Chapter One

The Prince is in Town

He was falling. Or at least, that was what his still numb senses were trying to tell him. In his too long existence, he had many occasions to experiment the subtle shades of the concept "fall".

He had been young back then, the Asgard's burning sun on his pale skin, eyes glued to the blond haired boy smiling at him on one of the highest branch. He had wanted to join him, to watch the same horizon. A misstep, an alarming cry from above as the bark had loudly cracked… The clear sky drawing away faster and faster.

He had fallen that day, and it had been blue.

He had been at the Court, the Council dismissed early and he had so retreated to his own quarters. Far away, in the countryside, the low and menacing rumble of thunder had echoed to his murderous thoughts. All those self-proclaimed strategists, those noble rats whose knowledges of war could be resumed to brutal strength and blind assaults. And Odin, the AllFather, not daring to consider his suggestions of alliances and peace agreements… When his own son, his brother, was currently risking his life for some stupide mines and rivers he could have had obtained with minor gifts and sweet words! "Let the Norns make them rot in Helheim!" he swore before crashing on his mattress.

He had fallen that day, and it had been grey.

He had been standing on the Bifröst, only to catch the spear of the once-called Father. Excuses, lies, past promises. Begging for forgiveness, only to receive cold statements. He had loosened his grip. Same sky, same scream from above…

But he had fallen that day, and it had been pure black…

Well, if he correctly recollected those scraps of his past, there also had been that time in New-York, when this mortal archer had managed to surprise him with his rustic midgardian technology, making him fly against a tower nearby.

Old-school, but still … Efficient.

His consciousness stated, trying to sound sporting. And, oh, how could have he forgotten this so enriching experience he had with that… Ridiculous mockery of a sorcerer! Thirty minutes, twenty-three seconds and six tenths! How did he call himself already? Tss, that was strange, he normally never forgot a name… Especially concerning the ones he was so craved to drive his dagger deeply into their throat: Hlin's pact could wait until he finishes to sort out some personal affairs, couldn't it?

~ You have sworn to become a good person ~

He heard from the back of his mind.

"I've sworn to become a better person…"

He countered with a smirk.

"And that's a big difference.

Plus, Hlin has not been precise about her expectations."

For now he was free…

For now he was falling, feeling more energy, more life, flowing through his body as the time passed.

He was falling today, and it was with a hopeful white.

It was dark, and, during a brief instant, he thought that nothing had happened, that Hlin had fooled him in a fair payment for all of his past misdeeds against them. It would have been of good faith.

However, few facts made Loki suggest that he really was back among the livings. First came the pain… Norns, how was it even possible to simultaneously feel each and every fibres of his body? His chest was pulsing fire into his veins, his joints had to have been morphed into sharp-edged stones, and his head wouldn't have been in a better state than his current one if he would have been forced to listen to Thor singing one of his "battle chants" for ten hours straight… His life wasn't threatened nonetheless, but no need to precise that he had imagined his return to be a bit more… Triumphal? Glorious? At least not so pedestrian?

And that's what guides us to the second point: it smelled. It smelled, it was damp and it was suffocating.

"Hlin, my dear Hlin…" He angrily muttered, not faily sure if he should be happy to finally let some air enter his lungs. "I know you aren't really fond of me right now, but in the name of the AllMother's love, please don't tell me that you sent me into-!"

He didn't have the time to finish his pray that his tiny and filthy space was abruptly turned upside-down. He nor didn't get the chance to prevent his left side from a violent encounter with the streets' hard bitumen.

"What in the- ?!"

"Oy-oy, what do we have here?" He heard while trying to regain his composure. "Hey, sleeping dirty beauty, don't you know that's not very charming to take a nap in the trash?"

In front of him were standing two men, middle-aged if he referred himself to Midgardians' standards, one wearing a dirty-grey woolly hat, hiding his long and greasy once blond hair, the other, almost reaching his height, bearing a large gash across his sinister face.

"Yeah… In our trash." The tall mortal added in what should have been perceived as a menacing tone.

"Then should I assume that I'm talking to real litter's regents?" But, unfortunately, the Trickster wasn't in mood for threats.

"What did you dare to call us?!" The blond giant roared. "You better watch you f-!"

"Come on, Mac, don't be upset with the lady." His colleague responded. "I'm sure that we can find an… agreement."

"I don't deal with mortals, even more if they are vulgar peasants." He spat, while dusting his clothes.

At the end, while tossing him back to Midgard in a trash skip, Hlin have had the decency to resurrect him with more than a towel around his waist. Even if grey pants with a shirt of the same insipid colour, now all sporting diverse muds and cuts, memories of his landing place, weren't what he would have considered as a royal outfit. And… Norns, was he really barefoot on this disgusting ground?

"What a bad humour, pretty girl…"

"What an assh-!"

"Mac, buddy-pal, calm down, it's okay : let your good ol' Josh talk to the Lady." What seemed to be the cleverest, or at least the most tempered, suggested. He then turned a pair of eyes full of fake sweetness, of barely hidden violence, of…" If Ma'am can't pay us back a meal…" Lust? "We may find an alternate way to let both of us… Satisfied."

Disgusting… He didn't have the time for those off-beats and, on top of that, he would surely not let such an affront remaining unpunished. He had played the role of Odin's fool for too long, had been considered like a useful but replaceable tool by too many persons: even now this comedy he was engaged in had no other purpose than to entertain Fate's servant. His long fingers traced the mark of his golden collar under the shirt's rough fabric. So beginning his new and umpteenth battle for freedom, for control over his own existence with this?! Unacceptable… Unbearable.

