Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OCs, and most of them are heavily inspired by mythology.
WARNING: There is mention of chapter eight's non-con elements in this chapter.
"By judging others, you make yourself easy to judge."
Ashly Lorenzana
The skin of his arms and upper chest is still smoking from the silver chains the Reverend's lackeys had used to hold him on the alter – he snarls at Newlin now, relishing in the high-pitched cry of fright that it draws from the man. He will heal fast and there will be no scars, but Eric is not a forgiving vampire by nature, and silver...
Well, he's ripped men apart for lesser offences.
But now is not the time for violence. Godric had commanded that no blood be spilt (his maker's reasoning is beyond him, but he will follow orders nonetheless) and the host of Dallas vampires are moments away from a full-blown slaughter that Bill's telepath may very well get killed trying to stop. Unbidden, the memory of Victoria – perched so close he could smell the lavender in her shampoo, eyes dark and distant with apprehension – rises to the surface of his mind.
"I don't trust Hugo", she'd said. Eric thinks of the blood-bag still passed out in the basement and remembers Godric naming him a traitor.
"The Fellowship may be better prepared for us than you think they are"; he glances at the almost completely healed burns and thinks she may have been right.
Eric looks from Ms. Stackhouse's struggling form in Bill's arms to Stan, the ringleader of the little coup and again the woman's words ring true: if he gets out of this situation without being staked by the Authority, he'll have to discover if premonition is one of her seemingly innumerable talents.
'Enough!' He whips around lightening fast, and some the weight on his shoulders dissipates at the sight of his maker standing on the raised ledge above the organ, unharmed. 'You came for me I assume, Underling.'
Stan clicks away his fangs to murmur a sheepish "yes sheriff".
'These people have not harmed me. You see? We can coexist.' Eric's inner-vampire rages at the softness of the words, but centuries of faith urge him to listen to his maker's teachings. Godric speeds to his side, staring down at the Reverend that captured him without hate. 'Mr Newlin, I do not wish to create bloodshed when none is called for. Help me set an example. If we leave you in peace, will you do the same?'
'I will not negotiate with subhumans!' Steve snarls – the dawning hope on Godric's face is wiped out immediately. 'Kill me. Do it. Jesus will protect me.'
'I am actually older than your Jesus. I wish I could have known him, but I missed it.' There are several gasps from the gathered humans – Eric himself barely refrains from smirking at Steve's gobsmacked expression – and Godric turns to the members of the Fellowship of the Sun, obviously changing his approach. 'Good people, who of you is willing to die for this man's madness?'
The silence is answer enough. Godric nods, satisfied, and instructs the vampires to stand down and the humans to leave. Everyone hurries to obey, and Eric looks on – even after a thousand years, his maker's ability to command still awes him.
'Please,' Steve whimpers from where he lays on the floor, 'don't leave me.'
'I daresay my faith in humankind is stronger than yours.' Is all Godric offers the Reverend before he turns fathomless dark eyes on Eric. 'Come.'
The Viking follows obediently, but a thought strikes that almost makes him pause mid-step: 'Where's Victoria?'
'Do not worry,' the shorter vampire sends him an amused side-along look, 'she is unharmed.'
This time, Eric does halt. Then he hurries to catch up to his maker, feeling self-conscious of their bond for the first time in centuries. Because it must be faulty.
Because he is not worried.
xXx
Despite the niggling feeling in her gut that urges her to go back into the church at her own peril, Loki sits on stairs leading up to the door; she trusts Godric is fully capable of resolving whatever conflict is going on between the shit-load of Dallas vamps that have arrived and the humans inside, and she takes the moment of respite to clean herself up a little.
Loki's head wound had healed almost instantly in the brief moment she jumped into her true form, but she is still a hot mess with a ripped skirt and dirt on her shoes. She's just pulling her hair out of its ponytail when dozens of humans come rushing out of the church, looking frightened yet unharmed.
A peek into a few minds tells her what had happened, that Godric had saved them all with a few well placed words. 'Like an angel' – the description comes from a wide eyed teenage girl, and it makes Loki smile. She may have to relay the thought to him later. But a stray image from the mind of a tall, older man sets a cold stone in her gut: a tall, familiar blonde, staggering under silver, offering himself up like a martyr.
