first. That this was his alternate reality. And why? Because he was jealous. Because he was lonely. Because he was afraid and angry and frustrated. Because he didn’t know how else to welcome them. Loki flinched when Mobius touched his arm. He hadn’t even realized that he was in a daze until the soft sensation of skin broke him from his thoughts. “I…” He laughed, hiding his confusion behind that typical Loki smirk. “I don’t mind talking. Or not talking. What else would I do? I’m not in charge here. None of this is my problem.” Except hadn’t he sort of put himself in charge of the Derleth people? Since arriving in this new world, he had taken on a kind of leadership role without anyone asking. He paused. “Unless you want me to leave.” “I don’t want you to leave,” Mobius assured. “And, you know - maybe you’re not technically in charge, but you seem to be helping people stay corralled and focused so whatever you decide to do, I’ll help with. I’m in.” Once he could actually be of use, anyway, but that would only take a few more days. Days that felt like months, years - where time was passing slow as a snail (and there were far too many references to slime), like they were all just looking at an hourglass full of molasses. “I probably can’t talk myself, too much - “ His vocal cords felt (and sounded) like he’d jammed a spiked cock down his throat or something. Maybe he shouldn’t get off track. “But if you want to tell me anything about you, I’ll listen?” “The people at Derleth do stupid things when they don’t have someone telling them what to do,” Loki said as though that were enough to explain his peculiar bout with goodwill over the last few weeks. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the entire truth either. Then again, was anything with Loki? “As far as I know I was one of the first ones here. It just seemed like the appropriate thing to do. Besides, I have a theory that if we can pull out all of our people from the simulation then we’ll reset back to the Void.” The Void wasn’t always safe or welcoming, but it was usually more preferable when compared to this dystopian trash fire. Loki frowned. Did Mobius just give him permission to talk? Uninterrupted? About himself? He blinked. Of all possible unexpected reactions that one hadn’t even come close to Loki’s list. No one wanted to hear him talk ad nauseum. Least of all about himself. He’d been waiting years for someone to say something like that to him. And now that someone had? He didn’t know what to say. “Don’t you already know everything there is to know about me? Don’t you have a file on me tucked in the drawer of your desk? Big bold block letters on the front. L-O-K-I. Maybe even a little heart above the I? Go ahead. You can admit it. I won’t judge you any more than I already have.” Loki winked. Playful. A defense mechanism to hide his sudden awkwardness and confusion. Loki leaned back against the wall, relaxed for the first time since he stepped in that room. “What is it you want to know? Secrets of the Sacred Loki. Pity your finger dexterity hasn’t completely returned. You could take notes. Write a book. Hand it out to your colleagues at the office Christmas party.” Loki folded his hands in his lap. He didn’t realize it but he was wringing his fingers together like a wet rag. What was something he could say that someone who’d spent years studying Lokis wouldn’t know? “I almost adopted a cat a few weeks ago.” Whether or not Mobus had doodled hearts around Loki’s name would be a secret he’d take back to whatever grave this experiment seemed fit to shove him into. “Maybe,” he smirked, but he wouldn’t confirm nor deny. No, he just waited for Loki to tell him something that even a person who had studied him for a millennia wouldn’t know. The cat thing was cute. New. Novel. Mobius wasn’t sure how pet care really fit into all of this (the inner monologue was accompanied by a ‘gestures vaguely’ sort of sign) but perhaps it was possible. “Almost? Maybe soon you’ll decide to go all the way with it,” he murmured, closing his eyes because the light was beginning to hurt - felt like needles, somewhat, and darkness was preferable right now. “Tell me all about this cat?” Loki would keep going, Mobus hoped. And if he passed out in the middle of listening to him talk, that couldn’t be helped. It was the Loki voice kink and all the fact that he felt like he’d been ridden hard and put away wet. Better times were ahead, however. He hoped. “Well, I didn’t actually see the cat. Or any cat really. I mean … I did pass by a shop and there were a few in the window, but I never went inside. I was afraid it was an impulse thing. Impulse is a problem I have. You probably know that. The thing is, it seems like everyone else in Derleth has someone or something. Baby Horns has his rat-faced dog. Stevie has Lion. Fandral has—had his horse. Sylvie has Alligator.” He paused. “Okay that’s not exactly a pet situation, but you know what I mean. I just thought maybe it would make me…” His words drifted off, both from not really knowing how to finish that thought but also because he noticed Mobius’s eyelids drooping and his shoulders slumping. It looked like he wasn’t paying attention anymore, but Loki couldn’t be certain. So he just started to ramble. “It started as something of a disagreement between Baby Horns and myself. Baby Horns is the other Loki. The younger looking one. That’s what I call him anyway on account of his, well, his helmet being a bit smaller than the average Loki. Smaller than mine at least. He’s a dog person. Tried and true. Dogs are fine. I have a thing about wolves though. I like cats. I enjoy being a cat, too. Not as much as I enjoy being a snake. But I enjoy the narcissistic independence that cats indulge in.” Loki glanced to the side. Mobius’s eyes were closed. Loki leaned in close to listen to the other man’s breaths. Just to make sure he wasn’t dead. Slow but steady. Pre-slumber inhalations. He could hear the sounds of foot traffic in the corridor. The blurred murmur of conversation. Loki turned his gaze away from Mobius, lowered his voice to just above a whisper, and continued talking. Not about anything important. Not about anything at all, really. He just talked. And talked. And once Mobius had finally fallen into the lull of sleep, he got up quietly and left. |