Jan 2014: Chapter edited for style and grammar
He had taken a spot at a window after he ordered his breakfast at the counter. Loki was aware of the younger waitress whose eyes kept flickering to him when she got the chance.
The glamour he used dulled down the effect his presence had but that didn't prevent anyone from still seeing him. Humans had a habit of liking the unremarkable; he was aware he was considered handsome to some, even with the glamour in effect. He had hoped his magic would decrease the likeliness of such a situation. He wanted to avoid such annoying scenarios that he had dealt with during feasts and balls so long ago. Yet on the other hand, he was amused at their attempts.
He glanced at the counter as the silly waitress poured coffee, appeasing her. She was caught off-guard by the eye-contact, managing to overfill the cups and create a mini-waterfall from the carrying tray to the floor.
Oops. He turned away, barely bothering to hide his smirk.
He ate in silence, murmuring a thanks as his meal arrived. He watched people run in and out with their morning orders; mostly caffeine-related, he noted, although some grabbed a pastry or a bagel. The bell over the door, although logical when it was far less busy, was irritating with the amount of traffic.
He took his check to the counter when he was done, as he had seen other patrons eating inside do. He was pleasant but short with the man behind the counter, who handed him his change and wished him a good day. He dumped the coins in the tip jar and tucked his wallet back into his pocket as he made for the door.
As he went to grab the door, it was already being pushed open by a woman coming in. Loki pulled the door open and held it for her. She looked up and took notice of him, giving him a smile and a quiet thanks. He found the corners of his lips moving of their own accord and returning the gesture.
Something…like a twinge in his fingers when he was preparing to cast a spell ran up his arm, spreading warmth as it traveled. Nothing painful, just a surge of energy in his blood.
He left, making his way through the streets finally beginning to become alive again with crowds of people. He flexed his hand. Strange. Nothing like that had happened yet.
Reagan hadn't noticed the other figure on the side of the door until the weight of the door had been taken from her.
He was tall, with dark hair and green eyes. There was something…odd about him. She couldn't place it, but her gut didn't sit well until she had ordered her usual.
A shock ran up her arm, causing it to tense up and tingle. She hissed, a slight frown setting on her lips and brows lowering. Maybe a nerve backfired or something, she reasoned. Reagan flexed her fingers and rubbed her arm, the sensation gone as quick as it came.
Part of her felt as though she had perhaps seen that man before, and a pang of déjà-vu sat in her mind. Where, though? She surely would have remembered such a striking figure. She may have met a lot of handsome men, but something struck her that if she had seen him before, she would have recognized as such.
Reagan shoved away the thoughts for later, eyeing the baskets behind the counter to make sure her favorite was still in stock.
She had loved this place since she had moved to the city a few years ago; when she had started out as the coffee-run intern, she came here instead of a chain. More variety, at the very least.
She cast her eyes on the two waitresses, who were looking at the door and whispering, smiling; conspiring schoolgirls who found a new popular boy to fawn over. She held the urge to roll her eyes; he had clearly been older than them, after all. They could find him attractive all they wanted, but Reagan doubted he would ever consider wining and dining them.
Her attention was broken when the barista brought back her order of a piping hot coffee and a bagel with flavored cream cheese. She paid and left a tip as she usually did.
As she walked through the streets, she chewed her bagel in contemplation, finding her thoughts drifting back on where she had seen such green eyes before.
The feeling didn't leave, sitting with him like an after-taste or lingering smell. Something was odd. Different. The magic in his blood was suddenly energized, a sensation he had not felt since before leaving Asgard.
All because of some polite action to a human. Pure coincidence, surely. He was probably getting himself stressed out about not finding someone and was over-reacting.
Loki had ducked into a store nearby, watching as she left and started heading down the block, bagel in her mouth. She didn't seem to be anything special. Medium height, average build, dark brown hair. Nothing seemingly amazing about her at all.
He suppressed this ridiculous, annoying, nagging sensation, and continued heading towards his destination.
The Natural History Museum seemed to be one of the many prides of the city, Loki decided. After all, why else have a long stairway that swept the entire front of the building with huge pillars at the entrance. Many were lounging about on the stairs, tour groups from other countries, school groups, seasoned visitors. At least some were still interested in their own world history.
Loki was graced with the pleasure of security guards when he walked inside before paying for his ticket. His jacket came off, his pockets emptied and his metal belongings in a bin to be scanned. Ridiculous. It was a museum, not a top-secret facility.
He watched as a younger couple was told to head back outside to finish their beverages, which were not allowed outside of the eatery upstairs.
