(no subject)

[sorcerous]

Characters: Loki
Open?: Yes!
Where: Outside Schwanheim
When: 6th of Rebirth's Height
Warnings: Aaaaaaangst.

He hasn't looked into that dread mirror since the return back. Buried it at the bottom of a chest, under the robes he had been given, and swept outside, to the sky and the breeze and the grass. He climbed a hill, and he was too warm, but he savored it. Savored the overheat of his skin, the dry lack of sweat, the burn of thirst in his throat.

He settles down on the grass, under the burning sun, and tries to keep his mind away from anything having to do with ice.

But it returns there, as it always does. He can almost taste the power of the Bifrost, feel the thrum of uncontrollable energies directed by his own hand. He can close his eyes and imagine the terror and chaos as Jotunheimr falls.

He can remember the surge of sick satisfaction -- one backhand, and Thor went flying and he thought this is the end to all my troubles and he didn't watch as his brother bled out into the dirt.

The truth.

The truth is that Loki was never meant to be a hero. He was always meant to be the monster.

Loki buries his face in his folded arms. He is empty enough that he is unsurprised when the tears do not come.

Comments

[shiromadoushi]

For once dressed in his more normal, modern garb of a cream sweater with blue trim over a green striped shirt and blue jeans, Bakura had spotted Loki in the distance and approached before noticing his posture. He'd hesitated a moment before more quietly approaching.

"Are you all right...?"

[sorcerous]

"I," said Loki, softly, "am all wrong." Every piece of him was wrong. His flesh, his skin, his eyes. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

[shiromadoushi]

Bakura hesitated a moment before carefully sitting down next to the distressed man. "If you want to talk about it, I'll listen..." he offered.

[sorcerous]

Loki was silent.

He watched the mountains. He watched the sky, eyes squinting a hint more closed at the bright light.

"Do you have blood on your hands, little mage?" he asked, finally.

[shiromadoushi]

On instinct, Bakura moved to cover the faded scar marring the his left hand. That... was a complicated question. Between Pegasus, who had been killed by his hands, something he had never truly forgiven himself for, and some of the things he had done in the City...

"A little..." he admitted softly. He was not as pure and made of white light as he kept being mistaken for, something that always caused him a touch of discomfort whether it was Ben or Beatrice who mentioned it. But this wasn't the place for that.

[sorcerous]

Then nowhere near Loki's. His heart is stained black with it. Sodden with it.

"You are just a boy," he said. "All of you, so young, and you fancy yourselves heroes."

[shiromadoushi]

Bakura gave a small, almost wry smile at that. Even though he was almost 20, and thus almost an adult, he was used to being seen as far younger, and knew that relatively speaking, he was still just a kid, especially when compared to others.

"I'm not one yet," he corrected softly. "I don't really know if I'll ever be one, really. I think... I think with something like that, even being called it so often, I think people only really ever get to be one after they've done something great. Otherwise it's just something to aspire to, right?"

The amount of times the word had been bitterly batted around in the City, Alastair's stubborn refusal to accept the label they'd all be given and Kiryu's outright mocking of it... Almost none of his friends had tried to claim that title, and he'd never considered it himself. He wasn't the one who was out there fighting the Joker or the Major or Godzilla or any of those. Unless it was another zombie hoard, he was pretty useless until it came time for clean up, and he knew it. He was a healer first, especially with magic like his. He if couldn't even defend against one vampire, how on Earth could he stand up to something bigger?

[greatsquirrelhunter]

Running around the countryside chasing after butterflies and squirrels was exactly what a boy should be doing, so that was what Faolan was doing. Up and down the streets of town, and then out of it because it smelled too much of humans. There was one butterfly that he was particularly persistent about, following it all the way up a hill before giving up because it joined a cloud of butterflies and he couldn't tell which one it was anymore.

So he looked around, admired the view for about 2 seconds, and then noticed Loki looking very unhappy.

He whimpered a little, because people being unhappy just wasn't good or right and what was he supposed to do about it?

Oh! Yes, he remembered Loki's promise to play and pounced on him.

[sorcerous]

He'd watched Faolan, idly, his fingers toying with a piece of grass.

In his mind, he saw a spindly colt, staggering, falling. Running. Loki's laughter, leaning one hand on a splintered wooden post as the fence spreads out to the west. Come here, come here and the happy neigh and warm whuff into Loki's neck. My son, son of my flesh and blood.

If nothing else, it distracted him.

He bowed his head and waited, listened to the less-than-subtle whisper and rush of Faolan's movements. And when the boy leaped, he dissolved to smoke, and it was a magpie that fluttered away, hopped just out of reach, twittered in challenge.

[greatsquirrelhunter]

Faolan rolled and looked around, startled. Where had Loki gone? He had just been here!

Then his eyes lighted on the magpie and he grinned, recognizing the invitation to come and play even though he wasn't used to getting it from something shaped like that.

He crouched down, wriggling with excitement, and dashed after the bird.

