As I may have mentioned previously, I'm leaving town, so I thought I'd do two updates. Thurs. and Fri. might not have any new additions, sorry.
In this chapter we go back a bit into Thor. Listening to Tom Hiddleston's interviews, there is a very interesting thing he keeps say I just wanted to play with. We also begin to see "Loki" the power prince at his all of his douchebaggary.
But just a little.
Thanks so much to my regs, K.L. and ber1719. You guys keep me going.
-XXX-
The bedroom is, understandably, smaller than mine. The walls are a cool green. Prints of old botany textbooks cover the walls, along with veined pressed flowers and plants. One Ikea armchair dominates the corner, near the window. The bed is another Ikea find, made of a light wood with shelves for a headboard and a built-in utilitarian lamp. All in all, it's a bare little room, perfect for guests.
He says nothing while I stumble through telling him about the house, explaining my work, Win's temperament, etc. There is only one bathroom, so that'll be an issue. And I don't have any sort of man toiletries- - - shaving gear and whatnot. There are clothes, leftovers from a long-gone ex. But they're not going to fit, at least not well. We'll need to shop soon, probably tonight.
"My room is just down the hall," I tell him. "Across from yours."
Luke nods. He moves to the bed, impassive, sitting down to look out of the window. It's a view of the back yard, the woods where I found him. For several minutes, we gaze together upon the forest. The sun is out; it's a nice day, warm and mild. I hug myself while we watch the horizon.
I leave to make lunch. From the kitchen I can usually hear all activity around the house. Yet all is silent. Win has followed me, and lounges on his windowsill in the breakfast nook. I tease him gently as I was the lettuce. He stretches, eyes half-lidded, unamused with me. It's normal - - -he's an independent little thing. I grin from the sink, going back to my vegetables.
Luke is downstairs almost twenty minutes later. He has removed the shoes, and watches me from impassive eyes. Careful expression in place. I've decided his attitude is one of nobility- - - someone used to having things done for them, someone who feels entitled. I wonder who he is, where he'd from.
When we sit down to eat, I strike up a conversation. "It's funny, the night you came."
"Oh?"
"I was just thinking about all the crazy stuff that was going on, all of the things that happened that day." Upon seeing his expression, I clarify. "All of the aliens, in New York."
He understands. "And then you find a man in the woods."
"Well, not just that." I frown. "Do you remember? The light…the noise?"
Luke doesn't comprehend.
"It was like magic," I say, shifting my fork. "I thought maybe it had something to do with the New York accident."
He smiles slightly. "That I was an alien?"
"Maybe." My lips quirk. "It's not impossible, you know."
"No," he agrees. "It's not. But I can assure you, I'm…one-hundred percent mortal."
"Good to know."
"So…tell me about this….light?"
He bares his teeth. It's nearly a smile, but it strikes me as feral. Inhumane.
So I do, briefly outlining the events of the day and night. Things like the stilettos and the gala are left out, but I mention the New York Incident, and the Avengers. They don't feel necessary to the plot, exactly. But they're cool, interesting little details.
-XXX-
As she explains the circumstances under which she found him, Loki felt as though he was the first person she told in regards to the supernatural lights and noises. He is grateful, again, toward her. She is an insightful thing. He will keep her. She's got just the right notes of secrecy, paired delightfully with more human characteristics of openness. "Trustworthy," he realizes. That's why the doctor took to her. Why both doctors feel so strongly about her. What made the nurses rave and rant over her. That's why the cat follows her around like a lame pup. She's got an air of trust about her, only equaled by her compassion. They all feel close to her, because that's what she unknowling gives them: a feeling of ease, trustworthiness, compassion.
It could be a weakness, on some fronts. But he needs someone who relates with the people, if he is to rule them. Not an advisor, but, rather someone to observe. To collect data from.
His reader will fit the bill nicely.
