Disclaimer: Besides oc and plot idea, I own nothing.
The stench of stale mead, leather, smoke and too many unwashed bodies in one place seemed to be the trade mark scent for taverns like this. The off key drunken song of red faced men, human and not, the harried calls of bar wenches, and of course laughter was an ambience Loptr had long ago become accustomed. It was impossible not to after attending so many of the feats in Asgard's halls.
Mind numbed after several concentrated bottles of burning red liquid, the flame haired man sat awkwardly on a wooded chair, head lolling on a slender pale neck, primarily green multicolored eyes glazed.
Leaning forward long fingered hands reached for a tankard of amber liquid that had just been placed in front of him by a vaguely familiar maid. She had been passing him tankards since he first walked in a fortnight ago along with a host of jötnar and dark denizens of Yggdrasil to celebrate the completion of Myrkgarthr. A massive fortress of twisted bones from the fallen and granite located at Vígríðr.
To his horror he was was told is was to be the center of his kingdom. Loptr blamed his unwanted empire on the Norns. There was no other possibility, it had to have been some last dying act of the puppet masters as he devoured them. He knew that chill he felt at their dying shrieks wasn't just his imagination.
The boost to his seiðr, and the temporal abilities were worth it, and a safe place for his bloodline made it tolerable. The fact that it was larger than the once fabled Asgard, the grand home of the æsir which had been turned into a house of ill repute was he grudgingly admitted to a slyly grinning Fenrir satisfying, as well as seeing Skaði. Yes her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears was a memory he would recall often fondly.
Resigned to his new place as Lord, there was a feast thrown in celebration. It was more relaxing to go with the flow Loptr decided, the jötun probably would have enjoyed the previous ones thrown in his honor if he hadn't spent most of that time trying to escape his position.
He squinted in irritation at the not too small amount of ale spilled by his clumsy grab. The liquid was uncomfortable on his hands, sticky and sweet smelling. His ire quickly pass however. Furrowed arching eyebrows relaxed, thin pinched lips opening as the amber liquid passed them.
Sharply cut features smoothed out from their drawn set the longer he drank, a lopsided grin hidden by his ornate wooden tankard. He tossed his head back, guzzling the contents without pausing for air, or righting himself as he tipped backwards.
The more he leaned back, the greater his alcohol induced headache became. The increased flow of the sweet mead made it worth it in Loptr opinion, even if he ended up on the grimy floor. He could clean himself with a simple working later.
When all too soon the last of the precious drops of liquid ran dry and his aching head made itself known, the empty vessel was un-ceremonially dropped on the floor. The auburn haired man licked his parched lips. Squinting up at the ceiling, Loptr wondered if it was worth the headache to get something else to drink, then a figure loomed over him.
If Loptr was standing upright, he would have called them short, as that was not the case, the gold haired man looked rather tall, honey colored eyes filled with bemused exasperation, but his face a blank slate. It was rather impressive he thought.
The gold haired man looked very familiar, irritably so, but his alcohol muddled mind couldn't perform at the moment and his perception was a mess he closed from his main senses days ago, so he had no clue of their name or identity relying on sight alone. Was Gatsby? Gabe. Gaston? Grace? No that was a female name. He had the feeling that gender distinctions only loosely applied to the golden blond haired man.
Or person. Loptr found the human belief that only they could be called people quite silly. Mortals. Were such presumptuous little things, and as a whole they were unaware just how low on the food chain they were. This golden blond was no human. his
Conceding defeat, at least until his mind was in order, the jötnar decided to think of the gold haired as flaxen midget. Said midget put him in a quite frightful of moods by blocking the way back to his stool. Whether it was purposeful or not, he was preventing him from reaching the new tankard that was calling his name. Flaxen little ponce.
"Laufeyjarson it is pleasant to see that you are well." The flat blank expression didn't change, nor was there any relief expressed in his tone despite what was said. Blinking slowly, he thought hard to decipher the spiel that was just uttered. Was he just call Laufeyjarson? A kenning associated with Loki? His eyes darkened for but a moment.
Did the Flaxen ponce mistaken him for his other incarnation? Maybe he was not the only one who had drank too much. He ignored the fact the other sounded completely sober, and the only difference between the two beings that could be comprehended by others in most cases was behavior and tone of voice.
It was so hard to think when he was drunk. It affected his All Speak, how he still didn't know. Probably the one eyed man's fault. While Loptr couldn't remember at the moment why he hated him with such burning fervor, but the auburn man knew he was at fault for many things. One more thing shouldn't hurt.
True it would be easy to burn the poison from his avatar, but he had been drinking for days now, and the celebration over the conquest of the Realms didn't seem close to stopping anytime soon even if decades had already passed, but for the sake for better understanding, he purged some of the alcohol in his veins, the clarity of his mind immediately noticeable.
Eyes much more focused and steady, Loptr pondered the benefits of expending the effort to sit up or continue the conversation laying down. With a flex of seiðr, he perched on a woolly hassock. A gift from some æsir cur made from two goats.
the jötnar was sure he had seen said goats each the size of a small horse drawing a cart bearing tribute in an attempt to appeal to Loptr who despite his wishes was the unofficial leader of allied forces of darkness. Loptr Over-Lord was a ridiculous tittle in his opinion, and a poor attempt at a replacement for All-Father. No one cared for his opinion unfortunately.
