A Few Adjustments/General Author's Note: Hello faithful readers. I have taken the liberty to make a few adjustments to the first four chapters. Although they may seem minimal, I suggest going through and picking up on these changes, for they were made because they are pertinent to the development of the story. (If you are really pressed for time or uninterested, the majority of the changes take place in Chapter 3). I have been kicking these changes around for about a week, and now that they are out of the way, I can continue working on Chapter 5. Thank you once again for your dedication and patience. :)
As a final note, I would like to mention the rating of this particular work. I have rated it M for later chapters, which will be marked by an author's note at the beginning of the chapter, although most of the content in this story is T/T+. Do not let it dissuade you from reading, because the M chapters can most likely be skipped without disrupting the congruity of the story. However, it is easier to mark the entire work as M to play it safe, instead of creating a separate "story" for the M marked chapters. Thank you again for understanding. :) Now, off I go to work on Chapter 5!
Even More Adjustments: Now at the end of Chapter 2.
Chapter I
"We have arrived."
As the limo pulled around to the front of the hotel, Agent Reynolds glanced in the rearview mirror, his pale blue eyes staring soullessly into the back seat. The sound of fabric being woven and pulled into place slowed to a stop, and a pair of blue eyes glanced up to meet Agent Reynolds'. They were not soulless. They were dark, teeming with thoughts, and most of all, mischief. The passenger cracked a small smile and pulled the door handle, placing one long leg out of the car.
"Thank you, Reynolds. Just pull the car around to the garage and wait."
"What about the luggage, sir?" Reynolds asked, his eyes shimmering a bit to show worry.
"Do not concern yourself with such details," said the passenger as he smiled and swung out of the car, shutting the door lightly behind him.
He was a tall drink of water that was well dressed. A "drink of water" was a bit misleading, but to the residents of Stuttgart, Germany, that was all they needed to know. That and that his cane was a gift from his service in some war, somewhere far away and not a piece of alien technology masquerading as such. This cane had in it power, power that turned the world's best archer into his personal fountain of enemy intelligence with just a small tap to the sternum.
As the limo pulled away, he walked towards the front doors, situating his long coat on his shoulders. He bowed his head slightly towards a doorman and made his way into the hotel lobby. The hotel spared no expense with its marble floors, oak and marble banisters, finely upholstered furnishings, and electric chandeliers. The lobby glowed, almost surreally, against the gray of the late afternoon pressing in on the high glass windows.
He approached the high oak counter, dizzying slightly between the reflection of himself in the marble floor and the dark reflection in the polished oak coupled with the warm glow of the lights.
"Oh, hallo Herr. Willkommen auf den Königspalast. Wie viele ich Ihnen helfen?" A clean shaven man grinned widely behind the desk and looked at him expectantly.
"Ich spreche kein Deutsch," he replied automatically as he approached the counter.
"My apologies, sir. How can I help you?"
"I have a room. The name is Luke Asimov."
The receptionist tapped away at a keyboard, scanned the screen lazily, then looked back at Luke. "Ah yes. The suite overlooking the city, correct? May I see a form of identification, please, Mr. Asimov?"
Luke sighed and fiddled for his wallet in his coat pocket. He thumbed through it and handed the receptionist a plastic card with an eye roll.
The receptionist glanced at the card, then at him, then at the card again before smiling. "Welcome to the Royal Palace, Mr. Asimov." He kept smiling as he activated two key cards, placed them in an envelope, and handed them over to Luke.
Luke smiled, a sliver of pearl among flesh. He grabbed the cards and tucked them in his breast pocket as he turned from the counter in a large sweep. He pulled himself up short, almost colliding with an elderly gentleman with wrinkled crevices for eyes in a tan trench coat. He smiled up at Luke and slowly made his way around him, his back hunched slightly.
"Excuse me, young man," he muttered through worn lips as he made his way to the counter.
Luke nodded slightly and moved out of his way, gripping the head of the cane in his right hand. He was ever thankful that a handful of centuries stood between him and his body looking like that man's.
