Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2022-09-11 14:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread/narrative, marvel (tv/movies): loki laufeyson, marvel (tv/movies): mobius m. mobius, → week 044 (westworld) |
WESTWORLD | DAY 4
He’d stopped trying to figure things out. Chalk it up to sentient cities, evil alternate realities, zombies, dinosaurs, whatever. It didn’t matter anymore. It all resulted in the same thing. Rinse, reset, repeat.
What was the point of trying to be a good person if the world kept reverting you back to the person you were? What was the purpose of playing a game if you were always sent back to the starting line? Why bother being a hero if the end result always turned you into a villain?
Loki was done trying to find reason in a universe where logic and rationality didn’t apply. Derleth wanted them to interact with the worlds it brought them to? Fine. He’d interact. He’d take it all the way to the end. It’s not like he had anything to lose. If he died he’d come back. And if he didn’t it would all disappear after seven days anyway. There was no permanence. The result was the same, save a little heartbreak here and there.
And what did heartbreak matter when you were already dead?
Loki met a man named Lawrence on the second day outside of a small town on the way to Pariah. He had a gang and a mission to find a specific treasure. Now Lawrence was gone and Loki had the gang. And the mission. Did he expect to find anything other than an empty lockbox or a case full of explosives? No. But like everything else, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about finding anything. It was about the adventure, right?
They rode out on horseback—Loki and five cutthroat cowboys—chasing down the 3:10 out of Sweetwater. Their hooves kicked up dust as they galloped after the locomotive. The sun beat down on them as they dug their heels in the sides of their steeds to gain an extra ounce of speed, whipping the leather reins from one side to the other.
When they came within reach of the train, Loki slipped one foot out of the stirrup, leaning all of his weight on one leg. The horse huffed, heaving to keep up at its current speed. And just before it looked like he might not reach it, Loki jumped. He caught the handrail between two of the cars, dangling on the side of the train as his horse veered off into the desert.
The rest of the gang followed his lead, each jumping onto the train one at a time. Then it was only a matter of making their way from one car to the next.
The passengers yelped and gasped when Loki and his mangled crew shoved their way through the dining car. Anyone who stood between them and the next door got the butt of a pistol to the nose or a kick to the knee. No shots were fired. That was one of Loki’s rules. No one shot until he shot. And he’d been saving his bullets for two days.
“Which car is it supposed to be in?” he asked, shoving past a shaking conductor.
“Seven,” replied one of the scruffy gang members. “Should be the next one.”
“Well then. Let’s see what glorious purpose this world has in store for us.” Loki tugged his revolver out of its holster and kicked open the door to the next train car. Then he stepped through.
Mobius stood in the middle of a dirt road in the middle of small frontier town, racking his brain to come up with an explanation. The typical hows, whys, wheres and whos. Whens— the whens were usually the least complicated part of the equation, but Mobius was beginning to suspect a hole in his memory to when he stood next to B-15 watching dozens upon dozens of timelines begin to split off to where he stood now, which his current when decidedly more complicated.
He wore his typical brown suit, but before he could pat himself down for a tempad, a small paper airplane hit Mobius in the shoulder. The agent looked around for the sender, a kid maybe, before seeing none and bending down to pick it up. Before his fingers could touch it, Mobius found himself picked up and manhandled by … a sheriff and his men?
“I think you’re lost, pardner.”
What Mobius didn’t realize was that the park had certain protocols. A strange, unauthorized arrival in out of place clothing? Could be a corporate spy. Could be a government agent. In either case, the park had a neat way of dealing with unwelcome visitors, while still remaining completely in character.
“Yep. You got me. If you don’t mind, I think I’m just going to go now…” Mobius tried to gently pull himself away from the grip of the rough men around him. Not only did they not release him, they put him in cuffs and dragged him toward the train leading out of the park.
The temp pad, if Mobius had one, was in the inner pocket of his brown blazer. The TVA agent carefully tried to shift his torso to see if he could feel the outline of it. Then that didn’t work, he sighed. What was the worst that would happen? They’d throw him in an old timey jail cell, uncuff him, and then he’d be free to teleport out of here?
The paper plane remained on the ground and unread as he was dragged away.
Of course, if Mobius was without his temp pad, then that old timey jail cell was going to seem a lot more effective. “I don’t suppose you gentlemen would allow a bathroom break first?” he said.
That was when one of the men lifted up the butt of his rifle and struck Mobius in the head. It was a little embarrassing, if Mobius were being honest with himself, that one shot was all it took to be knocked unconscious like an overly convenient action movie, but to the posse’s credit they must have been really good at their jobs.
