Vignettes ((prose for nexus_crossings))
May. 6th, 2019 07:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coldsongNone of the handful of Asgardian refugees asks what kind of favor was owed to Loki by the keeper of the shop they're staying at. He's been solicitous as they settled in, making beds out of the furniture he has for sale, turning soft music to play on the intercom system, even having pizza brought in for the shell-shocked children and their adult companions. He seems jumpy when Loki returns, but the god himself looks satisfied with what's been done for his people.
"We will need no more than a week," he says quietly, and the man looks deeply relieved, nodding.
"You got it, boss," he says in return. "You want I should vacate, or...?"
"Yes. Take your ledgers and any money you need with you. The place will be cleaned when we leave, and that will discharge your obligation to me."
Honestly, as favors go, it's not that bad, and as he leaves the shopkeeper looks downright overjoyed. Whatever he owed must have been big, unless he's just terrified of gods.
----
The healer's apprentice, Fǫnn, is barely out of childhood. Old enough for intensive schooling, but far under a marriageable age. She is slight, with light red-gold hair, round coppery-brown eyes, and pale skin dotted with freckles. She looks so very, very serious, like a smile has never crossed those thin lips, and given the last few months for Asgard, Loki wouldn't be shocked to find out it hadn't, at least for a lone while.
"I do not expect you to carry the entire burden," he tells her softly.
"No, my Prince," she answers, tilting her head to look up at him. "But I took an oath to my people. If I'm the only healer left, then they're my responsibility."
"They are my people, too," he tells her. "And if my seidr is ill-suited for healing, it is still available, and potent enough for some of the work needed. Do not exhaust yourself. Call on me. Do you understand?"
She doesn't smile, but some of her freckles vanish under a faint rosy blush. "Ay, my Prince," she says. "I will do as you ask."
"We must hope Eir will come again," he tells her, patting her hair gently. "But until then, this place will afford us what we need. Perhaps we can learn from one another, you and I."
Fǫnn's blush deepens, and she nods without meeting his gaze.
----
"He was there for the delivery," Solvi explains. "I...no, I mean, his Majesty actually delivered her. I didn't know..." She stumbles over words. Birth is and experience so intimate, so emotional, and so very, very personal; of all the people she expected at her bedside, the King was not among them.
It was beautiful, and embarrassing, and she almost doesn't know how to talk about it. Nor is she sure how Thor would prefer she talk about it, though she doubts she would offend him. Disappoint him, at worst; no one wants that.
"I didn't know," she finishes, and to her surprise, Loki kisses her daughter's closed eyelids in a silent benediction.
"I can feel his seidr still on you both," he says. "That makes us as good as kin, don't you think?"
She stares at him, lost for a response, but the infant makes a whining noise and passes gas, and Loki laughs out loud.
"She agrees with me," he informs Solvi with complete conviction.
----
"You may not remember, but I gave you your first ring of teething beads," he coos to the toddler in his lap, rocking a little as he tries to hold the straying attention. The poor boy is afraid, still, looking around like he expects the room to be ripped apart over his head and beneath his feet. He and his sister have both been hard to give sleep to. Their terrors fight against the spells he lays over them, but Fǫnn can do no better, so the best that can be done is to stay close to them and hold on.
"They were all red and blue and silver, weren't they?" he speaks softly, close to the boy's ear. "And shaped like little animals. Squirrels and bunnies. Do you like squirrels and bunnies?"
"I remember them," the girl, his older sister says. She's been very nearly as quiet, huddled against his side with both hands clenched into fists in his tunic, and he's frankly surprised to hear her speak now. He smooths the boy's hair--Eindrid is his name, and hers is Sigrid--and gives her an encouraging nod. "And I gave you a brooch shaped like my helmet, didn't I? Because you played the little blue icicle in that play of mine."
"The paint itched a little," she says.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he tells her, a little amused, but his smile falls when she asks in a near-whisper, "Does the blue skin itch when you wear it?"
He has spoken to no Asgardian save Thor about his Jotun shape. But...now, here is a child that's worn it, in a way, if only for a few moments. "Have you ever gotten your boots wet before, or been rained on so hard your clothes were plastered to your body? And the water feels sticky on your skin, too hot and too cold all at once?"
She nods, watching his face seriously.
"But then you get indoors, by a warm fire, or beneath a spinning fan in the cool of the afternoon, and you peel the wet leather and wool away, and underneath you feel completely brand-new."
"It feels like that?"
He nods. "It feels like that."
She buries her face into his shirt and is quiet for a moment. Long enough for him to win the toddler's attention and get him to drink some chocolate milk.
"We lost them," she says at length, muffled into the fabric he's wearing. "The brooch and the ring of beads. We had to leave so fast, and mama--"
"Ssh," he puts an arm around her back and squeezes her close. "I'll replace them."