The panic that fills her in that moment – I never thought, never even considered he'd be in danger – is squashed mercilessly when she spots another familiar head of blonde hair through the crowd, and she jumps to her feet and weaves over in her direction.
'You okay, Sookie?'
The telepath's eyes whip to her, and Loki finds herself with an armful of fairy for the second time in as many hours. 'Vick! Oh my stars, I was so worried about you!'
Loki laughs fondly, smiling when they pulled apart. 'I can tell.'
But Sookie is studying her intently. 'You look better – did Godric give you his blood?' The comment makes some of the vampires filing out of the Church pause and look over intently but Loki ignores them expertly.
'No, no, nothing like that.' She turns to the dark-haired vampire hovering at his girlfriend's shoulder. 'Good to see you, Mr Compton.'
'Ms Storm,' Bill nods his head politely, 'I am glad to see you unharmed.'
It is a blatant lie. Bill Compton doesn't give a damn about most humans as long as his part-fae girlfriend remains unharmed and they both know it, but Loki smiles politely nonetheless. If she had learned anything from her time in court (both in Asgard and on Earth) it is that sometimes it's better to smile in the face of blatant lip-service.
'Where's Eric?' Loki questions as casually as possible. Bill's lips thin severely, expression locking down in displeasure at the mention of the Viking. He grabs Sookie's hand and moves to drag her away without a word, which the telepath allows – but not before she points to the doors and shoots Loki a knowing look.
Godric and Eric are walking close, whispering intently in Swedish and appearing completely absorbed in one another. Loki hesitates to interrupt maker and childe (how long has it been since they've seen each other, she wonders) but can't keep herself from approaching.
'I'm glad to see you both safe.' She announces, and their heads snap towards her before they both zoom to her side.
'You look better.' Eric comments, voice a little rushed. It makes Loki eye him curiously, but she smiles up at him nonetheless.
'I feel better – fresh air after a day trapped in a cellar will do that,' she places a soft hand on the drying blood on his arm, 'are you alright?'
'Of course.' He leans closer, and his eyes twinkle with a familiar leer. 'Though, you could kiss it better.'
The Æsir mage can't help but grin and roll her eyes. 'Maybe later, Eric.'
'I'll hold you to that.' The blonde holds her eyes a moment longer, before coming back to himself and turning to his maker. 'Godric, this is Victoria Storm; Victoria, this is Godric, the sheriff of Area 9.'
Loki's eyes sparkle as she nods at the older vampire, pleased to see him still. 'Nice to see you again, Sheriff.'
'Likewise.' The double meaning in her words made Godric's lips twitch, but he remains otherwise stoic as he gazes upwards pensively. 'We shall go to my nest, now.'
'Of course,' Loki bobs her head, 'are there cars waiting?'
The two vampires exchanged a mischievous look, and before she could so much as blink Eric's arms wrap around her and she is launched into the night sky.
Son of a bitch.
xXx
The nest is packed with vampires and humans alike when Loki descends down the stairs, clean and wearing a borrowed dress. It's clear that Eric had been correct in his assessment that Godric is very much beloved – probably half of the area is present to celebrate his return.
Loki isn't a shy creature, but the leering stares of various men and women alike as they ogle her – admittedly, very tight – attire is enough to make her run a hand through her loose hair somewhat anxiously.
Maybe Eric had been on to something about the dangers of being an "unclaimed human".
(Maybe she is more shaken than she'd care to admit after her close encounter with Gabe.)
Spotting a bar in the corner – and deciding that if she's ever needed a drink it's now – Loki shuffles over determinedly. She pointedly avoids prolonged eye-contact with anyone, not in the mood for small talk, but her path is suddenly and unexpectedly blocked.
She looks up at Stan – still ridiculously dressed – and resists the urge to snarl at his proximity. She's had quite enough of overbearing men for one evening, but even still, manages a polite nod.
'Lieutenant,' Loki's tone is carefully neutral, 'can I help you?'