Every true liberty comes with revolution, every revolution lead to fight sooner or later, and every fight start in blood…

Then, let's start with this part, shall we?

"Well, if that is the case, I hope your Majesties will excuse me, but I've got more important problems to deal with, so…" A maniac grin enlightened his face with immaculate tooth, as he raised one palm towards the ones who have dared to cross his path. "Farewell to you... Pathetic creatures."

And with those words, followed by a bright green flash, the two unfortunate homeless men… Remained perfectly unharmed on the sidewalk of this dark alley, puzzled expressions behind dirt and sweat. Everything seemed to have stopped for a minute, all the protagonists stuck in their comical or theatrical poses.

I-It should have worked… And why did he have this impression of déjà-vu? He didn't feel fatigue or anything, he even felt better in comparison to his recent "death-state". So why wasn't he able to summon his seiðr and…

"And so five wishes to help you while your powers will wait to regain their full potential once again…"

"Well… Shit." as he once have heard a mortal say. Being deprived of his magic, for a born sorcerer, it was like cutting his own tongue to an experimented cook: a vast land of sensation lost in an instant. For his defence he only did it one time!

However, while he was still slightly flickering his hand, as if it would bring any sparkle of his past power back, he caught movements in his peripheral vision. Apparently, his two opponents had finished to dissipate their last doubts of danger, and were showing a fresh and stronger thirst for "rightful payback".

He smiled. Hum, it was time for plan B... Because stabbing has always been his best option.

He didn't even have to think about it, because it was a part of him, of his history, of his nature.

A defying stare:

analysing the danger's source.

He had been conceived while a rut, was born on a battlefield, had been sent to foreign estates to let Fire and Death rain upon them and their people. It wasn't violence to him: violence was something unrefined and ineffective on a long term.

A quick glance to his surroundings:

finding a weapon, or at least,

anything to cut through skin and flesh.

Chaos, he was Chaos. Just like mischief, people, especially Asgardians, were afraid of Chaos. But Chaos shouldn't be reduced to a simple lack of order: it was, on the exact contrary, more like a balance between several different stable states, more or less beneficial, more or less lasting. A cycle to bring novelty.

A flowing roll towards a crystal spark:

catching a shard of a bad wine bottle.

He was the one to expose others' faults by embodying them, emphasizing them. Thor had been arrogant; Loki had been contemptuous. Those midgardian friends of him had been blinded by their selfishness; he had given them light back with his own burning egocentricity. Asgard had fallen… But how many times had he tried to alert them by falling himself? Deeper, always deeper…

A gracile dodge of an impulsive punch:

thrusting the sharp glass into the first one's throat.

All of his actions were meticulously planned, to success or to secure. To shine under victory's rays or to warn his successors against the darkness which have finally managed to take over him. "The sun will shine on us again, brother…": next time you see that purple bastard, aim for the head, you moron! But don't take too much hope, Trickster, since when have your advices been listened?

A scream of terror behind him:

never sparing any potential witnesses.

Never was he more alive than on a plain battlefield. Believe him or not, but during those few little instants, there were no more plots, no more disguises, no more hidden messages… And, among blood and roars, among Chaos, he was allowed to put down his past and titles. He was allowed to be free, to wonder about a new start as soon as their last enemy would give up the ghost.

A short run before the pavement's shock:

taking time to watch this desire to survive struggling

behind those soon glazed eyes.

But each time he had raised his eyes to the stormy sky, his opponents' life's remainders dripping from his hands, clotting on his armour, the wind had murmured all his names back to his ear: Loki, God of Mischief, God of Fire and Chaos, Liesmith, Skywalker, Silvertongue, and so on… A fraternal but harsh hand on his shoulder had obliged him to stay a little longer. Again and again, the same cycle, the same Chaos.

A less mad smile, an unfinished prayer:

cutting the jugular in one straight stroke.

He didn't remember how long he had remained here, his body overshadowing the still warm one of the once so called "Josh". Those mortals and their ridiculous names… Blood was pouring from the large gash, slowly forming a dark pool around them.

He finally stood up, closed his eyes. The wind was only carrying the rumble of those midgardian vessels with wheels and the distant crowd's constant hubbub. Nothing else. He then dared to open them towards the sky: it was blue, filled with some errant clouds. The air was fresh, almost cold. Winter was promising to be tough this year. No grey storm to fear.

So he smile to himself, and, avoiding the dark puddles mottling the surroundings, took some steps towards the bright alley's entry. Perhaps it would work this time.

Today would be the first day to find how to complete his deal with Fate….

Or how to break it.

But, oh dear Loki, you shouldn't be so self-confident about that…

After all…

You only have 30 days left.

Before reaching and melting into the walkers' noisy flow, an odd and unpleasant sensation took him. He was retreating to a street corner which was out of the common view, wondering about the possible effects a resurrection would have, when his innards released a displeased but distinctive growl. A blank statement suddenly crossed his mind:

I am… hungry?

Most of the time, gods and deities were eating for pleasure, in order to officially set down alliances or to celebrate some big events. Their natural constitution had let them resistant and unaffected by such trivial obligations mortals are submitted to, like hunger, thirst, sleep, and so on, and so forth… In fact, they were even so occasionally obliged to respect those "necessities", especially in case of illness, wounds or great exhaustion. The Odin's sleep was, for that, a perfect example. So it appeared that being temporally (or at least he hoped so) deprive from his seiðr could be counted into the godly weaknesses he was suffering from.

