Author Games: Ragnarok

Task 1 Entries: Last Supper (Scored)

Loki

I don’t even really care anymore—that’s why I decided to toss my hat in the ring. I could die, you say? Screaming? Bloody? Oh my, oh dear, stop teasing me.

As Camazotz raises a glass and waxes poetical about the gladiatorial contest we are about to engage in, I rub at a spot on my collarbone. A glossy, green-tinted burn scar lurks just under the fabric of my shirt there. My chest is like a bombed-out warzone in a similar manner, a token of Odin’s affection and a reminder that there are worse fates than death.

I see familiar faces here and it makes me gleeful. There are few things I enjoy more than killing my friends.

“In short: may the odds be ever in your favor,” Camazotz toasts to us. I toss back my drink.

“Isn’t this just postponing the inevitable?” someone suggests. “How long will this Khepri’s energy keep one of us going?”

“The phenomena we symbolize shall endure forever,” said Balder, “and it is simply these forms that seek rejuvenation.”

“Didn’t I kill you, though?” I ask him. “I remember being quite thoroughly reprimanded for it. I’m certain I killed you horribly.”

“I am light itself. The likes of you could not destroy me.”

I pout, offended, and look across the table, to the fairy king. “I don’t feel so special anymore.”

“You’re a traitor,” that frosty-nut-with-no-kernel of a winter goddess accused.

“You cannot root for the same baseball team every single goddamn season when they suck so very much,” I said, and I raised a fist to the sky, adding, “Damn you, Mets! Someday you’re gonna have to switch sides. You’re gonna need a win, it’s good for the soul.” I pulled a flash from inside my jacket and splashed a finger or two into my empty water glass.

“You rail against the god who fights for life itself—you tried to destroy light itself,” Skadi said.

“All things must come to an end. The void consumes all.” I sipped my whiskey. The Southwestern girl—boy?—was a bit frightened. I could taste his—her?—coppery apprehension on my tongue like a dinner mint. Excellent. My favorite. “We’re no better than the mortals—we cheat each other, we steal, we kill, we swindle the humans into worshiping us unknowingly just so we can survive—we’re pathetic!” I fish a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket, tap it, and light up. I don’t get much from the nicotine, but neither do I get much from the tar, so why not? “We’re all headed into the black, and once we get there, none of this—” I gesture around the table, “—is going to matter.” Donning a seriousness, I say, “It’s what in here,” I pat my heart, a bit dramatically, “that counts. What brings you joy? What gets you off? I like screwing things up. I like to break things. It tickles me.” I point at one of the Greeks. “You get it, right?” To demonstrate, I snatched up my empty plate and threw it down on the floor, shattering it. “Opa! Odds in our favor, indeed! Pass me the gravy boat.”

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Dionysus

DID NOT HAND IN

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Sterculius

"So what have you been doing since you list your godliness?" Some other god asked me. She was some red-head, pretty, but definitely crazy because every so often i would think she was talking to me but she would actually be talking to herself. She was talking to me this time though I think.

"Oh... not much. I mostly like... um, observed the modern culture." I sat and/or layed on my couch, watched TV, and ate junk food.

"Really?" The crazy girl asked. Her eyes were wide and surprised. "That sounds so impressive!" then all of a sudden her face turned into a glare. "That's not that impressive, Springtime, he's saying he doesn't actually have a job!" Her face twisted into confusion. "Oh, really? But it sounds so fancy?" She sighed and pressed her head against the table.