There were others in the lobby, mortals which he scanned idly, unamused by their quite chattering as they sat in plush chairs by the fireplace, talking over the days' events and making plans for the coming evening. They were all completely consumed in their own little lives, laughing lightly, smiling, not chancing to glance away from the person to whom they were conversing with for fear of missing a crucial detail of their life. All but one.
She sat near the door, in a dark high backed chair, her legs neatly crossed with a magazine held at chin height. Luke thought it was not the most advantageous seat in the lobby, subject to the chill of the coming evening's air that was swept in as each guest arrived or left. She seemed comfortable, nonetheless, just staring at Luke, perhaps looking up for a brief second between articles, for she seamlessly glanced back to the magazine as though nothing out of the ordinary at happened. She was just observing her surroundings, not planning or waiting. Just a silly mortal doing silly mortal things, being paranoid for no sound reason.
Luke felt slightly unnerved, but he lowered his quizzical brow, blinked slowly and stepped towards the entrance. He stared at her as he walked past, silently begging that she would look up, so he could see her eyes, see into her as though she were a magazine herself and her fears were scribbled over the pages. But she did not even glance his way. She lazily licked her index finger and flicked the page of her magazine, drowning in advice columns and perfume advertisements.
Once stepping into the gray of the hastening evening, Luke made his way to the garage, where Reynolds had haphazardly parked the limo sideways over three spots. After a few grumbled orders, Reynolds was dutifully opening the trunk and emptying its contents. Two suitcases, one for Luke and one for him, and, most importantly, a heavy black box filled with, for lack of a better word, "toys".
"Do you remember your orders?"
"Take these to the checkpoint, meet with Barton, await your command," Reynolds replied with a monotone voice.
"Good man. Make haste then."
Reynolds picked up his cases and walked in the opposite direction of the Royal Palace. Luke picked up his case, went back to the hotel, and approached the elevators, pressing the up arrow to summon it. As he waited for it to arrive, he checked the envelope which held the keys for his room number. 1307. A ding signaled the elevator's arrival. He stepped into the elevator and pressed thirteen when a voice cut through the fluorescent hum of the lights.
"Halten Sie das Höhenruder, bitte! Hold the elevator, please!"
Luke put his cane between the closing doors. They jerked and then parted slowly, revealing the girl from the lobby. Her hair was wispy and dark. She clutched the magazine she had earlier in one hand and a clutch purse in the other. Luke retreated to the far corner, not intimidated but wary. Close quarter combat was not his forte.
"Thanks," she said, rather breathlessly, stepping in and glancing at the panel of button. She stared for a second then looked back to him as the doors slid close and the elevator ascended.
"I usually take the stairs, but the task is a bit much in these heels," she continued, sticking out her foot a bit to display her black pumps as she sidled into the corner opposite his.
Luke gave a small smile and nodded, drawing his eyes from her face, to the ground, to the row of numbers above the door that glowed softly as each floor was passed.
"Do you not speak English? Würden Sie perfer Deutsch?"
"I speak English perfectly well, thank you," Luke replied cooly, shifting his eyes in her direction.
"Oh, well..that's splended."
Luke grunted in response as the elevator halted on thirteen. The doors slid open slowly, far slower than he wanted, and he took a step forward, cane first, just as she did. He looked at her, somewhere between a glare and a sneer, and she motioned for him to go. He stepped into the hallway a few paces, before he turned and looked over his shoulder.
She was a few paces behind him, clutching her magazine and purse, one in each hand.
"I'm only taking the stairs," she said lightly, a hint of a smile on her lips. "The stairwell at this end of the building is closer to my room. I'm staying on eleven, and it was senseless for me to call that floor and make you wait. You look like a very important man." She looked his attire over. Dark gray suit with fine green stripes, long overcoat, a silk scarf of green and gold, a suitcase of black leather with gold initials branded on the side. And a cane, of golden metal and fantastic blue swirls around the handle. He was the epitome of professionalism in her eyes.
