Chapter 2: May Flowers
In May he finds her once more.
It is difficult given her annoying and perplexing ability to keep him from skimming her thoughts, but he manages to keep track of her through the weak-minded mortals close to her, the men who provide the mediocre music that accompanies her voice nightly in the drinking establishment where he first discovered her.
He finds loitering in their minds to be almost as repugnant as the fact that he sullied himself in her mortal flesh, that he allowed himself to be duped by a seemingly wondrous creature who turned out to be just a girl.
Although he still does not quite believe it even if she surrendered what she believes to be her truth.
In the aftermath of their encounter he expected her to be shaken to the core, but upon further observation it seems he hardly left an impression. From what he can gather from the minds of those near her, she remains irritatingly undisturbed, as quiet and compelling as she claimed to be that night.
Surely there are none, mortal or otherwise, who can use sex to garner the truth quite like the God of Lies. He refuses to believe the occurrence was commonplace for her, despite her obvious experience and confidence in such nighttime activities.
Oh, how he loathes her.
She is a distraction from his master plans, one he cannot keep from indulging in. How dare she infiltrate his conscious in such a way? What makes her so special as to deserve even a moment in his thoughts?
He tries to remember if another ever had a similar effect on his concentration, but searching his memories has become a painful task since he encountered the Other and he finds himself avoiding the past, thinking only on the slights to his person, and those he must punish, the only bearable course of action.
When he first spotted her he did not see how it could merely be a happy coincidence. He was so sure that she was something extraordinary, something like him. She opened her pretty little mouth and the voice that came out was unlike anything he'd heard before, in any realm.
There he was, carefully observing the ridiculous Man of Iron in a social setting to develop an understanding of those who might oppose his future plans, when he happened upon something distinctly not human.
Because there is no conceivable way that voice could be merely mortal.
To Loki, there was only one possible answer. She was there for him, to derail his glorious purpose before he could even truly begin.
Her voice was the stuff of divinity and because of it he labeled her pretender, some higher being playing at mortality.
He attempted to magically uncover her secrets, only to find that access to her mind barred to him. Frustrated, he sought to determine her origin, but only came up with a flavor vaguely Asgardian, something truly impossible.
"I'm just some girl," she told him later, when she was totally at his mercy.
He drove the truth from her pretty pert lips and then wished he hadn't. Not knowing was far preferable.
He was so sure she was something extraordinary, something like him.
Loki knows lies and there were none in the girl when she confessed this most horrible of truths.
Eleanor Tate, the creature in the gold dress who possesses a voice unlike any heard in all nine realms, believes herself to be human.
But how could something so plain sing like her? And more importantly how was she keeping him out of her head? It is so very easy to flit into the consciousness of this weak-minded race, but something about this one Midgardian bested him, prevented the mental manipulation he spent centuries perfecting.
Although it is more common among the Aesir, no simple human could prevent him from knowing that way; but here was all the evidence, clearly pointing to a truly disgusting truth.
Eleanor Tate of Mt. Airy, North Carolina is woefully and pathetically human.
Somehow, even weak and subjugated and begging for him, this "just a girl" bested him, and for this she will pay dearly.
It is nearly time now, and he will have her there all the way through, giving her time to thoroughly understand her role as his before he takes this whole world as well.
But he will not touch her again. No, he will not debase himself within the sweaty flesh of a mortal, even if part of him remains unconvinced of her woeful normality.
She will sing on command. He finds the voice soothing and necessary, a true prize. Perhaps it will bring him enough peace for sleep to finally come. He is so weary, but his dreams bring him no peace, just confusion and pain.
Loki descends the stairs of the grimy venue, dismayed that his little songbird currently resides in such a place. It smells of rotten ale and stale smoke and the body fluids of thousands of unclean mortals.
Why would someone so elegant and so talented be found here, in such a repulsive location? He remembers her dark and dank single room dwelling, but at least that was clean.
At the bottom of the stairs a large man dressed in black demands Loki present identification in exchange for entrance. A few words allow him to pass without producing whatever the Midgardian was asking for.
There are no windows and scarcely any light save for the illuminated bar area in the back and the small stage in the front. From wall to wall it is nothing but a sea of mortals. He longs to twitch his hand and part them like the sheep they are, but it is not quite time for the world to know of his presence among them yet, and such an action would garner unwanted attention.
