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coldsongIt takes a couple weeks before Loki bothers to ask anything about Cricket. He strikes the god as beneath notice, young and vulnerable, more of a follower than a leader. Neither aggressively good and noble, nor tricky and wicked enough to keep pace with him. In short, there is nothing Cricket has or is that interests him, and he treats him much like the furniture: he will do him no harm, he will even spare a moment to consider his maintenance, but he’s not looking for his friendship or affection.
That changes one afternoon when he wanders in to find the boy curled up in a chair, red-eyed and teary. He immediately looks around for Harley, or even Alec. Someone with a bit more of a heart than he should manage this. But no one else is available, and by the time he realizes that, Cricket has noted his presence and is giving him a glare of death.
That kind of challenge cannot go ignored, so he sighs and folds his arms. “Are you injured?”
“Do I fuckin’ look injured?” the kid snaps back, and Loki is surprised by the sharpness.
He tilts his head. “No. No more than usual, at any rate.”
Cricket’s not sure if that’s a reference to his leg braces or something else, but his scowl deepens, before Loki adds: “I feel that if I ignore your distress at this point, it might upset our hostess. If you want nothing to do with me, by all means say so and I’ll leave you alone, but you must promise to tell her I tried. On the other hand, if there is some way I can assist, get to the point at once so I can stop wasting time.”
It’s an abrasive way to offer help, but Cricket sort of halfway approves of the practicality. He grunts, but his expression softens a little. “Ain’t nothin’ but nightmares. I reckon a god don’t understand that kind of thing.”
Loki weighs his options, because he’s been handed an easy out. After a moment, he heads for the kitchen and retrieves two cups of chocolate milk, bringing one to the kid, and sitting across from him. “You would be surprised. I have many nightmares, but few regrets.”
That’s probably a lie.
Cricket considers the cup and takes a sip, uncurling a little. “I don’t need you feelin’ sorry for me.”
“No, I imagine not. Don’t worry, I have very little compassion within me to begin with; I will spare none where it is not wanted. But I’m curious.” That is not a lie. Loki sips his chocolate milk the same way he would champagne at a party.
His candor earns a bitter laugh from Cricket, but also an answer: “You kinda remind me of him, is the thing. The man that killed me. Dark hair slicked back like that, pale eyes, all refined and perfume-y and actin’ like everyone’s beneath you. I don’t like you, and I don’t like that she likes you, but it ain’t my place to say so.”
“Yet you’ve said so,” Loki points out. “To me. Is it my presence that has you worked up?”
“Nah. Just the memory. And thinking about how I can’t go back.”
The god hesitates, sobering, and taps his fingers against his glass. He doesn’t need this boy’s favor. He has nothing to gain by being kind here. Civility is enough. But at last, reluctantly, he says: “Then we have something in common. This man, how did you run afoul of him?”
Gradually, over glasses of chocolate milk, the story unspools. Illegal moonshining, a vendetta with a federal deputy between Cricket and his friends and employers. A big distillery in the woods, and his best friend Jack’s poor judgment, resulting in a bust, and Cricket’s capture, but not Jack’s.
A slow walk through grass and branches, over uneven gravel. One man, smelling of expensive cologne, walking too close behind him. A secluded, overgrown alcove. An arm around his throat, squeezing the air from him. Desperation, blind struggling, a snap, and darkness.
The description of Cricket’s last moments leaves Loki pale, horrified and shaky not because of compassion or kindness, but because of how closely they mirror his own. He collects the empty glasses and flees to the kitchen with them to regain his composure. Cricket follows, tread stiff and uneven, what with the leg braces.
It’s a dangerous moment, with the god standing at the sink, back to the boy. Loki could lash out easily, and maybe the antiviolence field would stop him, or maybe not. In a way, he wants to, that old burning rage and madness tickling his veins. No one would stop him. Not until it was too late.
“Guess we do have something in common,” Cricket says, watching him.