Stan's grin sets all her nerves on edge. 'Oh, darlin', I can think of a few ways you could help me...' One meaty hand rises to touch the bare skin of her shoulder, and Loki snaps.
Casting a charm to draw any attention away from the pair of them, Loki wills her magic to whip around the vampire, forcing his arm back to his side and freezing him in place.
Stan's pupils dilate in shock and confusion, and something deadly settles over Loki's face as she steps closer, mouths only inches apart and eyes almost directly level with his.
'I am unclaimed by any vampire,' Loki informs him in a dangerous hiss, 'and you seem to take this to mean you are free to touch me as you please.'
Stan makes a noise halfway between a growl and a whimper as her green eyes glow with power.
'But I will tell you now, Stan, that you are most assuredly not.' For the briefest moment, she allows her magic to become visible to only him; Stan's eyes dart wildly about, seeing the writhing mass of power that literally steams off her. 'You don't want to piss me off by crossing our paths again.'
Fear is pouring from the vampire now, and after a long moment, Loki draws back, rips the memory of the encounter from Stan's mind mercilessly, and releases the spell holding him in place. The Texan vampire blinks as if coming out of a trance, then settles his attention back on her – and gives a visible shudder.
'Can I help you, lieutenant?' She queries with a coy tilt of her head, and is cruelly satisfied when he merely grunts and zips away.
Because while Stan Davies may not remember his confrontation with "Victoria Storm", he will always, always fear Loki (2).
It's probably the wisest thing he will ever do.
She reaches the bar without further incident, and sips from a flute of champagne as she glances about for a friendly face. But the ground feels more solid at her feet, and she allows a smirk to cross her lips. Loki is back in control, secure in the knowledge that she has more power than any other present, and suddenly the room is not intimidating in the slightest.
Loki eventually settles against a wall to observe the room at large, and catches Godric's eye from where he sits, welcoming the area vampires, and there is a question in his eyes. He's always been unusually resistant to her magic and therefore probably noticed her confrontation with Stan – Loki gifts him with a cheeky wink.
Godric's eyebrows rise, and the ancient vampire shakes his head as if to say "honestly, how immature". But Loki catches the tiny smile hitching at the corner of his mouth.
Ha. Godric had always been amused by the sight of her terrifying overly forward men.
Loki surveys the room with sharp eyes, content for the moment to stand back and observe. Her old friend doesn't summon her, but she catches him looking her way more than once. Idly, Loki wonders if being in such close proximity is just as comforting as it is for her. After all, it's not every day you see someone you knew one-thousand, five-hundred years ago, and it stirs something in Loki's chest to know she is not the only one to be so long-lived.
It's rather comforting to be reminded that she's not so alone in the world.
But when she notices Bill striding towards Eric with his jaw clenched, Loki can't resist sending out a tendril of magic to eavesdrop. The younger vampire grabs the Viking's upper arm, and her eyebrows shoot up in unison with Eric's – one has to either be brave or stupid to manhandle a thousand year old vampire.
'I don't like being touched.' The blonde comments, a promise of extreme violence buried deep under centuries of well practised stoicism.
But the shorter of the two snorts in disdain. 'Believe me, I do not like touching you.' He releases Eric's arm. 'Your contact with Sookie will cease from this moment.'
Loki huffs in bemusement. Really, there are a lot of vampire Sheriff's who would slaughter someone for using that tone. Clearly, Mr. Compton has no self-preservation instincts. 'That's hardly your decision.' Eric amends, and Loki can hear the smirk in his voice.
'Calling in my maker because you couldn't win Sookie for yourself is feeble and desperate even for you.'
Bill's maker had been called in? This was news to Loki, though the information clicks into place when she remembers a deep voice informing her that "Bill won't be a problem" two nights ago. But she files it away for later consideration when Eric steps into the other vampire's space threateningly.
'Are you picking a fight?' The Viking is clearly amused by the very idea. 'I'd like to see you try.'
'She will never be yours. And there is nothing you can do. In this you are powerless. Accept it.'