She nods against him vehemently and locks her skinny arms around him as far as they can go.
"Ah?" Eindrid blurts for the first time, and reaches for the milk cup.
Carefully, Loki holds it up close to the toddler's face to help him sip. His hands feel fuller than they have ever been.
"We will need no more than a week," he says quietly, and the man looks deeply relieved, nodding.
"You got it, boss," he says in return. "You want I should vacate, or...?"
"Yes. Take your ledgers and any money you need with you. The place will be cleaned when we leave, and that will discharge your obligation to me."
Honestly, as favors go, it's not that bad, and as he leaves the shopkeeper looks downright overjoyed. Whatever he owed must have been big, unless he's just terrified of gods.
----
The healer's apprentice, Fǫnn, is barely out of childhood. Old enough for intensive schooling, but far under a marriageable age. She is slight, with light red-gold hair, round coppery-brown eyes, and pale skin dotted with freckles. She looks so very, very serious, like a smile has never crossed those thin lips, and given the last few months for Asgard, Loki wouldn't be shocked to find out it hadn't, at least for a lone while.
"I do not expect you to carry the entire burden," he tells her softly.
"No, my Prince," she answers, tilting her head to look up at him. "But I took an oath to my people. If I'm the only healer left, then they're my responsibility."
"They are my people, too," he tells her. "And if my seidr is ill-suited for healing, it is still available, and potent enough for some of the work needed. Do not exhaust yourself. Call on me. Do you understand?"
She doesn't smile, but some of her freckles vanish under a faint rosy blush. "Ay, my Prince," she says. "I will do as you ask."
"We must hope Eir will come again," he tells her, patting her hair gently. "But until then, this place will afford us what we need. Perhaps we can learn from one another, you and I."
Fǫnn's blush deepens, and she nods without meeting his gaze.
----
"He was there for the delivery," Solvi explains. "I...no, I mean, his Majesty actually delivered her. I didn't know..." She stumbles over words. Birth is and experience so intimate, so emotional, and so very, very personal; of all the people she expected at her bedside, the King was not among them.
It was beautiful, and embarrassing, and she almost doesn't know how to talk about it. Nor is she sure how Thor would prefer she talk about it, though she doubts she would offend him. Disappoint him, at worst; no one wants that.
"I didn't know," she finishes, and to her surprise, Loki kisses her daughter's closed eyelids in a silent benediction.
"I can feel his seidr still on you both," he says. "That makes us as good as kin, don't you think?"
She stares at him, lost for a response, but the infant makes a whining noise and passes gas, and Loki laughs out loud.
"She agrees with me," he informs Solvi with complete conviction.
----
"You may not remember, but I gave you your first ring of teething beads," he coos to the toddler in his lap, rocking a little as he tries to hold the straying attention. The poor boy is afraid, still, looking around like he expects the room to be ripped apart over his head and beneath his feet. He and his sister have both been hard to give sleep to. Their terrors fight against the spells he lays over them, but Fǫnn can do no better, so the best that can be done is to stay close to them and hold on.
"They were all red and blue and silver, weren't they?" he speaks softly, close to the boy's ear. "And shaped like little animals. Squirrels and bunnies. Do you like squirrels and bunnies?"
"I remember them," the girl, his older sister says. She's been very nearly as quiet, huddled against his side with both hands clenched into fists in his tunic, and he's frankly surprised to hear her speak now. He smooths the boy's hair--Eindrid is his name, and hers is Sigrid--and gives her an encouraging nod. "And I gave you a brooch shaped like my helmet, didn't I? Because you played the little blue icicle in that play of mine."
"The paint itched a little," she says.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he tells her, a little amused, but his smile falls when she asks in a near-whisper, "Does the blue skin itch when you wear it?"
He has spoken to no Asgardian save Thor about his Jotun shape. But...now, here is a child that's worn it, in a way, if only for a few moments. "Have you ever gotten your boots wet before, or been rained on so hard your clothes were plastered to your body? And the water feels sticky on your skin, too hot and too cold all at once?"
She nods, watching his face seriously.
"But then you get indoors, by a warm fire, or beneath a spinning fan in the cool of the afternoon, and you peel the wet leather and wool away, and underneath you feel completely brand-new."
"It feels like that?"
He nods. "It feels like that."
She buries her face into his shirt and is quiet for a moment. Long enough for him to win the toddler's attention and get him to drink some chocolate milk.
"We lost them," she says at length, muffled into the fabric he's wearing. "The brooch and the ring of beads. We had to leave so fast, and mama--"
"Ssh," he puts an arm around her back and squeezes her close. "I'll replace them."
She nods against him vehemently and locks her skinny arms around him as far as they can go.
"Ah?" Eindrid blurts for the first time, and reaches for the milk cup.
Carefully, Loki holds it up close to the toddler's face to help him sip. His hands feel fuller than they have ever been.