There are too many to find the girl in this hovel; someone has the audacity to tread on his shoe, and he turns to leave, deciding that this is not the opportune moment to take what became his the moment he saw her on that stage in a shining dress of gold.
Crude earthly instruments blare through speakers and he attempts to tune them out as he makes slow progress back to the stairs he descended minutes before, but then her voice joins them, crisp and clear despite the cacophony of noise accompanying her.
His head whips towards the source, but he can't spot her. The woman at the strange stick used to amplify noises is far from the neat creature whose movements he's been tracking for months now.
Her immense blond hair is everywhere, covering large portions of her face as she moves her hips in a way that borders on indecent. There is no formal wear tonight, only a pair of blue pants so tight and full of so many holes, it seems to defeat the purpose of clothing one's self at all. The white accompanying tank top leaves little to the imagination, and a strip of tanned flesh is displayed as she moves her arms above her head.
She is so slight. Just a girl, indeed.
But the voice, there could be no other with it and the tones are burned into Loki's brain.
"And I can feel it behind my eyes like a beckoning light when I'm dreaming," she croons, hands twitching and contorted at her sides.
Nothing seems to remain of the elegant girl in the pretty dresses, smiling and flirting as she sings to droves of intoxicated men. Well, the droves of intoxicating men remain, and the voice is obviously the same, just containing an edge that was absent before.
She moves her shoulders to the beat and closes her eyes as she sings. There is anger in this mortal, passion that he saw only in her bedroom, but never on the other stage.
Loki abhors this loud, hard music. It is artless, rough and devoid of talent, save for the voice. He wonders how these hordes of pathetic Midgardians prevent their ears from bleeding.
When the crowd cheers at the end of the horrible excuse for a song, it is not because the torment is over but because they demand another.
Loki doubts he will ever have the desire to understand them, and resolves to shape the culture here more to his tastes.
The male with a guitar strapped around his shoulders thanks the audience, and Loki's songbird sips a drink as she settles herself at a strange instrument that appears similar to a piano, but missing by half. It is just the keys, but nothing else.
Loki's blood boils with rage when it becomes apparent that the male will sing on this song, joined only by the girl in the background. A special form of torture will be reserved for this arrogant Midgardian when Loki is king. The songbird will never sing second to any.
His hate is only cooled slightly when he learns that her skills on the device that sounds like a piano are nearly on par with her voice, but he returns to a homicidal state all over again during the next song.
She abandons the piano for this number and sings in tandem with the male guitar player. Although the finer points of the lyrics are beyond his understanding, it is very apparently sexual in nature. The singing pair look at each other and move suggestively as they sing, and Loki slithers through the crowd until he finds himself in the front of the mass of writhing bodies, standing just below the girl.
Although she's very good at hiding it, she notices him straight away. He stares up at her coolly, and her eyes go wide for a moment before she carefully composes herself once more. Her voice does not falter, and Loki is disappointed that he has not managed to fluster her further.
She is very good at wearing the mask, he observes. Despite all that surely must be raging within her at his sudden reappearance, she appears perfectly unbothered. If he were a mere mortal he would think that she didn't even remember him at all.
But it is exceedingly difficult to deceive the God of Lies.
The way her body moves is strange to him. He supposes this is some version of dancing. Somehow she manages to be jerky and sensual and fluid all at once. Gone are the delicate mannerisms produced on the other stage.
He plots the painful death for the male guitar player as the masses of mortals partake in some sort of barbaric mating dance around him. The number currently being performed is obviously something of a favorite, and seems to send the crowd into a sort of frenzy as they dare to sing in time with the songbird, their joined voices often obscuring her far superior one.
Too many lecherous eyes follow what belongs to him, too many to plot all their painful ends in the manner they deserve.
Much to his irritation, her gaze does not wander to his once during the remainder of the performance, not even as the mortals that pass for musicians on this uncultured speck of rock take their final bows and exit stage right.
He tracks her to an alley using the mind of her male counterpart, but once again fails to recognize her when he arrives at his destination. She has pulled a knit black cap over her bright hair, so tight that it conforms to the globe of her head. Her shoulders are now covered with a shapeless flannel and a foul smelling cigarette resides between her slim, delicate fingers.
