Chapter 3: Perfection

At first the steady toss of the waves at been unnerving, but as the days became weeks he began to find a very distinct comfort in what the sounds outside his porthole at night would tell him. The sound of gulls would signify that they were close to land, the whipping rain would mean a storm, the gentle lull of silence against the rock of the ocean meant it would be another perfect day.

Growing up he always thought that he had a knack for perfection even though his father never seemed to favor his ways. His plans were always more thorough, his hands more dextrous and his eyes ever so much more calculating. That was perfection, wasn't it? Too see the worst of what's to come and take that a step further? To live the life of a loved man and then become a tyrant?

Not a single sound save the lap of waves against the hull met his ears, and he knew that it was going to be another 'perfect' day - perfect for all of the damned guests. With a groan he sat up and rubbed his temples, small flashbacks of the night before fading in and out of his mind.

"Gin…" He mumbled to himself as he stood up and walked over to his wardrobe, "I'm always such a man for gin…"

Hospitality was definitely the right career for the lost and broken hearted. He'd wake up at three in the afternoon, shower, throw up, eat a bit, work until the guests on the ship all stumbled to bed… then he would get astronomically drunk with the rest of the crew - rinse and repeat. He knew that Thor wanted him to come back to Earth and somehow realize all of his faults. He was supposed to fall to his knees in a storm and cry to the heavens: 'Oh dear brother, take me back! I was oh-so-wrong!", tears mingling with the rain as he poured his heart out to the sky.

… He reckoned he'd made it close enough.

The water of the shower had awful pressure but it was still hot and cleansing, washing away the sweat he'd acquired by sleeping in his suit. Idly he wondered how many times he could possibly sleep in his suave uniform before his boss said something to him. Supposedly that was the role he played now, though: the raggedy, sly and undeniably attractive piano player.

He never really considered music a particular talent of his. He started on the ships as a waiter, mindlessly serving food to inflated customers and pretending to be pleasant. He wondered what his brother would say about working a minimum wage Earth job on a sailing hotel? One night once all of the guests sunk away into the shadows he sat at the piano alone, playing something he'd once heard Idunn playing in their great feast hall. The manager heard, the rest was history.

He picked up his tuxedo off the floor and gave it a sniff, wrinkling his nose at the reek of cheap liquor. After drinking the sweetest wines at the greatest Asgardian feasts, he'd really come a long way. Giving the suit another shake he pulled on a clean white shirt accompanied by the rest, securing at the base of his neck his signature emerald green tie. With a last look in the mirror he opened the door to his cabin, losing himself in the bustle of the staff deck hallways.

Working on a cruise ship was a sweet life: no one asked where you were from or what you wanted to do with your life. As long as you put on a smile and had a drink at the end of the night you were automatically accepted, a real part of the crew. The people were fake and the smiles were forced but that was exactly what he liked about it - every friendly chirp was covered in a thin layer of deceit. He ran up the stairs to the top deck, emerging on the guest level. Instantly an old lady grabbed her arm.

"Hello my songbird!" she slurred, pulling him towards the dance floor. He had absolutely no idea who she was, but assumed that she was another one of his newly made fans. He was happy that the media had cut as much of his image out of the tapes as possible, it allowed him to fade into the background of whichever life he chose.

"Hello my dear, how are you enjoying the evenings festivities?"

He put in hand on her waist, pulling her into a dance. She moved like a much younger woman who obviously knew how to have a good time in her youth. As he took a step forward she took one back, and for once in his life Loki found that he didn't have to lead.

"Oh, marvelous. We'll be in New York in a day, won't we? I wish that I just had a few more days here…"

He cast her away from him, spinning her in a circle as she returned.

"Ah, my sweet - there's no harm in coming back for more. You wouldn't be the first."

Her green eyes were firmly locked on his in an oddly seductive fashion which reminded him of someone. He saw his boss out of the corner of his eye frantically looking around, obviously trying to locate his rogue piano playing.