'There are plenty of things I could do to have Sookie Stackhouse if I wanted her. But I find myself in pursuit of better things.'
Loki only has a second to puzzle over his comment before his entrancing blue eyes swing in her direction, and some odd excitement races through her body.
She is used to being coveted; over the many, many centuries of her existence, Loki has had countless creatures want her for her power or her beauty or any other reason you could think of. But this is Eric Northman. Sheriff of Area 5. Viking warrior. The man who once made his prayers heard. Godric's progeny.
The Pict vampire had been an excellent judge of character even when they'd first known each other – that his childe is exceptional is not a surprise.
That Loki actually finds herself mildly captivated by him is.
She has met many, many immortals, yet is close with almost none (family notwithstanding). But there is a spark in Eric's eyes, a certain vivacious lust for life that fades in many vampires within fifty years. It's beautiful, and if Godric had seen it a millennium ago, it's easy to imagine him wanting to hold onto that.
Loki looks away from the Viking, ignoring the smirk playing on his face as he notices her scrutiny. She must be cursed, she thinks, to always become enraptured with the smug ones.
(Do you really mind? A small voice pipes up in her mind. She shoos it away.)
She can still hear their conversation, though, and Bill hums in thought. 'Ms Storm? Eric, she is hardly more than any other mortal girl.'
'If you truly believe that, you are even more of an imbecile than I originally thought.' Eric shoots back, and Bill scoffs.
'Oh?'
'Indeed.' The feel of his eyes on her is like a burning weight on Loki's skin. 'You may keep your telepath, Bill. This one is mine.'
Loki allows herself a smirk at the sheer arrogance of the statement – she will never be anyone's property – but resists the archaic urge to destroy him for the presumption. She'll let Eric have his delusions.
For now.
She straightens abruptly at the sound of a scuffle, and Isobel, bloody tear-tracks marring her beautiful face, storms towards her Sheriff, dragging a dazed and bruised Hugo behind her.
The latino vampire throws the man at Godric's feet. 'This is the one who betrayed us.'
The watching crowd hisses with contempt, but Godric studies the human before him placidly before looking to his lieutenant. 'He's your human, is he not?'
Isobel swallows, and her voice wavers a little as she answers. 'Yes, he is.'
'...Do you love him?'
'I…' Isobel, despite desperately trying to keep a stoic facade, crumbles under the weight of the question, fresh blood welling in her eyes. 'I thought I did.'
Godric considers her with a little smile. 'It appears you love him still.'
'I do. I'm sorry.' She looks away from the elder vampire, as if ashamed. 'But you are my Sheriff. Do with him as you please.'
Something ripples through Godric's being at the callous words, something almost like disappointment. But he addresses Hugo with practised neutrality. 'You are free to go.'
'What?' Stan, from the midst of the crowd of onlookers snarls in outrage; the sound of it echoes around the nest.
'The human is free to go.' Godric clarifies, turning back to said human. 'And do not return. I fear it is not safe for you here.'
'This is a travesty.'
Stan's words are met with a sharp look. 'This is my verdict. Eric, escort them out. Make sure he leaves unharmed.'
The Viking spares his maker a perplexed glance, but dutifully does as asked, dragging Hugo out of the room by the shoulder
The human catches Loki's eyes, and recoils at her burning expression. He may think her human, but if Godric had gotten hurt in the Church there would be no safety for the traitor.
Godric's mercy had been unexpected, but not unpleasant. Loki takes the lull in activity to approach and plop into a seat beside him on the couch (pointedly ignoring the sound of an onlooker gasping at her audacity).
'That was very kind of you,' she notes without preamble, voice barely a whisper to keep from being overheard, 'not what I had envisioned.'
'Are you disappointed?'
Her smirk softens imperceptibly. 'Not at all, darling.' Loki crosses her legs, settling more comfortably in her seat as she studies his youthful face. 'I'd be a little aghast if you hadn't changed.'
Godric favours her with a benevolent smile. 'Likewise.'
'Oh?'
'We were both...' His eyes glaze over fractionally as he thinks back. '...very different.'
Loki smirks at the understatement of the century. 'Truer words have never been spoken.'