When Mobius came to, he realized he was seated on a train, surrounded by very unhappy looking officials. He saw a few old timey star shaped badges but couldn’t be sure if they were US Marshals or law enforcement types that just liked the star.
“Guess I’m not getting that bathroom break, huh?” Mobius smiled at the crew surrounding him but got stone faces in return. “Tough crowd. I can appreciate that.”
None of the men spoke to him. It was a little eerie. Mobius looked down at his cuffed hands and pulled at the chains experimentally. Old timey jail cell and hoping he still had his temp pad on him, it was! It was a good plan, a simple plan. He didn’t really need to make things complicated, did he?
Complicated was already handled.
Complicated just walked through the door.
Loki and his gang of ruffians barged into the carriage, weapons drawn. The posse which had been sitting around Mobius leapt to their feet. But while they should have had the advantage, their motions appeared slightly dull and slowed. As though they weren’t processing information as quickly as the world around them. Maybe they weren’t expecting this divergence in the storyline. Maybe Loki and his crew were early. Maybe they were never supposed to get this far in the first place.
Or maybe they were all in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The man in charge stumbled for his pistol, but one of Loki’s more haggard looking goons knocked it out of his hand. Then he held his own weapon to the man’s head. US Marshal by the looks of the star. Not that it mattered to any of them. This was a game. A game about getting to the treasure.
“Can I shoot ‘im, boss? Make an example outta ‘im?” the goon practically salivated over the thought.
By this point, however, the rest of the posse had managed to find their holsters. A standoff in a cramped train car hurtling through the desert. The odds weren’t good for any of them.
Loki pushed through his group until he was standing front and center. It was uncanny how quickly he was able to adapt to these different environments. No matter the setting or the clothing, he always managed to find a version of himself that fit. That looked like he belonged. Like he was supposed to be a man in any time.
“Let’s get what we’re after first, Clarence. Wouldn’t want to damage the—” Loki paused as his gaze fell on Mobius. He quirked a brow. At first he thought it was a trick. Another one of Derleth’s attempts to fool them. But then he saw Mobius’s attire, that ugly brown suit with the TVA tie, and the bruise on his forehead where the butt of the rifle had struck him. If it had been a trick then Mobius would be dressed like the rest of them. There was a quick flash in his eyes, a combination of disbelief and fear. Then he relaxed. “—merchandise.”
“We don’t have any quarrel with you or your men,” the lead Marshal said. “Just taking this prisoner up to Fort Forlorn Hope to stand trial.”
“Oh? Has he committed a crime? Against the Sacred Timeline, maybe? You know what they say. Third time’s the charm.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
“Nevermind.” Loki’s gaze swept across the room until they landed on the man with the rifle. A spot of blood still stained the stock. Loki gave an overly dramatic sigh. “And here I thought we could do this the easy way.”
He pulled back on the hammer. Then he shot the rifleman between the eyes. The man slumped to the ground.
“Right. Who’s next?” Loki grinned.
Then the carriage erupted in gunfire.
The thoughts of Mobius, in no particular order:
Hygiene wasn’t really a big thing for cowboys in the Wild West. Even the good guys, it seemed. Maybe it had something to do with the water? Not that they smelled bad, which was weird now that he thought about it. Because they were clearly covered in some manly looking grime and dust, but they didn’t smell like it.
Another Loki Variant. Of course, Mobius assumed this was a Wild West Variant of Loki. Why wouldn’t he? He’d seen more than a few variants. A cowboy didn’t seem any less unlikely than a Loki variant really into prestigious bicycling competitions.
Was it fair to call anyone a variant after Loki and Sylvie— his Loki, not this one— sort of blew up the sacred timeline? Did that make everyone a variant? Or was variant kind of an offensive term now? Mobius was a variant. He was okay with that, but did that make it okay for everyone?
Being in the middle of a gun fight, cuffed, with no place to go, was not optimal.
How had he not been shot yet?
He should probably look for something to duck behind.
How did Cowboy Loki know about the TVA? He was pretty sure he would have remembered hunting a Cowboy Loki. Those were some pretty sweet threads. Did someone else try to prune Cowboy Loki? What was his power set? Mobius hoped he was good with a lasso. There was no particular reason to hope “CL” would be good with a lasso, it just looked like fun.
Mobius saw an opening and dove behind a row of chairs to the right, placing him to the side of Cowboy Loki. Somehow, amazingly, he has still not been shot. He’d been struck by a bit of wooden shrapnel, and the splinters were annoying, but didn’t strike him as particularly serious. Or maybe that was the adrenaline. TBD.