"Alas my dear, I must leave you. My duty calls."

"Oh won't you stay for one last dance?"

"To have a songbird sing you must first set him free."

She smiled, letting going of his hands.

"Then fly! I expect my other dance at the end of the night."

He smirked at her, blowing a kiss before he turned towards the piano.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

He wasn't sure where or how he'd picked up his charm. With Darcy he always found himself stuttering and faltering, his face heating and hands shaking. Where he wanted to be alluring and seductive he was awkward and nervous, a bumbling virgin compared to Darcy's confident and foxy advances. The very thought of the girl made him shiver and he forced her from his mind.

"For fucks sake, Lochlyn, can you at least brush your hair?"

Being ruled was another thing he'd had a problem with. At first he'd tried to be a waiter in a restaurant, but he quickly found himself fired when he talked back… in quite a fashion… to his manager. On the cruise ship he found that he could honestly talk back or do whatever he wanted because everyone was either too scared or too infatuated to fire him. Good piano players are hard to find, after all.

"But sir, if I brushed my hair how could I possibly look so flawlessly handsome? It ruins the effect if I try."

"Just get on stage. You better sing your little heart out, it's the last night. If you fuck up I'm throwing you in the ocean."

"It's a blessing I can swim."

"Just get up there."

Their piano was polished and new, the keys cold under his sweeping fingers with true, ringing notes. Some nights he'd play jazz, watching couples swing and dip and eventually fall over. Some nights he played bubbled up covers of recent songs which he'd looked up on another staff's computer the night before. Some nights he'd just play wordless music, closing his eyes and listening as the notes bounced and faded in the empty hall. Tonight he would simply play song he liked.

"Hello ladies and gentlemen. I assume you've had an absolutely magical day?"

There was a cheer from the crowd, the majority of them being old ladies who had dragged their husbands along.

"I'm going to start you out with a long I've become rather fond of."

He hit the keys on the piano once, making sure that he had the right chord.

When are you gonna come down

When are you going to land

I should have stayed on the farm

I should have listened to my old man

As usually he'd gotten the era right and a lot of the ladies were singing along. He often wondered what happened to Darcy - it hadn't yet occurred to him to check up on her. Some days he thought she would run back into his arms sobbing, wondering where he'd been. Other days he thought that she must hate him, must be disgusted by what he did to her city and planet. He'd seen video footage of what he'd done. He'd seen flooded gutters with hits of blood flickering through the rainwater. He'd seen memorials, funerals, sobbing parents and children crying for their lost mothers.

Admittedly, at first he was proud. He'd finally made a mark that would truly scar a planet forever, and they were defenseless to ever take revenge. One drunken night another crew member admitted to him that his girlfriend had been lost in the wreckage. They'd been together five years, and he'd just proposed the night before at their favorite East Village cafe, the place that they'd met. Hitting him on a personal level he had begun to feel the guilt. Nights where he wasn't drunk he stare at the ceiling, imagining Darcy's twisted body beneath a fallen building.

So goodbye yellow brick road

Where the dogs of society howl

You can't plant me in your penthouse

I'm going back to my plough

Back to the howling old owl in the woods

Hunting the horny back toad

Oh I've finally decided my future lies

Beyond the yellow brick road.

The night proceeded as assumed - he did a few jazz numbers, a few slow songs, the occasional rock song tweaked to suit the piano. It was all proceeding in a satisfactory fashion until his manager ran up near the end of the night to whisper something in his ear.

"Lochlyn.. there's a woman. She'd like to sing up on stage. She said it's a well known song, you'd probably know it."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, send her on. If she can't sing I'm going to be vastly disappointed and no doubt bring it up later when we're both intoxicated."

"Whatever dude, I'll send her up."

He fixed his tie and looked down at his fingers, completely disinterested with whoever wanted to sing. It happened every second night: someone would go slightly over the top with their drinking and decide to prance around on stage.