But a few wild blond strands escape the hat she wears, and he recognizes the slouched posture in her overly small frame. Silently he approaches, and her companion regards him with wary eyes, but doesn't alert her to his presence.
"So, my little songbird," he murmurs directly into her ear. Her shoulders tense for a moment before she turns towards him. "What compels a creature as talented as you to sing in a place as dilapidated as this? They are beneath you, every last one of them. Just as you are below me."
She tilts her chin down and looks up at him from under thick eyelashes. He's seen this expression before, but he still finds the intensity and perception disquieting, especially when she drags her gaze up the length of his frame, silently surveying him.
For a moment her sculpted mouth twitches up into a half smile, but then her face goes blank once more and she regards him impassively.
"Can we help you, dude?" the guitarist says. Loki shoots him a look of loathing, but the mortal is too stupid and too drunk to recognize the danger. "You're crowding my singer."
Loki never lets his gaze wander from the eyes of brightest blue now regarding him with boredom, but he hears the male's attempt at possession.
She shakes her head at him, and makes to turn back to her compatriot, but Loki restrains her movements with a strong hand on her elbow. She glares at said hand, and then back up into his face.
"Come with me," he murmurs, keeping his voice low enough in hopes of their conversation remaining private.
Her chin tilts up this time, a signal of useless defiance that irritates Loki to no end. The smoke she slowly blows in his face is blatantly disrespectful. She will learn, sooner rather than later if she has any sense at all.
His eyes water but he says nothing as he allows his grip to tighten.
"Fuck off," she replies, with painfully annoying sweetness. She gives him a cheerful smile, and turns her face towards the male, even when he keeps her body close.
"Ellie, do you know this creep?" he asks.
"Nope," she says succinctly. The look she gives him clearly indicates that she's failing to tell the truth. She remembers him, despite all her denials.
"Come now, my sweet Eleanor," he says, talking in quiet tones. "Do not lie to the God of Mischief."
She has the audacity to roll her eyes and blow smoke in his face again. His jaw tightens, but he remains silent, biding his time. Soon enough she will learn her place.
Loki is slightly taken aback to see her total lack of fear.
"Name doesn't ring a bell," she insists, continuing to draw smoke out of the little stick between her fingers, pulling it into her lungs. He hides a wince, knowing that this act cannot be healthy for her frail, mortal body. "You don't look even vaguely familiar."
This taunting is deliberate and he will leave bruises on her skin from the strength of his grip, but somehow he manages to give her a sinister smile.
"We depart now," he says, talking low in her ear. She suppresses a shiver, but Loki notices.
Another deep breath from the girl and more smoke is blown in his face.
"You remember me," he insists, losing patience with her act.
"Fuck. Off," she says, mean now. Her struggle against his grip proves laughably futile.
He gives her a maniacal grin, and for a little second her eyes go wide with fear, but then the mask is back, leaving her face blank and composed.
Loki releases her abruptly, and in a flash his hand closes around the neck of the guitarist, slamming the loathsome man back into the brick wall of the nearby building.
"This woefully inept mortal took you to bed," Loki says, talking in conversational tones to the wide-eyed songbird. "How could you not see that he is vastly unworthy of you? He still thinks of it, you know, with great frequency. He wants you again, thinks he's entitled to touch you. I should the crush the life right out of him, stopping the beating of his pathetic mortal heart. He deserves to die, touching what is mine."
Loki hears her sharp little intake of breath, but she says nothing as she rushes over, a little hand tightening on his elbow this time. She tugs fruitlessly.
"What do you want?" she asks.
"Come with me," Loki repeats.
"And you'll let him go?"
Loki stifles a sigh. "If you so desire."
"Okay. Fine. Let's go."
Loki tightens his grip enough for the weakling in his grasp to lose consciousness, but the heart continues to beat.
Pity.
The taking of an unknown musician with no family and few friends to speak of will draw little attention, but murder might complicate their escape.
"Dude!" she admonishes.
"He's not dead," Loki states, grabbing her arm once more and dragging her towards the street. He resists the urge to scream when she looks back at the heap of a guitarist.
"I'm not going with you," she says, attempting to flee and failing to dislodge his grip. "You're a fucking creeper."
"Such language from such beauty," he remarks. "We shall remedy that in due time."
