The Loki Equation- Chapter 21

There are key elements to consider when creating the hero of a fanfiction. The first is good cheekbones. That's just standard. Then there's the gorgeous eyes. The broad shoulders. There will probably be some mention of a nice butt in there somewhere. The rest can branch out in all sorts of different ways, but it all comes back to the main point: the hero is always, undoubtedly, obviously the hero. Unless of course, the hero is a girl. But let's be honest, how often does that happen?

Now let's look to the damsel in distress. She's usually a projection of the author. A suitable lovely lady to be swept up in a nice old fashioned romance by the hero himself. I bet you twenty bucks there'll be some mention of "curling golden hair" or perhaps a "blue eyes that shine like pools of….something blue". Nobody ever mentions that maybe she has a slight dent on the side of her forehead where she whacked it on a coffee table at age thirteen. She will be pretty. She will be easily seduced. And she will be boring.

I leaned back in my chair, chewing my lip. I had hit a snag in my latest story, and it was giving me a rough time. I always have trouble coming up with female characters. And before last year, I never had trouble coming up with handsome male characters. But lately only one type of male came to mind when I had to describe someone good looking. About 6 feet tall. Dark green eyes. Black hair swept back off his stupid face. Good cheekbones, dammit. Long legs that made him walk way too fast. A slightly-too-long nose that flared just a little when he was losing patience. This was the problem I was trying to overcome. That's the only hero I could picture.

"Some hero" I snorted to myself, closing my laptop.

It had been a long time since I had seen a hero in person. About six months, now that I thought about it. He had told me to be ready, and that he would come that night and take me on an adventure of my own. At the time, it had seemed more like a psycho death plan than an adventure, but weeks pass and you remember things differently. I had dressed all in black (because stealth, right?) and I had packed a backpack with things I thought an action adventurer would need to break into a secured building (a pocket knife and a flashlight, plus two granola bars). We were going to be heroes. We were going to steal back a magic book and save the world together. Then we would suitably make out in front of a sunset somewhere. On a horse.

But he never came. I waited up all night. When the sun came up the next day, I took off my catwoman outfit. The day after that, I unpacked my bag. And the day after that, I stayed in bed, staring up at the ceiling. My brain was blissfully blank. I didn't know where my hero went. Or why he forgot about me. I guess he had come into my life so suddenly that when he was gone just as suddenly, my brain couldn't figure out what the hell had just happened.

So I did what any sensible 24 year old would do when faced with unexpected loss. I quit my job at the bakery. I started a small baking business out of my own kitchen (much to my roommate's dismay). I dyed the underside of my hair purple. I got new glasses and tried online dating. That last part hadn't worked out all that great, but hey, at least I gave it a shot. And most importantly: I started writing again. It had been slow at first, but it picked up fast and before I knew it, I was right back in the swing of things. I had missed it so much, that I could hardly believe I had stopped in the first place. Although, I reminded myself, the only reason I stopped writing was because my real life had become more exciting than the life I lived through my characters.

So here I was now. It was a quiet Friday afternoon, in the middle of winter. It was cold outside, but sunny enough at my dining room table. I had a cup of coffee at my elbow, and a dog at my feet. The coffee was mine, but the dog was a loaner. Her name was Koda, and I was babysitting her. We had spent the morning going for walkies, so she was asleep on the rug, all played out. I had been working on the character outlines for another story, but had given up for the day and was dorking around on the internet, biding my time till it was late enough to eat a snack.

I heaved myself out of my chair, stretching till my back popped and swearing I was going to buy cushions for these stupid seats for the 100th time that month, and went to use the bathroom. I was washing my hands when I heard Koda yipping. I knew that noise well enough, it meant she wanted treats. So I dried my hands off, talking through the door to her.

"Your mom spoiled you too much, you've had your treats for today already. But I'll give you one more if you promise not to tell…"

Stopping dead in the doorway from my bedroom to the living room, I could hear my heartbeat in my chest. Koda was getting treats, all right. But not from someone I wanted to see. If I had to beat someone to death right after getting my carpets cleaned, so be it.

Picking up the nearest weapon I could find (a carved walking stick my dad made), I rounded the corner and took a swing with my eyes closed. Its super amazing to feel something you're swinging connect with what you're hoping to hit. Which, in my case, was the back of someone's head. There was a yelp, a crash, and the snarfing noise of a fat dog gobbling dropped treats.

I opened my eyes and sure enough, there he was. My hero. Flat on his back on my carpet, knocked out cold.

Score one for the heroine!

I unlocked my back door, grabbed his ankle, and dragged him out onto my balcony. Not without some difficulty. He was heavy and I'm not exactly a body builder. But I managed it, and stepped back into my apartment, locking the sliding door behind me. Then I refreshed my coffee and went back to browsing the internet. Koda had already cleaned the floor of treats and was back to snoozing under the table.

It was about twenty minutes before I heard movement on the porch. It was followed by a tentative knocking. After about five minutes, the knocking turned to pounding. And three more minutes after that, muffled cursing.

"Are you going to let me back in any time soon?"

"No."

More muffled noises. I assumed he was regretting the day he decided to put any faith in me. It was really a rookie mistake.

There was a rustle of metal-on-metal, and too late I realized what he was doing. I knocked over my chair leaping for the door, but he was already stepping through, and caught my outstretched arm, pulling me tight into his chest.

So I did what any self-respecting girl would do. I stomped down hard on his foot. He released me in surprise, and I ran like hell around the corner into the kitchen. He was a breath behind me, but by the time he slid around the corner too, I had my gigantic bread knife in hand. Say what you want about girls baking cakes, we still get some pretty kick ass weapons. I pointed mine at him.

"Get out or I start taking off your fingers"

He grinned at me, but took a step back with his hands up. The gleam in his eyes obviously came from chasing a woman around after grabbing her sideboob. Gross. I should have stomped his toe harder.

"The least you can do is offer me something for my head" he said, eying my hands and shifting. I knew that move. He was going to try to take the knife from me. I went to culinary school with mostly guys. I knew that trick. He was going to get a poke in the side if he tried it.

"That's what happens when you come inside uninvited" I told him, "Now get out."

"I owe you an explanation, Rachael."

No shit.

"I don't want to hear it. You've got three seconds before I deci…"

I didn't get to finish my super cool and well thought out threat. Because faster than I've ever seen anyone move, he had the knife out of my hand and tossed it in the sink, and had spun me around by the waist until I was backed up against the fridge with nowhere to run. Tap dancing christmas, I need to remember not to try that if I ever get robbed….

What would a heroine do in this situation? I have no idea. So I did what Rachaels do in this situation. I started to squirm like a fish. It didn't work, seeing as he had a good solid foot of height on me, as well as muscle. I needed to get to the gym.

"Let go, buttmuch!"

"Stop wiggling and talk to me like an adult"

"NEVER"

He let me struggle till I wore myself out. It took about a minute. Like I said, I had been meaning to go to the gym, but I have Netflix. I get distracted.

When I finally looked up into his face, trying to get my breath back, he asked "Are you done?". I nodded my head, and that's when he pressed his mouth onto mine. I lost my breath all over again.

He'd better have a good excuse coming after this….