Godric hums in agreement.
'...I never regretted it, though.' She adds casually, green eyes locking with brown as he looks at her sharply. 'Well, okay, I don't exactly relish the memory of all the killing. But I mean our friendship. It wasn't exactly conventional, but it taught me a lot. It made me better, I think.'
'Really?'
'Yes. So, thank you.'
And because Godric knows how much the confession means from her – honesty had not been her forte when they had met (3) – the vampire gives her an incredibly gentle smile.
Loki has never seen that expression on his face before, and it very nearly takes her breath away.
He studies her intently, but the moment is shattered with his next words: 'There was a time when people called you a god.'
'Oh. Yes,' she dips her head, confirming his statement, 'bit of a long story, there.'
'The myths of you... they are very cruel.' (4) Loki determinedly does not flinch, but she feels her face close down and her smile become fixed.
Loki remembers blood and betrayal and all-consuming rage; she sees herself, screaming in grief and pain and covered in gore but her soul singing with the bittersweet relief of vengeance. It is with a melancholy awe that Loki marvels at how much events from millennia ago can still hurt her so badly to this day.
But she snaps herself back to the present, shutting the door to her memories with a firm slam and despite her best efforts the faux-smile falls from her lips. He looks like he wishes he could take back the words, but she doesn't give him the chance to.
'The line between truth and fiction is very thin, dear. Just like the one between a villain and a victim.'
Loki scoots closer and presses a kiss to Godric's cool cheek before sliding to her feet and sauntering away with a quiet "talk to you later".
It's not running away, she reminds herself as she snags another glass of very expensive champagne from the refreshments table, if there's no actual running involved.
It's more like a very strategic exit.
Removing herself from an uncertain situation.
(She may actually be running away.)
Knowing that if she allows herself to sink into a sombre mood Loki may spend the rest of the night brooding, she wanders over to Sookie with a smile.
'Hey,' Loki hands the blonde the full champagne flute, 'you feeling okay?'
'Thanks.' Sookie says to the drink, flashing the taller woman a genuine small which Loki is compelled to return. 'I'm fine, honey. How're you doin'?'
The telepath's eyes are shining with concern, and Loki is momentarily puzzled. But then the image of Gabe flashes through her mind's eye, and she wants to smack herself on the forehead. Of course, the average mortal would be a little more shaken by almost-rape – in truth, Loki has just shoved it into the dark corner of her mind that fuels her occasional nightmares (5).
But she smiles weakly, keeping up the facade of humanity. 'I'm... okay, I think.' Loki gives Sookie a once-over, taking in the white skirt suit with a wry quirk of her eyebrow. 'Nice outfit.'
The part-fae giggles. 'Thank you. You're dress is...'
They both give the tiny, skin-tight black thing clinging to Loki's body a simultaneous look of scrutiny, before its wearer gives an exaggerated grimace. 'Don't remind me.'
Sookie's eyes glitter in amusement, but she wisely refrains from commenting.
A flash of red jolts in the corner of her vision, and Loki twists her head to study the rather striking female vampire approaching with a false smile. Impeccably dressed and made-up, she's an old-ish vampire – easily double Bill's age.
And she's nothing but trouble, aura turbulent with hate and jealously and cruelty; Loki unconsciously moves closer to Sookie as the vampire glides towards them.
'Hello, there.' Her voice lilts with a charming Southern accent, and she ignores Loki's presence completely. 'I'm Lorena.'
Oblivious as usual to the tension in Loki's frame, the part-fae smiles cutely at Lorena. 'Nice to meet you. I'm Sookie.'
'Yes.' The vampire's eyes turn cold. 'You are what all the fuss is about.'
'...Excuse me?'
Lorena ignores the blonde's confusion. 'Aren't you a morsel.'
'I'm sorry. Who are you?'
'Well, we have a mutual friend.'
Something visibly shifts into place in Sookie's eyes, and she pales. 'Bill?'
'That's right.' Lorena purrs. 'Funny he never mentioned me - I practically made him what he is today.'
