Summary: The war between Jotunheim and Asgard draws to a close, but thanks to a horrible twist of Fate (or perhaps not), the nameless runt of Laufey-King is not discovered by Odin and so begins a remarkable journey of life that should not have been. Jotun!Loki AU. Set pre-/during-/after Thor/Avengers Assemble. MCU-verse only.
Warnings: ANGST! Loki-whump! Language, adult situations, violence, child abuse, dub-con, sexual assault (also of a minor), substance abuse, one abortion scene (sort of), slavery, sex trade (maybe), some mild original character/Loki M/M pairings.
Comments: This is not a slash fic. Sorry. It's Loki-centric, although I definitely show the rest of the Avengers and etc. Please review! Constructive criticism welcome.
Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers. Marvel owns it. I do not get paid for this piece of work. Sadly, but understandably. LOL.
SURVIVED! SURVIVED! EXAMS ARE OVER! YES! My students all did well - didn't have to fail any! Heeheehee~
Thanks to all who are faving and alerting this fic! It's encouraging to know that peeps are watching out for this story and I encourage you guys to not be afraid to chat! For those who reviewed the last chapter - A HEARTFELT THANK YOU! You guys are the best!
To: Immortal Sailor Cosmos (peeps in Loki's life are scum of the earth!), wbss21 (some interesting times up ahead! I hope you enjoy!), DragonsFlame117 (keep cheering for Loki! He'll need it!), Double-Gemini (hope you feel better!).
And also, be sure to check my warnings!
Warning! Warning! Slavery! References to prostitution and other nastiness. Warning! Warning!
Distortions In Time
[Bitter Desolation, Incandescent Harmony]
Chapter 22
A Thin Ray
"What do you think? Pink? Purple?"
"I told you – that's not the one that he should be using –"
"Masser Ola'abratha said to me the other day that Kor'ani was looking a little paunchy – which you know, it's true, I mean – have you seen her lately?"
"It's the drugs, right?"
"Don't start them is what I say."
"Has anyone seen two black feathers –"
"Hey! You there! Another of these –"
"She can't zip it up –"
"Needs to lose some stones, I tell you – positively gargantuan. I'm talking the size of a Guarra – and you know that just doesn't cut it in this kind of biz. They always like'em slim and tiny – like little Kol'la here. Kol'la, dear, what is with the long face? Master Rara-dou'ma being silly again? Tell Glo-glo!"
Chaos reigned back stage. As usual. Girls ran back and forth, shoving on their costumes at the last minute as the stand-up comedian finished his routine to a good-natured roar of laughter. Laughter. That was a good sign. Bright moods passed back and forth between the client and entertainer and this night looked to be a pretty fair evening. The dancers were lining up, props boys dashing about, other aliens hydrating (or the opposite) in preparation for the long routine ahead.
Dancing girl Number 371 of the zGa Run, known as 'Glo-glo', pulled the slender form of young Kol'la close in her usual comforting way, green hands squeezing his firm shoulders gently. Young Kol'la of Poison Paradise was now considered a veteran having worked there for a goodly number of years. With slowly earned experience, a knack for language, an athletic flexibility and sense of style, the slender boy grew and learned through experience. Thanks to his survival instincts, often compared to that of a dirt-side rodent, in a world in which the only constant was change, Kol'la built for himself a niche at the Poison Paradise. Kol'la's jobs were many – either he was waiting on customers – dashing between the kitchens and the many round tables which dotted the large first floor of the night club – or he was entertaining the masses in some fashion. Everyone entertained at Poison Paradise. Kol'la usually aided Master Rara with the magical show or the clowns and comedy performers with their tricks and comic reenactments. If there was no need for his serving or magical skills, Kol'la danced - something that he grew better at as his awkwardness vanished and as he grew into mastery of his slowly increasing height.