To have conversation is a luxury he's not enjoyed for some time, not since his fall from Asgard. And even before then, the godling had been too busy scheming; his few friends fell to the wayside quickly. They were beyond him- - - or perhaps, he was beyond them. Loki, tired of being the younger brother, tired to trying to find a way, any way to surpass Thor, was distracted. He kept face for court, of course, and lightly sprinkled in his usual humor and mischief. But his mind crackled with focus - - -he was not just playing a being a trickster. Plans were being set into motion. He was looking for something that mattered. And, in that planning, he lost himself, a little. The god knew it, naturally, saw his progression. At the time he couldn't bring himself to mind. Looking back, Loki acknowledged that there the trouble lie; he'd not found strength in those around him. He was a single god, waging a war of one against a thousand.
He hasn't had a proper sit-down talk since…well, years, maybe. Wars don't allow for socializing, not where you're officer and commander.
Though she's doing most of the talking, he still finds the topic vaguely simulating. Loki sits back, listening lazily as his reader attempts explain his recovery. He knows, of course- - -after all, he was consciously there, even if she doesn't know it.
He likes this casualness. True, he misses the grandeur of Asgard, the marble and stone, the hush of noble voices, the stiff formalities broken by brighter moments behind-the-scenes with his family and friends. Sometimes, he dreams of his home- - -of Asgard. But those dreams were far and few between. For now, he'll immerse himself in the Midgardian lifestyle.
-XXX-
"These Avengers…they are soldiers?" His brows furrow slightly with this last word.
"Not really. More like…" I search for a realistic wording, but going straight back to what the major media sources kept spinning out. "Super heroes."
When he laughs, I wince.
"Masked crusaders?" he teases genuinely.
"Kind of. They saved the city, at least. And the world, too. Those, they left a lot in their wake." It was true. When I returned to New York a week later for that Christie's auction (walking away with the Turner, might I add), the Big Apple was a shell of itself. The damage was extensive-hundreds of families now had to rely on churched, FEMA, or other charities for shelter. The government was throwing down a lot to make repairs, but it would take more than new bricks and a few coats of paint to fix what had been broken. Or lost.
But the city was pulling together. Stark Tower stood through it all, now the Avenger's HQ (and personal clubhouse, of sorts). Most of the cafes and shops had boarded up their windows that night, and were open for business the next morning. Such was the New Yorkian way. It sort of made me proud- - - to be an American, yeah, but also to see such strength. I mean, if they could overcome, who couldn't?
Nothing, I told Luke, has really been seen of the Avengers since that day. Aside from Tony Stark, that is. I mean, the guy is everywhere. Tony has been on the news a fair bit, CNN and BBC, telling his (modified) version of events. Everyone knows the government has probably reigned in a good deal of his tale. It's accepted, though, as the nearest thing to the truth.
Luke takes a particular interest in the Avengers, asking questions left and right. One strikes me-had I seen any of them in person, on that day?
"Yeah," I admit. Captain America had graced Christie's long before news of the outbreak had reached up. He shouted for order, then told us to find cover. The proprietor was, thank goodness, a bright man. He stored us, all thirty gallery and private collection flunkies gathered for the ten a.m. auction, in one of the bigger vaults.
"Anyone else?"
"Not really. Once things had cleared out, they were on Stark Tower." I twist my fork. My plate has been long empty, but we've yet to leave the table. Luke is staring at me from over his glass, eyes aglow. Meeting them, I draw back, looking elsewhere. I'm in my own home, yet this quiet man has managed to effectively unsettle me with a few glances.
"If you looked hard you could see Hulk, or something really big and green, at least. And then…" I swallow. "There was someone falling. From the top. The media outlets said it was one of the aliens, but everyone knows better. They were never found, you see. It's a huge government conspiracy."
This appears to amuse him. I don't really see what is funny. Then again, many weird things seem to amuse my new housemate.
"And these Avengers…they are revered?"
It strikes me that his pattern of speech is unique. As someone who frequents Shakespeare, I'd missed it at first. Now, I catch it in every extended vowel. Also, there is a formality in every sentence that simply isn't American. In fact, everything regarding the way Luke talks in sort of odd. He's got an accent, something European and soft. But I can't identify it as something obvious. It's faded, though, hardly recognizable. Dutch, maybe? They picked up the language better than some, I've noticed.
