So, while writing, I got to chapter 18 today. I've got an outline that will take us to at least 25 chapters. I don't wish to draw this out-I can say that To Wish, my baby that was intended to be a mere 15 chapters, that somehow swelled to 44, drained me enough to stop writing OUaT things. I don't want this to be the same.
But yay, 8 chapters in stock!
-XXX-
Luke doesn't grovel once, but somehow he earns my forgiveness. It may be the fact that he's taken to dumbfounding me by walking around shirtless on occasion, sneakily choosing these particular moments to ask for things or favour. For instance, this morning, when he comes down in nothing but a pair of green and blue plaid pajama bottoms. Buttering his toast, leaning casually against the counter, I am given the chance to oogle. I give a futile attempt at staring into my coffee mug, but when he slinks into the chair across from mine, I have no choice but to peek.
"I want to go to the gallery," he says conversationally.
"Oh…today?"
"Yes."
I look down at my cereal. "I don't know. I was hoping to sneak you in while Charlene was in Seattle next week. But she's going to be in today-"
"Why can't I meet your boss?" he demands. I blink.
"She is overwhelming. I just didn't want you to…you know. Freak."
Luke scoffs. "I think I will be fine, Tatiana."
Changing the subject, I ask, "Why do you call me that?"
"It's your name." He frowns.
"Yeah," I agree, taking a swig of my Colombian blend. "But most everyone else calls me Tati."
Shifting in his seat, Luke sniffs. "I prefer your full name."
"That's weird."
He polishes off his toast, standing. My eyes follow his figure as he crosses to place his plate in the sink. "It's a yes on the gallery, then?"
-XXX-
I relent. He accompanies me to work, pressed and proper in his black trousers and white shirt. He's also wearing a long charcoal coat, which I don't remember purchasing. I mean to ask, but he cuts me off asking if we can listen to something besides Billy Joel. The answer is no.
Charlene comes out of her office as soon as I arrive, prowling for someone to start a fresh pot of coffee in the staff room. As soon as I am spotted, she zooms in on us, gaze targeted on Luke. She crosses the gallery front room on a liquid stride, heels clacking, eyes frozen on us.
In a tight red pinskirt, black silk tank-blouse, and smart snakeskin stilettos, Charlene is a force of nature. I eye her warily when she stops before us. "I didn't realize you were bringing in a friend."
"He kind of insisted." I shrug. "Charlene, Luke, Luke, this is Charlene."
"This is Luke?" My boss feigns surprise. "Why, when you said you were keeping a comatose patient, I thought he would be a slip of a thing. But you're no ghost."
I'm not quite ready to let Charlene sink her claws in him yet. My hand finds his arm. Then his hand slides on top of mine, to my great surprise. Charlene's tastefully khol-rimmed eyes follow every motion of our limbs. Body language is everything, I remember.
"Well, he's has some recovery time." Nearly two weeks, I realize. "And he stayed pretty fit while he was…out."
Luke offers forth is other hand. "Delighted, madam. Tatiana has told me so much about the gallery and yourself."
"Tatiana?" Charlene looks to me, eyebrows rising. Everyone around here calls me Tati. "Well, all good things I hope. She's a treasure, isn't she? I don't know what I'd do without her."
Surprisingly, it sounds like my boss is trying to talk me up to Luke. I gape, watching as they chat about me and my work. Luke has that intense "I'm-listening-to-every-vowel" look on his face. I'm not that interesting, seriously. But they keep at it for nearly ten minutes while I hang back, shooting smiles at our guide-on-desk, Marcy, who is eyeing our boss and my guest curiously. Patrons mill around, though it's early.
We're expecting a school group around eleven, so I'm eager to get to my office and go through the gallery, checking off the various stations. We've recently received a few Norse pieces I want to review facts over-I'm a myths and history buff, but the Northern Europe stuff never really interest me. I need to remember where it's Thor's face carved on that stone, or Odin's, and what sacred creature heads the oak staff. The broach needs to be placed out. Then I need to clean up the label on the helmet….I shift uncomfortably as Charlene laughs loudly as something-or-other Luke has quipped.
"…I would love to have a personal tour."
Charlene beams. "Then I am sure our best guide can walk you around. Can't you, Tati?"
I blink, jerked from my internal memos and to-do list. "What?"
Luke's hand squeezes mine. "A tour, my dear."
"Oh, I don't know, I've got a lot to do." I turn to Charlene. "That school group is coming in-"
My boss waves her hand. "Oh, go on, Tatiana." Her eyes sparkle with the emphasis on my full name. "I am sure Ellen can set things up for you. What else is she doing?"
I think of poor Ellen, already swamped with prepping for a trip to a Florida auction house tomorrow and scripting labels for the new Norse pieces. She probably doesn't have time to set up my tour.
"No," I protest. "I really need to set things up."
"Come now, Tatiana." Luke tugs me nearer. "I want to see your work."
Charlene smiles wide, drifting away. "Have fun."
I scowl after her retreating back. Untangling myself from Luke, I stalk toward the first wall of painting. He follows, smiling.
-XXX-
He likes the collection. There is a wide variety here, a little of everything. The more abstract pieces he finds to be too sharp. The Georgia O'Keeffe flowers are deeply intriguing-he'd never looked at flowers that way before. Tatiana notes these as her favourites before they move on to a series of watercolours she describes a "breathtaking." He thinks them nice enough. But it's the Japanses storm watercolours, and several of what Tatian labels "pop art" that he sincerely enjoys, as well as an acrylic painting of the moon, a bust of some Roman somebody, the fluid clay urn with "Raku glaze."
