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Tweak says, "Freedom for Ukraine"

Wren is a girl mad as birds (ex_oiseau148) wrote in rooms,
@ 2014-06-08 20:08:00

Entry tags:

!great gatsby, *log, loki, wren henry

Gatsby: Wren/Loki
Who: Wren and Disguised!Loki
What: Acquiring powers
Where: Gatsby
When: In-progress
Warnings/Rating: Doubtful

It was really, really hard to stop texting Luke and just go. But she'd been talking to the anonymous people on the journals for weeks before the events of the previous evening, and the memory of strength in her arms and shoulders, it just made her more sure that she needed to do this. Luke was always, always the one protecting her. She was going to protect him for a change. She knew he would be mad, she did, but she didn't lie to him about going. She didn't tell the whole truth, but it was better than sneaking off without saying anything. Or at least she thought it was. Okay, maybe she would've had a really, really bad reaction if he'd done this same thing to her. But this was important, and she would make it up to him after.

She hadn't wanted to tell whoever she was meeting where she lived, and she didn't really realize that mentioning the pulse made it kind of a little obvious. She just wanted to keep whoever it was away from Luke and the kids, just in case something did go wrong. And she picked a kind of public place, because she thought that was just smart.

Gatsby's house was crowded, just like it always was during one of his parties, and she waited on the steps in soft florals and a lip that she'd bitten until it swelled.

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toberuled
2014-06-09 03:32 am UTC (link)

He came up and sat down next to her like he'd been there for hours already, a glass of champagne in hand and his tie undone and draped over one shoulder. He had a woman on his arm, her hair a sticky looking red from too much henna, a long string of silver and rock crystal glittering around her neck. He was just wrapping up a charming anecdote about another party as they came down the stairs, just as everyone always seemed to be. All anyone ever talked about was other parties.

But he passed the girl off to a man with narrow, wire-framed glasses, who she had met at the most charming shindig across town. They paired off, and the man who had been at her side broke away, settling in on the steps beside the girl in the pretty floral dress, tipping the champagne to his lips. He set the glass down on the marble. Not bad, but it was, after all, just part of the costume.

"You look a bit out of place," he said. The accent was good, accurate to the period and the place, erudite and educated and decidedly American Elite. He had green eyes and red hair slicked back against his head like an Irish descendant made good, vaulted into the sordid company of the ultra rich. He knew the basics of the politics of the era. He had visited, once upon that time. His appearance, a little unconventional even for this party, was a tip of the hat to outsider status, just enough to stand out from the crowd, to seem not-quite-right.

She did look too soft for a place like this, translucent like good porcelain with all these hard, shiny precious stones glittering around her. "Shall we go somewhere a little more private?" he asked. He offered her his arm. His smile offered warmth, his eyes crinkled at the edges with kindness.

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Gatsby: Wren/Loki

ex_oiseau148
2014-06-09 03:46 am UTC (link)

She didn't notice him immediately. Once upon a time, she'd been vigilant about every male, distrusting of every single one that came within reach. Those days were gone, and strange men, their hands and the way they smelled, those things were a memory. They were the fodder of nightmares, no longer real, and she hadn't slept in a closet in months. She didn't notice him immediately, even with the knowledge that someone would be approaching her. Once, she would've seen him coming. Now, she didn't even see him until he spoke, when she turned to look at him.

"Hi." It didn't occur to her that he was disguised. She'd never been very smart, and trust had bloomed like flowers in Spring. She felt safer now than the ever had in her life, and she looked at him with pale grey eyes that only showed a hint of careful trepidation.

She looked down at her dress, and she smoothed it down with her fingers, assuming the comment about looking out of place referred to it. She didn't like the sleeveless New York fashions of the day as much as she liked the quiet whimsy preferred overseas, and her entire wardrobe in Marvel was hats and dresses in soft prints that clung to curves that hid no muscle at all.

She gave him a clear look when he offered his arm, and she had the fleeting thought that Luke would really, really hate this. But she was doing it for him, and so she took the stranger's arm and nodded. "Okay."

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Re: Gatsby: Wren/Loki

toberuled
2014-06-10 01:46 am UTC (link)

He stood with her and walked down, past the pool, past the manicured lawns, and into the perfectly articulated estate that sprawled beyond. The lovely paper lanterns only stretched out so far, purposeful darkness, and in the trees there were moans and giggles and the sound of people entangled who ought to untangle if they valued their lives or their honor. They didn't.

He had a light step in the dark and was taller than he had seemed to be as he stood on the step and she sat. "Your intended," he asked. "Do they know how you mean to protect them?" His smile said he guessed not at all, that this was a private meeting in the way those trysts in the woods were private. "This must remain a secret," he said. "Between you and I, and no one else. Not even the one you wish to protect." He made it seem imperative, firm but not harsh. "I can't afford for word to spread. This isn't a service I offer to just anyone." No, she was special. She was unique.

