I was going to wait until later to post this... but I don't feel like waiting. (And I just reached 600 views apparently?! How that's possible I have no idea.) So I have to post it now so I can work on my costume and a hundred other school projects before I sink into an inevitable stress coma... O_O Why do I do this to myself...
THANK YOU ALL YOU FOLLOWERS AND FAVORITERS AND REVIEWERS! Every single one means the world to me! And while I am still terrified every time I post a chapter, your views and comments are so very reassuring and have made the terror worthwhile! 3 3 3
The next morning she awoke with a renewed sense of energy. Maybe things weren't so bad, she thought as she was reminded of Loki's near tortured aura the night before. Subtle details proved so much in an otherwise well concealed hunger. His teeth were clenched tighter than the hands fisted into an ever-whitening grip at his sides, unmoving except for the twitch in his fingers as he was smothering a subconscious need to touch – to reach for. Her skin had warmed at the thought, but the power he offered her kept the blush at bay. His positively possessive nature was almost endearing. Almost.
This was the first time she'd actually caught him asleep, sitting up and habitually ensuring he wasn't creeping or doing something otherwise awkward and mischievous. Up until now, she'd simply assumed he was rooted to the floor where he usually sat, unless he was harassing her of course. But with the remarkably early hour he was still asleep, laid out on his comfy looking bed – jerk. He looked dead. Like a corpse. Sleeping flat on his back with his hands folded across his stomach, he was reminiscent of a vampire peacefully awaiting nightfall. Like at any moment his eyes would snap open and he would swiftly sink his teeth into someone's neck. Then he would laugh with a stereotypical Transylvanian accent. No. Probably not that.
Odds were he wasn't even sleeping; his expression never seemed to relax. But he came a bit closer this time. His chest rhythmically rose and fell. If she was quiet enough she could hear him softly breathing, undisturbed by the morning to come. She checked her phone. She had maybe half an hour before the lights woke him up. Stashing her things, she quickly slipped into the tiny private bathroom she had been afforded. It was only half private. The guards could see her if they had been present, but Loki couldn't – thankfully. It was barely an airplane bathroom. With an additional space for a shower. There was a towel folded on the toilet and there were a few amenities sitting behind the sink. How kind of them, she thought. Have the decency to provide me a toothbrush but no food. That was painfully ironic. She tried to push the hunger pangs aside, wondering briefly if toothpaste was edible, only to find there wasn't any. Stupid dry toothbrush. Stupid useless dry toothbrush. Stupid stomach. Stupid hunger. There was nothing to be done about it and she could only hope she'd be over the hump soon. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure she wasn't being watched, she began to undress.
Her shirt was a mess, still stained with blood from her first day here. She ran the fabric under the open faucet and rubbed at it until it dulled from ruddy brown to a pinkish hue. Her shorts were all right, aside from needing to be washed. She briefly rinsed them as well and hung them beside her shirt. Finally stripping off the rest of her clothes, she untied her hair and started fussing with the shower. The thing was barely a showerhead and a drain.
The water was almost lukewarm when it finally turned on and she instinctually recoiled with shock. After a few minutes of getting used to it, she started scrubbing herself down, in the hopes of feeling slightly less gross. It was unlikely. The thought alone of being locked in a dungeon made her feel grimy and disgusting. She worked the water through her thick hair, down to the scalp, her fingers catching on all the knots that she didn't have the means to untangle. This was why prisoners maintained shorter haircuts. Her curls were going to turn into dreads in the very near future.
Naomi imagined the look on her mother's face the first time she came home with all of her hair chopped off. It had been both terrifying and hilarious at the same time. Every time afterward, through her teenage years, it became less startling. Although the time she came home with a novel shade of rainbow, she had actually threatened to dye it over again for the sake of her social life. Her mother was almost fond of it after a time, but it pained her to think about it now. The very notion stirred a hundred other disheartening thoughts.
Surely they knew by now that she was gone – kidnapped. The authorities were probably involved now. But there'd be no trace of her to find. No trail to follow. And no one would believe that she'd been abducted by aliens. Although it was more plausible after New York. But even if someone considered it, they wouldn't find her. They couldn't reach her. And as of now, she was doomed to spend the rest of her miserable life barking obscenities through a pane of glass at a man who claimed to be a god and had tried to take over the world.
With an audible sigh, she was certain that if she ever got home, no one would believe any of that.