"Hello everyone, my name's Amy, and as much as I love the songbirds voice, I've been waiting to sing this one for a long, long time. I'll start singing sugar, you can just play along."

One way or another, I'm gonna find ya,

I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha

Oh, fantastic, he thought, another Blondie fan looking to profess her love to me. Being a good sport he started to play along, suddenly freezing the second he looked up and made eye contact.

"Don't you want to sing along, what's wrong? Silver tongue turned to lead?"

Not wanting to cause trouble, he kept playing.

She was tall with legs to Asgard, her curled blonde hair falling to her waist in flawless unison. Her floor length green dress curved around her hips and squeezed her breasts together at the strapless bust line, leaving very little to the imagination despite covering so much up. Why now? Of all the times, why now?

He played the song through and stood up to leave as quickly as he could, not eager at all to have any confrontation.

"Look everyone, he's running away! I believe he at least owes me a dance."

The back up pianist ran up to take the role on the piano, and the crowd began to yell about how the lady at least should get a dance. He took a deep breath and turned around, a grin spreading across his face.

"Oh course, my dear! I'd be absolutely honored."

He took her hand and pulled her close, disappearing into the crowd. She smelled of cheap perfumed and poison, her lipstick as dark as her intentions.

"You did promise me one last dance…"

She purred into his ear. He shuddered, realizing that the old lady that he'd danced with earlier was far too seductive to be real.

"Do you often wear the skins of old ladies to break into cruise ships, Amora?"

"Oh, only for you. You're worth it."

He spun her in a circle, sidestepping and pulling her close again. He hadn't seen the woman for years, probably the last time at one feast or another. The woman was a crafty tramp - a woman after his own heart.

"Is there a particular point in this visit, or are you just wishing to make me uncomfortable?"

"Oh, there's no use in lying - that's your forte. I'm here because all of these years you've been immune to me, too powerful. But if the rumor came up the tree from the right root… I hear you're nothing more than a man."

The curve of her breast and high collar bones were enticing, he had to admit. He'd always stayed as far away from her as he possible could but he still had to wonder..

"Stop. I have no hunger for you or your magic. You'd gain absolutely nothing from seducing me because there isn't an inch of me that truly wants you."

"Oh, Loki. I don't think that there's a sane man on Earth that truly wants me.. that doesn't mean they don't give in."

"Don't call me that. I'm Lochlyn now. Loki is dead."

Amora threw her head back and cackled, returning to his gaze with sultry eyes.

"You can say that Loki's dead all you want, but there's still that hunger to conquer, to achieve perfection - I can see it in your eyes. So tell me Loki.. don't you see perfection in front of you? Smooth legs, arched back, my nails digging into your arms and my voice in your ear as-"

"Stop."

"Then what is perfection?" Amora asked innocently, her eyes betraying her tone, "a fat little brunette who wears band t-shirts and leggings?"

Loki snapped.

"Perfection is kissing in the janitors closet. It is cold nights and hot mornings and quaking hands, red cheeks and more than anything it's uncertainty. Hazy nights, clear sunsets, awkward breakfast conversations and unexplained feelings. It's her hand squeezing my shoulder and her tongue on my teeth and flashes of her pale skin when she tries to change without me noticing. It's ragged breaths in the middle of the night and staring at the ceiling wondering weather or not I killed her in my power driven rampage, it's playing moments over and over again in my mind trying to decipher the things left unsaid. It's her. That's what it is to me you useless wench, it's her."

Amora broke away from the dance, pouting in a way that Loki knew was an act.

"Oh, well then. I suppose I'll just have to… leave you alone. At least I can say that I've seen a god demoted to a man, and what kind of glorious life he's come to lead."

Before Loki could blink she was gone, leaving him unmoving amongst a crowd of joyfully dancing old folk. He sighed, slipping between people as gracefully as he could and headed towards the staff quarters, not even wanting a drink. Bitterly me mumbled to himself, loosening his tie and shoving it in his pocket, "what glorious life I've come to lead."