Loki glances back out of the corner of his eye, seeing the small, vulnerable figure standing in the doorway, and the fury melts away. No, he had best save his spite for his own murderer, anyway. He takes a breath and turns. “You have no idea what became of this man, who killed you?”
Cricket shakes his head. “That’s what kills me. Don’t want Jack to do nothing stupid, like go and try gunning him down. He’d do that.”
“Yes,” Loki says, although he’s thinking of Thor, not a stranger. “Yes, he would.”
“Just...the thought of him taking out the Bondurants, too…” Cricket folds his arms around himself. “Keeps me up nights, you know?”
Loki knows, but he says nothing for a moment. Then: “Well. I cannot return to my home, but I can visit yours. What would you have me do?”
The boy’s eyes widen, and he swallows with a click. “Y’ain’t gotta do nothin’ for me.”
He’s tempted, though, and Loki can see it in his face.
“No,” the trickster says. “But it would be my pleasure. I will not expect a favor in return. What was the man’s name?”
“...Rakes. Charlie Rakes.” Cricket worries his lip. “Can you make sure the Bondurants are okay? And Miss Maggie? Especially Jack…”
“I can. And I will.”
Cricket thinks of Jack, and how Rakes beat him half to death just outside Cricket’s own home, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. About the local deputies whispering that he almost pulled a gun on him after he was unconscious, and what was that about, was he gonna shoot the kid in cold blood? He thinks about a man tortured in the woods to make an example of him, and then about himself, killed for the same reason. And he thinks about Forrest Bondurant.
“It ain’t the violence that sets a man apart,” he tells Loki, quoting. “It’s the distance. How far he’s prepared to go.”
“I am prepared,” says the god, and smiles.
Cricket crosses the room, reaches out, and shakes his hand.
That changes one afternoon when he wanders in to find the boy curled up in a chair, red-eyed and teary. He immediately looks around for Harley, or even Alec. Someone with a bit more of a heart than he should manage this. But no one else is available, and by the time he realizes that, Cricket has noted his presence and is giving him a glare of death.
That kind of challenge cannot go ignored, so he sighs and folds his arms. “Are you injured?”
“Do I fuckin’ look injured?” the kid snaps back, and Loki is surprised by the sharpness.
He tilts his head. “No. No more than usual, at any rate.”
Cricket’s not sure if that’s a reference to his leg braces or something else, but his scowl deepens, before Loki adds: “I feel that if I ignore your distress at this point, it might upset our hostess. If you want nothing to do with me, by all means say so and I’ll leave you alone, but you must promise to tell her I tried. On the other hand, if there is some way I can assist, get to the point at once so I can stop wasting time.”
It’s an abrasive way to offer help, but Cricket sort of halfway approves of the practicality. He grunts, but his expression softens a little. “Ain’t nothin’ but nightmares. I reckon a god don’t understand that kind of thing.”
Loki weighs his options, because he’s been handed an easy out. After a moment, he heads for the kitchen and retrieves two cups of chocolate milk, bringing one to the kid, and sitting across from him. “You would be surprised. I have many nightmares, but few regrets.”
That’s probably a lie.
Cricket considers the cup and takes a sip, uncurling a little. “I don’t need you feelin’ sorry for me.”
“No, I imagine not. Don’t worry, I have very little compassion within me to begin with; I will spare none where it is not wanted. But I’m curious.” That is not a lie. Loki sips his chocolate milk the same way he would champagne at a party.
His candor earns a bitter laugh from Cricket, but also an answer: “You kinda remind me of him, is the thing. The man that killed me. Dark hair slicked back like that, pale eyes, all refined and perfume-y and actin’ like everyone’s beneath you. I don’t like you, and I don’t like that she likes you, but it ain’t my place to say so.”
“Yet you’ve said so,” Loki points out. “To me. Is it my presence that has you worked up?”
“Nah. Just the memory. And thinking about how I can’t go back.”
