Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OCs, and most of them are heavily inspired by mythology.


"Many are the strange chances of the world"

The Silmarillion, J. R. R. Tolkien


Merlotte's is every inch the backwoods, Southern bar one would expect to find in middle of nowhere – the cliché of it is charming.

Loki – Victoria, now – flips her long, ink-black hair over her shoulder and scans the room with piercing green eyes, ignoring the stares. Even after a month of working there, she still receives curious glances and lots of questions, but she is hardly fazed by this. It's an unwritten law of the universe that the people of small towns are busybodies; Bon Temps is no exception.

'Hey, Vick,' the shaggy, handsome man behind the bar greets with a smile, 'you're right on time.'

'I always am.' She says with a coy wink. Sam Merlotte is her boss, the owner of the bar and a shifter who spends a lot of time as a border collie, running around the woods. Loki likes him a fair amount; he is kind, honest, and treats his employees well.

And being a shape shifter herself, she can't deny that she feels a certain kinship with the man (1).

After dumping her purse in Sam's office and putting on her apron, Loki pokes her head into the kitchen with a lewd grin, and wolf-whistles loudly at the chef.

'Lala, purple is definitely your colour.' Lafayette, in his sparkly, plum-coloured bandana whirls around to wink at her, and preens at the compliment.

'Honey-child, every colour is my colour,' he points at her with the spatula in his hand, 'and you iz lookin' as fine as always.'

'Yeah,' she tells him, voice dipping low in a poor impression of a muscle-headed man, 'I'd do me.'

Lafayette snickers. He is one of the most entertaining humans Loki has come across in a long time, and their shared flirty, mischievous attitudes ensure that they get on like a house on fire.

The cook sobers quickly though, handsome face contorting into a grimace. 'You hear about Dawn?'

'Yeah,' she admits with a frown of her own, 'she was a nice girl.'

Dawn's death had blindsided almost the entire town – she was the second girl to be murdered in the last week, and people were getting properly frightened.

And while a little fear is good – it keeps humans alert to danger – the building hysteria is dangerous. Jason Stackhouse, the town's resident playboy, is prime suspect for both murders, but no-one could honestly think he was the culprit. Jason is dumb as a rock – and Loki acknowledges this as cold hard fact.

The fact a vampire had moved to town a few days before women started dying, however, was not good. A vampire had assuredly not killed Dawn or Maudette - neither woman had been drained of blood – but they had both been known to associate with vampires in the past, and there were murmurs of discontent from the more ignorant locals. Bill – their resident vampire – was not being welcomed. In fact, the town was an ounce of tension away from forming a lynch mob.

Loki could find the murderer with a pinch of magic and the twitch of a finger – but the many lifetimes she's spent on Earth have taught her that humans are fully capable of solving their own problems, and are usually better off when they do.

So she is content with sitting back and letting it all play out – and maybe get involved if Lafayette is in trouble.

'Tori?' She's startled abruptly from her thoughts, and looks apologetically to the cook. 'Honey, order-up.'

'Thanks, Lala,' she grabs the plate of gumbo with a smile, 'talk to you later.'

Loki nods politely at Arlene as she passes her – the red-head is nosy and close-minded, but her heart is in the right place, so Loki doesn't hold it against her. Her boyfriend, however... Rene sets off every warning signal in her mind. He is fake, fake, fake; fake accent, fake sincerity, fake affection.

And people call her the god of lies.

But Loki won't get involved – despite the fact he's a creep, she has yet to sense any overpowering desire to hurt her fellow waitress (or her two children). But if that were ever to change…

…Well, she has buried a few corpses in her time. It's not a skill one forgets.

As the sun sets, Merlotte's gets busier and busier. Loki doesn't notice Sookie's arrival until she bumps elbows with the blonde by the bar.

'Sorry,' she murmurs, studying the woman from the corner of her eye. Sookie Stackhouse is an oddity, but a delightful one. Loki never expected to run into a fairy in Midgard, let alone a telepathic one who has no clue what she is. The most inconvenient thing about her presence is that it prompts Loki to keep the barrier that protects her mind from intruders completely airtight – a peek into the mind of a powerful magic-user would make Sookie's brains melt out of her ears.

And Loki knows this from firsthand experience with another mind-reader. It had not been pretty.

'No worries, Vick,' the blonde leans over the bar, 'I need ranch dressing!'