A swift draught of cold air brushed his skin as it dived into the narrow streets, causing him to shiver. He stopped himself to wrap his arms against his chest nonetheless: it would have been dishonourable of him. But the fact that he was now more vulnerable to the temperature and weather's contingences had not passed unnoticed.

It was in the terms of their deal, and if he had been aware of his state at his return on Midgard, then he would have surely tried to bargain about his conditions. However, it was a bit too late now, and he won't try to summon Hlin, because it was clear that it would be a loss to use one of his five wishes for something that would come back to him in a matter of days. Surely. Hopefully. He will wait, and think about his new moves in order to complete his "task"… And so close the deal. His stomach complained to his thoughts.

Well, it doesn't solve the current situation…

I still need to find a shelter for some time and so take care of-

Another angry rumble, more insistent. His nostrils were beginning to dilate, capturing all the street's smells. A bit further in the alley, a metal door suddenly slammed open, letting a frail profile, a young human wearing a strange headgear throwing a black bag into one of the dirty metallic boxes the Midgardians used for their trash. It was quick and almost savage, but as soon as the door was closed again, he couldn't avoid his sense of smell to notice the tempting scent. Cautiously taking some steps towards the bin, eyeing for the man to return at any time and so bring or dispensable attention on his tired (and bloody handed) persona, he threw a curious glance to its content. How big was his surprise when he discovered several red and white boxes, quite damaged but still whole, and, on top of that, all of them still containing those dishes some mortals seemed to crave for and that he had already seen during his few trips to Midgard. Especially in a certain Stark's tower…

Back in time, he had found this poor white bread's slices, filled with an almost burned piece of meat and slimy tasteless yellow squares anything but appetizing. Norns, he wasn't even sure if this thing was edible, or at least not toxic. Considering the quantity come humans were able to ingest, it shouldn't be. But once again, mortals were weird…

And more than that, if those… things could really be called "food", then… Why so many were thrown in the dirt like that when they would be more intelligently used? For example, by being given to the ones who would truly need them. Even on Asgard, the feasts' remainders, when they were organized, were always given to the humblest. Like…

Like the two you just murdered…

He turned back, considering the heavy duster where he has hidden his assailants' corpses. They will be found, sooner or later, and, even if vendettas had to be common around these dark corners, it was dangerous to assume there wouldn't be any reprisals or investigations at all. Gangsters, lost souls and mafias were the same, wherever you would go through the Nine Realms, but their deadly breaks were nothing more than you could expect from this kind of violent and loyally brain-washed creatures: blood bathes. So "quick and clean death" should not been something which would remain unnoticed. However, with a bit of luck, it would shortly be considered as an unsolved case, and underground's rats will reject the fault on each other's clan rather than suspecting a fallen god they had not even the chance to catch a glance of. Still, it was safer to leave this area as soon as possible and find a roof to put above his head…

Not without a disgusted face, he took the less spoiled cardboard box out, inspecting his content with a critical but still famish eye (oh, how low he had fallen to salivate for those unqualifiable preparations!), and began to discreetly walk away.

But, as he was reaching his previous hiding spot, a metallic crash caught his attention. Without lasting any precious seconds, which could cost any experimented warrior his life (and Norns knew that he had already paid enough to get this one back), he swiftly spired and threw his improvised dagger towards the source of the sound. The glass debris flied across the street to come blowing itself into pieces against the nearest wall. The move had been fast, surprising, and it had been all it takes to make the frail shadow he had felt to fall against the floor, shaky hands up to protect their face from the countless sharp pieces. Some would have said that it has been a miss shot, but they should better learn that the Trickster never misses his target: his goal wasn't to kill the mysterious, even if obvious, follower… Or at least not until he had learned his identity and possible motives.

As soon as the impact rang against the grey high buildings' walls, Loki rushed forward. A caught breath and he was already on top of his prey… Which revealed itself to be-

"P-Please, Sir, I b-beg you! I-I d-didn't want to threa-threaten you on a-anything! Please d-don't hurt me!"

…A child? Dirty, moaning and awfully skinny, but definitely a child, who was more or less reaching his eleventh spring if he guessed right. Hum, maybe not even his tenth after a second look on his thin wrists. So thin wrists. Too thin wrists.

The god let his grip to loosen a bit, his heart still beating fast due to the adrenaline, but clutching at the sight. A child. Norns knew he had standards, even as the incarnation of Mischief, of Chaos, of Fire (he was beginning to know the tune by heart) however… A child? Names bubbled in his memory, pictures from a past line of his life's myth.

"Sl…!" His silver tongue froze on the last part. It wasn't as if the young mortal would have noticed it, as lost in his pleas as he was. "Slow down, child! I'm not getting a word your mouth his trying to spit right now!"

The voice was strong but not brutal. The red-mop decreasingly stopped to escape from the green eyed man who, as for him, was containing the younger's last nervous hiccups by clenching his shoulders straight.

Loki loved to think that he had a smile for every situation he may encounter, so, of course he had a specific one for the "meeting-a-strange-midgardian-child-in-the-back-of-a-desert-alley-after-coming-back-to-life-and-nearly-got-murdered" case. Even if it was not a classic.

