LJOTA
Well, it was a — what do you call it here — a no-brainer, really, wasn't it? Dangerous, to be sure, but when had I ever done anything safe? I stood up, and Violet followed my lead.
"Daddylock," she said, using her childhood nickname for her father. He looked at her.
"No, Violet, I'm not coming. The Universe is your territory. London is mine."
Violet frowned — it was unlike her father to refuse to risk his life — but turned to me. "Ready, Lokilein?" She was fiddling with her Vortex Manipulator.
I took a deep breath. "Yes. So I just have to — sort of amplify or manipulate the power of your device —" I knew full well what it was called, and only did that to annoy the Holmeses "— to get us past the gate?"
She nodded, though I thought I detected a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth — I shrugged it off as excitement for another adventure. She held out her hand — "hold on tight, Asgardian," she joked — and I took it. Violet raised her eyebrows. "Your hand's shaking," she announced. I blinked and looked at my free hand. I supposed it was shaking. I hadn't noticed.
Molly came over and hugged us each again — I had never met anyone who hugged so much in all my life! Then again, I was raised on Asgard — and Sherlock gave us a terse nod, which was about as much affection as one could usually hope for from him. Violet smiled.
"See you in a few, Dad, Mum," she said, then pressed something on her Vortex Manipulator and we were sucked away.
Violet wanted me to tell you who I am and how I ended up on Midgard, cut off from my home and family and living among humans, so I will. My father, as she's mentioned, is Loki Laufeyson, the God of Mischief. You probably know part of his story — the bit where he found out his true birth and went on a world-domination rampage, most likely, and possibly a few other pieces from back when people actually believed in Asgard, like that embarrassing time when he gave birth to an eight-legged horse. But we don't talk about that.
After the trouble in New York, as you probably know, my father was imprisoned — again — then Thor broke him out and they went on more adventures, during which my father was apparently killed. But, of course, he wasn't really dead. Dying just wouldn't be my father, if you understand me. I think dying implies some kind of general satisfaction with how one has lived one's life, and it has been said that satisfaction is simply not in Loki's nature.
Following his faked death (Violet's father faked his death at least once, too, incidentally — another thing we have in common), my father returned to Asgard and sat on the throne, impersonating Odin. Naturally, it didn't take Odin long to figure out what was happening, so my father was imprisoned yet again. But then he was released — again — and, following in my uncle Thor's footsteps, he dabbled in mortal affairs and ended up in a romantic involvement with a young woman of Midgard. I don't know that part of the story too well (nobody does), but I think he was feeling a bit guilty by that point and wanted to make it up to the people of Earth whose lives he had nearly destroyed. Anyway, the relationship ended when the human woman died bearing Loki's child — I suppose they should have known that a half-Frost-Giant baby would be too much for a mortal's body to bear.
As the halfway intelligent among you have most likely guessed — pardon me, deduced — that baby was me. I was the half-breed anomaly, daughter of the labelled traitor Loki and a Midgardian woman, raised in Asgard. I suppose I'm grateful that my father never kept the truth from me. It would have been so much worse to find out the way he did — by accident, having lived my life in second place and never known why. But the other children were merciless in their prosecution of me. I spent most of my free time with my father, or — especially during the periods when he was in prison — reading and studying. Unlike him, I was never under the illusion that I could ever ascend the throne of Asgard, so I had to be educated. And with no friends with whom to associate, I had little to do except study and pull pranks with my father.
For the sake of propriety, and so that I wasn't entirely alone when he was in prison, my father took a wife among the Aesir — Sigyn. She bore him two sons, Vali and Nari. Although my stepmother and half-brothers are technically defined as my family, I have never regarded them as such. Sigyn looks on me as a burden, and her sons resent their parentage and scorn me. Vali and Nari were, in fact, some of my most cruel tormentors in my younger years, despite being younger than me. I never fought back against them. Not because I was afraid, or thought I couldn't take them — my father taught me enough that I knew I was at least a match for those sniveling cowards — but because I knew it would do no good. He had also taught me the value of choosing one's battles, and the small-minded Aesir bullies simply weren't worth my time and energy.
I love my father — as I'm sure you've gathered by now — but he's always been a bit overprotective. When I got to be about ninety in Earth years (Asgardian years are different and there are relativity issues and I won't try to explain the conversion), I was starting to feel trapped, smothered. It took a while, but I convinced my father to let me take a solo trip to Midgard. I knew enough about the culture from school, and I really wanted to escape the constant eye of my father. I didn't realize how much I would come to miss that.
On Midgard, I became acquainted — quite by accident — with Violet. I had no idea who she was, of course, but when she started talking about me as if she knew my entire life story, despite the fact that we'd known each other for less than five minutes, I knew she wasn't at all ordinary either. I suppose non-ordinary people have a tendency to gravitate toward one another.
We talked, and once she had deduced and pried enough that I admitted who I was, she told me her own story. Daughter of Sherlock Holmes, granddaughter of the Doctor — it was an impressive genealogy. And thus, we became friends. When she asked me to accompany her on her adventures — cases, sorry — I gladly accepted. The rest of the story, you already know, so I'll return to the narrative.