'And two margaritas.' Arlene adds, joining her fellow waitresses. 'That Dawn sure left us high and dry, didn't she?'

Loki winces. Tactless.

Predictably, Sookie bristles. 'It's not like she meant not to be here.'

'I know, but if she didn't spend her nights off at that vamp bar in Shreveport,' the red-head tuts judgmentally, 'she still would be.'

'Did I just hear you right, Arlene?' The part-fae demands, riled up. 'Vick, are you hearing this?'

Loki carries on pouring drinks like she hasn't just been dragged into the argument, but Arlene puts her hands on her hips defensively.

'Oh, please! Ain't there even a part of you think she had it comin'?'

'No! Not a single part!' The blonde waitress is bursting with indignation, and turns to Loki for support – she studies the two women intently, and then shrugs.

'I've been to vampire bars before,' she tells them, expertly ignoring the gasps of eavesdroppers and locking eyes with Arlene, 'does that mean I deserve to die?'

Arlene flounders, and Sookie nods triumphantly and marches off. Loki waves off the red-heads apologies with a careless shrug, and she flees too.

'Vamp bars?' Sam questions, voice dripping in poorly disguised disgust. 'Never took you for the type.'

Loki regards him coolly. She can think of a thousand responses to that – chiefly, pointing out that shifters and vampires are in the same boat when it comes to mystical weirdness – but eventually, she merely gives slightly sad smile. 'Hate's all well and good, boss,' she shrugs, 'but it's that kind of attitude that killed Dawn and Maudette.'

She leaves him standing at the bar, looking like she just gave him a roundhouse kick to the head, and doesn't feel the least bit bad about it.

Serves him right for being a bit of a sanctimonious prick.

Twenty minutes later, Loki removed the apron from her waist and pushes through the door into Sam's office only to see Sam and Sookie pause mid-argument and look at her accusatorily.

'Shit, sorry,' she reverses quickly; she did not want to get involved in the angst-y love triangle, thankyouverymuch.

'Wait!' Sam crows, looking triumphant. 'Vick can go with ya!'

'Excuse me?'

'Pardon?'

'She's been to vamp clubs before – right, Vick? – and she can keep Billfrom trying anything untoward.'

'Sam!' The telepath stomps a foot in pure frustration. 'I do not need a baby-sitter!'

Loki does not point out that the fact that fae-blooded, virginal Sookie Stackhouse is planning to go to a vampire bar with a vampire she'd only known for a week, and rather than a baby-sitter, might need to consider a lobotomy.

Her control over her mouth is limited, though, so she does say: 'I don't mind tagging along.'

The pair of them glance at her in genuine shock, so Loki shrugs.

'It'd probably be safer.' She elaborates, mouth twitching; Sookie would likely never be safer than she would be at Loki's side.

The telepath studies her at length, and then lets out a resigned sigh; Sam looks like he might kiss her from sheer gratitude.

'Fine,' the blonde declares, eyes a little bit relieved, 'change and meet at my house as soon as possible?'

'Sure thing.'

Sookie struts out of the office, and Sam and Loki stare at one another until the dark-haired woman sigh and grabs her handbag from the cubby.

'If I get eaten,' she tells her boss, voice exasperated but fond 'you better cry at my funeral.'

Loki leaves him spluttering, and vehemently curses her weakness for shifters.

xXx

Loki has never met Bill Compton until tonight, but greets him with a polite nod and an easy smile. He returns the gesture stiffly – polite even to the uninvited third-wheel – and opens the car door for her.

She decides, almost immediately, that she doesn't much care for Bon Temps' resident vampire. He's a stiff; condescending, straight-laced and firmly set in his antiquated ways.

Loki has lived a long, long time, even for an immortal, and she thinks chivalry tedious, knows people can always surprise you, and finds that the ways changed as quickly as the times, so you needed to adapt quickly.

Plus, the way he looks at Sookie... while she is hardly the silly fairy's best friend, she wouldn't appreciate Bill staring at anyone like he's just come across a five-course meal of all his favourite foods – and not in a cute, love-struck way, either.

However, darling Southern belle that she is, Sookie would likely faint if Loki made her opinion known, so she keeps quiet and pretends not to listen as the couple in the front seat flirts outrageously.

Loki hops out the car as soon as it pulled to stop in the dimly lit parking lot, and she surveyed the building intently, noting the size and noting the positions of the exits just in case. Then, she chokes on a laugh.

'Fangtasia?'