In truth she was convenient, and he had considered going back on his word all the way to meeting her. There would have been no harm in leaving her at the party if she wasn't to his liking, if he didn't catch the appropriate distant coolness in her eye, if he didn't sense something in her worth leveraging. But she had met his specifications - she would do. "You should know," he added, "That the results can't be fully predicted. They depend as much on you as they do on me. What you are, what you excel at, what you wish for, they all matter." His blue eye turned critical. "Do you trust yourself?"

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Re: Gatsby: Wren/Loki

ex_oiseau148
2014-06-10 02:32 am UTC (link)

She looked around, and she listened to the sounds from the trees, from beyond the safety of the lights. They weren't alone, not really, and help was only a scream away, and she thought Luke would be pleased that she was taking precautions. She turned to look at him when he spoke, arm still twined with his. "No. He doesn't know," she said, and she sat on the step in a swirl of florals and the scent of verbena. She looked up at his cultured features, red and green, and she thought him handsome in a way that was appropriate for this time, when the men were prettier than the women, their hair slicked back and their suits pristine in a way the women's clothing, proclaiming a newfound independence, was not.

She didn't correct him when he assumed Luke was her intended. There was no ring on her finger, and the absence of it during every shift at the theater had long-since soothed the line the band and diamond left behind with continual wear.

"I won't tell him. He'd just be angry with me," she said, and her words were simple, just as she was simple. Pallid honesty, and she'd never had the sense to tell anyone no.

Did she trust herself? She cocked her head to the side, a pale little bird with yellow feathers. "I trust that I want to do this," she said. "I trust that I can." There was strength there, in the last sentence. For herself, she wouldn't have had faith that she could accomplish anything at all. But this wasn't for her, and therein hid her strength.

"Will it hurt?" She bit her lip.

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Re: Gatsby: Wren/Loki

toberuled
2014-06-11 02:30 am UTC (link)

"And I trust you," he said, his arm slipping from hers, his hand to the small of her back. He nudged her deeper into the dark and close woods. The night air was thick and sticky with east coast summer, perfumes slipping in from the garden, the smell of food and fresh cut grass underfoot. But the trees were cool, clean and soft underfoot, a little left of the forests that had once stretched from the ocean beyond to the one a thousand miles behind. He knew, for he had seen them.

There was no one else nearby, and with a gesture across the air like smoothing out a piece of cloth, there was, suddenly, no sound, as if a bell jar had dropped over them, cutting off the night. The wind still blew past them, but they could no longer hear the cheerfully rutting couples, or the distant strains of a raucous jazz band echoing out through the open doors of the house. "That's better," he murmured. His hand dropped from her back, and he leaned in toward her, just a little.

Will it hurt? She seemed too delicate for a thing like this, but her tone had enough determination that he believed she could do what she thought she could. She was so trusting, but he didn't even skim close to pitying her. When you asked for power, you opened yourself to the consequences, and he was prepared to give her what she wanted for the price she had agreed to pay. Fair was fair.

His eyes came level with hers. "Yes," he said, sure and clear as the evening moon. "And you will thank me for it."

He straightened, and gestured again. This time, invisible hands lifted her soundlessly into the air, holding her parallel to the ground, weightless and free floating.

This was the tricky part, both offering and sacrifice. Nothing in magic came free, nothing that required this much power to create. He lifted both hands together, and something began to stream out of her, out from behind her eyes, from her nose and mouth. It pulsed into a figure above her body like sand collecting in a mold, green and spectral and girl-shaped.

It was a reflection of her body. This phantasm hovered above her, three dimensional, following her every movement. Where she went, it went.

First payment, then the gift. He pulled a hand in, tugging an invisible string, and a long lock of the spectre's hair came loose, floated into his grasp, and disappeared. It was painless, this pulling on the thread of her being. That piece wasn't gone, not really - it was simply in his possession now, a calling card, a thread to slip along and bind her with. Giving of oneself was a dangerous thing. One never knew what someone else might want the rest of you for.

Now for the messy part, the part bound to hurt. With one hand free, now, his fingers dragged across a rune that shone so bright it stung. It burned, scalding his fingers like drawing with an ember, the effort of drawing it making his feature stand out starkly, less warm, less friendly, less handsome. It felt like stretching his legs after a long confinement - the challenge of it, after so much time with his magic locked away made him grin despite the searing pain. One misstep, one badly placed slant on the rune, and they would both be dead. Fire licked at its edges, threatening to escape, and from inside the line something sought to stretch its fingers out. It was more than just a symbol, an opening to chaos and power in a tightly captured figure. Whatever lived beyond those lines was singing, soothing and sweet, in a language not spoken on this realm for a few dozen millenia.

One last line, one last curving drag, and it exploded in a shower of sparks, attracted to the soul like a shooting star. It lodged deep inside, still spitting fire. It wasn't singing anymore. It shrieked. The spirit sank back into the girl like a drowner, and her companion straightened up even as the cord was cut. Wren dropped, short and inelegant, to the cold ground.

Now, the sting.