A few days ago, Mobius might have attempted to escape from both the posse of lawmen and Loki and his ragtag gang of desperados. But the mention of the sacred timeline, not to mention the fact that Loki hadn’t shot Mobius first, meant Mobius was inclined to trust the trickster god.
So he curled up into a ball, making himself small as possible, and decided to ride out playing the damsel in distress. See where it got him. He had a hunch it would work out.
Loki, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as lucky as Mobius when it came to the gunshots. Quickly after the guns began firing, he took one to the left arm, in the fleshy part just above the elbow. Thankfully it was more of a graze. Didn’t come close to the bone. That was the one benefit of fighting in a crowded chaotic space. People weren’t aiming so much as pulling the trigger and hoping for the best.
Two of Loki’s crew took bullets to the chest, crumpling them to the ground. Clarence got the lead Marshal in the side of the head, as promised. Loki, for his own part, wasn’t a bad shot. Quite good actually. At least he hadn’t lost any of that hand-eye coordination when he became human. But once Mobius dove for the ground he found that he had to divide his attention between shooting bad guys—or were they the good guys?—and providing a barricade between Mobius and the gunfire.
Just in case this was his Mobius.
Just in case this wasn’t a trick.
A bullet whizzed by his hat. Loki took out another two from the posse. Then he lost another on his side. He glanced briefly at Mobius, curled up on the ground. He nudged him with his boot. “Prepare to make haste, Triple M. We’re about to skeedaddle.”
“What’re you saying?” one of the desperados called out, face half shielded by the blaze of smoke in the carriage.
“I’m saying that this party just got a little too crowded for me.” Loki crouched down behind one of the chairs and reached into his back pocket for the stick of dynamite he had hidden beneath his coat. He took out a match and scraped it against the floor near Mobius’s face. “You always did have impeccable timing, Mobius. Let’s hope you can still run in those tight slacks of yours.”
Loki lit the wire and flung the stick towards the center of the car. Then he grabbed Mobius by the arm and pulled him up towards the door.
“You no good cheating piece of—”
Loki shoved Mobius through the carriage door just as one of the sparks from the gunfire quickened the pace of the dynamite.
KABLOOIE!
Mobius was spry when he needed to be, but the explosion that happened behind him was a force he was not quite prepared for. Impact and heat. Not exactly like the action movies. Mobius was certain he didn’t look nearly as cool or graceful when the car behind them exploded. Leave it to a trickster god to have a stick of wildly dangerous dynamite on him, like it was no big deal or dangerous in the middle of a gunfight.
But at least Mobius could be certain that Cowboy Loki was, in fact, a Loki.
The first sound that came out of his mouth was a groan. He was okay, and he looked over his companion to make sure he was in one piece. That they survived that would have been a minor miracle, but again: Loki.
It was best not to question it.
“Is there going to be more running because I have questions,” Mobius asked. He assumed there would be more running. It was mostly non-stop since he arrived in the town of Sweetwater which made him wonder if this was all some kind of trick.
But nothing had repeated itself. There were no signs yet of something amiss, other than he had no idea how he’d gotten to this particular timeline or the moments before his arrival.
“Also, do you have more dynamite because that seems like a really bad idea if there’s going to be more shooting.” Mobius’s lips pursed together, trying to take in as much information as he could. The posse of lawmen didn’t smell real, but the explosions and the gunpowder definitely did.
Mobius leaned in and gave Loki a sniff. Just to check. It’d be weird if he ended up being some animatron like the Time Keepers. Or maybe not that weird at all. Mobius didn’t have a great sense for what was weird anymore.
Had the dynamite been a good idea? Well, in afterthought, probably not. But it did solve the problem of the law enforcement agents as well as the desperados who Loki was fairly certain were planning to turn on him anyway. The Old West was nothing but a dog-eat-dog world, after all. Luckily for both Loki and Mobius, however, they managed to make it through the door with little more than a singe to their backs for the memory. Of course, now they had a different problem.
Loki grabbed onto the handle on the carriage, using it to keep his balance as he stood on the coupling between the car they’d just semi-exploded and the one behind it. The wind rushed between the carriages as the engine continued to speed down the tracks.
“We’ll get to the question and answer session in a few moments. First we have to get off this train. Unless, of course, you want to find out where those fine gentlemen with the shiny badges were planning on taking you? Spoiler alert, I don’t think it was going to be the fancy first class dining car.” Loki leaned his head out from the side of the cars and brought his fingers to his lips, letting out a long loud whistle.
