NYC 1977 – a Loki AU fic
Summary: Thor was not the first of Odin's sons to be sent to Earth as punishment
1.
He stood amidst a large throng of sweating, angry-looking mortals rushing past him. He was hot, tired, hungry and muttering a string of oaths to the All-Father under his breath. He knew he'd done wrong and had expected that Father would punish him, but Loki didn't think he deserved THIS harsh a sentence-two years' banishment on Midgard.
Without currency or weapons or wardrobe, besides the simply-fashioned garments on his back.
Most importantly to Loki, without magic.
Knowing full well how much Loki despised feeling hot, Father had deliberately chosen to send him to the part of this realm known as New York City in the midst of their sweltering season of Summer. He'd been wandering in the swampish heat for hours on his own, loathe to lowering himself to ask a Midgardian for assistance. He explored the immediate area which he discovered was called "Times Square" - teeming with humans of every conceivable type, and hideously designed with flashing lights and tawdry shops everywhere he turned. The sights, smells, noise and heat finally started to overwhelm him, and he slumped against the wall of a shop and sighed loudly, peering up into the hazy sky as if appealing to the Gods for help.
Two females approached him-young, dressed in short, tight-fitting, glittering garments. Not unattractive, as Midgardians went. "Hey mister, you lookin' for a good time?" one of them drawled at him.
Too weary to think of a suitably sarcastic retort, he answered truthfully, "I seek a place to dine but I haven't any currency. I know not where to go."
Their faces broke into beaming smiles as one of them blurted out, "Hey! You're from ENGLAND, aren't choo?"
"From...England?" he said uncertainly; then noticing how raptly they were gazing at him, he decided to proceed. He widened his eyes in a manner he knew made him look virtuous and younger than he was, and smiled warmly back. "Yes, I am! How did you know?"
"I'd know that accent anywhere, English accents are my favorite, ohmyGAAAWD!"
The other woman asked bluntly, "How come you ain't got no money, baby?"
Thinking rapidly, he changed his expression to one of dismay. "When I arrived here, I was assaulted, and everything I had was taken." His eyes filled with tears and his chin wobbled. "I don't know what to do now...I have nowhere to go."
One of the women whispered something in the other's ear, and after a moment, the one listening nodded her head in approval.
Loki had found his first night's lodging in New York.
2.
The females who had taken Loki in for the night proved to be full of advice about what dangers he should avoid while he was in New York.
They told him of the many human predators who surrounded the area of Times Square-men who would pretend to unintentionally bump into someone while they or an accomplice expertly slipped a hand into that person's pocket or bag to remove their money, and men who stood behind small tables on the pavement and used trickery with cards to entice unsuspecting passersby to gamble their currency. The women called those who were gullible enough to play this consistently losing game of cards "Suckers."
Loki listened with wide-eyed innocence, thanking both women effusively for their kindness to him and their sage warnings, all the while memorizing every scheme to implement on his own as soon as he could take his leave of them.
Within several days he'd amassed enough currency to buy himself garments more suited to a young male of New York, and procured a chamber of his own to sleep in. The room was nothing more than a hovel in a squalid dwelling full of vermin, but it was of very little cost, and the mortal who let it to Loki took his payment in cash and asked no questions.
For the time being, Loki was home.
3.
Once Loki had secured his new chambers, he ventured out to explore his surroundings, pausing when he passed a shop with lighted signs in the window reading:
"BAR" and "Ballantine Ale"
Ale!
Hoping to drown his misery in spirits, he entered the dark, dank drinking hall. As soon as he got inside, a powerful waft of stale spirits assaulted his nostrils. A portly man stood behind a long serving table made of weathered looking wood. A few men sat on tall stools in front of it. One of the men was slumped over, his head resting on the table's surface, and was snoring softly. Loki sauntered up to them. "I want an ale," he commanded.
"I want to see some I.D., son," the man behind the table retorted sarcastically.
"What?" Loki's brows knitted together in angry confusion.
"You got any identification showing that you're 18 or older?"
"No, but I am WELL past 18 years, so bring me an ale," he answered haughtily.
"Sorry, buddy-I gotta see some legal proof or I can't serve yuh. I could lose my license. You come back here with something proves yer over 18, I can serve yuh. And come back without that wiseguy attitude or I ain't gonna serve yuh nuttin'."
The soused looking man sitting closest to Loki snorted in drunken laughter.
With an exasperated exhale of breath, Loki stormed out of the drinking hall, muttering oaths. Identification?! It was one more thing that Father hadn't provided him with, just to make his life on Midgard even harder. As he strode furiously down the pavement, a seedy-looking man approached and walked alongside him. "Whatsa matter, kid, you ain't got no I.D.?"
Insulted at being called "Kid" as he was hundreds of years older than anyone on this realm including this cretin, Loki stopped and glared at the man.
"What do you want?"
"It's not what I want kid, it's what YOU need. You don't got any I.D., I can get you some…..for a very reasonable service charge, a'course...here's my card. You come see me tomorra, I'll take care a'yuh."
