There were two figures on a bench, in a park, in a city somewhere quite near you. Or not so near, really. It depends on where you are, of course.
''I don't believe it, you know.''
They sat with their backs to the sinking sun, throwing long shadows over the softly rippling water of the river.
''What don't you believe?''
Both of them sat in much the same manner; leaning back in a relaxed sort of way, holding their hands in their laps. Their feet were almost touching and their shoulders were only some inches apart. Them not touching could have been mere chance, but their stiff casualness about it suggested otherwise.
''None of it.'' The smaller of the two said this quite forcefully, her soft voice laced with disdain for whatever 'none of it' entailed.
There was a pause. It was one of those pauses, that ideally would have been described as 'deafeningly silent' or as 'feeling like an eternity and lasting only a second'. This pause, though quite signifant for the transpiring scene, was neither.
The late summer afternoon smelled sweetly of decaying apple and riverwater that had been stationary for too long. A light breeze brought the sound of gleefully screaming children and impatient traffic noises into the scene.
The two figures sat through the pause, both seemingly content with respective silence and still not moving. The whole thing lasted only a couple of seconds and hadn't felt any longer. When it was over, the male figure turned quite abruptly in his seat, twisting his torso all the way to the left, so he could stare daggers at his female companion. When she didn't react, but continued to serenely look at some point on the river's surface, he let out a strangled huff, that might have been annoyance or despair or both. He broke his gaze and returned to his original position, clasping his hands in his lap again, but letting his head hang in a defeated sort of way.
There was another pause, one not as important as the first, but still worth mentioning. It wasn't ideal either – a quite penetrant whiff of hotdog smell added into the mix and a wailing baby being carted their way made for a new background sound.
It was ended by him tentatively extending his left hand and laying it on her closed ones - not grasping, not holding, only placing his palm atop of her smaller hands. She reacted now, moving her fingers to interlace with his, securing his outstretched hand in a firm hold. She trembled once, with a light tremor that shook her frame and made him move his thumb soothingly over her knuckles.
They stayed like that, showing no apparent signs of change, except him gripping the edge of the bench a bit too hard and her blinking her moist eyes a bit too often.
''Could you say it anyway?'', he asks and the way his shoulders tense and the pause suddenly does feel deafeningly silent and rather eternally long, her next words mean quite a bit to him.
''I don't believe that you will bring about the end of the world, Loki.''
He looks at her then and sees her determinedly not crying and not looking his way.
He chuckles softly, the sound dancing away in the next breeze.
''Liar.''
He doesn't let go of Jane's hand.
I have no idea where this came from but I had to get it out of my system. This could maybe, possibly be the prologue to a story I haven't yet decided to write. It involves Jane spending much too much time trying to change Loki's fate, considering she doesn't believe in any such thing.