A/N: Hello friends! I know it's been quite a while since I updated and, to those of you who've been waiting with bated breath, I'm very sorry! I recently discovered Doctor Who...hopefully some of you will understand how time-consuming such an obsession can be. Again, I have to thank everyone who read and reviewed my other chapters - I love you all so much! Those of you who commented, telling me I just needed to update, really inspired me to pause Netflix and put my nose to the grindstone. As always, if you're reading this, you are my hero. If you send me a review or a PM, you will also be my hero. My SUPER hero.

On a side note, I start school today. As a result, my updates may be a little slower. I apologize for that and I will try very, very hard to keep up with this story - I love it just as much as you guys and I can't wait to see what happens either.

So, anyway, thank you very, very, very, very, very, very much for reading and I wish you a Loki-filled day.


Chapter Six

The command was simple and indefinite. It did not rob the human of his will nor did it shape his lips into words he would not say. It did not force him to reveal secrets, be they Dagny's or his own, nor did it demand that the girl be presented. The magic required was minor, a basic trick of manipulation, and it affected only one aspect of the director's mind.

"You wish to talk with me," Loki said.

Marcus was suddenly interested.

He began to speak, introducing himself, offering welcome to the theater in a slightly musical voice. Vague replies did not offend him, but compliments spurred him on; he responded to them humbly and credited the troupe, not his role in it, with "reinventing" the modern myth. "The actors," he enthused. "The designers, the crew, and - of course - Michael Browning. We couldn't have done anything without him and his research. He gave us so much to work with. We still had to do a fair amount ourselves, but that was thanks to our dramaturge."

The word caught in Loki's mind and his polite expression changed.

"Forgive me," he interrupted, bashfully. "But would you mind explaining what a dramaturge does? I've never understood."

To his surprise, Marcus laughed. "You would not believe how often I'm asked that," he replied. "I guess it's just not a term you hear outside the theater. Dramaturges are in charge of research. You wouldn't want to put on a play that was inaccurate, so it's the dramaturge's job to study setting, culture, speech, historical events - that sort of thing - so you can portray everything correctly. It's different in every theater, but ours is like my first mate. My right hand woman. You might've seen her around tonight, she's also one of the ushers."

A thousand thoughts swam through Loki's mind, colliding and connecting like pieces of an unfinished puzzle. He understood now why the troupe had bombarded her with questions, why she'd seemed so comfortable within the library's shelves. The most important question remained, but he could feel its answer at his fingertips. Soon, he thought.

"I believe I saw her name in this book." He pretended to remember, raising the pamphlet. "Dagny, was it?"

The director nodded. "That's her. She's brilliant. Outstanding."

"She did great work."

"Phenomenal work," Marcus corrected. "I would've been lost without her. Gardians is one of my first originals, not to mention, it's based off a best-seller. There was an unbelievable amount of pressure, but Dagny made it feel like a walk in the park."

Loki smiled, politely.

"She'd hate me for bragging like this, but hiring her was one of the better choices I've made. Two years ago, she came in here asking for a job, and I told her she could start as an usher and work her way up. It wasn't ten days before she was helping with dialects - we were doing Fiddler on the Roof then - and talking period style to the costume crew. When I asked her about it, she started apologizing, talking about how she didn't want to 'overstep her boundaries' or 'mess with my vision.' I promoted her on the spot." He grinned. "She's funny, that girl. Her parents were all set to send her to medical school, got her to pass an entrance exam and everything. One day, she told them she preferred linguistics, packed up, and hopped a plane out of Portland. It's probably a good thing, too. She realized later that she can't stand the sight of blood. She's...well, actually, she's right over there. Dagny!"

Footsteps started behind them, almost inaudible as they brushed the star-speckled carpet. The director was waving, watching over his shoulder as she approached, but Loki did not move. He did not react to her appearance beside him nor did he acknowledge her passing glance; as her eyes skirted over him, he felt his heartbeat slow. He had not drawn her notice.

Not yet.

Once she'd passed him, Loki allowed himself to look up. He watched her feet first, coming to a halt before Marcus, one of them tapping a staccato beat into the floor. Next, he watched her hands, which wrung themselves together in a mess of pale fingers. Finally, he watched her face, noticing the slight twitch of her brow and the way her lips parted in preparation for speech. Before she could say anything, however, Marcus spoke for her.

"There you are, Dagny!" he crowed. "I've just met a wonderful man who's very interested in the work you do. This is Bryant Parkson."

Bryant Park was a plot of land bordering the library, but neither human noted this coincidence. Marcus simply grinned, glancing from his employee to his new acquaintance, while Dagny turned slowly with her eyes on her hands. She began to lift one as she stepped towards him and then, finally, she looked up.