This evening, he was supposed to be helping Master Rara, but the temperamental showman had not only changed the programme at the last minute (without telling the stage master), but had slapped Kol'la when the young entertainer had suggested quietly to stick to the original plan. Then, the cranky half-Skrull, half…something... bid Kol'la return to the kitchen to wash dishes where "all other pretentious, would-be magicians and shapeshifters belonged".
Master Rara can't shift his shape, Kol'la grumbled to himself, so he must be jealous of my abilities… He knows I dislike waiting on others – and he knows that my abilities are better than his!
"It is nothing," Kol'la finally said. "I must go to the kitchens."
"Kitchens?" Glo-glo tipped her head, pursing bright red lips. "Master Rara doesn't want you on the stage tonight, does he? Really, Kol'la, you should talk to Madame and see if you can do your own show."
"If I do that, then he will kill me," Kol'la tried to wriggle out of her shape-shifting hands which were creeping down his chest. "I had best get going."
"Kol'la," Glo-glo shook her head, laughing lightly and letting him go, yet tugging on his white shirt-sleeve and adjusted his collar and jerking his dark vest a little bit more so he looked more like a dapper waiter and less like a disgruntled magician's apprentice. "You are growing into a man, you know – and you have to fight for yourself and what you want as well. If you catch the eye of a client and they were to take fancy to you, you could – Have you no ambition?"
"We are –" Slaves, he wanted to remind her. Not even our names belong to us. Kol'la didn't finish his sentence, his pale lips forming a thin, hard line. "I will think on it."
"Hm."
Glo-glo watched him go with a sigh and shook her head. The boy was going to be trouble. She had a feeling. Despite his long time spent in Poison Paradise, there was something sharp and hard and wild underneath those cool green eyes – something untamed and powerful. A worrisome thing. She would speak to the Madame. Perhaps there was something she could do.
[... what can be done?]
[... these unfortunate souls...]
A moon cycle later (not that you could really see any of Sharda'aa's small, faint moons thanks to the pollution and bright lights), Kol'la stood before the rowdy, varied clientele of Poison Paradise. On his head, he wore a tight band of leather and bone – a half-helmet adorned with proudly mounted, curving horns bound to a vivid blue brow lined with his mysterious lineage symbols. As he had fitted the ornate head-gear over long dark hair, Kol'la had smirked with pride.
There had been no signs of his Jotunn heritage on his brow – until now. A false attainment, but important to him nonetheless. Faint memories rose of Elska and Helblindi. He pushed them down viciously. This was his moment and whatever he drew on for strength would not belong to those long lost to him. My first step to inventing who I am, he thought as he adjusted the green short-cloak which fell back over slowly broadening shoulders. Underneath was his usual choice of a white tunic, dark green over-tunic and black, soft r'senk'ne leather pants which ended with sturdy n'ch'nka leather boots.
He was ready. It was his time. His chance to show his worth.
Sweeping outwards, his hands twisted downward, the lighting responded immediately to his unspoken command and the crowd fell silent as his light tenor swept over the room. He would begin – a tale of darkness and starlight and wild Titans before the creation of the universe. Stars blinked into existence with fury and sound, fire-red and orange flared and music flared and his voice rode as he swirled across the stage.
Lithe body bending and twisting athletically, Kol'la brought to bear his slowly hoarded talents – the memory of Elska's tales, Mage Opna's epic stories, Thyrstr's bawdy humour, Lind and Ketill's sarcasm, the strength of miners and the sultry grace of this poisonous paradise's dancers and entertainers. There was the threat of wilderness – Utanheim – and cold – Jotunheim – and chains – a moon above Tarnax III – and illusions and dreams – Sharda'aa.
And when it ended –
[... it always ends...]
There was thunderous applause, scented blossoms tossed and blown kisses from the other entertainers who had come to see Kol'la fail – and instead found themselves caught up in a rare wonder.
"He's got raw talent, that one does," said a clown, shaking his head.
"A chunk of chi'iano inside a piece of lead," agreed another.