"This is fucking kidnapping," she says, raising her voice to a yell. It is a plea to her fellow pathetic mortals and a futile exercise as no one is near. Loki simply brings an arm around her shoulders, using his other hand to cover her mouth.
He cannot manage to stop grinning when she bites his palm.
The foolish little quim wheels around with all her might and actually punches him in the jaw. Her mobility is limited and her strength is miniscule. He barely feels a thing, but he clearly hears the bones in her fragile hand crack and her cry of pain.
Although she would never notice, he takes care to gently situate her in the car. She struggles in vain, annoying him greatly, but eventually he manages to settle them both in the back before tapping on the partition, indicating that he is ready to drive.
When they are safely on the road he releases his grip on her mouth, but keeps her pressed close to his side.
She tugs in vain on the locked door for a moment but gives up quickly when she makes no progress.
"Frightened yet?" he inquires.
"If I broke my hand on your face I'm going to kill you," she mutters, wincing as she flexes her fingers. He frowns, surprised by her general lack of fear and shock. Without her fear he's unsure of how to proceed.
What flaw plagues this creature? Surely she must recognize the danger at this point.
"To the nearest hospital," Loki commands upon lowering the partition that separates driver from passenger. The man nods, and Loki watches as the girl warily observes the driver's unnaturally blue eyes.
"Yes, sir." And the partition is back up.
The girl pushes him away, letting her head flop back against the leather seat with a thump. She pulls her knees to her chin and closes her eyes, but remains silent.
Loki drums his fingers on his thigh, continuing to frown at her. She ignores him completely, irritating him to no end.
He's spent a good deal of time envisioning this, plotting how the situation would unfold when he finally initiated a reunion with the simple human who wields a mighty voice, and in none of his fantasies did she remain silent.
Although she did warn him of this upon their meeting. She is not overly fond of talking.
This stage of his plan moves with unbearable slowness and Loki has never been a particularly patient god.
At least he doesn't feel like a particularly patient being, although it is difficult to determine anything much about himself from before.
When there is nothing to occupy his mind, memory and pain plagues him, confuses him, distorts his reality. The songbird will fill the mental gaps between plotting each phase, as she has already in the months since their encounter.
He will not stand for her apathy.
Once again she's bested him, slighted him, and he flounders for a solution. He, whose plans to dominate this weak race of mortals will unfold without a hitch, cannot determine how to best proceed with one simple girl.
Just a girl.
"You are injured," he observes somewhat unnecessarily, taking her hurt hand in his own. His touch is cold, and he hopes it will soothe her injury.
She glares at him, blue eyes narrowed in loathing, and the message he reads there is clear. "You hurt me, you fool," her eyes seem to say.
"I will remedy this. You seem to be quite adept at coaxing adequate notes from that strange device that attempts to pass as a piano. You will not lose this gift as it will be key to your role in the very near future."
She simply raises an eyebrow at him. This time he can't even imagine what she's trying to convey with this particular expression.
No, she certainly did not lie when she claimed that she prefers not to speak.
"Why do you swath yourself in such unworthy fabrics? It is apparent that you are ill suited to this attire. From now on you will dress elegantly, as you did on the night we met." He's babbling and he knows it, but her silence is unnerving.
Is he easily unnerved? He cannot be sure about anything from before he floated off into the unknown, but it doesn't seem like he's one to be easily unnerved.
She stares at him for another long moment. It's a struggle for him to appear unaffected. There is something about the piercing quality of her stares he finds… deeply unsettling.
But then she sighs, closes her eyes again, and lets her head flop back against the seat again.
"Ninety percent of the time I have no fucking idea what the fuck you are talking about," she mutters, giving him nothing to go on.
He grabs her chin and her shocking blue eyes fly open. Desperate to coax some form of reaction from her, he holds her tighter than he should.
"Such vulgarities are unbecoming for someone with your talents. You will utter no such profanities again. Am I clear?" His voice is a harsh hiss, but still the fear remains absent from her gaze. He hates the bemused expression that settles over her features.
She shrugs, closing her eyes once more. He lets her go, and her forehead falls to her knees. Loki studies the compact way she's folded in on herself, and wonders what in the Hel he was thinking, taking someone so baffling for his own.