Suddenly, Bill is at Sookie's side, jaw clenched and glaring daggers at the woman – his maker. 'Lorena.'
'Oh, hello, darling.' Loki catches a glimpse of the desperate obsession in Lorena's eye as she looks at her childe. 'I was just getting to know your plaything. You always did like to prey on the innocent.'
'Bill,' Sookie whispers urgently, 'is this your maker?'
'She released me years ago.' He doesn't remove his gaze from Lorena for even a second. 'She no longer has any hold over me.'
'I wouldn't say that.' The older vampire winks a Sookie tauntingly. 'We had two marvellous nights in your hotel room.'
'...What?'
'Did you know your boyfriend hit me over the head with a 52-inch plasma television earlier tonight?' Lorena informs them without faltering. 'Everyone says they're so thin and light, but let me tell you, when wielded properly, it's quite a weapon.'
Loki can't help it; she chuckles. It earns her three rather scathing looks, but she waves them off as if to say "go back to ignoring my presence".
Sookie does so, turning to her boyfriend hesitantly. 'You did?'
He growls at his maker, ignoring everything else. 'Lorena, you need to leave.'
'I hope he doesn't pull the same shenanigans with you.' She continues unfazed, shaking her head in mock-sadness. 'There's no excuse for domestic violence.'
'What she has failed to mention is that she was holding me prisoner.' Bill amends through clenched teeth; both Loki and Sookie tense at this, but Lorena merely scoffs.
'We were just catching up is all. You must have been worried sick, wondering where he was. I admit it. It got a bit heated. But you know how old lovers can get sometimes...' She reaches out to stroke Bill's face lovingly, but Sookie slaps the hand away.
'Do not touch him.' The telepath demands tersely. Loki's stomach drops – this is likely not going to end well.
'My, we're feisty too.' Any pretence of friendliness drops from the woman's face as she stares at Sookie. 'You're no more than a blood bag. You cannot win this.'
'I've already won.' The infamous Stackhouse temper flares, and Loki notes absently that everyone in the nest has quieted to watch the spectacle. 'Bill chose me. And yet you still won't give up. Don't you have any shame?'
Bill grunts in alarm, trying to back his girlfriend away from the confrontation. 'Sookie, stop!'
'I'd listen to him.' Lorena advises with a wicked grin. 'Run away, little girl. William and I love each other.'
'You've gone mad.' Bill gasps out, struggling to tug Sookie away, when suddenly the telepath stills.
'Maybe you do love him. Who am I to guess? But he doesn't love you. He never has, and that we both know.'
Loki almost, almost, closes her eyes in exasperation. Really, Sookie is a nice enough girl – but she may need to reconsider being friends with someone with so little self-preservation.
'Take those words back or they shall be your last.' Lorena warns.
'We're leaving!'
'Come on, Sook,' Loki murmurs from the blonde's side, 'just let it go.'
She's ignored. Damn it.
'Go find someone else, you fucking bitch!' The telepath snarls. 'You've lost this one!'
Lorena moves so fast that to a mortal it would all seem to be a blur; Loki see's it all happen in what feels like slow-motion. The older vampire swats Bill out of her way as though he were a moth, moving in front of them swiftly, and pushes Loki back with a sharp shove to the chest, moving to grab Sookie by the throat.
Loki could have easily stayed on her feet – the push was hardly a love-tap on her scale of force – but practically the entire nest is watching the drama, so she allows herself to fly back with the momentum and idly hopes she doesn't land on anything pointy as she sails a good six-feet backwards.
She's rather startled when she lands neatly in a pair of stone cold arms, and she can't stop the startled sound that escapes her lips when magic flares up at the contact.
Loki twists her head, and Eric stares back, blue eyes scorching with intensity even when his face is perfectly neutral. She manages a slight smile.
'Nice catch.'
The Viking's arms tighten around her, and they turn back towards the commotion in time to see Godric appear and grasp Lorena's throat in a deadly grip. They both watch with bated breath.
(But he doesn't move to release her.)