I want to ask, but I answer him first. "For the most part. Some people have gotten fussy over the damaged they've caused to the city-which is understandable on both sides. I mean, people did lose their homes. But at the same time, I would think a few ruined apartments and meat markets might be worth circumventing an alien invasion. But that's just my opinion."
Luke snorts. Even when making sounds like that, he manages to look attractive. "And do you like them? The heroes?"
Why do I hear a sneer?
"I guess," I say softly. "They kind of saved my life."
"Of course," he says dryly. "From the impending doom of aliens."
He makes it sound as though it wasn't a big deal. Like people didn't die, or anything. As though alien's, big, tall, green aliens-with-a-capital-a hadn't been roaming the Manhattan streets. I raise a brow.
"Well, yeah. That's kind of exactly what they did." My voice is fiercer than intended. I realize I'm leaning forward, my figure ridgid.
He sneers. Even with such an ugly expression, he radiates beauty. I don't understand.
It's time to cut the conversation short. I stand, gathering up dishes and carrying them to the sink, putting away various foodstuff. Trying to figure out my new housemate's peculiarities, I slip deep into my own mind, silently and mechanically working through the doings of cleaning up. My face is blank as I turn on the tap. All the while, Luke observes me, his own expression one of frustration. He doesn't offer to help, but it's not as though I notice. Then, anyways.
When I make to go, he issues one solid command. "Stay."
This breaks my focus. I glare without meaning to. "Excuse me?"
"Tatiana, come here."
And I do. Accidentally. Those eyes…suddenly I was at the dining table, rather than the threshold. I blink, unsure of how, exactly, I'd gotten here.
Fire blazes in his grey-hazel gaze. For a long moment, all I can see is green, vivid emerald. Then I find myself in one of my dining set chairs. Not the one I'd sat in earlier, across from him, but right next to Luke, my knees brushing his thigh. I squeak, meaning to push back. Somehow, I am prevented from this action, and my skin continues to skirt his.
Calm overtakes me. Again, green crosses my vision, but this time it has softened. Luke speaks, voice low and light. "I apologize. We've gotten off on the wrong foot here. I am simply very interested in the Avengers…and their developments. Especially considering you've come into contact with one. Ah, but I am not being a good guest!...pushing you so…we'll discuss this later, alright?"
"Later," I agree. My head is fuzzy, along with my vision. It's as if I'm viewing my kitchen/dining room through frosted glass. Luke is the only thing un-blurry. In focus. I shake my head, attempting to dislodge the issue. Nothing alters.
"You'll probably need a nap," Luke advises gently. "Many do, after their first experience." His voice, though foreign, is melodious. Chocolate and wine and music…so lovely. I could spend the rest of my live listening to that voice.
There is a laugh. "Perhaps you shall."
Had I said that aloud? Embarrassed, I flush. He's so handsome and lovely…I must be flustered, or something.
"You think I'm handsome?"
Again? I don't understand, usually I'm so good about thinking before I speak.
"Bed," he says firmly. Slender hands find my elbows, and I'm standing again, drifting from the kitchen to the hall, then the foyer. At the stairs, we stop. I sway, slightly. Vision still fuzzy, my already teetering balance has been impaired greatly, and I think to reach out for the stair's railing. This doesn't happen, however, as I can't seem to move much of my own free will.
One hand on my waist, Luke stares into my eyes. "Go upstairs. Get some sleep. We'll speak more in the morning."
"Okay," I say faintly.
"And this will all be nothing more than a faded memory," he sooths. "Tatiana, when you wake, you'll be just fine."
And, like the sucker I am, I agree.
-XXX-
In case you're wondering, yeah, the guy jumping off Stark Tower is Loki.
A few people mentioned Tati's sanity for bringing a total stranger into her home-she's sincerely compassionate to the point of making some really stupid decisions. Besides that, even in a comatose state, the god is exceptionally charming. I mean, who wouldn't want to take him home?
Questions? Comments? Concerns? Critiques? I may not be able to answer for a few days, but I'll get back to you. Feedback is always great. I'm up to chapter 10 right now, and will be writing while I'm gone. I'd love to see some reader thoughts.