The water was getting gradually colder, as she forced her thoughts away from home. Her skin formed little goose bumps. She cleaned up with a little more urgency, finding a tune to distract herself with. It helped – minimally. She picked a song almost fitting of the situation, with poetic lyrics about not giving a shit. Her first instinct was usually something more mellow, but under the circumstances that was just going to upset her and stir things up that were better left buried.
When she was moderately satisfied with her state of hygiene, she abandoned the shower and checked her now damp clothes. Still wet. She pulled her underwear back on, listening all the while to hear if her cellmate had stirred. The room was still painfully silent. That wasn't saying much. He moved like a shadow and he would have made an astounding stalker. She craned her neck around the corner. Smug little bastard. Loki had returned to his usual spot and he was staring in his usually awkward fashion. He seemed to take satisfaction from simply knowing she was naked. Joke was on him – she actually wasn't. Well, not anymore. She grumbled in order to ignore the chill that rolled up her spine. The thought of his listening – imagining – fantasizing.
She feigned a gag and then snatched up the toothbrush, violently scrubbing her teeth. As if the noise might make her forget that he was sitting out there. And just waiting for her to return. What would he say this time? What petty harassment tactic would he employ today? Anything would rattle her, she decided with a grumble. His stare alone did things she didn't wish to overthink. His bright green eyes practically taunted her to look away. The way they looked her up and down – for show or not – was shamefully arousing. How could she help but wonder of his sincerity? With another quick look around the corner, she found his gaze still aggravatingly centered.
Loki smiled sweetly, as if he wasn't panning through a menagerie of disgusting, perverse, sexual thoughts. Rolling her eyes, she wondered if this was all some sort of joke – if his imprisonment was a total lie and their current predicament was all part of some sexual fantasy brought to life. Surely he wouldn't have dragged it out this long? No, their awkward situation was exacerbated, but not intentionally.
Her clothes were still slightly damp, but she was tired of standing there half naked, pondering their odd relationship. Fully clothed again, she finally emerged.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
"Much." She wound the towel around her hair until she had formed a large turban atop her head. That was sort of an exaggeration. She was better off while she was in the shower with a feigned sense of solitude. She sat down on the floor beside her cot, snatching up her wallet and quickly emptying its contents. Having already reorganized it half a dozen times since being here, she knew exactly what was in it. She set everything out in piles before her, putting the bills in piles, placing the credit cards in numerical order, and setting aside the papers she could later use for doodling or any other number of origami-like boredom applications. She really envied his collection of leather bound tomes.
Regressing into the mindset of a child, she found creative ways to keep from losing her mind. She hadn't made a fortuneteller since she was like ten, but a few quick folds and scribbles on an old receipt served as her current form of entertainment. She pondered a hundred stupid yes-or-no questions while flipping the contraption in her hands. Will I ever get out of here? G – R – E – E – N. One – two – three. She pulled back the fold. Don't count on it. It couldn't be coincidence she'd gotten the same answer the seventeen times she had asked. Loki watched her curiously, or more specifically, the paper machine in her hands. "What did you do before I got here?" she finally asked.
"Mostly nothing."
Of course. She began folding and unfolding the paper cootie catcher again. He was gradually moving closer until he sat fairly near to the glass. "Did you need something?" Naomi asked without even looking up.
"What are you doing?" He sounded legitimately curious.
"Fortune telling." He looked oddly startled. "Care to ask a question?" She waggled the thing in his general direction.
"What's your name?"
"Nameless subject," was her snarky reply. "Yes or no questions only."
Loki smirked. "Am I ever to escape this wretched place?" Recited like poetry.
"Pick a color." She angled the fortuneteller so he could see his options.
"Red." Black had been her second guess.
R – E – D. She opened the paper accordingly.
"Pick a number. One through four," she instructed.
"Four."
One – two – three – four. "Pick a different number one through four."
"Three."
She opened the flap of his choosing, feigning concentration as she read the entry she'd scribbled inside. "Absolutely not," she said definitively. He frowned. "See for yourself. The fortuneteller has spoken." She pressed the paper to the glass and he squinted to read her mostly terrible handwriting.
"I question your foresight."
"You don't trust my intuition?"
He glared at her as if it were obvious. "I don't trust you at all."
She smiled sweetly. "Shall I assume you have a plan of your own for that escape then? If not you should have more faith in the fortune teller." He didn't respond, only continued to watch as she waved her hand around the cootie catcher as if she were practicing voodoo.