When Mobius asked about the dynamite, he grinned. “That was the only one I had. But feel free to frisk me if you want. Just mind the slacks. That’s where I hide the flaming sword.”
Wink.
It had crossed Loki’s mind to inquire about whether this Mobius was one of the ones he knew, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to know. Not yet. And a part of him already had a suspicion as to what the answer would be. And he’d rather wait to be disappointed when his life wasn’t at immediate risk.
But then Mobius leaned closer and sniffed him and Loki couldn’t help but give a look that bordered on both hope and existential terror. Maybe because he’d expected something else from that closeness. Maybe because he feared that he was wrong. Nevertheless, Mobius could be rest assured that Loki was Loki. Or at least a Loki. A faint whiff of coconut oil, dusty leather, and something that was just intrinsically Loki in every universe. An aroma not unlike crisp, untouched snow.
“I paid a lady an extra ten cents to add rose petals to my bath this morning. Please tell me it was worth the small fortune.” But before Mobius could answer, Loki’s attention was drawn to the small herd of six horses that came galloping towards the train. “Ah! Here we go! Hope you’re not afraid to jump.”
“I’d frisk you, but I’d rather keep my hands,” Mobius said. Who knew what Loki had hiding in those clothes. A flaming sword in his socks was probably in the least of it. But Cowboy Loki had not murdered Mobius yet, and seemed to know him, for now that was good enough for Mobius.
For now.
He knew Lokis well enough not to get entirely comfortable.
The very short fight with Ravonna still fresh in Mobius’s memory, he knew he didn’t have much choice. Without a time collar or a pruning stick or any other nifty TVA gadgets, he was at the whims of the Loki who had, admittedly, maybe saved his life or just murdered a bunch of innocent people to kidnap him. Both could be true.
But then there was the whistle— Mobius flinched.
And then the horses showed up— his expression turned to surprise before—
“Oh, come on!” It was about as angry as Mobius ever sounded, which was not very. Not about jumping onto galloping horses from a moving train. He wasn’t Loki. He couldn’t D. B. Cooper himself out of an airplane. His idea of a great adventure included jet skis. This was a little much.
Yet he knew he had no choice. The horses came closer, hooves clapping the ground like thunder beneath them.
He was a little afraid to jump.
Mobius composed himself, puffing up his chest a little with a deep breath before releasing it slowly and feeling deflated as he looked.
“After you, I insist,” Mobius said, attempting to gesture to their escape plan. Maybe if he observed the technique Loki used to jump onto one of the horses, he could mimic it himself and not die or fall or get trampled or break every bone in his body.
He knew he couldn’t stay on the train. Loki was right.
Yet his feet still hadn’t completely decided to leave the train either. His loafers were not designed for this.
“I’m not an alligator. I don’t bite that hard.” But Loki could see the distrust in Mobius’s eyes and he knew it wouldn’t matter how silly or sarcastic his quips were. This Mobius might not ever trust him. Because this Mobius didn’t know him.
Which, of course, shouldn’t have surprised Loki. And in truth it didn’t. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on the man that this was another Mobius. Another variant. One who was familiar with another version of him. Maybe a myriad versions of him. In a way Loki was relieved. He’d been trying not to get his hopes up. And it seemed that burying his feelings after the disappearance of the last Mobius had been the right choice after all. All he had to do now was keep pretending. Maybe after a while he’d forget too.
He eyed Mobius carefully when he told Loki to go first. Instinct told him that was a bad idea. The moment he jumped off the train, Mobius could race back into one of the other cars. He could lose him. Not that this was necessarily about winning. But the circumstances over the last few days had led him to this point. Surely he was meant to find Mobius.
Loki was half tempted to push him off the train without warning, but he knew Mobius wouldn’t make it on his own. Shit. Loki didn’t like trust games.
Loki raised a finger to Mobius’s face. “If you run from me I will find you.”
Then he leaned over the edge of the train, waited for the lead horse to come close, and jumped.
Loki made it look easy, but it wasn’t. Truthfully, he just barely made it onto the saddle, but he recovered quickly so hopefully Mobius wouldn’t feel like it was an impossible feat. He reached for the reins of the nearest horse and led it into position, as close to the train as he could get it.
“Do it quickly! We can’t keep up this speed for long.” Then it occurred to Loki that Mobius might believe he still had his powers. “You’ll make it! I promise! Just reach for the horse’s neck! I’ll do the rest!”
Well, if there was ever a time to lie now was as good as any.