"Here: breathe with me, young one. In…" He inspired deeply, searching to help the little boy to steady his own breath. "And out…" He expired. The other followed his example which managed to crook him a slight comforting smile. "That's it! Once again, would you? In… And out… In… Out… In…"

He repeated the same exercise again and again, until the primal fear seemed to have left the child's eyes enough, which would enable him to have a nicer chat.

It wasn't the first time Loki had to deal with panic attacks. Warriors could still be grown men and women, they remained breakable souls when it came to the battlefield. He had witnessed so many times how the horrors of war could change fighters, victims, the short-tempered and the wiser, masters, slaves, even animals and creatures… But the worst cases were always children.

That was something that wouldn't help him in his quest to respond to Hlin's deal, since protecting, or at least avoiding harming them, as already been one of the very few codes he was taking to heart. Personal history, personal affair. But if he didn't take it, he couldn't afford to lose it nonetheless.

"There, you're doing great little one…" He tried to chase away the last bit of falseness he usually put into each grin of his. "Listen: I don't want to harm you. Believe me."

Well, the Liesmith imploring a child to trust him? Hilarious.

"Rea-really…?" The kid asked him with a voice in which you could almost feel an inch of hope. Norns, how could a so naïve ball like this one has not already been killed, it was a true miracle. World could be so cruel sometimes…

"Yeah, I…" No promises, remember? Never. "… told you so: don't make me repeat myself."

"Huh, o-okay!" He felt the muscled tensed again under his palms. "I'm so-sorry, Sir!"

"There's no need to be sorry little one: I should be the one to… apologize for startling you like that. I… just wanted to ask you some questions, hum? Do you think you can do that for me?"

"S-Sure? I mean, it's just some questions, right?

"It is."

"No… No harm?"

"No harm." He felt the tension slowly leaving the boy, his smile warmed up a bit. "Now tell me… What were you doing in those trashes, crippling behind my back?"

"I was just searching for food, Sir!" Shame dusted his young cheeks at the declaration.

"Food…?" It was now genuine concern that was flickering around his mind. The picture of all the dirty boxes with their eatable but ill-making meat flashed in front of his eyes. However, it seemed that the word has rolled too long on his tongue regarding to the kid's previous fear.

"I s-swear it, Sir! I just c-came here to see if old J-Jacky's rats had already thrown the r-rests of the day! On m-my life, I swear I- !"

The boy was cut when he saw the strange dark haired man presenting to him one of the precious boxes he was so desperate for. His little hands began to clench and open repetitively, his fingers unable to decide which destination would be better to follow, while his almost salivating mouth and hungry eyes remained fixed on the Trickster.

"Is it what you were searching for, back then? Can you swear that you weren't spying on me or having bad intentions?" Loki raised his palm to silence the child who was on the verge to babble an answer. "And don't even think to try to lie to me, young one: be sure I will know it." He still had one or two tittles to hold after all.

"I-" He swallowed loudly. "Yeah, Sir. I-it's the truth! I… just wanted to find something to put under my tooth. The snacks thrown in the dump here aren't the best of the city, but it's the safer for the people like… me. Bigger restaurants' back doors are already taken by the older, the stronger ones. When I saw you taking a full box, I was - hum - not happy, 'cause I had hoped to be the first to arrive." His spine straightened. "But I-I'm not a fool! I know I couldn't beat you whenever I would have wanted to steal it from you! I can't even stand a chance against lil' Ted, then against an adult like you…"

Well, young but smart… And realistic.

"So I waited you to turn back to reach the dump, but…"

"You were not the best most discrete…"

"Yeah, I-I think." The boy almost chuckled.

Suddenly, without any warnings and while the boy's eyes had always avoided his until then, Loki found himself starring at two chocolate irises becoming shiny with new tears at their corners. A plaintive voice broke from the tight young chest.

"P-Please, Sir, I-I know that it's not my r-right to ask it, but…" An unknown courage pierced through his next words. "Could you at least let me take only one of them?! Just one! That's all my sis' and I would need, so please, could you- ?!"

"You have a sister?" The statement gave him a bitterer after-taste than he would have admitted. Nostalgia perhaps. He looked at the boy a little longer who was now a bit unsure the idea to tell more about his reasons to dive into the trash. "You know, I have a brother too… And a sister, even if I didn't have much time to… fraternize with her." He may have found a common ground. He would have just preferred it to be a stupide hobby like gardening, knitting or even stabbing. "So it means that I'm surely able to understand your problems, am I wrong? And then, we may find a way to…" He smiled. "… help each other? What do you think of this, little one?"

"H-Help? How?"

"Oh, but that's very simple! You just have to show me the place where mor- you commonly use and tell me everything about it, and, in exchange…" He gently deposed the card box in his little hands, repressing the cry of disapproval from his stomach. "I give you the permission to take all the… food you want for you and your sibling. So what do you think of it?"

To be honest, he was actually starving at the moment, but he knew that he should still be able to stand for a few hours. More than that, getting some informations about his new environment was vital, far more important than those midgardian apparently edible things that he would undoubtedly find in another dirty metallic container. The need would arise, but he could also use some compa Plus, if his long life as a pariah had taught him something, it was that the cities' little eyes and ears, like this child, were the best sources when it came to know all the hidden spots, bad secrets and clever tips to survive in those Hell's shallows. Energetic and curious children were clearly less irritating than grumpy and doubtful adults.

"Hum, y-you… You just want me to show you the area?" The boy took a look inside his gift, eyes round like saucers. "That's all?"