He had no understanding of her then, and he has even less now.
With more care than he thought himself capable of given his state of irritation, Loki slips his fingers under her knit cap and removes the offensive object. She shakes out her masses of pale hair and turns away, staring determinedly out the window.
Silence reigns until they reach their destination.
"Huh," she says, her quiet voice almost startling him. "You really did bring me to the hospital. While we're here let's swing by the psych ward, get this nasty delusion checked out."
"Psych ward?" he asks, perplexed. "I know not of this place. And of what delusion do you speak?"
"If you're the Norse God of Mischief and Lies than I'm the fucking Easter Bunny," she says.
He ignores her curse, too perplexed by the words coming out of her usually silent mouth.
Easter? Bunny?
"You think I deceive you?"
"I think you deceive yourself."
Loki smiles manically once more, pleased when her eyes go wide. There are traces of fear now.
"Allow me to educate you," he murmurs, moving to exit the car. She attempts to follow, and when she realizes that she'll be left alone in the locked vehicle she lets out a piercing scream, hoping to be heard when he exits.
His hard shove serves to quiet and stun her long enough to allow him out.
This was bound to happen sooner or later, given her bad habits with men.
It seems her recklessness and utter disregard for her own safety has finally caught up with her. She was bound to hook up with a real psycho. How he managed to find her again remains a mystery at the moment, but the details hardly matter.
The moment he locks her in the car she turns towards the driver with the unnatural glowing blue eyes. After banging on the partition for a full five minutes, begging through the barrier, she finally accepts the fact that her savior does not reside in the front seat.
An image of her phone tucked safely in her purse back at the club flits through her head. All she has in her pockets are a pack of American Spirits and a lighter.
She takes to the doors next, screaming her head off as she yanks on the handle and kicks with all her limited strength against the windows. Although she's been miserably unhappy since before she can remember, she doesn't want to die, and the danger that once drew her to him is now far too great and far too real.
Loki finds her lying with her back on the seat, her feet against the window, screaming herself hoarse. Her rhythmic kicking did nothing but alert him to her desperation to escape.
His smile is terrifying, the look in his eyes unabashedly batshit crazy. Some instinct is telling her to remain emotionless and calm, to give him nothing that matters.
It has turned into a mantra of sorts since that first night. Give him nothing that matters. Give him nothing important.
Slowly and with as much dignity as a captive in her position can hope to muster, she sits up and slides to the far end of the bench seat.
"Oh, if only it were that easy, my little songbird," he murmurs.
She's grown to despise the nickname and she's always fucking hated birds.
She watches in bemusement as Loki steps back, but before she can make another scramble for freedom a small man in a white lab coat enters the car, sitting directly across from Ellie.
She can't conceal a shiver of immense apprehension when she sees his eyes, the same glowing blue of the driver.
Loki joins them, closing the door behind him. Ellie takes great care to ensure that as much space as possible remains between their bodies.
"Hey, doc," Ellie says, refusing to even look at the psychopath next to her. "This is a kidnapping you've just stumbled on. Think you could help a girl out?"
Loki actually snorts, a sound she didn't think she's ever heard from someone as elegant as him.
Only he's not really elegant anymore. Maybe it was the booze, but the polished individual she was stupid enough to take home three months ago is barely recognizable in the sharp features of her kidnapper. His dark hair is slicked back but it does nothing to hide the ratty, jagged mess in the back. He is clothed in black leather instead of an expensive suit, making him look like an evil, oversized bat with a very pale, almost grey, face.
And he has a stylish cane that seems to have no practical use. There is no limp in his prowling gait.
The doctor says nothing, does nothing to acknowledge that she's even opened her mouth, but he does reach out for her hand. She winces as he touches her bruised knuckles. Gently he coaxes her hand into a fist.
"It's not broken," he says. "Merely bruised. Ice and perhaps an Ibuprofen and she'll be fine in no time."
Ellie can do nothing but gape. The situation has taken on a quality of the surreal.
"Good," says Loki, nodding. "You may go."
Eleanor could have easily told him that herself. Her bones don't break, at least not so far. She's sturdier than she looks and a quick healer.
"As you wish," replies the doctor, already exiting the car. "Goodnight, my king."
King? Really, what the fuck is going on here?