"Got a tongue inside his head –"
"Magic to boot –"
"You see that explosion he summoned?"
"Illusions, idiot."
"Damn good'uns."
"Makes you wonder what he'd be up to with his magic all intact. Scary thought, huh. We'll have to watch him a bit more carefully, you think? Of course the girls are gonna be all over him now."
"Not that he'll pay them much mind, Olf."
"Y'think?"
"Yeah."
"That oma'auzha... He was hiding some ability like that..."
"Boss-man is going to want to get him a regular gig. You watch -"
"It's all about money with Boss-man."
"I can see him having a regular gig now. Although he's young..."
"Brilliant future that one has."
It was those last words – two of the club Skrull bouncers chatting by the stage door – that caught Master Rara's attention. The tall, elderly magician frowned as he contemplated the young stunted Jotunn savage (if you believed its blue skin and false horns) who now bowed his way graciously off the stage. There was an unsettling smirk on the boy's face.
A mere boy. A Jotunn runtling – if you go by the rumours, he grunted. The Boss-man would not possibly think – But then, Master Rara noticed that the Third Madame was making her way over to the slave boy and was talking with him. She was bending down and saying something and then drawing him away to the side – and back and around and up, he knew, up to the Boss-man's office.
Master Rara's stomach sank and he cursed to himself. Rubbing his chin, he considered the possibilities. Then he remembered. He grinned.
There is Flighty Fingers.
He chuckled.
That would just about do it.
-0-0-0-
Boss-Man was the Floor's nickname for the incredibly wealthy, tight-fisted, hard-hearted owner of the Poison Paradise. The alien club owner had a difficult life competing with the rest of the planet's entertainment options in the endless struggle for economic survival. As such, new and exciting forms of entertainment were always a must – and at the sight of Kol'la's epic story-telling show, the Boss-Man realized that the small investment he had made in serving boys was going to pay off in a way he had never imagined.
It made the Lizard-man salivate.
[... the call...]
[... the lure of greatness...]
When Kol'la was ushered into the Boss-man's office (divested of his costume and wearing his preferred disguise of pale skin and green eyes), the first thing he noticed was the breadth of the Boss-man's wood desk. It was wood – he could tell by the grains which ran along it from side to side. Genuine wood. In a world of plastic and metal, a thing of great price... Where did he get it from? Kol'la wondered to himself, green eyes fastened on it. Midgard? It is not iron wood...
Cluttered with writing implements, tablets, discs, plasti-sheets and other files, the desk stretched back into the large room. Behind the desk, sat the Boss-man himself, currently facing the large window which overlooked the main area of the club below. Lights flickered dimly through the frosted windows which Kol'la knew could change in transparency depending on what the Boss-man was doing inside.
Boss-man loved the dancing girls.
Kol'la shifted a little, betraying, he knew, his deep-seated nervousness. The Third Madame announced his arrival and then left, closing the door behind him. For a moment, silence. Then the chair turned.
"That was an interesting show..." Boss-man lifted up a tablet lazily. "Kol'la, is it?"
"Yes, sir, master, sir."
"'Sir' is fine."
"Yes, sir."
"You seem to be a born story-teller. A real silvertongue. Kol'la Silvertongue. That has a nice ring, doesn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Smart boy."
Kol'la bit back protest at the word 'boy', but just nodded and stared at the Boss-man's hands – pink today. Midgardian flesh was Boss-man's preferred skin colour. Midgardian and Asgardian. A show of power... but, Kol'la thought, also frailty. And on the fingers were heavy metal rings and other similar tawdry nonsense.
Heavy and biting if the Boss-man hit him on the face. Those hands could deliver freedom or pain... Kol'la watched as the Boss-man scrolled through yet another flat tablet.
"Master Rara, bless his heart, has a magic show every other night – and... hmmm... a story-telling routine on the alternating days. Ahhh... Well, let us remove one night from his busy schedule. Allow his elderly heart some rest... What think you, Kol'la? It pleases you?"