'Retract… your… fangs. Now.' The words are deathly serious, and Lorena wisely follows instruction; Loki is reminded sharply that Godric has been on this Earth for as long as she has. 'I neither know nor care who you are. But in this area - and certainly in this nest - I am the authority. Do you understand?'
'Yes, sheriff.' The words tremble with fear, completely void of Lorena's previous bravado.
'This human has proven herself to be a courageous and loyal friend to our kind. And yet you treat her like a child does a dragonfly, pulling off wings for sport.' Her old friend makes a noise halfway between disbelief and a deep, profound sadness. 'No wonder they hate us.'
'She provoked me.'
He shrugs off her weak defence. 'And you provoked me. You disrupted the peace in my own home. I could snap you like a twig. Yet I haven't. Now, why is that?'
'It's…' Lorena wavers, 'your choice.'
'Indeed it is. You're an old vampire. I can tell. You've had hundreds of years to better yourself, yet you haven't. You are still a savage, and I fear for all of us, humans and vampires, if this behaviour persists.'
Oh, Godric. Held securely in Eric's arms, Loki allows herself to sag a little. The Dallas Sheriff is so full of self-recrimination, of turbulent doubt, it makes part of her want to weep. What has happened to him to make him hate his own race so deeply? Loki will freely admit that vampires aren't her favourite brand of creature overall, but even she knows better than to see them as a collective – let alone one that is entirely evil. Godric instructs Bill to escort Lorena out of the nest in a tense voice, and turns his attention towards her.
He is abruptly a foot in front of the Æsir mage. 'You are unharmed?'
'Of course – thank you.' Her words are uncharacteristically quiet in the face of Godric's soft attentiveness, and he smiles a little as he takes in her position in his childe's arms.
'Tell me,' he prompts, face his usual perfect mask of nothing, 'how did you two meet?'
'She came to my club with Bill Compton and his human some weeks ago.' Eric informs his maker immediately – Loki is torn between rolling her eyes and smiling at the absolute loyalty the Viking holds towards Godric.
It is rather sweet.
But she stiffens, wrenching herself out of Eric's hold. Something was coming; something full of rage and sadness that would bring death – it brings to the fore each of Loki's survival instincts.
She ignores the stares of Eric and Godric, just staring blankly at the doorway and the young man in a trench coat standing there.
'Excuse me, everyone. If I could have your attention.'
His name is Luke McDonald, she plucks from his head. He's 25 years old – hardly more than a child – and has a sister called Annie. He hates because that's all he learned from the abusive, alcoholic father. He's gay, but terrified to admit to it.
And he's come to kill them all.
'...I have a message for you all from Reverend Steve Newlin.'
The bomb strapped to his chest is wrapped in silver and chunks of wood, she notes. Stan lunges. Sookie gasps. Someone tugs her arm, but Loki flares out her magic to catch all the humans in the nest and slam them to the floor – the vampires can take care of themselves, or at least she hopes they can –
Loki is so preoccupied ensuring that her power does its job that it doesn't occur to her to shield herself until the bomb timer reaches "00:01", and she squeezes her eyes shut in a pre-emptive wince because she has a feeling that being blown up is going to really, really sting.
Luke McDonald's last thought is of his Mother, singing to him during a thunderstorm to soothe him to sleep.
Boom.
(1) Essentially, Murphy's Law is the theory that "everything that can go wrong, will go wrong".
(2) OFC!Loki has a temper tantrum. Mostly I wrote this scene to counteract the relative weakness she displayed in the church. Despite the fact she has her weaknesses, she is not to be trifled with.
(3) In mythology, Loki is sometimes called the God of Lies. In this universe, I like to imagine that OFC!Loki, at the time she met Godric, was every bit as bad as you would imagine someone worthy of that moniker would be.
(4) In my own personal opinion, the Loki of Norse mythology is often screwed over. I don't want to give anything away, because I will be incorporating some of it into this fic, but to me it seems that Loki spends a lot of time helping out the other gods but getting no recognition for it.
(5) I just want to underline the fact that I am in no way, shape, or form undermining the suffering of women who experience assault. Loki's view of this is very much "I refuse to dwell on the horrible thing that happened" – an attitude that may come back to bite her, later.
