Book had been pleasantly surprised by the offering of fresh meat.
"This is so good," he said, juice dribbling down his chin. "No funky chemicals I can't pronounce, no plastic packaging, no meat by-product…whatever that is." He hadn't stopped chewing the whole time so that Loki got a good view of the entire process.
It's like eating with Thor when Frigga wasn't around. At least Book wasn't bursting out laughing in the middle of things and spraying him with chunks of saliva covered meat.
Loki sat back and listened as Book rambled over the scintillating aspects of his day and really anything that happened to pop into his mind. All too soon the rabbit was gone, all except for the final piece which Book was still chewing, refusing to swallow until every last ounce of moisture was gone. Hunger still curled in Loki's stomach, though it wasn't nearly so sharp as it had been. He knew the boy felt it too.
"You're going to have to teach me someday. To hunt I mean," said Book.
Loki inclined his head and made a humming noise in the back of his throat. The boy interpreted it as the perhaps Loki had meant for him to. He of course had no plans to be around long enough to suffer trying to teach Book how to hunt with nothing but an extended game of charades.
The two broke apart into their nightly routines, Book to the newest volume to find its way into his hands, and Loki to silent contemplation. The edges of the Pit disappeared into darkness as the sun slipped behind the mountains, no longer casting light though the high windows of the warehouse. Stray rays from a nearby street lamp replaced them, but they were weak and didn't reach to the ground. Most of the light came from the fire barrel which smoked a bit with too green wood. As the light dimmed Book squinted and brought the book closer to his nose, inching ever nearer to the light source. Eventually, after blinking hard several times he abandoned it.
Loki surreptitiously shifted his attention as the boy drew a black marker from his back pocket.
With hooded eyes, he watched Book repeat what he had determined was a nightly ritual. The boy shoved back his right sleeve and began to trace the day-faded sharpie lines on his skin. Five names cut like slash marks across his inner forearm, one on top of the other. With his tongue tucked between his teeth, Book meticulously blacked the lines again until they stood out, wet-black from his skin. Feeling watched, Book paused and looked up.
Loki quirked an eyebrow with a significant look at Book's arm.
He sighed and replaced the cap on the pen, chewing the inside of his lip. "They're my family, my street brothers and sisters." He held out his arm, pointing to each name in turn. "Cole, Madison, Montana, Deirdre, and Simeon." The sharpie twisted between his fingers. "You know I was a run away, right? Multiple offender actually. The last time it was winter—never run away in winter—but with the way this guy was going, I wasn't going to make it till spring. So, I hightailed it out of there. It wasn't long before my food was gone and I was ready to just curl up in a doorway and let the cold take me—all little Matchstick girl."
A piece of wood popped loudly, sending sparks flitting into the air.
"But then Simeon found me and brought me into his crew. We ran with other kids, but family was those five. They were a bit older than me, but it didn't matter. We watched out for one another." Book wasn't looking at Loki now. He followed the curling path of the sparks as they drifted out of the fire and into the darkness. "And things were good, you know. Yeah, it was hard, but we had each other and we made it work."
"Couldn't last, though. This life will eat you up if you let it. Didn't matter that we were kids. Took Cole first. We steered clear of the gangs, but that didn't matter when their turf war caught Cole in the crossfire. Madison was next—she'd always had a habit of pinching things. Hooked up with a hard crowd and got nabbed breaking and entering. She was almost eighteen and one of the guys had been packing. They shipped her off to jail." His fist clenched so that the names shifted over the raised tendons. "She'd been shived twice last I heard. I doubt she'll live long enough to make parole. Montana found he could make his pain go away as long as he had a needle shoved up his arm. Turned one of the sweetest, rock-solid kids I ever knew into a glass-eyed skeleton by the end. I found him in the alley where they dumped him after he overdosed." Book stared into the flames, unseeing. "He still looked desperate even then. Deirdre wanted out. She looked older than she was and so she started selling the only thing she had. One day, she vanished. Probably got snatched."
Outside a truck rumbled by, breaking the night's silence. Book unconsciously curled up a bit tighter and Loki remembered how cautiously the boy had treated him at first. In many ways Book still didn't put himself in a position where Loki could overpower him. Deep sorrow crept into the boy's eyes as he thought about his friend's fate.
His thumb slid down his wrist until it rested next to the final mark. He smiled as he looked at the name. "Simeon was the best of us. He'd played the game longest, and he was so close to getting out. Even got a job that paid under the table. But something happened, I guess. I don't even know what, and he started coming back smelling like cheap liquor." His lips curled in distaste. "I knew the smell. And suddenly the money was gone and then the job was too and somehow he still managed to stumble back—at least most nights. I'd been hit before, but drink made Simeon," he paused, "not Simeon anymore. I'd been hit, but never beaten—not by any of my loser foster families or other street—but my rescuer, beat me. And I let him. For months I lied to myself and I let him. Then he almost took my eye," Book raised a hand to the white cleft through his eyebrow. "And so I ran."
"And I made a promise that I wouldn't let this win. That I would get out, that I wouldn't be just another statistic. I'm smart, and I know how easy it is to get pulled down by this life and to try and find relief instead of hope. And sometimes I'm tempted. So I keep their names with me so I don't forget that that could be me." He gestured down at his arm. "This is my rosary, and these are my 'Hail Marys'—I remember who they were before, what it was that brought them down." Savage conviction ran like rods of steel through his words. "And I'm not going to let this beat me."
Note: There is a reason Tech Week is sometimes known as Hell Week. I was tying curtains and fixing lights until one in the morning yesterday (or would it be this morning). Not fun. Good news for y'all, though, because I'll be able to be more or less back on a proper schedule soon.
As to the story, I do want to point out that while Book has had a rough time with the foster care system and generally has a negative view of it, I'm well aware that there are many, many wonderful foster parents out there. Some friends of mine finally got to adopt the set of twins they'd been fostering for nearly two years, making them a family of eight!