Mobius wished that seeing Loki jump heroically onto a horse first was enough to instill him with confidence. It was not. But, the analyst realized, probably not going to be able to ask Loki to demonstrate one more time. The horses could only keep this up for so long. It was getting close to redline, metaphorically speaking. If Mobius didn’t jump, he’d see what the lawmen had in store for him.
So he jumped.
He damned near fell.
Mostly from the shock of pain from landing wrong in the saddle. He feet couldn’t find the stirrups, and he nearly slid off. It was Loki being so close that kept him upright, barely, as he winced through the throbbing pain with a galloping horse underneath him bouncing him around very uncomfortably until the horses veered away from the locomotive.
Mobius, as far as he knew, had never ridden a horse. He couldn’t say he was a fan of the experience so far.
If you run from me, I will find you. It sounded half romantic, half threatening, like the words were up for interpretation. Mobius pocketed the phrase away for a rainy day.
Instead he waited until their trusty steeds had slowed to a walk and Mobius had a chance to recover his breath while no one was shooting at him.
“Thank you for saving me back there,” Mobius started with. He didn’t have so much pride that he couldn’t thank another person for that. Mobius wasn’t afraid to admit he needed the help. Unless, of course, Cowboy Loki wasn’t saving him but abducting him for his own purposes. In that case, maybe thanking Loki would soften him up a bit, making him reconsider whatever his diabolical scheme was.
“How did I get here, exactly?” Mobius asked next.
Cue a moment of internal panic as Mobius nearly fell off the horse. But fortune was on their side. Or, at least, it was on Mobius’s side. He managed to right himself and Loki was able to exhale a deep sigh of relief that was overshadowed by the roaring of the train and the muddled gallop of hooves in the dirt.
He hated that he worried. Because it was so clear to him then that this man didn’t know who he was. And that shattered something delicate inside Loki. Something he wasn’t sure he had the energy to ever repair.
When they slowed down and the train was little more than a blip in the distance, Loki removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. The horses from the now-dead desperados continued to follow them, being of a herd mind, making them look like a larger group of riders than they actually were. That could work to their benefit if anyone else came upon them.
“Don’t mention it.” Loki tied his long strands of hair up in a bandana to keep them off his neck before repositioning the hat atop his head. Then he unholstered his revolver to reload the empty slots in his barrel with bullets before slipping it back into the leather holster at his side. “I’ll give you the short-and-sweet version. You can ask one of the science nerds back in town for the gritty details. Getting into the technicalities bores me and in the long run it really doesn’t matter.”
Because they couldn’t do anything about it.
“You’ve been kidnapped by a pocket dimension. We don’t know who or why or how exactly, but certain people are snatched from their universes and their timelines and brought to a place called Derleth. It looks like a rundown college campus. It’s on the outskirts of Sweetwater right now. Derleth travels to other universes—point in case, the Wild West—every other week. And we basically go along for the ride. Usually, during the in-between weeks, we’re trapped in a kind of Void where only the campus exists. But not the Void you’re thinking of. That’s a different story. But you can ask Sylvie about that when you see her. That’s her thing. Not mine.”
Loki loosened the reins on his horse. His shoulders hunched a little. He looked tired. Weary. And he was. He’d been in this circular loop for too long. He was beginning to lose that spark of adventure. That glimmer of what made a Loki a Loki. He was just empty and dragged down by disappointment. Even his earlier bravado was an act. One he couldn’t quite hold up anymore.
“There are only a few more days left in this world and then we’ll probably move on to the Void. The Void is usually calmer. Not much happens. Well, sometimes things happen. But at least you’ll have the comfort of the environment being relatively harmless.” Loki glanced over at Mobius for the first time since they’d slowed their pace. “Are you injured? Do you need to stop?”
“No, I’m okay,” Mobius said. It wasn’t a lie precisely. Mobius was going to have some sensitive and awkwardly placed bruises from that jump, made more painful from his lack of form riding a horse while they galloped away, being bounced up and down exactly where it hurt most. Now that the horses had slowed to a walk, it wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so good either, but the thought of them taking off again at high speed was not one Mobius wanted to entertain at that moment.
Getting off the horse and walking normally was also going to be an awkward endeavor.
“You? Were you hurt?” Mobius tried to piece together everything by context. The way Cowboy Loki spoke started to make him wonder if this was his Loki. His was a weird way to put it, but— “Sylvie is here? Is she okay? Wait. So you’re not a Cowboy Loki?”
Mobius had no doubt the man next to him was a Loki? But the same Loki he’d partnered with to track down Sylvie?