In his eyes, he was the very definition of illusionist.
"Yes, I am," Luke replied, smiling coldly, teeth glistening. "Good evening, miss." He turned and walked down the hall with her trailing behind. He stopped at his door, put his suitcase down and swipped the card in the handle. She gave a little wave as she walked by.
"See you around," she called as she continued down the hall and he pushed his door open.
"Hopefully not," Luke muttered under his breath as he made his way inside and closed the door behind him, deadbolting it for good measure.
Night had fallen on Stuttgart and the city was lit up like Asgard would be. Asgard. Luke stood near the floor to ceiling windows and ached slightly at the thought of his home. What he thought was his home.
He leaned against the cool glass of the window, clutching a glass of fiery liquid that Barton suggested he pack.
You'll be in Germany, mind as well act German.
He had no idea what amber colored alcohol had to do with it, but he did admit that it created the illusion of warmth in the pit of his stomach. He looked across the city, the street lights and buildings glowed in a haze of rain. It never rained in Asgard. Every day was bright, the sun streaming between fluffy clouds. He would run in the fields, attempting to catch Thor, or Fandral, but never managing to catch up. It continued into adolescence, when he was still too slow on foot, but once he mastered magic-
A high pitch melody filled the room, tearing Luke's eyes from the warm light of the city. He peered into the dark room, his eyes adjusted quickly and located the glowing device that shimmied and sung on the large bed. He crossed the gap in three strides and picked up the device, squinting at its screen. A miniature version of the device was pictured on the screen, seizuring, and two large blocks of text were underneath it. Accept. Decline. Luke furrowed his brow and pressed his thumb over the green block.
"Hello sir," a voice said from the device. Luke looked at it, then his eyes widened. He remembered how to use this now. He clumsily pressed it to his left ear and sat the glass down on the bedside table to his right.
"Hello…" he mumbled cautiously as he sat slowly on the edge of the bed.
"It's Barton. No offense, but do you remember how to use the phone?"
"I am not so ignorant as to be unable to figure out some mortal's poor imitation of magic," Luke spat, sitting up on the bed, as though he could convey his body language to Barton. "I am a god and my knowledge is far more superior to those who made these…toys."
"I don't doubt it," Barton replied, a slight smile in his voice. "I don't mean to bug you, but I'm calling to check in. Make sure you made it and everything."
Luke raised a brow. "Bug me? Why would you place insects-"
"Bother, sorry. Are you at the hotel?"
"Why, yes, I am. I've made myself quite comfortable. The view here is terrific. Almost like ho-" Luke cut himself off and glared at the window, streaked with rain.
"Good. Reynolds seemed a bit distant when he came by so I just wanted to make sure he didn't do anything…foolish."
"Not at all, he obeyed wonderfully, as does anyone under my rule." Luke's face turned into a portrait of smug satisfaction.
"Correct, sir. I'll contact you again tomorrow. Remember, we came here early to double check our information and to set the trap. Your prerogative is to blend in, make a few acquaintances, and size up the situation. Most likely everything will go as we planned it, but I'd rather be safe than sorry when SHEILD is involved. And one more thing, sir. Try and act mortal." The line clicked and went out.
Luke removed the phone from the side of his face, a little disgruntled. Although he trusted Barton to handle such affairs, he was not particularly fond of being ordered around, especially when the orders were rather demeaning. Act mortal. What an insult. HE did not act mortal nor did he try to do anything with a mortal flair. And blending in? Gathering information? Why did he take Barton's suggestion of coming here a week before the event? Was it really necessary for Barton and him to scout the area and make sure everything matched the intelligence they had received? And if such a feat was necessary, why couldn't a lesser man, a mortal have done it instead? He was far above such trivial tasks.
He was burdened for glorious purpose.
He was the god of mischief and magic, lies and illusions.
He was Loki, of Asgard.