Her hand froze.

Color drained from her face like wine from an upturned chalice, emphasizing the brightness in her wide, green eyes. She seemed almost to shrink and, though she turned towards the director, looked unwilling or unable to tear her gaze from Loki. One of her hands clenched into a fist while the other, still extended between them, hung forgotten in the empty space. She stared at him, terrified. He smiled.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dagny."

The girl gave no answer, nor any indication that she'd heard him save for a sudden flinch. It was what Loki had expected, part of his plan, but it was clearly not a part of the director's. After two seconds had passed, Marcus looked confused; after eight, the crease between his brows became a canyon.

"Dagny?" he asked, hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

He reached out to touch her shoulder and, suddenly, her petrified body broke into motion. She gave a violent start before blinking; it was another moment before she opened her eyes and turned them on the director. Loki could see every desperate question written on her face, but the one she asked him was, "What did you say?"

The human tried not to show his relief, smothering it with an apologetic glance at Loki. "Honestly," he chuckled. "I was introducing you to one of our guests, Bryant Parkson. He was wondering if you'd tell him a bit about dramaturgy."

Dagny frowned. When she looked at the director, Loki could see the loyalty his plan relied on; when her gaze slid to him, however, it showed uncertainty, discomfort, and a hint of the terror that had shattered her before. This last emotion was worrisome, especially now, at the crux of his plot. Without changing his expression, he willed her to say the right words.

Dagny opened her mouth.

Say it, Loki urged. Please. Do not let me down.

Reluctantly, she met his eyes and choked out, "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Parkson."

Thank you.

Marcus looked satisfied. "I was just telling Mr. Parkson how so many people are unfamiliar with your job these days," he explained.

"And, of course, how skilled you are at what you do," Loki added, careful to smile at the director as he spoke. This exchange was not lost on Dagny; her eyes bounced from friend to stranger, still doubtful. The doubt, though, was beginning to change to something else.

"Thank you," she said, slowly. "That's kind of you to say."

When she did not offer much else, Marcus suggested that she tell "Mr. Parkson" about her research on Gardians. It took a long time for her stiff, nervous words to form a sentence but, after a series of stuttered thoughts and furtive glances at Loki, her speech was mostly coherent. While she was by no means comfortable, she seemed able to accept his presence. Her constant glances at Marcus slowed until she hardly looked at him at all.

Instead, she looked at the carpet, at the ceiling, at her hands; at anything, but the two men in front of her. As she realized that neither one was invisible, her pale cheeks began to flush and her soft words came faster. She spoke of library books and interviews, of learning a language and understanding its accents, of trips that sounded lengthy, though Loki could not be sure. At times, she seemed unsure what to say and grew gradually quieter until Marcus urged her on. Through all of it, Loki nodded politely, waiting for one of two things: a clue to her secrets or a way to complete his plan. The latter came first.

She is passionate, he realized, listening to her descriptions of the play's characters. Passionate for men and women whom I know, personally.

For the first time in minutes, he readied himself to speak.

"One of the decisions," the girl was saying, "That he - Marcus - had to make and that I researched for was whether or not to include the völva. A völva is, basically, like a -"

"Prophet," Loki supplied. "A seeress."

Dagny sputtered, taken aback by his interruption. "Exactly," she agreed, after a moment. "So, the völva pops up in a lot of Germanic mythology but, most famously, when she tells Odin about Ragnarök, which is, basically, this huge battle and -"

"The end of the world," Loki cut her off again, smiling.

"Yes," Dagny answered, more than surprised. "That's what Browning's book is based on. And we - Marcus and I - thought it would be dramatic to have a scene of the prophecy because, well, prophecies are common in myths but, today, even in Browning's book, they don't come up too often. But imagine how Odin would feel, knowing this battle was coming and that he was going to die fighting it, and then Ragnarök does happen. And there's opportunity for character development because the völva keeps asking him -

"Do you still seek to know?"

The girl stopped speaking and raised her eyebrows, looking both startled and bemused. "You know about the völva," she observed.

"I do."

"And Ragnarök."

"That, as well."

"Are you..." she trailed off. "Do you know anything else about the Norse gods?"

"Indeed. I confess, they're something of a hobby for me."

Marcus let out a crow of excitement. "For Dagny, too!" he exclaimed. "She's been pretty intense about them since the show started. It's almost like they're her family or something."

"Imagine that," Loki said.

Dagny was flushing. "Not my family," she muttered. "They're just interesting is all."