The god hesitates, sobering, and taps his fingers against his glass. He doesn’t need this boy’s favor. He has nothing to gain by being kind here. Civility is enough. But at last, reluctantly, he says: “Then we have something in common. This man, how did you run afoul of him?”
Gradually, over glasses of chocolate milk, the story unspools. Illegal moonshining, a vendetta with a federal deputy between Cricket and his friends and employers. A big distillery in the woods, and his best friend Jack’s poor judgment, resulting in a bust, and Cricket’s capture, but not Jack’s.
A slow walk through grass and branches, over uneven gravel. One man, smelling of expensive cologne, walking too close behind him. A secluded, overgrown alcove. An arm around his throat, squeezing the air from him. Desperation, blind struggling, a snap, and darkness.
The description of Cricket’s last moments leaves Loki pale, horrified and shaky not because of compassion or kindness, but because of how closely they mirror his own. He collects the empty glasses and flees to the kitchen with them to regain his composure. Cricket follows, tread stiff and uneven, what with the leg braces.
It’s a dangerous moment, with the god standing at the sink, back to the boy. Loki could lash out easily, and maybe the antiviolence field would stop him, or maybe not. In a way, he wants to, that old burning rage and madness tickling his veins. No one would stop him. Not until it was too late.
“Guess we do have something in common,” Cricket says, watching him.
Loki glances back out of the corner of his eye, seeing the small, vulnerable figure standing in the doorway, and the fury melts away. No, he had best save his spite for his own murderer, anyway. He takes a breath and turns. “You have no idea what became of this man, who killed you?”
Cricket shakes his head. “That’s what kills me. Don’t want Jack to do nothing stupid, like go and try gunning him down. He’d do that.”
“Yes,” Loki says, although he’s thinking of Thor, not a stranger. “Yes, he would.”
“Just...the thought of him taking out the Bondurants, too…” Cricket folds his arms around himself. “Keeps me up nights, you know?”
Loki knows, but he says nothing for a moment. Then: “Well. I cannot return to my home, but I can visit yours. What would you have me do?”
The boy’s eyes widen, and he swallows with a click. “Y’ain’t gotta do nothin’ for me.”
He’s tempted, though, and Loki can see it in his face.
“No,” the trickster says. “But it would be my pleasure. I will not expect a favor in return. What was the man’s name?”
“...Rakes. Charlie Rakes.” Cricket worries his lip. “Can you make sure the Bondurants are okay? And Miss Maggie? Especially Jack…”
“I can. And I will.”
Cricket thinks of Jack, and how Rakes beat him half to death just outside Cricket’s own home, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. About the local deputies whispering that he almost pulled a gun on him after he was unconscious, and what was that about, was he gonna shoot the kid in cold blood? He thinks about a man tortured in the woods to make an example of him, and then about himself, killed for the same reason. And he thinks about Forrest Bondurant.
“It ain’t the violence that sets a man apart,” he tells Loki, quoting. “It’s the distance. How far he’s prepared to go.”
“I am prepared,” says the god, and smiles.
Cricket crosses the room, reaches out, and shakes his hand.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-10-31 02:41 pm (UTC)Dear Forrest or whoever’s reading this,
I’m dead, and I guess you know all about how and why. Thing is, it seems like dead isn’t the same for everyone, and instead of an afterlife in Heaven or Hell, I ended up in a Nexus, which is sort of like a train station, I reckon, except between worlds instead of between tracks and lines. It ain’t a bad place to be, and I have a place to live with a nice lady named Harley. The man who brought this letter lives there, too. His name is Loki and I ain’t telling you to trust him, but I did ask him to come by and make sure everyone’s okay there so he’s probably not going to do anything bad.
Also if you hurt him, Harley will be upset so maybe don’t do that.
Anyway, I have stills, and a garden to work in, and I built most of a car that’s only going to get better as I work on her, so I’m all right. I can’t come back, because I died there, but I’m all right.