I don’t like hurting people.
The dangerous stunt with the dynamite was definitely a Loki move, but was it something his Loki would have done? After all they had been through?
“Which Loki are you?” he asked. Because Mobius didn’t know how else to say it. “You’ve met me before? Other variants of me?”
Loki glanced at his left arm where the bullet grazed his bicep during the shootout. It bled through his shirt and jacket, but was barely noticeable against the black of his attire. It hurt, but it was a dull ache. And as long as he favored his right side it shouldn’t have been a problem. That was the one infuriating thing about being human for a week though. His body was so ridiculously vulnerable.
“I’m fine,” he said. Another lie, but this time it was a relatively harmless one. At least for the time being. What was it that everyone else at Derleth said? If he died he’d be back in a few days anyway. Loki used to hate that phrase. It used to enrage him the way people took Derleth deaths so casually. So callously. But the more time he spent in this pocket universe the more he, too, became numb to it.
After all, once you’ve died in your own universe, does it really matter?
“Seriously? Cowboy Loki? That’s the most insulting thing I’ve ever heard.” Loki frowned, eyebrows furrowing beneath the wide brim of his hat. “Are you serious? You don’t know who I am?”
Loki huffed. Then he gently clicked his heel against the side of the horse to pick up a little speed. Still at a walk, but a more determined one.
“Isn’t it your job to know which one I am? Isn’t that the entire focus of your career? Or maybe I’ve been misled. Maybe we’re all the same to you. Just fodder to the multiversal machine. You should be more grateful though. Without me you wouldn’t even have a mission. Hel! You wouldn’t even have your own Loki.” He shook his head in disappointment and grumbled. “Cowboy Loki . . . Give me a break.”
Mobius did his best not to make a pained face. When Loki’s horse sped up, Mobius’s did, too. Perhaps sensing that Mobius wasn’t much of a rider and merely following the lead horse, the TVA agent was merely along for the ride.
It distracted him just enough that Mobius was a beat behind trying to make sense of Loki’s complete non-answers. That was fine. Mobius could play this game.
“Oh, so I’m supposed to guess. Sorry! I didn’t realize that. Well, you’ve taken yourself out of contention for the Loki Variant I’ve worked with. Doesn’t sound like you traveled with Sylvie to the end of all time to confront whoever was behind the TVA, either…”
He paused.
“But you seem to know an awful lot about me. I’m flattered. You know, I always thought it really should be more of a two way street. Always seemed a little unfair that I knew so much about you and all the other versions of you running around, but most of you don’t know I exist. I clearly mean a lot to you. I’m honored.”
Mobius was testing Loki, studying the variant carefully for a response. What he should have done was at least put his loafers in the stirrups hanging from the saddle. Then again, outside of his work as a TVA agent, he really didn’t have any other skills.
“I don’t know if you know this, but there are a lot of new timelines now. We’re kinda trying a new thing where we don’t prune the flow of time into one forced timeline or disintegrate people who step out of line on sight. It’s a real big step for us, one that I’m personally excited to take.”
Mobius watched Loki carefully.
“I’m sticking with my first guess. Cowboy Loki. You’re really good at it. You got the train robbing, gun slinging, horse riding thing all down. Plus that hat looks really good on you. I think you should keep it.”
Mobius was good, but Loki had played this game with two other TVA agents before. And he was keenly intimate with the art of manipulation. He’d spent over a thousand years perfecting it. Sure, he got lazy about it in the end. It was part of the reason why he died. But if Mobius thought he could compete with Loki when Loki actually tried, he was wrong.
For once in his life Loki waited until the entire soliloquy was over before he answered. That was one thing he’d gained since being in Derleth. Patience. And a damn good poker face to accompany it.
He tilted his head to the side, lips curling into a smirk. “You’re trying to trick me. It’s a good attempt. Needs work, but on any other day you might have actually caught me off guard. Maybe. Your delivery is too heavy handed though. There’s no elegance. No delicacy. You have worked with Lokis before, haven’t you? Yes, of course, you have. You’ve already mentioned him. And you know Sylvie. Definitely have to be delicate with her. The first thing about getting a Loki to tell the truth is to stroke their ego. And damn if hers isn’t as big as a skyscraper.”
But Loki tugged on the reins and slowed the speed of his horse so Mobius could catch up with as little discomfort as possible.