"Don't I know it," Marcus agreed. "The gods aren't going to clean my theater, though. I'm sure you won't mind having this conversation without me." He gave the girl a sharp look; ignoring her stuttered response, he turned back to Loki and added, "It was nice meeting you. Please come back soon." He did not pause for a response before vanishing suddenly into a group of stage hands.

For a moment, there was silence.

It hung between Loki and Dagny, separating them from the chattering bustle of the lobby. The only sound was a muffled tapping, the noise her shoe made when it pressed into the carpet. With every passing second, the rhythm increased; when she finally opened her mouth to speak, its beating was quick as a human heart's.

"Well..."

The word was soft and inconclusive, meant more to break the silence than anything else, but Loki pretended not to notice. "Well?" he asked.

"So," the girl amended. "Um, Norse gods?"

"Norse gods." Loki smiled, watching her fumble with her plait, waiting for her eyes to drop from the ceiling. He considered a series of statements, wondering if her attention would be best caught by knowledge or kindness or flattery. He could return their conversation to the play but, without Marcus, would he be able to prompt her from a standstill? He could offer his thoughts on the show, but he was not sure the human legends matched the truths of his realm. Worse, what if he offended her? He could praise her skill again - or perhaps her appearance - but the effort might make her uncomfortable. In the end, he decided on a combination.

"I quite enjoyed your play," he began. "But I've one question."

Dagny barely met his gaze before looking away. "Yes?" she asked.

"Are you aware that Odin never wore goat horns?"

There was a sudden peal of laughter and, for a moment, Loki could not believe his eyes. The girl had been staring at the ground, a jumble of nerves and awkward wordlessness, but now, a chorus of bell-like giggles poured from her lips. She looked at him, directly into his eyes, and laughed again. "I'm aware," she said, bashfully. "Our former costume designer, not so much."

"That's a relief." Loki's grin widened. "I thought I'd have to rescind my compliment."

"I was hoping it wasn't as bad as I thought," Dagny giggled.

"It was bad."

She met his grin, for the first time, with a genuine smile of her own. "I know. Anyway, you, um, you said mythology is one of your hobbies?"

"Germanic mythology, yes," Loki told her.

"The Norse gods are definitely my favorites," she agreed. "You hear a lot about Greek and Roman and maybe, Egyptian or Native American. That's what I think, anyway. And all those are interesting, but who decided that Thor and Odin and Lo-" She swallowed, still having to force the name out. "Loki. Who decided that they weren't important? Maybe that's why I like them so much. Because I was never really exposed to them. But that's just what I think. What about you?"

Loki did not answer immediately, considering her words before he spoke any of his own. Modern humanity knew nothing of Asgard; did the girl's knowledge give her power against him? That is not how magic works, he decided. And, even if it was, Marcus knows the same myths and he could not see me. The information in Dagny's speech, though intriguing, was utterly useless; this only strengthened his determination as he watched her. She was no longer tapping her foot and, though her eyes moved over the lobby, they occasionally collided with his. She's interested, he realized. Interested in these human legends, interested in my answer, interested in me. Finally, he'd caught her, manipulated her into talking, and all without magical influence. But that only brought him back to the question: what made her immune?

"I've always known of the gods," he said, finally, truthfully.

Dagny blinked. "Oh. Well, maybe they just don't teach them in the United States. Britain is much closer to Scandinavia so, of course, it would make sense that you studied them."

"Britain?" Loki asked, curious.

"Sorry!" Her reply was a squeak. "I didn't mean to assume. I just thought...your accent."

"No harm done." He was unable to explain his way of speaking, so he gave her a shrug. "I was not taught of the gods in Britain. I was taught by my - my parents."

He stopped, swallowing a wave of sudden anguish, but the girl did not seem to notice. She was flustered, blushing in spite of his reassurance, but she brightened at his words. "Your parents?" she asked. "Do they practice Ásatrú?"

Loki nodded. "In a way."

"That's so cool!" The sound of shoes hitting the carpet came again but, this time, the girl hardly looked nervous; she was hopping from foot to foot, unable to contain her excitement. "You must know so much more than I do!"

"It's possible," he replied.

"Could you, I mean, would you mind - " She cut off, words fading into a deep breath. "Would it be alright if I asked you some questions? You obviously don't have to answer if you don't want to and I won't ask you anything personal, anyway. I just don't know when I'll meet another ǫ́ss."

Loki felt a grin spread across his face. "Well," he said, purposely glancing at the door.

Dagny followed his gaze and squeaked again. "I'm sorry! I'm sure you have more important things to do than discuss mythology with strangers."