"Exactly!" Bared teeth for a plain smile. "I would love to learn a bit more about this place I'm foreign to, and since I don't know to whom I can address myself, I thought that maybe you could… But of course –"He playfully gave the impression to take the box away. "– if you refuse I can still ask someone el-…"

"That's settled!" The red-haired child chirped keeping his treasure close to his chest. "I will be your guide, Sir! You'll see: I'm the best of the city for showing places nobody have heard of!" He exclaimed before running towards the main street.

"Oh, I highly count on that, young one…" The god muttered to himself, dusting his clothes again and following the now bouncing kid. "And you can stop calling me "Sir", it's, hum…" Awfully ancient. "Odd… My name is Lo-…" Don't say it, you absolute idiot! "-rence. My name is Laurence."

"Well, huh, as you wish M'ster Laurence!" There apparently was still some things to sort out about the "mister-stuff", but at least the name he chose seemed to be enough credible to be a Midgardian's one "Mine's Mat' if you want!"

"Dully noted, young Matthew." Mortals and their tendency to cut their own names…

The said Matthew raised an interrogative eyebrow at his full name, as he was not accustomed to such manners. However, it didn't bother him more than necessary, and, when the strange but quite kind mister Laurence finally met him at the bright avenue entrance, the boy genuinely reached for his hand. Loki, as for him, was a bit surprised by the gesture at first, but then, decided to wash his doubts over. It would be easier to not lose him in the crowd anyway. He let his fingers entangled themselves with the tiny ones. And, as they walked in the light together, he heard the amused and frail voice at his sides:

"So, M'ster Laurence, have you ever heard 'bout New York City before?"

Visiting the city you have tried to invade years ago, even if it led to a big disaster and while being partially controlled by, well, you-know-who, was a very strange experience. When he was standing, tall and magnificent on one of its highest skyscrapers, the streets were nothing more than ridiculously thin lines, and the walkers, dots you could have erased from the map by a single turn of your wrist. Now, his own one, along with all of his body, was drawn against the tumultuous rush of blind and almost death, mortals, who seemed to remain unaffected by whatever would occur around them. The prodigious living stream should have been able to impress the former god by its strength, if it's not by its unbelievable lack of sense, but today, as his only leading light in this ocean of multi-coloured skins and synthetic fabrics appeared to be a midgardian child (vulnerable and easily nervous on top of all things), Loki had to fight hard against the knots forming in his chest.

Crowds and attention never bothered him if they were meaning praises, respect and cheers… Natural or not. But those silent scrums, those judgemental glances and too loud laughs, they were killing him. On the bright side: his miserable appearance and their quite fast steps seemed to be enough to disguise his real identity from eyes, which, although, were already mesmerized by small metallic devices ("phones" he remembered), if they weren't starring at what seemed to be the Void itself. And you still want him to consider mortals as his equals?

A little tug from his sleeve tore him from his depreciative thoughts. The young Midgardian, Matthew, raised one of his small palms to point at the awfully bright signs above their heads.

"And here, finally, we're in Time Square! The name comes from the previous headquarters of the news- y'a know "The New York Times"? -, but today, the place is mostly famous for its big shops!" The boy explained with an incredibly serious tone despite his childish vocabulary. "You can have anything you want here: food, clothes, digital stuff, tourists-baits, and so on!" The voice lost a part of its energy. "Well, only if you have the money to pay it, of course…"

"Money", it has been a regular theme in this improvised trip, the child using it as some sort of punctuation for each place they have visited this morning. All of them going with a dispensable amount of commentaries concerning Midgardians' boring way of life…

.

.

.

"It's a beautiful park, don't you think Mister Laurence? That's just a shame you need a ticket to go see the animals, they are quite expensive… Anyway, do you like animals, Mister Laurence?"

"There! We are now in Hell's Kitchen area. I… don't really know what Hell looks like, but it's a good place to find restaurants nonetheless. Some are really good and well-known, others just average: depends on your wallet's content I guess… Hey, I was wondering, what's your favourite food, Mister Laurence? Do they have chocolate where you come from?"

"Oh, look there! It's an entrance to reach the subway: super useful if you have to go fast to a part of the city! Huh? Hum, no, I'm sorry Mister Laurence, but we can't take it now, 'cause I may have just enough for only one of us… Anyway! How do you travel in your homeland? Trains? Planes? What do your cars look like?"

.

.

.

Back in his spring years, he would have surely cringe at every silly questions, but after a decade particularly full of unpredictable changes, his mind has learned how to behave for his own safety, here, how to preserve his fragile undercover.

.

.

.

Yes, and I have a preference for snakes.

I'm not sure of what you're talking about, child, but I don't really appreciate over-salty preparations.

Well, horses are quite common where I was, hum, have been raised.

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.

.

However, if those small talks were no more a problem for his silver tongue, his restless brain wasn't busy on admiring the tasteless mortals' sense of architecture. No, no, no, in this expedition in a more or less known territory, it was trying to catch all the informations and ideas which could help him to survive while finding a way to complete this damn deal.

And "money" would be, without doubts, his first target. After all, gold, jewels and precious artefacts had always been a source of power, and power, that was exactly what he was lacking of right now. Unfortunately, wherever his eyes were setting, he couldn't find any of those valuables in the Midgardians' hands. When they were passing in front of businesses' front windows he could read numbers, which he interpreted as the merchandises' prizes, however, he wasn't able to tell what you have to give in exchange to buy them. There only was this symbol that he surely never had seen among all the other runes he had learned and discovered during his centuries past as a sorcerer student. After a second thought, he shouldn't have spat on midgardian culture so much the first time he came, and now, he was regretting his overconfidence…

"Little Matthew, stop here for a moment."