Please tell Jackie not to do anything stupid to get back at Rakes for what he done to me. Please tell him that I hope he marries Miss Minnix and has a dozen kids that climb all over him and run him ragged, because he deserves that. And tell him what happened to me ain’t his fault because I know he’ll think it was.
I guess you can just let him read this letter, too.
Please tell Howard he’s a good man and brave and I hope he feels better some day.
Please tell Miss Maggie that I’m grateful for her being good to me, and I hope she don’t ever have to be scared of anything again.
If you see Aunt Winnie, you don’t have to tell her nothing because she won’t remember anyway, but maybe give her a drink of something good, for me.
Forrest, you were all my family and I ain’t mad and I want nothing but good for you. Just wish I could be there to see it.
I asked Loki to do something about Rakes. Maybe you can point him in the right direction. Revenge don’t matter but so much, but I don’t want him hurting anyone else.
Thanks for everything, Forrest. If you want to visit, you can find me in the Nexus some day.
Love,
Cricket
(no subject)
Date: 2018-10-31 02:42 pm (UTC)“Thanks. For bringin’t.” That’s not precisely an apology, but his feelings towards Loki seem to have softened slightly.
“You’re welcome,” Loki responds calmly, quiet and polite and unsmiling. “I am willing to take a response back if you have one, although messenger-boy is hardly my usual M.O.”
He leans against the porch railing. “Since you have very cleverly handled his nemesis, though, and I came for a specific purpose other than merely delivering that, I was thinking I might go a step up the ladder and lay down a proper curse. Would Wardell be the appropriate target, do you think?”
Forrest’s eyebrows rise, and his gaze goes back from the middle distance to focus on Loki again. “Well now, that’d save us a worlda’ trouble… law’s been rumbling around here but he’s part of it.” By which he means Wardell is potentially untouchable, right now. At least for the Bondurants themselves.
He smiles faintly. “I imagine your local officers are part of the community, and more easily dealt with here. But...yes. A man who dispatches murderers to uphold the law really should not remain in power. I can, of course, make no promises about his successor.”
“He ain’t from around here.” Forrest nods mildly, seeing Loki understands the situation. His feelings about the local law have shifted, due to recent events, but that’s a relationship that’s not beyond repair. “Gonna be’n investigation. Might not get a successor real quick.” He has a backwoods drawl, for all that there’s clearly some education there.
Not being from the country, or even the planet, Loki doesn’t connect any particular Midgardian accent with intelligence or lack thereof. He’s used to the sound of that drawl from Cricket, but aside from that he has no preconceived notions. He hums softly in response to Forrest’s information, and says, “And if he were to vanish or be found unfit for his duties, presumably the investigation would be stymied, at least for a time?”
“Prob’ly. Sounds jest fine t’me.” Cricket is less gravelly and grunty, but there’s a definite similarity.
He smiles. “Well, then. Let’s all hope for the best. I wonder if I could buy a cup of coffee here, before I begin the next leg of my journey?”
Forrest gives him a nod, and tucks the envelope neatly into his breast pocket before getting up. Now it makes sense why he didn’t stand sooner, because he gets to his feet like an old man, slow and pained. They did say he got shot, in the incident that took out Rakes.
Loki watches him thoughtfully. “Is your brother recovering well? Cricket was particularly concerned about him, but I understand you bore the brunt of that last battle.”
“Jackie’ll be aight. Just gotta take it easy a while.” He’s not about to say anything of his own injuries, but he moves to get the door for Loki and hold it for him.
“Good,” he says, and looks a little surprised that he’s holding the door for him, but gives him an oddly courtly nod of thanks. Healing is not one of his better skills, but he’s trying to decide what he can do here, if anything.
“You can tell Cricket Jackie may’ve got shot in the gut, but it mighta got something through his skull, too.” That’s purely metaphorical, of course, but clear enough.
“A hard lesson,” he says quietly, glancing around the room he’s entering. He’s sizing up entrances, exits, windows, and anyone else in the place, like someone used to being in dangerous places. For all that, though, he’s not visibly jumpy or wary. Merely alert.