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Re: Gatsby: Wren/Loki

ex_oiseau148
2014-06-11 02:53 am UTC (link)

Something like fear trickled along the back of her neck as he led her up and deeper into the woods. She looked back longingly at the vacated safety of the stairs. Luke wouldn't like this, and she had to banish the thought in order to keep moving. But she hadn't lied to him. She hadn't. She'd told him she was meeting someone, and it was like there was any intimacy happening. She knew that was justifying, that she was justifying all of this in her own mind. But she was here now, and it was too late for steps in reverse. And the reason why, that was still there. She reminded herself of what had happened to Jack, and she reminded herself of the things she absolutely knew Luke was going to get himself involved in at that Mansion and with the people there, and it was enough to keep her moving forward.

She didn't edge back when he leaned closer; maybe she should have. But she was immune to fears of men, like a broken toy that had been glued too many times at the elbow to still have a functioning joint.

She swallowed heavily when he said it would hurt, and she nodded, and she didn't think of running. Pain had grown up with her. Other children had dolls and fairy tales and dreams. She had hands up her skirts and pain between her legs and marks on her back that could still shimmer in the right light from belts, and she wasn't scared. She wanted to know, because it was always better to know, but she wasn't scared.

When his hands moved, she watched them. When she was lifted off the ground, she inhaled. She didn't cry out or flail. She'd asked for this, and she would not fight it. Her toes pointed toward the ground in a mockery of a ballerina's pointe, and she watched his hands lift.

Her grey eyes went panic wide as that light began to stream from her, and she wanted to grab it back. She didn't know what it was, and magic was something from storybooks read to other little girls, and she had no idea. But she thought, then, that this was bad. She really, really realized it, but she didn't do anything, because it was too late. She knew it was too late, and she almost wished she'd told Luke where she was going.

Almost, because she didn't want him here. He was safe where he was.

But still, it didn't hurt. Whatever he was doing with that long lock of spectral hair, it didn't hurt. She didn't know what he needed it for. She didn't understand that this was payment. She was too busy holding her breath in anticipation of whatever was to come, because that tingling she felt wasn't hurt. It wasn't even a little bit of hurt.

She didn't like how his features changed. She didn't, and she wanted to look away, but she couldn't She couldn't at all, because there was pain on his face, and there was fire, and this didn't seem real. This couldn't be real. It couldn't be-

She tipped her head when the shower of sparks exploded. She looked up and that shriek made her screw her eyes shut again. She wanted to be home. She wanted Luke, and she wanted the kids, and she wanted to be home, and then she felt something enter her. Cold and ice, and maybe that was it. Maybe that was-

She fell, hands on the ground and knees going blood-scraped from the brambles underfoot. But it was okay. She could handle that. She could-

And then she felt it, and it tore her apart inside, and she screamed.

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Re: Gatsby: Wren/Loki

toberuled
2014-06-12 02:32 am UTC (link)

What happened next was more difficult to see with the naked eye. That spell that had lodged inside her reached out and shifted. It changed and it altered, amplified, tore down the walls between this room and that one and let the water rush in and fill the cracks. Hidden things were ripped out, and the light was smothered completely inside her. Its general purpose was to create power from pre-existing conditions, to uplift weakness and skill alike, to make something powerful out of the individual. The results were, by their nature, unpredictable.

The flow of power, however, was not. It scorched the grass beneath her and it filled her up to the brim, giving her everything she had asked for while slicing a path through her essential being. She had asked, and she had received. It was up to her - her desires and her personality, her prejudices and her areas of expertise - to shape how it played out now.

Loki didn't stay, or he didn't appear to. He backed into the trees and disappeared entirely, shielding himself from view, watching her, waiting.

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Re: Gatsby: Wren/Loki

ex_oiseau148
2014-06-12 02:45 am UTC (link)

She was hands and knees on the scorched grass, and she tried to push herself up. Once, twice, three times and she fell forward and her voice became hoarse jagged shards, The screams turned to cries, then to sobs, then to dampness that fell and made the ground beneath her sizzle. She'd never felt anything so terrible in her life. Never, ever, not even that month of torment she'd willingly accepted in order to find Gus. Not even that, and she saw him retreat through her peripheral vision, and she was grateful.

She wanted to stand, to get up, to push herself away and run. Run back to Luke, apologize for having done this. It was stupid, and it was stupid, but she couldn't move. Her hands and knees were scraped, and she would have to get cleaned up before she went home. She was going to be late. Her hour, she was going to be late, but better late than letting Luke see her like this. He would come for the man in the red and green. She didn't want that. Non, that couldn't happen.

She pushed herself up to her knees with a cry that shattered windows in the distance, but she didn't notice. She didn't even register the sound as anything more than sound, and she finally managed to get to her feet.

"Hi?" she asked, wondering if he was still there, but her voice was gone, not there, a whisper of nothing that still managed to creak. She wrapped her arms around herself, and she began walking toward the house with the destroyed windows.

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