"Hum? Is it something wrong, Mister Laurence? I know I've already shown you quieter quarters, but if they don't please you, we can always-"

"No, child, don't worry about that: I think I've already found one or two places corresponding to my "criterias", but…" I surely don't have the funds to afford them… or the ability to conquer them without risking my quest's completion. "What does that symbol mean?"

"What are you- Oh! That?! It's just a dollar!"

"Doll-are?" Was that some voodoo's arcana then?

"Yeah, that's our – hum – y'a know, way to buy stuff. Like Euros, Pesos, or- Dollars are – it's, well, coins and bills, or-"

"Are you trying to explain that it is the formal representation of your realm's currency?"

He didn't understand half of the boy's vain attempts of explanations, but he still managed to catch "coins", and, most importantly "way to"…

"Yeah, that's it! Currency: that's the word!" The child scratched his neck. "Although, I'm not sure of what you want to say by "realm", 'cause we're more like sta-"

"Where can I get some?"

"W-What?"

"Your "do-larz": where can I find them? Do you have any treasury's rooms? Any dimensional safe spaces? Any guarded warehouses or libraries?"

"Huh, w-we have… banks?" Matthew's growing confusion was now almost tangible.

"Wonderful!" Loki clasped his hands on the boy's frail shoulders, forcing his own malicious eyes to meet the lost ones. "Then lead me to one of them: and I won't suffer any detour this time!"

"N-no problem, Mi-Mister Laurence!" The other immediately answered, although still a bit frightened by this sudden interest, if it's not fascination, for something as common as a dollar. "You have several ATM from which you should be able to get out money, even if I don't know if there's one nea-" He briefly took a look around before a proud smile enlightened his features. "Hey there! Do you see the red device on the wall?"

"This?" His brows furrowed as he was focusing on the blue bold letters above the fitted luminous screen Matthew was pointing at. B-A-N… Bank of A-M… "Bank of America?" Midgardians and their originality…

Just as he finally managed to pronounce what was supposed to be one of the mortals' common ways to store their wealth, a quite plump lady appeared right in front of the automated machine. From the distance and considering that he was only allowed to watch her back, Loki wasn't able to tell what she did there, but he did see her elbows moving, indicating she was doing something with the previous device. Only half minute later, the fancy woman left her place to a smiling old man, and, this time, the god didn't miss her hands… full of greenish and brown papers, all wearing the famous mark. How such meaningless material could have found importance for mortals' eyes was a mystery (once again, Midgardians were weird), however, he had found what he was searching for. Well, in theory… Indeed, he knew the "where", was now missing the "how"?

Just as he was thinking about his next move, ignoring the curious glances he was receiving from his first and new ally Matthew, he felt pleasing and oddly familiar tingles running under his skin. Was it really what he was hopping for so dearly?

It's… coming back!

A mischievous grin graced his thin lips. Of course it wasn't even an hundredth of his past power, but he could sense tiny sparkles of seiðr floating in the air. They were vibrating, almost condensing only to dissipate themselves again. And they…

They are attracted by something…

Something which is really near from here…

Something that is using a big amount of energy…

His eyes suddenly seemed to get lost in an unreachable horizon, animated by quick movements, but each of them darting with a chirurgical precision. Reading through the universe's secret veil with so few strings to hold on wasn't a work for ordinary amateurs.

"Hum… Mister Laurence? Is everything alright?" The little boy's voice asked anxiously. "You know that you need a debit card to get money, don't you? Do you even have a bank ac-?"

"Perfectly fine. I'm… perfectly fine." His mind was racing like thousands horses during a royal hunt, chasing after any crumbs of seiðr left. Finally… "Now please keep your adorable mouth shut for a moment and follow me…"

"Hey! Wait, Mister, where are you- Oh shoot!" Surprise got caught in the small throat.

He may wasn't capable to stand up long for a miserable streets' fight, but reading pattern of energy, this, had always been a kid's play for him. During a brief instant, the sympathetic although a bit strange Mister Laurence was no more able to hear the anxious calls, his bare teeth clenched in an almost painful, but challenging, rictus, forehead moistened with the sweat of an invisible effort. It then grew wider, his smile, and, without a word, the tall man began to walk towards the bank's front wall. On his tiny legs, the young Matthew had to take two or three steps in order to keep the determined pace of his new employer.

When they finally reached one of the digital devices, Loki unceremoniously shoved away the person in front of him, clearing the space. He didn't catch the offended remarks, nor did he hear the honest apologies coming from the twelve year old boy.

He could feel it under his palm. The energy running behind this so thin glass. Running, running in all the directions through paths neatly traced… He had already encountered this kind of power. He knew this pattern, this strength and spontaneity, if it wasn't violence and haste.

Thor?

Well, it clearly couldn't have anything to do with his moron of a brother, but it definitely shared something with the god of-

Thunder!

That was it! It felt like millions of micro-storms which would have been condensed in fine lines of… Electricity, was it how mortal call it? A global name for such a complex power, but anyway: it won't change the fact that he was able to control it, or at least to lead it where he wanted to guide it. After all, he may have learned one or two magic tricks after centuries on his brother's side.