“I’m good at everything. And I look good in everything. Because I’m not a Loki. I’m the Loki. Your Sacred darling. Progenitor of the fool you’ve been traipsing timelines with. And I know you, Mr. Mobius. In fact, I know many of you. And your broken timelines don’t mean anything to me. Because they don’t mean anything here. They’re frozen in place. Just like you are until Derleth is done with you.” Loki turned the horse off to the right to follow along a ridge line that offered a majestic panoramic view of a deep valley, a clear blue river weaving through the landscape. “So show a bit of respect.”
“Are you giving me notes?” Mobius chuckled goodnaturedly, as was his way. It also bought him a beat to consider Loki’s words carefully.
“I’m confused. I didn’t flatter you enough, so you’re lying to me and you aren’t the Loki of the Sacred Timeline? That part was a lie? But if I do flatter you enough, then you’ll tell me the truth? Even though you just told me you were good at everything. I mean, honestly, doesn’t leave much room for me to go. Which is a shame, because I’m real good at compliments. I thought the hat one was pretty alright, until you said you looked good in everything. Are you into negging? Is that what you want because that’s not really my style. It’s manipulative.”
Mobius looked from side to side on his horse, just now trying to figure out how the saddle worked. It took a few attempts, but he managed to thread his feet into each stirrup so he was less likely to slide off the side of his saddle if he lost balance. His hands rested on the horn, not sure what the horn of the saddle was there for or what his hands should be doing.
“Anyway, by definition, you can’t be the Loki from the so-called ‘Sacred Timeline’ because we’re clearly not on it. And trust me, you don’t want to be that guy. Story doesn’t end well for him. It’s tragic. You’re better off here, forging your own path. Which you are! And I think that’s great. I’m really happy for you.”
Though Mobius knew Lokis could evolve and be trusted, he also knew they were inclined to stab people in the back they did like. He wasn’t sure there was much he could do about that, besides hope B-15 or any of their allies at the TVA found him. Maybe? Hopefully.
“So how is Slyvie?” he asked.
“Whoa, whoa.” Loki pulled on the reins, slowing his horse to a halt. When Mobius’s horse tried to pass him Loki reached over and grabbed his reins as well, reeling them in as well. “You pull these towards you when you want to stop.”
Loki was enraged. His face was on fire with the amount of anger burning up from his belly. He wanted to pull Mobius off the horse and shove his face into the dirt. Because the things Mobius was saying hurt. They cut deeper than Mobius could ever know. But Mobius couldn’t know and Loki was aware of that. And it was the only thing keeping Loki from losing his cool.
That and the image of approaching figures in the distance.
Loki reached into his saddle bag and removed a pair of old time binoculars. He held them up to his eyes, watching as a group of three riders crossed over the parallel ridge. He waited to respond to Mobius until he was certain that the group wasn’t heading in their direction. Then he pocketed the binoculars back in the bag and nudged the horse forward.
“I’m not forging shit. This isn’t even a real life for me. My life ended on the Statesman. I’m a ghost. So save your inspirational speeches for a Loki who still has a path to be happy about.” Loki clenched his teeth almost until his molars cracked. “And Sylvie’s fine. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you.”
Loki relaxed his shoulders. “I’ll try to get you to her in one piece.”
Mobius frowned. Loki was clearly distraught. Or it was a convincing act. He wasn’t sure which lay to lean until Loki tried to change the subject. If it was an act, Loki might have tried to keep the drama up, maximize the guilt trip, use it as a distraction.
But now Mobius did just feel guilty.
Damn, Loki was good. Unless he wasn’t. He tried to reserve judgment. But also he didn’t want to get stabbed. On the bright side, he hadn’t been stabbed yet, so things were looking up. Mobius used his hand like a visor and squinted in the direction of the binoculars.
“Trouble?”
Mobius couldn’t make out the figures in the distance between the heat of the sun and his own mere human eyesight.
Although Mobius felt a little silly asking if there was trouble. Look who he was seated next to on a horse. Of course there was trouble. It never occurred to Mobius that because he entered in the middle of the week, hadn’t come with the same clothing as everyone else, that it might cause trouble.
Of course, no one was aware this was a highly secure, very exclusive theme park full of androids yet.
Mobius dropped his hand from his forehead and poked Loki in the shoulder. Solid. Pretty alive looking. Mobius didn’t say anything, but he did feel the need to check.
“Not yet, but I’m sure there will be. We have at least a half a day’s ride back to Sweetwater.” A ride that Loki wasn’t looking forward to. Not just because he would have to make conversation with this unfamiliar Mobius, but because he didn’t want to go back to Sweetwater. There was nothing there for Loki. Loki wanted to go further into the distance. Into the wilderness. He wanted to see what was beyond the mountains. He wanted to see how far he could go before Derleth dragged him back.