"Not at all." Loki caught her eyes and held them. "I was only wondering: are you able to leave the theater?"

"Am I..." She trailed off, looking confused. Then, "Oh! Um, yes. I'm off work. I would just have to tell Marcus I'm leaving and get my things and -"

"Would you like to accompany me to a cafe?" He paused, repeating the name of a restaurant he'd seen outside. "And then I will tell you whatever you wish to know."

The flush creeping up Dagny's neck was different, somehow, than the others he'd seen. "Um," she said. "Okay. Yeah. Let me get my coat."

Three minutes later, she followed him from the theater.


The cafe was small and bright, filled by people and tables and the indistinct murmur of a dozen conversations. Golden orbs twirled from the ceiling, alternatively casting shadows across Dagny's face and drawing rich colors from her hair. She barely seemed to notice them as she led Loki down an aisle, her eyes fixed on the large, square window that spanned the room. Beyond its glass, more lights twinkled and the endless crowd of humans surged past.

"Is this okay?" Dagny asked, gesturing to an empty table.

"It's perfect." Loki reached for one of the chairs, hoping to offer it to her, but he'd barely touched its surface when she dropped into a seat of her own. Changing tactics, he sat as well, watching her examine her hands and shrug the jacket from her shoulders. She looked up once and flushed when their eyes met.

"Well," she said, softly.

"So," he replied.

There was a moment of silence in which her face broke into a grin and he smiled back, waiting for her to speak. Before she could, however, a woman in an apron appeared beside them.

"Welcome to Lolita's," the woman said in a bored voice. "I'll be your waitress tonight. What can I get you?"

Dagny glanced at Loki before replying, "Can I have a coffee?"

"Milk?

"Yes, please."

"Sugar?"

"Yes, please."

The woman turned her gaze on Loki and, for a single second, he felt panic rush through him. He knew so little of this planet's dietary customs and, if he made the wrong order, his entire plan might unravel; he needed the waitress to notice him, but he couldn't risk seeming inhuman. If Dagny flees now... It took him a moment, frantically recalling the grocery store, to realize how idiotic his worries were.

"I'll have the same," he told the waitress.

What else would I have?

Ignorant to his internal dilemma, the woman barely waited for his order to depart. She was back within a minute, however, lugging a large, silver basin and a pair of chipping teacups. She slapped the cups down before the girl, poured something dark into each of them, and pushed one across the table to Loki. The liquid released a strange, pungent odor and he felt his nose wrinkle: what was this human substance? Confusion lingered on his face for only a moment; as the waitress left again, he turned his attention onto Dagny. "So," he repeated. "You have questions for me."

"Um, yes." The words were hardly more than a breath as she sipped her steaming drink; she sputtered, swallowing too quickly, and coughed before addressing him again. "I do," she said, at last. "I was, well, like I said, you don't have to answer anything you don't want to."

"Like I said," he replied. "I will tell you whatever you wish to know."

Dagny bit her lip.

"What are your questions?"

She looked up, across the cafe, watching the other humans as they laughed and chattered at tables of their own. A pair of voices - a male and a female - were disagreeing on the location of Central Park; Dagny followed the speakers with her eyes, watching the man, then the woman, as they argued. "I put a lot of research into Gardians," she said, after a moment. "But there were some myths I couldn't find verification of. Some stories were hard to understand or only popped up once and I wanted to know, I guess, if you knew about any of them. If they're... not true, per say, but accurate representations of what the Germanic people believed. Or, at least, what your parents believe."

Loki nodded. "Which stories?" he asked.

"Well." With scarcely a breath, she launched herself into a series of questions, watching him, unblinking, each time he attempted to answer. She asked him if Týr, god of the sky, was truly one-handed - he was - and if Baldr, the hero, was really a son of Frigga - he was not. She told him of the trouble she'd had, translating a particular poem, and how the lines had claimed Bragi as a true-born brother of Thor; Loki explained, with an anecdote of his own, that this was not the correct interpretation. The girl's queries came, at first, with lengthy explanations, personal stories that explained why she didn't know the truth or, at least, why she wanted to; as more and more of them were answered, though, she simply began to ask. Simply, as well, Loki answered. "That's true," he would say. Or, "That's false."

The girl's second drink was almost empty when she began to speak of Loki.

"That's what I love about mythology," she was saying, in reply to one of his statements. "The way it explains things. Someone must've said once, 'Hey, why can cats walk so quietly?' and then someone else said, 'The dwarves stole the sound of a cat's footfall to make their magic ribbon.' And then you get the story of Gleipnir. That's just one of my favorite parts." She paused and, for the first time in nearly twenty minutes, stumbled over her words. "I also, um, well, in Norse mythology, I also really liked the character of, um, Loki."