The Lord of All Darkness wasn't much better. Sometimes having fanatically loyal minions willing to follow him to death was not worth the headache they caused. The hangovers alone if he was human. If not for Hel's incredibly persuasive stare, Loptr would be dimensions away having more fun causing mischief. The feasts and visits to Asgard were fun at first, now he only stayed for the mead.
"That is no longer a byname of mine, refer to me as Loptr." Absently the Flaxen little prick nodded, a slight furor in his brows. The nagging familiarity was annoying.
"I have spent much time looking for you, I wish to beg for your forgiveness."
"You're not the first to come seeking it." Tentavly opening his perception, Loptr showed none of the surprise he felt, features pleasant and cool.
"I do not wish for you to hold a grudge against my person for the possible slight I have committed against you." There were eyes on them now, the bar somehow quieter despite the volume of drunken patrons never decreasing. There were enough in attendance sober that Loptr even in his questionable state of mind was aware of their subtle or in some cases not so subtle gazes.
Offering a slightly too wide lopsided grin at the gold haired being, Loptr slowly stood, easily towering over the smaller being by more than three heads,. Clasping a large hand on their shoulder Loptr threaded his seiðr loosely around them. "I have no idea of what you're talking about, little angel."
For a moment the man seemed like he wanted to laugh or cry eyes literally glowing with conflicting emotions. He blinked and they were average unassuming honey brown, flat and containing only wisps of apprehension, so faint, Loptr wondered if the entity behind those eyes was even aware of the emotion.
"Tell me little angel, what brings you to this little garden in the multiverse, what has it a century since we last conversed?"
A small frown on marble features. "We last interacted one century, three decades-" He went silent with a tap against his head.
"…Yes about a century. Now, whatever it is that troubles you enough to seek me out, and causes you to fear my ire, feel free to make it known dove." The faint shimmer of seiðr that formed a sound proof bubble to make the conversation more private became visible, much to the listener's embarrassment and indignation. They knew better than to speak out.
Golden eyes drifted to the side as he shuffled his feet, much to Loptr's fascination. The oddly unexpected behavior uncharacteristic for his kind did little to distract Loptr from his curiosity. Finally the shoulders under his palms squared themselves, Gavri'el's wings lowering in resignation.
It took a moment to register when the archangel spoke, and another to realize what it they had said, when it's voice was naught but a whisper. Loptr had to strain is ears to hear. A surprising feat given that he was a chaos entity of high standing his senses were sharp.
Absently he realized he was smiling again, it pulled uncomfortably on his body's face with how wide it was, still being unused to such a limited restraining avatar. He must have simply have misheard his favorite little angel. Yes that was it, it made more sense than what Gavri'el had just said.
"Could you repeat that? I must have…Misheard you archangel."
Loptr knew his voice was distorting as his control over his avatar wavered. His seiðr was filling the room, an oppressive force barely restrained. Loptr also knew that the working for silence he had placed had fallen, and all eyes were on them, mostly himself as he was the source of the searing energy. the cheerful chatter died suddenly without any dying sputters.
Gavri'el was a tiny compressed ball of grace hiding within his previous avatar, so much different now that it no longer was sustained by seiðr the workings he had imbued into it warped by the archangel's grace.
Voice containing only a hint of the fear any other being not an angel would have felt Gavri'el spoke again, a distant sound that slowly wormed its way into Loptr's mind.
"I joined the pagans from my Father's Earth. They know me as Loki, the Trickster, and brother of Odin."
Yay chp 4.
Sorry for the kind of cliff hanger, not that I regret it, and really I have no need to justify anything
I think it was a good place as any to end this chapter. I had this on my USB for about a week, unedited due to the school wrapping up, and graduating from high school Saturday, and preparing for college orientation, which was today. Couldn't concentrate long enough to make any progress on stories due to nerves. e.e
Then after graduating I got hooked on and spent hours trying to get first place and always failing at third. Gave up after some random schmuck got me into a corner one to many times T.T
Then I found Hungry Shark Evolution and I just had to try and unlock Megladon. After being stuck trying to get Tiger Shark, gave up to check email for any updates on stories I was following. There were so I read those and ignored working on this, until I noticed a pm from the author of one of my favorite stories telling me that they liked Praeternatural and were looking forward to reading more. O_O
The phone was put down and I got to work on this.
So far the story is moving out of Norse mythology and into supernatural. Loptr despite only wanting revenge on Odin for his betrayal and the norns for stringing everything along like puppet masters seems to have no choice in becoming the Over-Lord of Yggdrasil. The jötnar simply don't care about his opinion and all the forces of the dark have forced the elves, humans, aesir, and all others that opposed them to give tribute to help get Loptr's growing empire/kingdom get up and running while distracting him with feasting and drinking. Loptr just tries not to think about it. Gaveri'el is getting more of a personality and has joined the pagans and impulsively goes by the name Loki. Loptr isn't sure how to feel about that.