He moves toward the counter with the intent of sitting there, but takes his time, attempting to keep pace roughly with Forrest.
It’s a welcoming place, all wood paneling and worn furniture, with a long counter along one wall. There’s plenty of tables and chairs, but it’s not a busy hour of the day and they’re all empty, right now. In fact the only other person he sees is a strawberry blonde skinny woman, who is quick to wipe some cups, but is clearly giving him a thorough looking over.
Forrest shuffles in a straight line, movements economical, headed for the long counter. “Got pie, too…”
Based on Cricket’s description of her, he immediately concludes that’s Maggie, and he gives her a mild smile and a nod of greeting. He’s here on his best behavior for the moment, and while that may not last forever, he doesn’t mean to cause them any direct trouble.
“Oh? What sort of pie?” He looks a little wary, because he’s very fond of sweets, but he doesn’t want to look too soft in front of the mortals, either. “I wonder...actually, I’ve heard your biscuits are locally famous. Perhaps I’ll drop by in the morning, before I leave for home, and get some to take back with me.”
“Apple. Lotta cinnamon.” He doesn’t sound like he thinks any differently of Loki for the interest.
“Forrest’s biscuits ought to be world famous.” The woman smiles and nods back politely. She’s not sure who he is, but she’s taking her cues from Forrest, who seems relatively relaxed now.
“I think I have enough local currency for that,” he says. “Pie and coffee, then, if you will.”
He’s about to say that Forrest’s biscuits are now famous across universes, but he’s not sure if it’s appropriate to have the entire discussion about Cricket all over again just now. Suffice to say, he’d be bringing them back for the kid. “My friend...landlady, as it were, I suppose, is a vegetarian. She might enjoy them, as well.”
Forrest is still debating how to explain this to the rest of the family, or if he’s even going to explain at all. Jack deserves to see the letter, though, and there’s no way to give him that without an explanation. He shuffles behind the bar, leaving Loki to take his pick of the stools that line the other side of it.
“You’re… visiting from a ways off?” Maggie asks carefully, gaze darting to Forrest briefly, looking fruitlessly for clues or hints.
“Indeed.” He sits gracefully at the counter and places his hands primly on the edge, folding his fingers together. “My name is Loki Odinson, and you may make of it what you wish.”
So, he’s not going to come right out and give the whole game away before Forrest has thought it over, but he’s not making it much easier for him, either.
Maggie is less worldly, perhaps, in her interests. The name sounds vaguely familiar or at least very weird, so there’s a brief little frown of thought and she nods, still trying to be polite. “Well welcome to Franklin County, sir.” She moves to fetch the pie and cut him a slice, since Forrest seems to be going for the coffee. The way they move around each other behind the bar speaks of them being accustomed to working around each other.
Forrest grunts. Whether he’s a norse god or not, he’s weird.
Aw, no recognition this time? That’s...actually, that’s probably for the best. He smiles at her pleasantly. “Thank you. I’m finding the place quiet, yet surprisingly intriguing thus far.”
If he keeps throwing his name around, he may soon learn that’s going to be the standard, around here. Maggie also definitely shares the opinion that he’s an oddball. Her smile is very ‘customer service’, as she brings over a generous slice of pie. “Nothing wrong with quiet, is there?”
Forrest brings him coffee and a small pitcher of cream, and then slides over a sugar bowl, so he has access to whatever he might need to doctor up his coffee. “What’s intriguing about it?”
Loki’s smile isn’t quite ‘customer service’, but it’s a distant cousin. Something along the lines of ‘I am on my best behavior, dear god don’t make it difficult for me to be’. “Quiet is a foreign element to me,” he says. “Much like lava. Very pretty from a distance and useful to build an island upon, but I rarely have a desire to touch it.”
“What’s intriguing is what lies beneath the surface,” he explains to Forrest. “Ah. My thanks.”