A twitch of wrist, elegant long fingers silently dancing on the screen but without even touching it, a sly smirk breaking the frown of effort and the luminous commands broke. Still watching him with worry, Matthew suddenly jumped at the strong and unusual mechanic roar coming from the ATM. When his child's eyes settled on the impressive bundles of bills and the almost offhand attitude the more than modest man he had met in the trash only one hour ago, he couldn't help his jaw to drop. However, Loki turned to him with a fresh smile, full of a new and refilled confidence. In himself, and maybe in future too. But for now…

"Tell me, little one…" He said in a mock of some bourgeoisie's manners, an almost forgotten playful grin on his lips. "What do you think about a real feast with true decent food?"

At the time the odd duo took a sit at the quietest table the café could offer, Loki had the time to test the limits of his regained powers. Besides the common energy reading abilities, it seemed that he was able to manipulate minor forms which are already present in his nearby environment. If he has managed to control electricity, he unfortunately failed to summon it on his own. His main hypothesis was that his inner source of seiðr was still unreachable, too weak after years of death-state, but the sensibility of extern magic he had learned to forge through centuries had remained. As some kind of confirmation, he had been able to charm a few mortals while they were on their road, leaving them quite chocked by harmless hallucinations. Spirits are a sort of energy, you know? Nerves too…

And his best work from now on was definitely when he managed to let them enter a shop to buy more fitting (and cleaner). Honestly, which seller would have let two pedestrians enter in his luxurious property to "acquire the finest pieces he could present to them"?! One of the so called underground's rat being a child with surely nothing more than two "dau-larz" to buy candies! Well, a small illusion here and there, and the posh audience would only tell you that, this early afternoon, they saw a fortunate and well-dressed old man, dark velvet in contrast to long white hair and goat beard, followed by a really impressed little boy (probably his grandson or maybe distant nephew?), all blond hair and blue state-of-the-art outfit, coming down to the town for shopping. Calling the say session "expensive" would have been an euphemism regarding the final bill the too happy employee and the big eyes the child have made, but the old man didn't even flinch, leaving the place with his purchases and a bright false smile. As soon as they found a discrete spot, the good grandpa and his innocent kid disappeared to let an ex-criminal alien god and his new found streets' ally replace them. Loki greatly appreciated the return of soft and delicate fabric on his so "used-to-be-a-prince" skin. It although took him several minutes to convince Matthew that, yes, the other clothes' set was indeed for him and his sister, and that, no, it wasn't unnecessary expenses so "go-change-because-we-still-have-duties-on-our-list!".

Now they looked unrecognizable. It had been, in fact, one of Loki's priorities after he and his young guide had settled the plan to get something to calm their hungry stomachs, and, if it could be possible, something sweet and tasty (he definitely has more in common with the little Midgardian than he thought). Indeed, if the Trickster has managed to fool a child, who may not have even been born two years after the… incident of his city, he was more than aware that it wouldn't be that easy with traumatized adults who were conscious and alert at the time. So, if he had to stay immobile and exposed, in a crowded public place, it was imperative to find some disguise (comfortable and fitting to his noble standards nonetheless). The last thing he needed was clearly to assist to his own military assault by the Avengers. Or what apparently remained of them…

"So, you're telling me that St- Iron Man… died?"

He couldn't believe the news. He has indeed witnessed all the pictures, street arts and messages along their trip through New York, but he had only thought about another ego-display from the billionaire. Norns, it could have been something he would have done too!

"When ? How?"….. By who?

"What? How could yo have not heard about it? It has been all other the news during six whole months –at the least- after the Last Battle!" Matthew chocked out on his strawberry smoothie. "Don't get mad at me, Mister Laurence, but sometimes I really have the impression that you live on another planet…"

Well, child, I used to…

In a way…

"Anyway, to answer your questions, Mister: yes, Tony Stark is dead - but please don't speak so loud" The kid demanded while shushing him quiet with his little hands. "This is still a difficult subject for everyone here, y'a know? After all, he was one –if it's not the most- loved of our symbols!"

"Was he for you?" Two chestnut eyes flashed to his. "Do you… hum, like him?"

"Well, I… can't say that I adore him like some of his fans do-"

"But?" Matthew shifted a bit before letting his shy voice answer.

"But he saved my Mom during the aliens' invasion, the one which took place in 2012?" He nodded. Oh dear child, you have no idea. "There were all those grey monsters the… Kaitoris or something like that, which were controlled by a green magician with a big wand made of gold!"

For once, Loki didn't feel the need to correct his conversation partner about his choice of words to describe the versed mage he was.

"Well, my Mom told us, my sister and I, that without the Avengers, and especially Iron Man, she wouldn't have been able to survive the attack… That's him which has helped the people to escape the tower she was passing by before it collapsed entirely. She… She got gravely injured nonetheless, and lost her job because of that, but…" A half-smile crossed the dark face of the kid. "But she managed to find some little paid tasks she's able to do from our home, internet programming stuff and all, since she has a degree in-"

"And your father? Why didn't even ment-?

"It's because he's in coma." The voice didn't waver but his eyes were piercing through the god's skull. "He didn't have the same chance as Mom, which also got under attack, the first one to be targeted to be exact, and so the same one to which none of our now heroes managed to get in time to save the poor guys and ladies. They've died or… Well, like my dad. I was, what, one year old then? My sister, not even two months. I… I don't remember much, only false memories and adults' stories.