Loki grinned, his eyes turning a very bright green. His hand duplicated her motion, his long fingers making it look much more fluid and practiced. She thought to rebuff him for mocking her, but just as soon as the thought crossed her mind, a green glowing smoke suddenly blossomed around his hand. For a moment she thought she was seeing things. He laughed when he caught her confused expression. His other hand joined and all of the sudden the smoke disappeared and an exact copy of her little paper fortuneteller appeared in his hands – chicken scratch and all. He eyed it curiously, turning it over as if to look for the source of its magic. He copied her action without saying a word, asking a silent query and opening and closing it until he revealed his answer. He smiled at her again – that devious, dangerous smirk.
"Fortunately, I will not be entrusting my fate to a scrap of paper." The paper burst into a bright green flame and then it was gone – turned to ash as simply as it had come into existence. Then he stood, brushing off his trousers and moving back to his usual spot against the wall.
She had arrived in this place through a wormhole and was soon after locked in an enchanted cell that healed itself upon every escape attempt. His ability to conjure origami shouldn't have surprised her. Perhaps what really surprised her was the fact that he was contained to this place in spite of having some weird affinity for magic. Show off. Maybe he really did have a plan. Maybe he really was like those psychopathic maniacs on TV, just biding his time but all the while completely capable of escape. Unless it was all just part of their game. She rolled her eyes. She was growing tired of it already.
As soon as he retreated into his you're-no-longer-worthy-of-my-attention mood, she felt her renewed sense of energy literally vanish, quickly replaced by strengthened pangs of hunger and homesickness.
Her stomach ached with a prolonged emptiness. It made her entire body feel fatigued. The paper fortuneteller shook in her hands until she let them fall soundlessly into her lap. A headache that had only been a dull pain in the days past, was quickly evolving into a hunger headache of a debilitating nature. Warily she glanced at the notches in the stone beside her cot. She'd been locked in this cell for more than a week. She'd been without food for just as long. The only time in her life she'd gone that long without food was when she was really sick more than ten years ago. But even then, her overly attentive mother had forced her to nibble on toast and dry crackers. How long could a human live without food? It wasn't something she'd pondered before. She could vaguely recall Gandhi fasting for something like a month. But she could also recall that the speed of starvation was highly circumstantial. It had much to do with weight and body fat and activity levels.
Surely these people didn't intend to let her starve? What purpose would that serve? Why go to such trouble to bring her here only to let her die without cause? She wasn't ready to believe that she could be dead within a few weeks. Perhaps it was their intent to simply torment her and eventually provide her with some form of sustenance. She could only hope. Just as I had hoped this place was only a dream – a nightmare.
She stilled her shaking hands, ensuring that Loki hadn't noticed. She knew his type: a predator. And not the run of the mill feral dog. He hunted with stealth and silence and cunning only paralleled by the swiftest of killers – the kind that could smell fear and spot weakness a mile away. And she could imagine his heckling jaws clamping down on her neck the very second she showed either one.
Remembering such tensions in her past, her expression steeled instinctually, her every emotion vanishing completely. Watching her elder sister literally tear their family apart, there was little she could do but sit on the sidelines and wait and hold the rest of them together. When there was no alternative but to be strong, she was strong. They emerged on the other side of that conflict as a very different group of people, but she was still strong.
She stared bleakly at the paper in her hands, playing the game again, turning the folds this way and that until she uncurled the last for her answer. I will not be entrusting my fate to a scrap of paper. Her teeth clenched as she crushed the little paper device in her hands. Fate or fortune wouldn't save her. Nor would this endless waste of time. So what then? She looked to where Loki sat, lost in his usual funk. Up until now, their few conversations were basically part of this unending pissing contest, but he had to know something. He had a way out. He'd been down here long enough. A year at least. He was her best bet. She clenched her fists tighter as the shaking persisted. I promised him a show. And the show would go on.
I honestly don't know where the fortune teller business came from... it seemed like a bizarrely entertaining scenario. Whether is was or not remains to be seen.
The only thing that irks me about this chapter is not knowing about Asgardian bathroom fixtures (because I worry about these things). I figured bathes would be preferred to showers but that wouldn't make sense in prison... O.o Whatever. It is what it is. If Loki wants a bathtub he can conjure one and while he's at it, how about a magical martini? I am now picturing the weirdest thing ever. If I could draw... this would be hilarious.
P.S. I'm not actually writing that. No magical bathtubs. Or martinis.