He adds sugar to his coffee. A lot of it.
This time Maggie’s expression registers just how bizarre and bewildering this man is, and stays that way for much more than a few seconds. She looks to Forrest, and concludes there is some weird game going on between them and she wants no part of it.
“Hmmmnh.” Forrest considers this, and decides it’s an acceptable answer. A lot goes on under the surface, around Franklin. There’s a lot of things he could be referring to. “Welcome.”
Loki might just be really enjoying her incredulous reaction. He’s not going to push his luck, though. He flashes a brief, bright smile at her, but refocuses on the pie quickly. Meanwhile, he reaches out with his magic, confident he won’t run into any resistance. Not doing anything quite yet, but feeling out the place, deciding whether to contribute to the healing going on or simply place a ward.
There’s no obvious magic, but the place has a definite air of being loved and very much a firmly defended territory. If Forrest had magic, the place would be warded heavily against any kind of trouble. Forrest himself is a wreck of internal scars, still fresh. There’s two bullets still in him, too deep to be safely removed, and more lines of damage where the rest passed through. The scar across his throat is still less than a year old, and there may be older marks of a severe illness. He is alive and walking around by sheer stubbornness.
It is excellent pie, with a light flaky crust that melts in his mouth. The food here is its own kind of magic.
That’s quite a lot to live with. Loki has relatively poor healing skills, considering the sheer power he possesses, but it’s easy to see at a glance that Forrest is the pillar of this home and any benefit to him is a benefit to the rest of the family. It makes sense to do what is easy and efficient, and so he waits until the man is in a stable position, in case he feels what he’s about to do, and very slowly and carefully--so as not to cause internal bleeding--transports the bullets and shrapnel that remain out of him. He doesn’t pause in his eating to do so, although his brows knit as he concentrates. Forrest may feel a strange twinge, but it shouldn’t be painful enough to stand out amidst other pain, given what a mess he is.
He is standing still, but one hand rests on the counter, and he’d really rather be sitting down. On the other hand he’s used to being on his feet behind the counter, so it’s familiar at least. The feeling that goes through him just then is not, and Forrest draws in a breath slowly and narrows his eyes at Loki a little, suspecting something, but he’s not sure what. “Mnnn… Mind th’counter, Maggie. Gotta letter t’write…”
She is still mystified as to what’s going on, but willing to wait and ask him in private.
Loki glances up as he passes him and reaches out, placing two bullets and a few small fragments of metal in his hand. They’re clean, thanks to his care in removing them. “You’ll want some aspirin, I think.” He says mildly, and then goes back to his coffee.
Poor Maggie. This is a weird day.
He pauses, tensing a little as Loki touches his hand, then looks down and grunts. He rolls the metal in his scarred hand, and frowns. “”Don’t want no debts.”
If Loki had asked him if he wanted healing, he just might have said no.
“That’s wise,” he says with a smile. “Rest assured, nothing I do here comes from a place of kindness or pity, not toward you nor toward Cricket, himself. I do this out of spite. My own target is untouchable, at least by me, but I will take out my displeasure on a comparable creature instead. And you profit by it, at least a little. There is no need to fear me. At least not for the moment.”
Okay, now Maggie is not only confused but a little worried. She’s further up the counter and on the other side, but close enough to catch most of the words. Her grip on the counter tightens, knuckles white.
Forrest gives a low rumble and a nod, then adds, “Pie’s on th’house.” He wants to be very sure he’s not in debt, after all.
Loki’s smile is very charming. “Fair. It’s very good!”
He turns back to eat again as if he hasn’t said or done anything at all alarming, and only notes Maggie’s tension after a couple bites. “It’s all right. I’m not here to do harm to anyone in this house. I knew Cricket Pate, that’s all.”
That is even more bewildering, because she can’t picture Cricket and this guy being friends. “How… did you know him? Are you a relative?” Her grip on the counter does ease just a little, but the way he was talking made her think of the kind of mobsters Forrest has had some dealings with. There was a threat there, and it was a threat to Wardell, but that kind of thing has already led to one shoot out.