"Hum, I'm… sorry to hear that, young one. I…"

"Oh! Don't apologise like that, Mister Laurence!" The boy abruptly said, waving in an appeasing manner. "You're not responsible of what happened. Plus, almost all of us lost someone dear during this… battle. I know people who are the only survivors of their family, so it could sound strange, but I quite considered myself lucky. After all, I still have Mom, Dad and Kat', my lil' sis'! So yes, I have to work for two, even three some days, but that's okay, 'cause I'm strong! And if one day that mad magician came back, I want to be able to defend them, so I better start to learn how to cope with daily ordeals on my own! Am I right, Mister?!"

Loki swallowed hard, even if the sound seemed to not reach the child's ears. He was not proud of what happened back then: it hadn't been a war he had engaged for himself. He had lost. He wasn't even satisfied: this little "escapade" on Midgard had not been enough to satisfy his lust of control. Rule them all to keep your own pieces together. He wasn't feeling guilty either: he had fallen, never had he asked to be resurrected. The void was so close and also far in his memories. But, for a reason he wasn't able to explain, a knot formed in his entrails after hearing the story of this little piece of flesh and blood. This so undeveloped and primary being but with such a bright smile. Loki had long lost the meaning of "family", did it give him the right to tear it away from others nonetheless?

"Yes you are, child… Yes you are." He tried to turn his attention to his cold midgardian conception of infusion. Changing the topic. "Now eat your mouth-in before I do it for you!"

"Oh, yeah! Sorry, 'most forgot, haha!" The kid replied before shoving the pastry with a ridiculous amount of chocolate chunks directly in his mouth. "Hand wit's a muffin; M'ster Lawence, aw muffin!"

"As you wish, child." The god huffed, clearly not caring a slight bit about the name.

"I can't believe you don't have muffins where you're living… Man, it has to be an awful pla- Huh! No offense, Mister!"

"None taken, child."

"Thanks, and, anyway…" Matthew said why licking the remainders of chocolate on his fingers. "Where do you think you're going now, Mister Laurence?"

Loki took his time to finish his tea, let enough money to pay the bill on the table (he may have put some more for the child and his family, but please, don't even try to mention it), ruffled Mat's hair and direct himself towards the café's exit.

"It was a pleasure to know and work with you, little Matthew, but I have to leave now. I'm looking for our next encounter. May the Norns protect your path." He stepped out, disappearing into the crowd. "I have a new home to find."

The boy didn't even have the time to tell him goodbye… Nor to ask him what "the Norns" could be…

As he was walking in the streets, looking briefly from time to time to the piece of napkin his little guide tour used to draw a rough but still understandable map of the places they have visited, the god was feeling more and more at ease in the constant human flow. For some strange reason, the primary clothes ruffling against his own precious fabric were becoming a second skin under which he was able to hide; the cacophony of voices and horns, a voice behind he could silence his own. Even the odd, sometimes envious or curious glances he was getting… They were still a menace for a part of him, a cue he should always be aware of if his disguise ever got revealed. But they were also a proof that he was here, walking among them, a tangible reality. Alive.

His steps halted in front of the red bricks structure. A dark oak door, with golden hinges and door-knocker but ivy climbing around old woody windows. And with heavy cracks into the walls. A dusty floor barely visible behind the moth-eaten curtains and the twilight slowly falling upon the street. A perfect hidden place: an abandoned one.

Well, I would have preferred something more comfortable, but at least,

I'm sure that no one would ever seek for me here:

it's clearly not my…

"official style"

.

A quick verification around in order to assure himself that no eyes was spying on him, even lost ginger-haired child: silent grey towers obscuring the sky at the road's end, some scattered little shops already closed for the night and other deserted places, which were in a far worse shape than the one he had set his heart on.

When they had passed across this street this morning, the god had been surprised to see that only a handful of mortals were walking with them, contrary to the army usually invading the other avenues. Asking his little guide about it, the answer he had gotten back made him wonder:

"This area is a rest of the Invasion of our city." Matthew had said darkly, head down. "However, and contrary to many others, this one never managed to find someone to rebuild here. Always errors in the plans, bad weather, last minute hold-up, accidents on the construction sites. So, people began to spread rumours about the place, like it had been doomed by the dark magician's power. With that, only few civilians remain here, most of the time old people which were too attached to their houses and paid to repair them. The lack of clients and potential new inhabitants led this street to be left as a reminder of what happened, but a harsh and difficult place to live, being quite isolated in a so living place as New York…"

Yes, a perfect hideout, darkened in the light, and, who knows, if the little Midgardian was right, maybe he would be able to recover more quickly in a space which had kept a stain of his past mischief.

Without a sound, he took one of the cutleries he had… temporally borrowed in the café and made the points sink in the scratched lock. Some skilled movements and silent prays later, he was closing the door behind him, letting the last of his small illusions fade away. He had kicked the cleverest systems crafted by the dwarves and passed the finest barriers erected by the elves: a mortal display like this one was nothing at all, absolutely no-

He was inspecting his surroundings when he suddenly tripped on his own feet and leaned heavily against the damp wall while a migraine harshly harassed his temples… So, okay, maybe he had overestimated his new found resources a bit.

I need to… close my eyes.

Just for a minute…

And tomorrow, I will-

Exhaustion didn't give him the time to finish his thoughts. Before falling in a dreamless sleep, he caught a glimpse of light in the construction in front of his own from the corner of his tired eyes. But this, little trickster will have to wait until the dawn would rise. On your second day.

~ To be continued…

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