As each successive week rolled by, Loki felt more and more confident in his understanding of Midgard. And despite the welcome distraction provided by Kayden's recommendations and his own forays into the realm of fiction, he began to feel the chafing of his chains. It was time to take steps toward regaining what had been ripped from him.
This pact with Book had served its purpose. He could navigate the realm with relative ease and knew how to avoid drawing unwanted attention while still seeing to his needs. There was far less chance that he would stumble into the slough of regulations and bureaucratic identification necessary on Midgard. He had never known a species so intent on cataloging and categorizing every person that breathed within their sphere—and without such identification you were almost a non-person. You didn't exist in all the worst ways.
The charade need only last a while longer as Loki completed preparations to leave this town behind. His prospects for both stealth and opportunity lay in a larger city than Greenville. New York would be an obvious choice, but though his curiosity wished to see firsthand the state of the city, he knew better than to tempt the Norns. Perhaps Chicago or San Francisco? Anywhere not blighted with the presence of Avengers.
The question was, what to do with the boy? He peered down through the peaked skylights of the factory into the warehouse below. Distorted by the hazy glass, Book was visible as he struggled—rather ineptly—through the first openhanded forms. At first he'd merely watched Loki practice in the mornings, but then he'd taken to trying to mimic the exercises. Loki had simply ignored his rather uncoordinated shadow. He winced as the boy flailed—Book really was terrible. Thankfully the ability to cave in a giant's head with nothing but your balled fists was not a necessary or valued skill on Midgard.
He peered harder through the smudged windows—wishing he could wipe away the haze for a clearer look, but afraid Book would notice the shadowed movement below. He needed the time to think, preferably without the boy questioning how his day had been or trying to tell him all about his latest discovery. It irked Loki somewhat that he'd be leaving without the satisfaction of having fully gained the boy's trust. A minor trophy, he thought as he settled back onto the roof and edged into the shade of one of the many derelict structures that dotted the white-washed expanse. With spring well faded, the sun had made itself more and more a nuisance and today was another in a long streak of uncomfortably warm days.
Wherever I travel it will be to a place more pleasant than here. He briefly considered bringing the boy with him as a kind of pet—despite what Thor might have thought, he didn't always find being left alone agreeable. He scoffed. What a fool notion. To look to humans for company. Arching back to look at the sky, he knitted his hands together. I suppose I could kill him.
It would be expedient. Then there would be no fear of the boy somehow giving him away—or worse, feeling the need to search for him if he just vanished. Something shifted uneasily in his gut. The idea of killing Book was oddly uncomfortable.
Loki's features hardened as he suddenly rolled to his feet. What weakness is this? To balk at squashing an ant? How soft you've grown. A tilting, sliding, unbalance shot through his thoughts. A snarled bark of laughter calmed him. His thoughts had been so ordered lately, he hadn't felt like he was clinging to the skin of sanity for a long while. When had the ground last been solid beneath his feet? Before the fall surely. But when? Solidity was such a vacant memory he couldn't recall it.
A sudden burst of laughter from below brought him to the glass again. There was a Book shaped heap flat on its back. Loki supposed he'd managed to trip himself up with his own two feet. You laugh and yet death waits above, he thought. He watched for a moment more as Book rolled unsteadily to his feet and began again.
Loki shook his head. Hiding the body would require far too much effort. Let us hope you never make yourself worth the effort, boy. Loki frowned. He didn't enjoy killing children, though surely when New York crumbled before him there had been children within those gleaming, shattering buildings, or swept along in the panicking swarm of humans. More likely crushed underfoot. He hadn't really considered it before.
But those were abstract, somehow different from choosing an individual one and deciding it had to die. He also felt that Midgardian children looked far more like Aesir ones. It wasn't until they grew older that the differences became as glaringly apparent.
Perhaps if they had looked less alike? A thought squirmed in his gut. What if they'd been blue? Would he hesitate to kill a Juton child? With the Bifrost at his command he'd likely slaughtered hundreds already. Knowing the monstrous things into which they would grow, could he drive a knife through them? He bared his teeth. With cause—perhaps. He hadn't enjoyed killing Bilgesnipe pups either, despite the bloodthirsty danger they grew into. But it had been necessary.
Note: Two chapters this week since they're both so short. And for those of you hoping for Book to domesticate Loki into a cinnamon roll…Yeah, Loki is too damaged and too apt to disregard morals in lieu of expediency at this point for that to happen. His world is too centered on self.
And just to get you excited about next week, next week's chapter is one of my favorites from the story. Let's just say that Loki winds up being disgusted by his own victory.