Forrest shuffles for his office, still holding the bullet fragments.
He takes a long drink of coffee, studying her thoughtfully, and drums his fingertips on the counter before venturing to answer slowly, “I think you may not believe me if I explain fully. I will tell you, but I’m giving you that warning first, so you can decide if you truly want to hear. I was going to leave it to Mr. Bondurant to explain, but he seems to be a man of few words.”
She gives a nervous little laugh, watching Forrest’s retreating back. “Usually, yes, but he tends to use them well.”
(no subject)
Date: 2018-10-31 02:44 pm (UTC)That’s probably not comforting to her, though. He takes another bite of pie, then sets his fork down. “There is a Nexus of worlds--a sort of dimension of its own, located in a hub of hundreds of thousands of other worlds and planets.” Infinite other worlds, actually, but he’s not sure he wants to try to explain the concept of infinity to any human that doesn’t already have a grasp of quantum mechanics.
“I have been living there for a few weeks, and there I met Cricket. He is dead here, but appears to have been sent there rather than to any sort of afterlife. We share a home with a mutual friend. I cannot say we are dear to one another; in point of fact he has told me he dislikes me, but we have experienced similar injustices. He asked me to come check on you.”
Maggie’s eyes are wide, and she reaches awkwardly for the one stool they keep behind the bar, because she needs to sit. If he was looking for a more gratifying reaction, this is it. Forrest is just unfazeable.
Some small part of her thinks the ‘he dislikes me’ part makes it all more believable, though.
“You’re… from the afterlife?”
“Well...an afterlife, at least. Not one of the more popular ones. People do visit the Nexus while still living, as well.” He is inordinately pleased by her shock, honestly, and goes back to eating his pie brightly.
“Mn! He spoke of you kindly, for the record. He told me you were always very kind to him and that you ‘understood’, although he did not elaborate on the latter part.”
She looks a little flattered, but also like she might cry, at that. It’s certainly a more entertaining response. “But he’s… okay? I mean he’s not unhappy?”
Aw. Well...Loki doesn’t like to admit he has soft spots, but he sort of does. They’re well armored, but for a fraction of a second he wonders if anyone will mourn him like that. In any case, his smile fades to something more gentle. “He has a home and friends, work that suits him, and he makes blackberry moonshine that even I find adequate. And I have a refined palate.”
“He has bouts of homesickness, I think. But he is as well as can be expected, and seems likely to get better still, with time.”
Maggie’s expression softens some, at these words, and he might be more fondly remembered if he brought this kind of news to people more often. “That’s… good. That sounds like him. He’s missed, here.”
“The woman we live with seems to regard him as a younger brother. I think he will be fine in her care. Ah, and she is an aerial dancer, among other skills and interests. I think that reminds him of conversations with you, as well.” There is nothing lecherous or patronizing in the way he says this. The reason that there is none of that is because he’s half picturing Harley’s reaction if he was ever a jackass to her about her history.
She blushes, just a little. “I’m not a dancer, anymore. Here is better.”
Forrest comes shuffling back with paper and pen, planning on writing where he can keep an eye on Loki. The bullet fragments remain in the office, carefully put into an empty medicine bottle and set up on a shelf.
“Is it?” He’s not trying to be unpleasant, just mildly curious. “What is it about this place that you like?”
“People are more… honest. Straightforward?” She can’t say there’s less violence here, after what she’s seen, but it is less careless somehow. The Bondurants don’t engage in violence without cause.
“I had best not stay long, then. Honesty is not my forte.” He sips his coffee. “You might be comfortable in the Nexus. I wouldn’t say it’s always honest, but there is a fundamental sense of peace and generosity, from what I have seen. Accidents do happen, though.”
She looks a little surprised and confused by his first comment, because she lacks the mythological familiarity Forrest apparently has. “Is it… a dangerous place?”