[sorcerous]

He took to wing again, staying just out of the boy's reach. Looping back, darting up. Loki was ever-so-good at the chase, after all, and these were skills that no one ever truly forgot.

He tweeted sternly and risked a sweep in, mussing Faolan's hair with his wing.

[greatsquirrelhunter]

This was a boy who would never be happy with a book and a corner. Faolan chased after Loki gleefully, periodically dropping to his hands to push himself faster.

Magpies were moderately sized birds, but still not worth the trouble to catch and eat. And Faolan always found flying birds to be too hard to catch, so he wasn't overly worried about more than keeping up, even though he would put on a burst of speed if it looked like he was closing in. The attention was more than enough.

And then he felt a wing in his hair and braced himself for a reckless leap, landing and rolling with - he hoped! - Loki cuddled gently to his chest.

[sorcerous]

Ah, obviously he had ventured too close -- !

But, to his surprise, the boy caught him with gentle hands. His feathers all ruffled out of place, and he gave a wingbeat or two in fruitless attempt to escape, but uninjured.

He gave Faolan an affectionate (and not too hard) peck, on the hand, fluttered, settled.

[greatsquirrelhunter]

Faolan beamed at Loki, breath too fast from running for him to do more than give a few yips of pleasure and hug the bird tight.

[slasher]

Anri has made a habit of taking walks when she has nothing else to do; it feels less isolating than sitting at home by herself, where the loneliness can be suffocating.

And it's no different here—she's exchanged her solitary apartment for a solitary room at the inn. She's fretted enough about what to do about the horse already that her thoughts are starting to drift back to Ryuugamine-kun and Kida-kun, and what they're doing right now—what kind of trouble they might be in.

She lets herself slip into the steady rhythm of one foot in front of the other, to the point where she almost—almost fails to notice the curled-up man she's about to stumble over.

"Ah—pardon me, I didn't notice you—"

[sorcerous]

"I noticed you," he tells her. "You move without stealth."

He says it like an insult, sharp and cutting, but there's no reason for her to move with stealth in a place like this.

Probably.

There's probably no reason.

[slasher]

There's no reason to be offended by it, for Anri. It's only words, and they are, after all, quite true. (Why would she, though? Which prompts a bit of momentary confusion.)

"I suppose so..."

Her voice is distant; she's still trying to get her bearings. Last thing she remembered she was just outside of town, but it's not unusual for her to lose track of where she's going; luckily it seems she hasn't wandered too far in this strange place. No harm done...

...although this man doesn't look too well. She tilts her head a little bit, shading her eyes from the midday sun. "...are you quite all right, sir?"

[sorcerous]

Oh, how very kind of her to ask.

"Keep yourself to your own affairs," he retorts. "And I will keep to mine."

Why would he confess his troubles to a stranger? How would he begin to explain?

[slasher]

The question was really only to be polite, but in a way, he looks like Kida-kun has lately, she thinks, full of worry about something he can only keep to himself. It sends a pang through her—after all, in Kida's case, the reason for his worry lies on Anri's shoulders. If she'd told him what was going on—but how could she now? Would he even understand?

Then she realizes that she's been staring off into space for a few... seconds? It was probably seconds, and nods to the man, apologetically. He does look troubled, but she doesn't want to pry; she knows when she's not wanted. "My apologies," she says, and it's sincere. "I won't bother you."

As she gives him one last look before turning to walk on, her left palm itches uncomfortably.

[halfwitch]

Gretel wasn't very quiet as she walked around the bottom of the hill, picking up clover and rocks as she went, and examining each before tossing it away. Her investigating slowed when she came up the slope enough to properly see the man, glancing up at him curiously and attempting to be inconspicuous. In said attempts, she leans over too far to stare and her knife slides out of her pocket to hit a rock with a dull thud.

[sorcerous]

And Loki flinches.

Not that he hadn't heard her approach already; stealth was his gift, his area of refined expertise. But the sound startled.

He glances up, sees the girl.

"Well?" he asks, pointedly. Not that there's any particular response he's looking for, but he -- well, he wants to see what she'll do.

[halfwitch]

Gretel stayed frozen in her crouched position, weighing her options. He didn't sound particularly angry that she had disturbed him and that pushed her to speak. Besides she was curious.

"You look like something happened." She remarked softly, picking back up her knife.

[sorcerous]

Which was something close to the truth, at least.

"You look like one too curious for her own good. Come here," he said, "let me see you," with a casual gesture. His eyes are red-rimmed but clear; he speaks soft, not threatening.

[halfwitch]

Her nose wrinkled. "I'm not as bad as my brother."

She stared at him a little longer, before deciding she still had the knife and the wands she had stolen and that would be enough to help her if the man turned out to be like the Spider-witch. Gretel walked to him slowly, standing close enough to talk but far away enough that he'd have to lean forward to touch her. The past few months had taught her a little caution would do her good.

[sorcerous]

He didn't touch, just examined. Keen eyes on her.

"You taste of magic," he remarked. "A little sorceress, then? Or do they call you witches here?"