'Indeed,' Bill confirms, and Loki shakes her head with a chuckle.

'What an awful pun,' she winks at a nervous looking Sookie, 'I like it.'

The blonde chuckles half-heartedly, shoulders set in a tense line, and Bill grasps her hand as they step into the club. Loki trails behind the couple, taking in every inch of the bar in a single, thorough glance. Fangtasiais busy, even on a Thursday night, and the gothic red and white decor matches the patrons perfectly – she and Sookie stick out like sore thumbs. While the blonde telepath is dressed in a girlish, white sundress, Loki's emerald green, silk cocktail dress draws attention almost immediately.

If she wasn't a deity from another realm with inconceivable magical powers, she may have flinched.

Their path is abruptly blocked by a beautiful, icy vampire in skin-tight black latex. 'Bill. Haven't seen you in a while.'

She speaks with a clinging hint of an English accent, but her tone is completely uninterested – it seems Loki isn't the only one who is not-so-fond of Bill Compton.

'I'm mainstreamin'.' He offers, and she quirks an unimpressed eyebrow.

'Good for you.' Glacial blue eyes swing to Sookie. 'Who's the doll?'

'Pam, this is Sookie. Sookie, this is Pam.' The black-haired woman clears her throat pointedly, making Bill jolt a little and glance back. 'And this is Victoria.'

'Pleased to meet you.' Loki greets, echoed by the telepath. Sookie extends her hand to Pam, who looks disdainfully at it. Sookie pulls a puzzled face, but retracts her hand bashfully.

'Can I see your ID's?'

Sookie smiles and gives an awkward laugh. 'Oh. Sure. How funny.' She glances at Loki for support. 'Who'd have thought? Getting' carded at a vampire bar.'

'Older vampires have trouble telling human ages.' Loki comments absently, studying the room – then realises that both Pam and Bill are staring at her with a degree of interest, and flashes them a bimbo smile as she hands over her driving licence. 'Or so I've heard.'

'You're well informed, Ms Storm,' Pam concedes, a devilish smirk flitting across her lips, 'I'll remember that.'

Loki takes her ID back carefully, and decides it may be best to play mute for the remainder of the night.

The three of them move deeper into Fangtasia, Loki once more trailing behind her companions and only listening to their conversation with half an ear. It really isn't anything like the vampire clubs she'd been to in New York – but she's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Loki is sensitive to magic, and always has been; vampires have their own unique magic signature that feels like fingers dragging teasingly down her spine. It's the power that gives them life, and life energy always tastes the best to her... and vampires are something dark and sinful and decadent.

It's like giving a tiger cat-nip.

Loki is bought rudely back to reality when Sookie taps her shoulder. 'D'ya want a drink, Vick?'

'Yeah. Sure.' The bartender is a tattooed, Native American vampire with long, black hair, wearing a black leather vest. He doesn't smile when he greets them – Loki barely keeps from rolling her eyes. Some vampires try so hard to live up to the gothic image that they just become caricatures.

'How's it goin', Bill?'

'Very well.'

He leers at Sookie and Loki. 'I'll say it is. Two humans is a little greedy for a meal.'

Bill shifts uncomfortably. 'These are my friends, Sookie and Victoria. Ladies, this is Longshadow.'

'I'll have a gin and tonic, please.'

'A whiskey sour, please. Large.'

'And I'll have a bottle of O Negative.'

Longshadow sets about making their drinks at vampire speed, and Sookie watches with wide eyes – Loki is too busy grinning at the sight of a young male fangbanger undressing Bill with his eyes to even notice. The dark-haired vampire notices her amusement, and straightens his posture self-consciously.

'Longshadow, Sookie here would like to know if she could ask you a few questions. Would this be acceptable?' He nods, accepting the two Polaroid photographs of Dawn and Maudette – even though she is still gazing at the crowd, Loki's attention is on her companions.

'I just have a couple of pictures I'd love you to take a look at. You recognize either of these women?' The part-fae waitress is bouncing a little on her heels in nervous anticipation, and Bill plants a stilling hand on her shoulder.

'Yeah,' Longshadow admits after a moment, 'I seen 'em both here before.'

Sookie grins from ear to ear. 'Great, thank you. And do you also happen to remember who they hung around with?'

'That's something we don't notice here.' He shoots her a dark, warning look. 'You won't either.'

The blonde gulps. 'OK, then. Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time.'

But apparently, Longshadow isn't finished – he holds up the picture of Maudette. 'This one - she wanted to die.'