She reached for her coffee and Loki noticed that her knuckles had gone white, that she was clenching them tighter than she needed to. Why did she say that? he wondered, hopefully. Was she trying to be honest, to be friendly? Was she testing herself, purposely speaking of the invisible man to a stranger who looked his twin? Perhaps both, he thought; still, he knew that her statement, uttered so nervously, meant something else as well. Something very, very good.

"Do you have any questions of Loki?" he asked.

"Um." She looked down and into the remains of her odd, dark drink. "Yes."

Good, Loki thought. Almost there. "Tell me."

For a moment, the only reply was the squeak of her finger, tracing a pattern into the side of her cup. Then, without looking up, she blurted, "Did he really transform himself into a woman and consort with human men?"

The question was so startling, so incongruent with the girl's tone, that Loki laughed without meaning to. "Not that I'm aware," he told her, chuckling. "That's false."

"Okay." Dagny lifted her eyes, the ghost of a smile on her face. "What do you think about, um, Loki fighting on the side of the Jötunn in Ragnarök?"

Quickly as they'd come, all traces of Loki's humor evaporated and, sudden as snowfall, he felt himself darkening. Familiar emotions - anger, loneliness, indignation - returned and, as he tried desperately to bottle them, he sensed the girl's gaze. He had not expected her to ask that; still, he had known to be prepared. He had to answer.

"No." It was a struggle to keep his voice light, but he managed. "That's false."

He closed his lips, examining the frown on Dagny's, wondering if she'd noticed his mask slipping. How long had the emotions been free - a second? Two? Five? Still, he could not stop himself from thinking, from answering her question again, in his own mind. I would never side with the Jötunn, he thought. I quarreled with Thor, but never with Father. The words were met by a much eviler whisper: Odin is not your father.

"I agree with you."

The words broke him from the revelry, scattering his thoughts. He raised his eyebrows.

"In Browning's book," Dagny continued. "Loki is never really evil. He's always toying with the other gods, tricking them and whatnot, and that makes you think he doesn't like them. It's all comedic and then, at the end, he claims loyalty to Thor and all is well." She bit her lip. "Only, my research made him seem a little different."

"Tell me," Loki said again.

"I think that there's a very fine line between good and evil and, maybe, the side Loki was on wasn't so well-defined. Browning and, I guess, to some extent, Marcus seem to think it was all a bit of fun. He switched sides all the time, but was it really just to be tricky?" The girl tapped her foot on the ground, once, twice. "Anyway, I have another question."

Loki nodded.

"Did Loki kill Baldr?"

Is that what the humans think? he thought. Aloud, he answered, "No. That is false."

Dagny tilted her head to the side, curious. "But did he contribute to Baldr's death at all?"

"No," Loki repeated. "I was taught by my parents that Baldr was immune to death and that no one, not even Loki, could harm him."

"But mistletoe -"

"- did not kill him," he interrupted. "I was told he did not die."

The girl's startled look was more prompt than dismissal and, when he did not offer more, she frowned. Looking like she wanted to say more, she asked instead, "One more question?"

"Of course."

"Were there every any..." She trailed off, swallowing, and he noticed her fist clenching for the second time. "Were there ever any myths or, um, any stories where...where Loki came to Earth and interacted with a human?"

"With a human." Loki pretended to consider the question, but he already knew what to say; he'd known for hours that he would reach her eventually, that he would force her curiosity to overcome her fear. Finally, his plan had been fruitful. You're mine now, he thought. To the girl, he added, "Yes. I've heard of such things."

"Oh." She seemed to brighten, losing the touch of pallor that had been sapping the pink from her cheeks. "I suppose I have too. At least, one or two stories, somewhere along the line. That must've been why..." She stopped, clutching her coffee cup again, but did not release his gaze.

"Why what?" Loki asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice.

"I probably shouldn't tell you," she said, her words acting as a preamble, rather than a refusal to speak. "Last night, I got really stressed or tired or something, and I had this weird, like, hallucination about Loki. He was invisible to everyone else - that should've been my first clue - but I really thought he was there. He was talking to me and asking if I was a sorceress and, well." She smiled, bashfully. "He kind of looked a lot like you. Isn't that crazy?"

"Actually," Loki replied. "That's true."

Returning her smile, he imagined himself in the center of Times Square, took a breath, and vanished from the cafe entirely.


DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING, DID YOU?! What do you think Dagny's going to say/do now? Her chapter's coming up next so stay tuned and feel free to tell me what you thought! Much love!