“Anyplace can be.” Forrest rumbles, settled at the nearby table writing.
“Purportedly,” he says, “violence is not possible. There is some sort of magic to prevent it, however from what I have heard other residents say, that magic is somewhat fallible. And of course, one will run into beings that are far from human there. That may or may not intimidate you; it doesn’t bother me.”
“What kind of not human?” She looks alarmed by the idea, even now.
Oh, now he wants to just come out and tell her he’s the god of lies. That would lack subtlety, though. “All sorts. I have seen a human man bonded to an alien symbiote, a dinosaur, some sort of plant elemental...and of course there are a number of gods there.”
“I think… maybe I’d rather stay at home.” She isn’t sure about all of what he’s just said, but it’s alarming whether it’s true or just metaphorical somehow.
Forrest gives a grunt and a nod, because he approves firmly of staying at home.
He looks amused, setting his fork down on the plate, pie now all eaten. “Understandable, I suppose. But keep it in mind.”
“Is that an invitation?” She smiles awkwardly.
“Does that matter, if you are inevitably going to decline it?” He smirks. “I’m not here for that sort of social nicety, but I will say, I think Cricket would welcome a visit from any of you. And Harley seems to appreciate company. So, make of that what you will, and I will leave you a method for contacting him.”
“‘Preciate that.” Forrest rumbles, because although he doesn’t want his family stumbling into some unknown place, he doesn’t want to shut that door, either.
“Thank you.” Maggie says politely.
Loki’s manners remain refined and pleasant as he finishes his coffee, and while he’s been given the pie, he pays and tips for the coffee politely. It takes him a moment, because he has to fish change out of his pockets and check the dates on the coins. Once Forrest is finished with the letter, Loki stands and smoothes his clothes with the evident intention of leaving. “I’m not prepared to give you a PINpoint at the moment, but I’ll be back in the morning. If you need me for some reason in the meantime, you’ll have to pray to me.”
He doubts that’s likely. Humans are disinclined, in his experience, to switch deities at the drop of a hat. Still, he departs without further explanation, walking off into the woods, and they won’t see him again for the rest of the day.
The next morning is fairly quiet, but one of their regulars brings in a newspaper to show Forrest. Mason Wardell appears to have died the night before. No foul play is suspected; some screams were heard in the neighborhood in the late evening, but there was not a mark on his body, and while the coroner’s verdict is still pending, the consensus is he died of a stroke or heart attack, the screams merely a last-ditch attempt to get help before it was too late.
Forrest reads the article over thoroughly, and looks deeply satisfied. He has a second letter, from Jack, because he did sit down with him and explain things. He serves Loki coffee without being asked, and offers breakfast.
Loki doesn’t show up until after Forrest has read the article, but he looks exactly the same as he did the day before, and he’s got a copy of the paper, himself. He wants to show off his work, at least. Maybe start a scrapbook.
He sits down like he fully expects to be welcomed, and Forrest doesn’t disappoint, although he’s mildly surprised by the coffee. “Well.” He smiles. “I see you’ve read the news. I would like a few biscuits to take home to my roommates, but aside from that...yes, why not? I’m partial to sweets. Pancakes?”
“Pancakes’re easy enough.” Forrest nods, and moves to get the ingredients for batter. He’s moving much easier today, although he’s still got an unhurried, efficient way of moving.
“Can’t say th’news’ll be unwelcome, around here.” There’s going to be a lot of locals enjoying the newspaper, today.
Loki looks catlike in his pleasure. It’s so rare his work is appreciated. This has been awfully gratifying. “It was simple enough. Did I mention I can shapeshift? I believe he thought there were ghosts coming for his soul at the end there.”
Further details aren’t necessary, he imagines.
“Hmmm. Might still be.” Forrest shrugs, willing to leave such ideas as justice in the afterlife open. After all, Cricket seems to have been given a second chance, so maybe there’s some fairness in the world.