Her shock is so great she forgets to scream for help during the brief moment the car door is open.
"You're totally crazy," she murmurs, tucking her chin to her chest once more.
"I'm burdened with glorious purpose," he corrects.
"I can't believe I had sex with you."
"Likewise," he says, sounding thoroughly disgusted. "Although you should be thankful for the opportunity to lie with a powerfully superior being such as myself."
"Batshit crazy."
"Hold your tongue, mortal."
She does just that for the remainder of the car ride.
They long ago left the city behind.
That much is apparent to Ellie when they come to a stop and Loki yanks her out of the vehicle. The pressure of his hand on her elbow is painful and she considers once more screaming for help, but he covers her mouth with a palm.
Their destination appears to be some sort of abandoned industrial facility. Loki hauls her along, giving her no time to get any sort of grip on her surroundings. The driver pulls off, leaving them to the entrance and a steep staircase that seems to go all the way down into the bowels of the earth. Following the stairs is a long brick tunnel. Ellie stumbles to keep up with Loki's long stride, tripping occasionally over cracked concrete and damp earth.
As they walk she hopes a rotting chunk of ceiling falls on his head. It seems entirely plausible. This place is a fucking ruin.
The journey isn't far, although it feels like miles to Ellie, and eventually the corridor opens into a larger brick space with high ceilings that is bursting with activity. Construction crews are busy at work, erecting what appears to be some sort of lab.
Ellie doesn't notice that the eyes of several of these people glow blue until she screams at the top of her lungs.
"Help! I've been kidnapped!"
There is silence for only one short moment as everyone turns to look at her. The lull in the activity only lasts a second and the work continues on as if there was never an interruption.
Ellie tries to beat down the stirrings of utter panic, but a cry of incredulity and frustration escapes her lips, garnering the attention of her captor.
"You are embarrassing yourself," he comments with complete and total disdain.
Ellie feels faint.
"What is this?" she asks, failing to keep her voice steady. "Why did you bring me here? Who are all these people? Who are you?"
Loki smiles that horrible and beautiful smile of his. "These are many questions from a mortal who claims an aversion to speech," he says, hissing in her ear. She shivers, but he doesn't let her move away. "You need not know of these people or their work. I brought you here for your voice and because I do not trust what you claim to be. I need to keep you under observation, and from interfering with my plans. And you know full well who I am."
"Loki," she spits out, taunting him. "God of Lies. But really you're the fucking pretender. You're just some sick, small man, deluding yourself into thinking you're special."
Probably not the wisest words, but Ellie is scared and mad and tired and confused.
Don't give him anything important, don't give him anything that matters.
Enraged now, he grabs the hair at the back of her head, making her cry out. He pulls her face towards his, looming over her with sharp, angry eyes. Her nails dig into his wrists, trying to pry his hands away or loosen his grip, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"Do not mock me, Eleanor Tate," he says, voice low but calm. He smiles when she lets out a wail as the grip in her hair tightens. "I am who I claim to be. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you accept that you are mine now, the sooner you accept me as king, the more pleasant your life will be."
She wants to tell him that her life is never pleasant, no matter the crazy-ass circumstance, but she stays quiet, focusing instead on centering herself. She withdraws, shutting down her emotions one by one until she's detached completely.
In the last eight years, ever since leaving home in the dead of night, she's been numb. It started before that really, but not feeling became something of a perpetual state for Ellie. Maybe that is why she brought him home in the first place. From the start he made her feel something, but now she understands that the feeling was definitely not good.
She gets back to the numbness now.
With a grunt of disgust, Loki tosses Ellie to the ground. She sits up, rubbing absently at the back of her head and watching him impassively.
"Still, you don't believe?"
The slight twitch of her eyebrow gives him an answer. No, she doesn't believe. He is no god and no king, just a sick man she had the misfortune to take to bed once upon a time.
With an army of worker bees, several with freaky glowing eyes.
Loki smirks and then calls to a passing worker.
"Have they returned?"
"Yes, sir."
"Fetch the new recruit."
Ellie watches with wide eyes as his cane changes before her eyes into something curved and sinister.
She blinks rapidly at the scepter, not believing what is in front of her. It hovers in the air for a moment before Loki grabs it. He runs a finger along the curved top that looks more like a blade than anything. It houses an eerie glowing ball of light, similar to the driver's eyes.