The next thing we knew, we were under a great deal of pressure and unable to breathe. This had me panicky for a few moments, until I realized we were underwater. Breaking the surface a few seconds later, I saw Violet already topside and grinning at me. I glared, mock angry.
"I hate your dad. And you."
"No you don't," she smirked, and struck out for the shoreline.
Once we had reached the shore and were sitting by the edge of the water, dripping — it was a blessing that both of us were good swimmers — I looked around and smiled, despite the precariousness of our situation.
"Asgard! Oh, it's good to be back. Come on, let's go to the palace."
Violet didn't look convinced, though. "So," she began, "you can just — I mean, no offense, but isn't Odin constantly angry at your dad? Is he really going to just let us in?"
"Well, er . . . I might have to use the back door." The 'back door' was not strictly legal, but who cared? "I'll make sure we don't run into trouble. You know," I waggled my hands ineffectually, "illusions."
She nodded, still skeptical, and drew her Sonic. "Uh-huh. Suggestion: you disguise us as Asgardian guards, and we can go straight to your father. You said he's in prison?"
"He was when I left, but that was months ago. He might have gotten out. Or been released, if Odin was too distracted to care about keeping him locked up. You never know with them." I sighed. "Anyway — that sounds like a good plan, except that as I've told you before, it's a lot harder for me to project illusions onto other people. And Asgardian armor is pretty ornate. I think —" I glanced at Violet, knowing she wasn't going to like what I said next "— I think I should go in alone and scope the place out."
She frowned worriedly, proving me right. "You can't go in there alone — what, are you mad? You're the daughter of Loki, they'll know. I think maybe this time the wisest thing to do is just hide out in the shadows, sneak around a bit."
"But I can —"
"No, you can't. Forget it."
Well, Violet was a Holmes, and I knew there was no changing her mind. I was defeated. "Okay, okay. But if there's trouble, let me do the talking, all right?"
I thanked the nornir (distant aunts of mine, incidentally) that she agreed to that.
"Of course. — your home planet, after all. But do not forget the power of Holmsian charm," she joked, flipping her curls to alleviate the tension.
I smirked. "Of course not. Shall we proceed?"
"Allons-y!" she grinned, using a favorite phrase of her grandfather's. We set out, keeping to backstreets and alleys and avoiding eye contact with the natives. Funny, I thought wryly, this is a lot like how I spent most of my childhood. Not that I would tell Violet that. She was my friend, but I didn't want her pity.
It wasn't hard to figure out how to get to the palace, since it was vast and dramatic and very familiar to me. We came upon a dark corridor that looked unused and uncared for, and I let Violet inside. "Almost wish I had brought a torch," she muttered, peering through the gloom.
"When you say 'torch,'" I teased, "are you referring to an actual torch, or one of those electrical devices you use in Midgard?"
"Either would do, right now," she replied, "for once. Ah, well — where to, Lokilein?"
"Let's go up here first." We had come to a narrow old stairway that I remembered from my childhood. "If I can eavesdrop in the hall, we might be able to figure out where my father is." Violet laughed and I looked at her curiously. "What's so funny?"
"This is just so — so criminal," she pointed out.
"Enlightening. I hadn't noticed."
"Just — a Holmes, sneaking around illegally in order to find and aid a notorious criminal? It's just funny."
I grinned. "I know. My father's name is . . . not the most honourable, I grant you." At the top of the stairs now, and looking out onto the hall, she turned to me.
"Lokilein, if you can't conjure up some magic now, tell me. I have an idea."
"I could probably patch something together," I shrugged, "but I'm curious about this idea of yours. Do tell."
Digging in her inexplicably enormous coat pockets, she pulled out a pair of devices. These Midgardians — or Time Lords, whatever — and their gadgets. "This is a disguise that works on all but the voice — it's called a Shimmer. The only risk is that some species can tell right away, but I'm guessing that the Aesir aren't one of them — no offense, of course."
"None taken," I said mildly. "Technically, I'm not even Aesir myself." And they haven't tended to inspire a great deal of loyalty, I added to myself.
"Right, of course. Well, clip the Shimmer onto your belt like this —" she attached hers with a smooth, practiced gesture. "Now, I suggest that you do the talking, magic your voice two octaves deeper, ask the guards for Loki's whereabouts — subtly, of course — and I'll stay behind and quiet."
"Oh, good! A full disguise was going to be hard to keep up, especially for an extended period. Shimmers on!" I clipped the second Shimmer onto my own belt and we switched them on. Violet now looked like a tall, uniformed — though still curly-haired — palace guard, and I supposed I looked similar. "How do I look?"
"Ah," she nodded. "Still feminine voices, as I predicted. Lokilein, try magicking your voice to a masculine one — preferably something intimidating."
"All right." I paused, concentrating, then tested the results. "How's this?" My voice came out deep and gravelly. "Nope, too dramatic." Another pause, and I spoke again. "Now? I think it works."
"Oh, yes. Perfect, Lokilein!"
