Who: Loki and Shannon What: Talking Where: Their bedroom When: Evening Status: Unfinished Warning: TBD
Loki had lost people before. It wasn't new. Losing his brother had hurt more than he had liked to admit. And that was just it, wasn't it? For centuries, he had repressed anything that could hurt him. Had pretended that nothing could get close to him and that he would be fine. Fragility was for mortals or part mortals. He knew it had been a lie. Deep down. Even back then. But he kept it at arm's length. Denial was the only thing he could allow himself. That denial had been stripped away. That kiss. A push through a portal. Rejection. And then another loss in form of forgotten memories.
He missed them. A fact hard to face.
But he knew he would miss the people he currently had around him more. He had a family here. Old and new. It was fragile. A multitude of threats made it so. He didn't know how to protect them. Not from everything they faced. That was a fact that had been rubbed into his face. The moment his efforts were not enough was one he dreaded. Fear had settled inside of him like a low burning flame. It did not grow into a raging fire full of panic-driven anger like it had done so often before. But it was there in the background, nudging his actions here and there. It had made him flee so many times before. Retreat before you were left behind. He could understand Shannon and that she stayed away. She had learned early in her young life that connections came with loss. It was where it ended. And yet, he couldn't go back to the life he had once led. It was a pitiful one. Emptiness filled with hatred and jealousy. So, the god who had thought he knew it all was at a loss. The conundrum of the warmth of formed bonds and the despair that would follow if they were ever cut was too much for him to solve.
In the end, he had to find a way to lay down his fight and accept it. Take everyday he had as a gift and move on if it was ever gone. So much for the theory... reality wasn't so kind. He could see the shattered remains of his daughter. She was only now getting back onto her feet but there was a part that seemed lost. And he wasn't sure if it would be lost forever. The worst of all was that he could not fix it. There was no spell, there were no words to heal those wounds. One day they would shut but the scars would remain and every loss would add new ones. That would went for all of them. His grandsons would grow up just the same. Wounds endured and scars that remained.
This evening he had tried to wash away. A shower to clear his thoughts. Wash some of them away and hope they don't return. Clad in only linen trousers - his preferred nightwear, he stepped into the bedroom he shared with Shannon. His hair was still wet. An occurrence that happened more and more often. Most of the time, he had simply dispelled the water. Letting water have an impact on him had felt like weakness. His sorcery a sign of strength. He was above such mundane things. Now, he cared less about them. The need for demonstration had weakened. Not every gesture, every reaction and every circumstance was observed in the light of how they made him seem. The opinions of many had started to matter less. The opinions of some started to matter more.
A smile tugged at his lips as he saw Shannon in her usual spot, book on her lap, her mind lost in another world. He hadn't always joined her for bed time. Often only when he had hoped for sex. But that had changed now. More and more, instead of spending his night alone in the library, he joined for a quiet night in bed. Read a book of his own with a light cast only for his own eyes while she slept. Lonely nights in the library seemed a waste unless he had something dire to work on.
"I see you have started a new one," he commented, his conversational. Wet hair was dripping down his back. It didn't seem to bother him as he slipped under the covers next to her.