Loki recognized the address on the card as a dubious-looking shop not far from where his room was, and he went there the next day. The same man who'd approached him the night before was behind the counter of the otherwise deserted shop, tapping his fingers in boredom. "Oh, hey, kid, how're ya?"
Loki sighed in disgust at being called "Kid" yet again. He would have gladly throttled this fool for his impudence had he not required his services. "Let us proceed, shall we? How much?" The man quoted his price, then took out a piece of paper and a pen. "What's yer name, kid?"
"Loki."
"Low-key? Izzat your first or last name?"
Loki looked at him quizzically. "It is the name my parents gave me."
"What's your last name?"
"My…..LAST name?" he asked in confusion.
The man rolled his eyes. "Geeziz, what planet are YOU from? Your last name, what's your last name?"
"I am of England. And I know not what you mean by 'last' name."
"Your FAMILY name, genius. What's your family's name?"
He realized then what name the man was looking for, but he was far too angry at Father to admit to the name Odinson. He hesitated for a few seconds, and glanced out the window of the shop, spotting a restaurant across the road with a lighted sign that read "Howard Johnson's."
"Johnson," he told the man.
The man wrote it down on a piece of paper and then looked up again. "Date of birth?"
He could not possibly tell the man his true age; he would be thought mad. "How old do you believe me to be?"
The man let out a frustrated whoosh of breath. "Look kid, I don't really care how old ya are or when your birthday is. I'm assuming you're underage or you wouldn't be lookin' for fake I.D. I'm just gonna put down that you're 19 and you were born on June 1st, okay? Any older and it'd be pushin' it. You can BARELY pass for 19 as it is."
After they'd filled in the rest of the information needed, the man took a photograph of Loki and went in the back of the shop, returning a while later with a small laminated card that identified Loki as:
Name: Loki Johnson
Date of birth: June 1, 1958
Height: 6' 2"
Weight: 170 pounds
Hair: Black
Eye Color: Green
4.
In spite of his wretchedness at being trapped on Midgard, there were some things about New York that he almost enjoyed. One was its subterranean transport system. It was dirty and crowded, but it had an element of chaos and unexpected lurking danger that appealed to him. And most of the Midgardians riding on it looked to be as miserable as he was.
Another was the wantonness of many of the mortals he encountered; he had his choice amongst a parade of young males and females who propositioned him daily (he learned which of them did so expecting payment afterwards and spurned them, indulging only those who simply wanted pleasure.)
Perhaps best of all was the night that every light in the city suddenly blinked out without warning, leaving many of the Midgardians in a state of panic. He was alone and prowling the streets when it happened. He halted abruptly on the pavement and paused to watch the mortals' myriad reactions with increasing amusement, some of them looking around in confusion, others shouting oaths, some laughing and muttering nervously with their companions, some shambling along hesitantly as if blinded and some running down the pavement.
When he started walking again, he paused outside a shop and something caught his eye in the darkened front window. It was a square-shaped object he had learned was called "TELEVISION". He grinned to himself and balled up his fist, smashing it into the window. The glass shattered with a loud, satisfying crash and he reached in to grab the object. As he rushed away with it in his arms, he heard shouts of excitement behind him. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw several mortals scrambling through the shop window to get inside. He ran on, laughing so giddily he could barely catch his breath.
5.
One afternoon as he walked towards his usual spot to set up the card gambling game, he heard a woman's voice shout "Stop him, he's got my purse!" at the same moment a man bumped roughly into him. The man dropped something at Loki's feet as he ran quickly past, vanishing down a side street and out of sight. Loki picked up the object-it was a woman's bag. Just as he considered dashing off with it himself, a harried looking woman rushed up to him, a small male child in her arms.
"That's my purse!" the woman huffed, her breathing heavy from chasing the man who'd crashed into him. She put the boy down but held him protectively close to her, reaching one hand out to Loki to take the bag.
Judging by the woman's appearance that she probably didn't have much of value in her bag anyway, he decided to be merciful and handed it to her with his most charming smile. "Here you are."
She clutched the purse to her chest. "Thank you SO much! At least there's SOME honest people in this world. What kinda monster grabs somebody's purse like that?!"
Feeling an unexpected pang of guilt, Loki found he had trouble meeting the woman's gaze, so he looked down at the boy, who was staring up at him with wide, solemn eyes. "Michael, say 'Thank You' to the nice man," the woman said to the child, who gripped her hand and timidly pushed himself back against her. "Come on, say thank you," she coaxed him gently, to no avail. The woman smiled down at her child and looked back to Loki. "Sorry about that. He's a good boy, he's just very shy."
A vivid memory from when he was very young flashed into Loki's mind. He stood beside his mother, clutching her hand and trying to hide behind her skirt in fear as he peered up into Father's angry face. Frigga's hand squeezed his back reassuringly as she spoke soothing words to Odin to try and placate him about something Loki had done.