"Yes, sir," Kol'la nodded eagerly, straightening his shoulders.
At last. Recognition for my talent!
"It's a tough business, Kol'la. You will still aid Master Rara when he wishes your help... and there will always be waiting on patrons and dancing... but an hour every week, I am sure will not tax your new-found storytelling skills."
"Yes, sir."
"Hm."
Pause. More scrolling.
"Next week this time, then," Boss-man decided and typed a few things into his tablet. "You will receive confirmation from Madame Iso'oo tomorrow morning. And discuss with her the next story you wish to tell."
"Yes, sir."
"This is exciting... Kol'la," Boss-man smiled then and Kol'la stared back, unwilling to allow himself the luxury of returning the favour. "I look forward to seeing what Kol'la Silvertongue has to show us."
"Thank you, sir."
"You may go then."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"Hmph," Boss-man grunted, swivelled his chair about and waved negligently.
Kol'la fled, heart pounding – feeling as though he could fly to the sky – and yet, feeling even more aware of the expectations of the others around him.
Silvertongue was in the spotlight. This was his chance to shine.
Or fall.
So the birth of Silvertongue has arrived. But not Loki. Not yet! Soon!
Coming up: Kol'la's drastic change in fortune! ANGST! (of course)
(why are you surprised?)
(it's me!)
Please review! Let's see if this fic can break 100! XDDD
Numbers (for this quadrant):
0 - nai
1 - sa
2 - tho
3 - frei
4 - ah
5 - ko
6 - yul
7 - vee
8 - mah
9 - lei
Alien Glossary:
Dou'ma – idiot
r'senk'ne – a kind of deer/cow hybrid
n'ch'nka – a kind of cow
chi'iano – a radioactive piece of rock similar to uranium
kol-sava'atha – a titanium-rich ore
oma'auzha – mother-effer
Jotunheim Glossary:
Aldinn Stathr – Ancient Place
Atfirth – energies
blakkrbjorr – black beer
Blakkrbjorn – black bear
blakkrgras – black grass
blargras – blue grass
Dagaheim
dvegr – dwarf
dyrspeki – zoologist
Eybjarg (Chasms of Forever)
fauld – a part of armour around the lower midsection
Flara River – Treacherous River
For-Eldra – Ancestors
Forn Vegr – Old Ways
Gastropnir
Gnottvatn (Lake of Abundance)
Gothahus – temple
Grarfjall – Grey Mountains
grarulfr – grey wolves
Griotunagardar
hafnathr – sea serpents
heillgrjot – healing stones
Heimsrsal – Soul of the Realm
heithrsker – crystal flowers
Holdra River – Hero's River
holkimurtr – small flat fish
Holkn Vollr – Flat Plains
holmganga – a method of ending feuds/disagreements
hota-eik – white oak
hvaeta – wheat
Innaheim – Inner Realm
jarnkottr – iron cat (beast which Laufey released in Thor)
jarnvithr – iron wood
Kaldrfjall (Cold Mountains)
Kero Fornvetr – Casket of Ancient Winters
kostrboth – a method of proving virility for the purpose of marriage
lagreinn – small one (epithet)
Lengi Ofrithr – Long War
luthrblom – trumpet flower
manisilfr – moonsilver
melrakki – white fox
Myrkr Skogr – shadow forest
Nattura – spirits
Northri Stjarna – North Star
silvralmr – silver elm
silvrfiskr – silver fish
Sithr Efingi – True Heir
Skalldi
skordyr – Jotunheim goat
snaerharra – snow rabbit
Storrholl – Great Hall
thurblakulfr – giant black wolves
tunglbom (moonflower)
Utanheim – Outer Realm
Utgard
vaetki – nothing
ventrmellin – winter melon
villrkyr – wild ox
Virtha Aevi – Coming of Age
Vollrvatn – Lake of the Plains