Loki sighs in contentment.
"You know nothing, my little songbird," he murmurs as she shakily gets to her feet. She can't seem to take her eyes off the scepter. It is beautiful and horrible and seems to radiate energy. "But you will learn to fear me as you love me. I will show you true power."
A group of men, with normal, albeit mean, eyes escort a beaten and terrified man towards Loki. He wears pajamas, as if he was dragged from bed. Although Ellie has managed to keep her wits about her, this man very obviously has not. He cries and pleads and screams, completely taken over by fear and desperation.
"This is Mr. Cutter?" Loki asks, obviously unimpressed.
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent," Loki says, turning once more to Ellie. "Watch carefully now, Eleanor. If you continue with your insolence and disrespect I will completely remove all your sense of self, a blessing really. I could remove the burden of freedom from your being, give you insight you never dreamed of, but still, not something you are smart enough to court yourself. Continue to go against me and this will be your fate."
Once more, he has totally lost her.
Languidly, Loki places the point of the scepter against the man's chest. For a moment Ellie thinks Loki means to kill him, to run him through with the sharp tip, but the man simply gasps as a rippling blue light seems to bloom over his chest and his eyes go pitch black before turning that radiant, troubling blue.
He goes silent as the grave, all cries for help cutting off abruptly.
"Are you a believer yet, my little songbird?"
She bites the inside of her cheek so hard it bleeds to keep herself from giving him a reaction. She wants to scream and demand answers and maybe puke on her captor's shiny black shoes, but she refuses to give him anything that matters.
"So difficult to impress," Loki murmurs, shaking his head at her. "Fine. You need more, and more you shall have."
Ellie feels no relief when Loki turns back to the man standing still, seemingly devoid of any life.
"Mr. Cutter," Loki says, studying his nails.
"Yes, sir?"
"There is a knife on that table. Kindly fetch it."
The man does as he's told and stands still in front of Loki, blade dangling from his hand at his side.
"Please bring the knife to your jugular."
Ellie's stomach lurches as the man does just that.
"Press upon the tip hard enough to draw only a drop of blood."
A small whimper passes the man's lips as he pierces his own skin, but his face remains hauntingly blank.
"Tell me, mortal," Loki says, slowly moving to stand directly behind Ellie. She remembers when she craved his closeness, but now his hot breath against her ear repulses her to no end. "Do you believe? Or shall our dear Mr. Cutter be forced to take his own life for you to truly understand?"
Ellie whimpers now, a tear escaping her eyes. Loki wipes it away with his finger, bringing the liquid to his lips.
"Don't kill him," she whispers. "Don't kill anyone."
"But you do not know this man. Why exactly do you care?"
Ellie gapes at him. "I don't want him to die. No one deserves what you are doing to him here."
Something flashes in Loki's eyes, but before Ellie can attempt to decode it the wild is back in his gaze. Already Ellie has observed him flicking in and out of madness.
"Do you need more proof, Eleanor Tate?"
Another trickle of blood flows down this Mr. Cutter's neck, disappearing into his pajamas.
She shakes her head. No, this is all the proof she needs. God of Mischief or no, this Loki has so much power it terrifies her.
"Say it," he demands.
"I don't need any more proof," she whispers, choking on her tears now.
"Louder!"
"I believe, okay!"
"I am Loki of Asgard and I mean to rule this world."
"You are Loki of Asgard," she repeats, having no idea what he's going on about.
"Good girl." His smile makes his skin crawl. "Mr. Cutter? That is quite enough. Return the blade and retire to the barracks. There is much work to be done on the morrow."
The group disperses, leaving Loki and Ellie alone in the still bustling space.
"I will take your identity," he murmurs in her ear. "I will take everything and your eyes will be even more blue than they are now. First you will be mine, and then your realm."
She takes a deep breath, turning to look at him from under thick eyelashes. "An alien then," she drawls, because she finally does believe. "Trying to take over the world. How very original."
His eyes flash. His palm connects with her face. She is falling and there is a splitting burst of pain in her head. Then everything goes black.
Ellie finds she prefers it this way.
Thanks for reading!
Lyrics in this chapter are fro Dreaming by Grant Sabin
!st beta: Heather
Final beta: Erica