"Sss'alright," Loki mumbled to the woman and ducked his head down further, hurrying away from her and her son. He was embarrassed to find himself wiping away tears.
6.
Loki slumped morosely in bed, mindlessly watching the Television and eating his favorite Midgardian delicacy, Chee-tos.
Ever since his encounter with the woman and her little boy several days earlier, he hadn't been able to bring himself to set up the card game or steal anything at all. He was at a loss as to how he could survive on this realm honestly without having to debase himself with a mortal job. He would have to think of something soon; the currency he'd managed to save so far was dwindling quickly.
His eyes widened suddenly as he saw a man on the Television being introduced as "a magician." He sat up abruptly and watched in appalled fascination as the man held a large audience of mortals in rapt attention with simple and obvious tricks that Loki could see through instantly. The performance was taking place in a part of Midgard called Las Vegas, in a glittering arena filled to capacity with what appeared to be expensively-dressed people with currency to spare.
Surely if those fools were gullible enough to swallow this charlatan's act, Loki thought, he could gain their devotion with ridiculous ease, even without his usual powers of magic.
And be paid handsomely in the bargain.
He licked the fluorescent orange Chee-tos powder off his fingers, got out of bed and reached under the lumpy mattress to pull out every bit of money he had.
7.
Las Vegas…..Seven Months Later…..
"Brother, wake up…..BROTHER….LOKI!"
Loki felt someone shaking his shoulder roughly. He opened one bleary eye and groaned.
So he hadn't just been dreaming. His oafish brother stood over him, frowning.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, brother," he muttered sarcastically at Thor, sitting up and wincing at the pain in his head.
"I've been sent to bring you home, Loki. Father is furious. He says that you are bringing shame to the House of Odin." Thor glared out of the hotel room window, no doubt irritated at the colossal billboard outside on the Strip featuring a larger-than-life Loki in an elegant magician's tuxedo, striking a dramatic pose underneath the headline "LOKI - GOD OF MAGIC! CATCH THE MYSTIC KING OF LAS VEGAS NIGHTLY – ONLY AT THE STARDUST HOTEL!"
"So what else is new?" Loki's tone remained caustic. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, picking up a silken robe from the plushly-carpeted floor and putting it on as he stood up, woozily swaying a bit before gaining his balance. He walked over to a low table and kneeled in front of it, pulling out a piece of paper currency from the robe's pocket and rolling it up, leaning down to sniff a line of white powder off the table's glass top into each of his nostrils. He snorted deeply and his heartbeat started thumping erratically in his chest.
He felt a hand on his arm and then Thor was pulling him roughly up to his feet to face him, yelling, "WHAT are you doing, Loki? What is this substance?"
Loki wiped his nose with the heel of his palm and sniffled, shaking himself out of his brother's grasp. "It's nothing, it merely helps to rise me in the morning."
His brother's voice became gentle. "Father is angry at you, brother, yes. But Mother is beside herself with worry. She thinks that Midgard is destroying you. I cannot say I disagree with her. "
"I'm perfectly well, Thor," he answered defensively.
"You are NOT. You have an ill appearance, brother. There are darkish marks under your eyes and you look to be starving." His brother looked around the room solemnly, perusing the piles of empty wine and champagne bottles, tipped over glasses and ashtrays strewn around the room, cigarette remnants and ashes spilling out of them and ground into the carpet; leftovers from Loki's previous night's company. Thor looked back at him. "Come home with me, Loki. We want to help you. Let us be a family again. Please."
Truth be told, Loki was weary of Midgard. Its human inhabitants were ignorant, ill-mannered, easily-fooled buffoons who posed little or no challenge to his wits, and he had grown bored with them all.
He was ready to find his fun elsewhere.
He looked at Thor regarding him with genuine concern, and his own eyes welled with tears. "You are right, brother. I am not well. I want to go home."
Thor pulled him into his arms, and murmured encouraging words to him. When a broken-sounding sob escaped Loki's lips, he felt his brother's arms grow tighter around him.
Loki cackled inwardly to himself.
"SUCKER."
END
Notes: There really was a Howard Johnson's Restaurant on 46th Street & Broadway
The legal drinking age in NY State in 1977 was 18 years old
The illegal card game Loki used to cheat passersby in Times Square is called Three-Card Monte; it was prevalent there in the 70s.
Lots of exciting real life events went on in NY during the summer of 1977:
The NYC blackout began the evening of July 13 and ended on July 14
The original "Star Wars" was playing in movie theatres to packed crowds
The "Son of Sam" serial killer committed his final murder in July in Brooklyn, and was arrested on August 10th.
CBGB's was on its way to becoming a punk rock mecca (teenage Loki would've loved punk rock)
The albums "Rocket To Russia" by The Ramones and "Never Mind the Bollocks" by The Sex Pistols were released in 1977 (and I had them both on frequent rotation while I worked on this story)
Fictionally in 1977, Spike from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" killed a slayer on a NYC subway car. I wanted to incorporate that into this story somehow, but it just didn't fit.