'How do you know?'

'Everyone who comes here does, in their own way.' He gaze flicks between the two women. 'That's who we are: Death.'

Loki's genial smile sharpens into a smirk for a fraction of a second – what would Hel (2) say to that? – but Sookie seems genuinely thrown by the cryptic comment, so Bill snatches up her drink and his bottle of blood and ushers the blonde towards a vacant table against the back wall. Loki moves to follow, but a hand on her arm halts her progress.

Ancient and deeply ingrained instincts flare up. He shouldn't be touching you, they hiss, destroy him for it– she stamps them down with practised ease, and puts on a human mask of surprise as she turns back to the bartender.

There is a dangerous moment where his stone-cold hand lingers on her skin, and Loki speeds her pulse in a deliberate gesture of nerves. Longshadow smirks cruelly when he feels the false thrum her heart, and withdraws.

'Your drink, miss.'

The primordial voice in her mind wants to crush him for enjoying what he perceives to be her fear, her weakness. It would be so easy Loki wouldn't even need her sorcery to do it – she could reach out and rip his un-beating heart from his chest before any of the vampires present knew what was going on.

But she merely laughs weakly, playing the part of flustered human, and sheepishly takes the glass from his grasp before scurrying over to Bill and Sookie, waving off their concerned looks.

Really, it has been too long since she had partaken in a good bit of bloodshed if every part of her is clamouring for a fight against her better judgement.

Loki sits beside Sookie, tightening the glamour that keeps the telepath oblivious to the fact she can't hear Loki's thoughts, and sips her drink – her father would chide her for trivial pleasures, but she really loves good whiskey.

'Who's that?'

Bill huffs at the blonde's question. 'Oh, you noticed him, did you?'

Sookie splutters, blushing. 'No, it's not like that. I just...'

'Everyone does.' He assures. 'That's Eric. He's the oldest thing in this bar.'

Loki glances up, curious to see the oldest vampire in Area 5, and her eyes widen in shock.

Eric is seated in the large chair on the stage, not looking at the bald man with a moustache who is kneeling in front of him. When the bald man touches Eric's knee, he is immediately and brutally kicked away. The human man flies halfway across the club, and lands on the floor, head bleeding. Half the vampires in the establishment drop-fang when faced with fresh blood & raw violence, but Loki barely notices, transfixed on the blonde in his throne.

Even a touch of faith leaves an imprint on a person's soul – Sookie and Bill, for example, are steeped in Christianity – but this man is hers. She sees a too-skinny boy, rough-housing with his brothers on the shore of the North Sea and boldly informing them in a sweet, unbroken voice that "Loki is the most cunning of gods! He'd defeat any army with words alone!" Then, a gangly, untested teen praying to her for the skill to lie to his father when questioned on the missing horse.

("I didn't mean to let her loose," he whispers, hands clasped and head bowed in prayer as he kneels before the archaic stone shrine, "but Father will beat me to learn the truth!")

And a handsome, oh-so sought after man – the chieftains' son and a brave warrior and unmarried – whispering dark, sultry promises to a chesty serving-wench. "My tongue has talents that could rival Loki's own" he tells her as he lays her down on his hay-bed, and then almost, almostlives up to the boast. And a furious, snarling beast of a man, desperate and broken after having just seen his tribe – his family – ribbed to shreds by wolves and their blood-stained master.

She remembers it; remembers pausing in whatever she'd been doing at the time when the prayer ripped through her soul. "Grant me the cunning for vengeance, Loki, and the strength of mind to see my task to its end"the Viking had roared, and she had sent him a blessing without a second thought. Anyone with the conviction to make himself heard over thousands of tiny whispers of prayer, she'd thought at the time, would surely deserve to be heard.

Even now the Viking – Eric – is bathing in it, the glow of her own magic still so potent after all this time. It's a surprise, as blessings tend to fade within an average human lifespan, but Loki is glad for it.

She can understand the importance of revenge.

Loki studies him, sprawled in his throne and as gorgeous as one of the Æsir, and is suddenly, intensely proud that he has survived this far.

The night is certainly looking up.


(1) In Norse Mythology, Loki is often described as a shape shifter – the magic my OC possesses is a mish-mash of mythology and different representations of "Loki" in media, but this will be explained further in later chapters.

(2) Hel is the Goddess who rules over "Helheim", the Norse equivalent of the underworld.