Kicking and screaming if need be.
“We’ll have to get more of a move on though if we want to make it before dark.” Loki glanced back behind them. The other horses were still straggling along after them in a slow moving game of follow-the-leader.
Loki stared forward. His mind was a jumble of confusion. He knew he was being curt. He knew he was closed off. He wasn’t even trying to give this Mobius a chance. But it wasn’t entirely on purpose. Loki’s chest was tight. His throat was thick. He felt like he wasn’t getting any air. Like he could breathe. Like even if he took a deep gasp of air he’d only manage tiny bursts of oxygen to sprinkle in his lungs. And if it hadn’t been for the horse Loki might have just fallen over on the ground and waited for the reset.
He took his hat off and held it out to Mobius. “Here. Put this on before you get heatstroke.”
Loki hesitated before looking Mobius in the eyes. “And thank you for the compliment. Even if it was just a cheap trick to goad me.”
Mobius thought about arguing, but didn’t. He looked briefly into the hat as if to check for anything inside before placing it on his head. There were, in fact, scanners inside of the guest hats, hidden in the material, but not of the hosts.
“So you do know me,” Mobius said. It was more an acknowledgement than anything else. “Or at least some of my variants.”
It did not seem like a helpful time to point out that the Sacred Timeline Loki never met a Mobius. There was more going on than what Mobius could tell, but he was starting to get an inkling of a bigger picture.
“Hope they were nice. I’ve never met one of my own variants before. Seems like it would get confusing. What do you all call one another anyway? I met a group of Lokis once, and the thought didn’t occur to me. You can’t just say Loki or everyone turns their head.”
There was a beat.
“The compliment was real, by the way. You should try them. Make you feel all warm inside, make the other person feel all warm inside. It’s nice.”
While Mobius regularly seemed too casual about things, he was paying attention to the specks on the horizon that Loki had been watching. He was aware of the horses behind them. He had a habit of making himself seem duller, more ordinary. Made it easier to do his job as an investigator and analyst if no one expected a nobody like him on their trail. It was a defensive mechanism he subconsciously couldn’t quite put down yet.
“I would have thought that was already obvious. I did know your name when I saw you, did I not?” Loki rolled his eyes. He didn’t even bother trying to hide it. In another scenario he might have behaved differently. Might have tried to play on his wit or his charisma. Might even lay out some of that Loki charm which had worked so well with the other two Mobiuses. But this wasn’t one of those scenarios. In fact, he had half a mind to just leave Mobius on his own. Let him fend for himself. Loki didn’t owe this man anything.
But Sylvie would never forgive him for leaving Mobius out in the desert to be kidnapped by another posse of lawmen. And Loki probably wouldn’t forgive himself either, once he got over his own depression. Once he recovered from the hurt that was being around someone he—
No. He wasn’t going to think about that. It was just a dream. Just like everything else in this place. A fleeting, meaningless dream.
“We call each other by our names. Loki, for most of us. After a while you just know which one you’re talking about. It’s in the cadence. Or the pitch. But if you want to refer to me as His Royal Highness, that works too. Everyone will know who you’re talking about.” It was meant to be a joke, but Loki’s tone fell a little flat. Because he wasn’t really in a joking mood.
Loki raised a brow at Mobius’s halfhearted attempt to make a jest. “You haven’t done anything yet to give me reason to compliment you.”
He transferred the reins to one hand and rubbed at his shoulder where Mobius had poked him just moments before. He’d managed to hold back a wince, but the arm did hurt. He probably should have stopped and cleaned it out. He carefully dabbed his finger at the spot where the bullet cut through his coat. It was damp, but it wasn’t bleeding.
“You’re not wrong about that,” Mobius said with a chuckle. “I do make a pretty okay damsel in distress though.” He looked to Loki for confirmation and that was when he realized the tear in Loki’s coat wasn’t just a tear.
“How bad?”
Mobius ket a neutral face, trying to gauge just how concerned he should be before acting on it. Responses could range anywhere from a chiding Damnit, Loki! to an attempt at first aid. He tried to peel his eyes away from the spot. Asgardians didn’t have to worry about infections, did they?
Between the suspicious specks on the horizon, being somewhere new and unfamiliar, and Loki’s injuries, Mobius had new motivation to deal with his embarrassing horse riding bruises and power through until they could find somewhere safe.
“We should go,” he said.
He was ready to follow Loki’s lead.
Maybe he should have questioned his willingness to follow a trickster god but…
What was the worst that could happen?