"Excellent." We exchanged mischievous grins and I walked out into the hall, approaching a guard I didn't recognize .
The guard looked up as I approached. "I've not seen you here before. New recruit?" The guards were all very familiar with one another, so I should have predicted that a strange face would attract a bit of attention.
"Yes," I lied easily. "We've been sent to find Prince Loki. King Odin wants to talk to him."
To my surprise, the guard laughed so hard he spat his ale all over me. I tried to hide my distaste, but it was admittedly not an easy task.
"Loki, you say?" he managed at last, still chortling. "Just how drunk are you?"
At the sound of Violet's voice behind me, I tensed, but she had lowered her voice enough that it was not entirely unconvincing. "Sir," she put in, "we have drunk no ale in some time. I tell you that we two must see Prince Loki — royal orders!" Leaning in, she continued in a threatening whisper, "Your wife and two sons look up to you as the bread-winner, so I suggest you let us pass and keep your job."
She really could be quite impressive when she chose.
The guard, however, merely snorted again. "Really," he insisted, "how much have you had? Surely you know that Prince Loki has not been seen for weeks — ever since they gave up looking for his daughter."
I reeled inwardly at this news, but outwardly displayed no sign of shock. "Ha," I laughed, "you actually thought we were serious! Just a joke, friend," I assured the bewildered guard, and drew Violet away hastily with a parting "Good day." The guard watched us suspiciously for a few moments, but then turned his attention back to the ale in his tankard.
Back in the dimness of the old corridor, Violet spun to face me. "My Lord, Ljota! They've been looking for you, and now Loki's busted out of jail to find you! He could be worlds away!" She was waving her arms frantically, as she always did when she was very worried.
"We don't know he was still in jail," I pointed out. "I think the chances are about fifty-fifty." Nonetheless, I was pacing anxiously. "How am I going to find him? I never expected this."
"Oh, erm . . . there are several ways, all of them complicated, but I may have something, Lokilein!" She sounded simultaneously excited and terrified.
"What? Tell me!" My forced calm was deteriorating quickly, and I was starting to get angry.
"There are a few things," she said again, "all quite complicated . . ." She had her eyes closed and her fingers pressed to her temples, deep in Holmsian thought processes. I waited. "Okay," she said finally, "well — he would leave some sort of trace, he's powerful; easy to track. So, somehow . . . if we had something of his, perhaps . . . perhaps my Sonic could track him, DNA, see? If not, then I could try . . ." She shook her head. "Well, let's try that thing first, it makes more sense." She was almost as tense as I was.
"Er . . ." I fished in my pockets, but neither my father or I was particularly fond of souvenirs and "remember-me-by-this"es. "I don't have anything of his on me. We'll have to go to his chambers and see if we can find something there. Come on!" I turned down another corridor and hurried down it — almost running, though I slowed down because Violet was walking backwards to make sure we hadn't been followed. Running backwards through the network of dusty old passages under the Palace of Asgard is not a recommended activity, Time Lord or not.
Violet spoke up. "So . . . what if we get caught?" Those Midgardians with their damnable practicality again. I'd been trying to avoid thinking about that eventuality. "I mean, I can get us out, but maybe Odin could lead us to Loki, if absolutely necessary?"
I balked at the suggestion, but was forced to concede the point. "Maybe," I admitted reluctantly. "But only as a very last resort. I would really rather not risk Odin's wrath. Especially when he finds out it's me." I paused, rounding a corner. "If it comes to that, though, Thor might help us. He doesn't hate me too much and I think he'll probably feel bad about the whole ordeal."
"Ah, older brothers," Violet agreed. "Isn't that just the way? Okay, we seem to be coming up to where he would be, yes? Something in the air . . . just grab whatever you can — well, the more of his magic trace, the better — I'll cover you, then get out!" Clearly, burglary made her very nervous.
"Yes," I confirmed, "just up here." Slipping through a disused service door, I emerged into my father's sparse but elegant front room. "Let me look through these drawers."
Violet stood in the doorway while I rummaged. "Something that looks like it's been used," she reminded me in a whisper, "or of some magical substance."
I nodded. "Right. Nothing much here — my father doesn't keep a lot of trinkets. I'll try the closet." The closet in question had always been off-limits to me, so I figured it might contain something of personal importance. I picked the lock, taking a moment to appreciate the irony — that I was breaking into my father's things with his own lock picks — and opened the door. It clearly hadn't been touched in some time, and was dusty and cluttered, much unlike his main chambers. I tried not to sneeze, and started digging around in the rubble.
My hand closed around something cold and hard, like metal. I frowned and drew it out with a sharp intake of breath when I realized what it was. "This is . . . old," I murmured. "I wasn't even supposed to know he had it . . ." Just then, the sound of footsteps and creaky doors came from the other end of the room. I tossed the Chitauri Scepter to Violet and turned guiltily just as someone came into the room. I froze.
Violet, on the other hand, managed to keep her wits about her. Thank the nornir I had her with me.
"Ah," she said, pocketing the Scepter (sometimes I do love Time Lord technology) and stepping up behind me. "The Great and Mighty Thor. Hello."