All the while he keeps his hands to himself, behind his back. Tatiana appears more relaxed than he's even seen her, save when she is asleep. "In her element," he realizes. She is at peace. Her work is her sanctuary.
It can be seen in the way her eyes glow when describing the brush strokes of Monet, or monologues on glazing techniques. Her depth of knowledge is formidable; she's even read biographies on many of the featured artist, or the cultures that spawned those artists. Charlene had not been lying when she said Tatiana was the best at her trade. Her passion was evident. And very endearing.
Though he lost interest quickly in the surreal and abstract pieces in the collection, he feigned enthusiasm, using this time to observe Tatiana.
He would loathe to take her away from this. Though, at his side as when he ultimately ruled the Earth at large, she would have her pick of working environments. He could even establish her in anonymity.
They crossed a threshold into a dark room with slate-coloured walls and solid wood floors, scuffed with activity. The studio lights are warm on them. Tatiana crosses to the furthest wall, saying in her professional voice, "This is our ancient artifacts exhibit. The art of our past often translates into the art of today, which is why you will see many modern pieces her from Celtic, Middle Eastern, and Scandinavian or Norse artists alongside the ancient work."
"Interesting," he murmurs.
They walk along the built-in shelves, which have glass inset before the artifacts. A jade figurine catches his eye-pretty colour, but also vaguely familiar. The Grecian pottery is numerous. Tatiana can't seem to stop talking about the Egyptian idols, nor the druid broaches. He is lazily scanning the lineup when a small series of pieces, near the end, catch his eye.
They're what Tatiana would call Norse, but he knows them as Asgardian-styled. A helmet, heavy and aged, stands foremost, with a staff resting along the length of the case. But it is a few of the smaller members that Loki zeros in on. Specifically, a pendant and ring that look to be a part of some sort of set. Nobleman's jewelry. Very, very familiar nobleman's jewel.
He's ahead of her, having tuned out the speech on Chinese papermaking methods. Cutting her off, he asks sharply, "What can you tell me about these?"
Loki gestures. Tatiana doesn't appear to mind that he has interrupted her (in fact, he would wager his interest is only positive in her eyes). But when she sees what he's looking at, the young curator sighs.
"Damn. Well, those are actually pretty new to the collection, and I don't really know a lot about them. I was going to review some of the research before my school group," A disgruntled expression passes over her pretty features. "Until someone insisted on a private tour. I guess it is good practice for Tony and Pepper," she sighs.
"What do you remember?" He doesn't want to sound too interested, but it is important. If these are what he believes them to be, the god would not wish to attract unnecessary attention.
The pendant is without chain. It is in the shape of an axehead, set with a circular amber-coloured stone in the center. Runes curved along the edge. A knot of silver created the loop. He observes a faint glow in the core of the jewelry. One that Loki also finds in the ring. A thick band of silver, with copper braids lining the edges, a serpentine dragon curled around the circle, a similar stone held in the creature's eye. Not nearly as honeyed as the other stone, this one blazes green. Runes also run along the metal.
She muses briefly. "They were recovered from a burial site-accidental, you see, a farmer was plowing a new field, over turned some metal and what looked like a spearhead, called it in. It is believed to have belonged to a chief, or king-figure. The dragon is thought to represent the end of the world-god-eater, is what they called it. The weaving on this ring is a very traditional pattern. I can't read the runes on either, but I am told they speak of magic, power, and the gods. Thor, Odin, Loki, Freyr, and others."
She says his name with such casualness. The god feels himself quiver. She says it no differently from the others. Yet, from Tatiana's lips, it sounds mightier, kingly. Like that of a god.
"They are lovely," the god murmurs. "Who might've been thoughtful enough to purchase them?"
"Actually, they were donated, I think."
"By whom, may I ask?"
She names off an older couple, the Vinters, saying they lived a ways away. The god listens, examining the set.
By the time the pair walks away, over twenty scenarios are playing out in Loki's head, a variety of strategies for stealing the pendant and ring. Some were simple- - - magicking out the jewelry (which would no longer be a danger, as the owning the items would be solutions toward the restoring of his power), staging a human-esque robbery, or even using Tatiana to take it for him. However, this could endanger his reader. He isn't willing to do that yet.
They belonged to a king, she was right about that. Oh, it hadn't taken Loki a second to recognize one of his father's hammer-made, thunder-born gifts. These weren't merely pieces of human decoration, they were tools. Harnesses of power. Just what he might need to restore himself. The god felt such internal glee.
Long ago, his father had left the Midgardian kings with these trinkets, powerful amulets that absorbed energy. They are, essentially, batteries, filled with such a punch. Also, they contain a faint connection to Asgard, something that would surely bring about the uprising of his strength. With these, he would no longer wane. He would be formidable. Strong. An opponent to the Avengers.
He wanders about the gallery for the rest of the morning while Tatiana takes on her tour group. Occasionally, he encounters them, his reader heading the group, her voice sweet and calm, powerfully extending to the ears of all without strain. "She is very good at what she does." Every time she saw him, Tatiana had the faintest smiling playing across her lips.
When they leave in the afternoon, she asks him, "What do you think?"
"Lovely," he drawls. "The facility, the art, your work. You are a true credit to the profession, Tatiana."
Surprised, she pauses. Loki continues on, pretending not to see.
-XXX-
One note: My local art museum carries ancient artifact-y things, so I figured this was a legit scenario.
Loving all the alerts and follows on this thing! I hope you guys are enjoying the progress...does anyone think I need a beta? I got more than halfway through To Wish before people started suggesting. Feedback of any form would be great!
~Dania