He was allowed to go through with the wave of a hand. Loki collected his things and purchased his ticket at the desk. He smiled politely, allowing a bit of charisma to show through as he created a bill with a sleight of hand over his wallet.
The sensation from earlier hadn't left him. It had, in fact, intensified as he began to wander the many corridors and rooms littered with old human artifacts. He remembered his first true attempts at strong magic. His veins felt as if someone had replaced his blood with an accelerant and make him swallow the match to follow suit as magic coursed through him and out. He had felt sick soon after, his body then unaccustomed to such power.
His blood was trying to tell him something; for once, he was actually close to what he needed. It teetered between the charge-the power, the high; and the waves of a crash with bothersome ailments. Not terrible, but a very annoying sense of nausea would hit and, try as he might, he couldn't entirely suppress it. No migraine yet, but if he ever used all of it at once with no control, he'd end up with a pulsing, nearly debilitating headache for a time.
Perhaps once he found the human, he could tame the magical energy or this would stop entirely. It was possible that the conflict in magic was pushing on his powers, backfiring and causing these fluctuations. Or his magic was calling out to that of the Midgardian he needed, an internal compass.
Loki wandered through the corridors with an easy pace. He saw paintings so well done they looked more like photographs, statues of beautiful marble, reconstructions of homes from a certain civilization, clothes that would have been worn. Skeletons of extinct species that he remembered so well from ages past, mummified bodies that were likely someone he had once met. All the while, he was trying to follow the path he sensed and find its source.
He came to the newest exhibit, his gut doing an unexpected flip of delight. He'd find something here.
Loki walked around, taking in the few artistic interpretations regarding Viking lore slipped in with the actual artifacts.
A recreated boat saw on the far wall, entrances to another gallery flanking it. Newly uncovered artifacts were in glass cases, creating a line for visitors to follow. Amulets in the shape of Mjolnir, a crude face at the end obviously meant to be Thor. A stone was carved with a face; the head fairly triangular in shape, a mustache curling under the nose and lips marked with short vertical lines.
Loki's lips tingled, the small dotted scars around them burning slightly. The punishment he had received at the hands of his father was part of another myth on Midgard; dwarves were said to have sewn his lips shut, not Odin.
He glanced at another statuette to find it to be one of Odin, in his one-eyed glory. Displays of jewelry, coins, helmets, weapons all gleamed in the warm light overhead and the tiny spotlights near them.
One statue in particular caught his eye. A plump bird sitting in a nest made of a glittering metal, a handle sticking out of its wing. An untrained mind wouldn't understand, wouldn't even know what kind of bird it was. Just a fat blob of metal barely resembling the grand bird it was meant to capture.
The card confirmed his thoughts, as it read: "A statue of the rooster Vidofnir, said to have roosted at the top of Yggdrasil and watched over the moral integrity of the worlds."
A statue of Vidofnir, the rooster of legend. He had refreshed his memory of the poem Fjölsvinnsmál, in which his sword was mentioned and how to obtain it. The tailfeather, or sickle as some translations called it, was what Sinmara, one of the many names for his daughter Hela on Midgard, wanted.
The sickle was a better metaphor; it could perhaps have been used, in theory, to cut down any 'weeds'. As protector of moral integrity, Vidofnir needed a way to get rid of the darker intentions, the so-called evil.
Vidofnir had, in fact, given his sickle to Midgard long ago. He would keep a look out, but they were to govern themselves, the sickle a symbol of their responsibility and the need to use it. As the sun he was associated with, a symbol of the triumph of light over darkness, he would watch but not interfere.
The tail feather was a sign of pride, naturally, as the tail feather was a majestic part of a rooster. Feathers grew back, born again through the process of life. Pride and rebirth.
The amount of irony and symbolism Odin was making him go through…
So if the sickle is truly here, Loki thought, then the sickle must be traded for the feather, and the feather given to Hela…
Such a weapon in the hands of the goddess who ruled over the dead who met a dishonorable end was littered with more frustrating meanings than he cared to think about.
And his sword certainly had the ability to harness the idea of its wielder, if even worthy. The blade bent to the will of the user but could easily corrupt it as well. Power blinded all facilities in a sea of red.
He stared at the statue a little longer, a calming sensation washing over him. He felt better, as he did before he saw that woman this morning. The state of being he was used to.
Loki closed his eyes and sighed, a little relieved for now. While he did feel better, the feeling still hadn't entirely left, a nagging in the back of his head. He opened his eyes again and looked around.
A figure sat on a bench, staring up at the ship. Dark hair, the same clothes from earlier. She was here, and so was he. And it was with her that this strange sensation had started. He knew there was hardly ever such a thing as coincidence.
