Mortal Questions

Chapter 1

Loki and Thor. On Earth. Once again, brothers on a mission. Or so that was how it was initially. After, it became Loki and Thor, brothers on Earth, attempting to figure out how to talk to one another without common business.

Their mission to find the All-Father has been over for a few days. They have just a few more before Thor will finish their work and bring Loki to Asgard to face justice yet again.

A crowd of young women once again swarms Thor on the streets of New York City. He stops for photos. Loki slinks aside, looking for an excuse to disappear. It happens this way often- Thor has the fans, the girls, the attention. Loki vanishes. overwhelmed by the chatter, sickened by the adoration, and impatient with the unsolicited touching. There is a coffee shop across the street. Thor will find him. He always does.

The door chimes as he enters. Two separate seating areas. One full of tables and chairs arranged traditionally. Another area has benches, couches, and a motley of armchairs arranged around a centre point- a lowered area with beanbags and pillows. The counter swoops around to accommodate both spaces. He doesn't bother to glance at the board and orders a black coffee. He settles into one of the armchairs and watches the people. A girl and her mother play a board game near the windows. Businessmen gather around one of the low tables. A gaggle of teenagers tumble off the beanbag chairs, laughing, in the lowered centre. A lone young woman in a long black skirt meets his eye and smiles from across the room. He takes a moment to study her, fully aware that she knows he is watching while she writes something with an elegant silver pen. A fountain pen? He can't tell. But what he can see is that her black shirt is sheer and her lower layer is some sort of lace thing, perhaps a bra, perhaps something meant to be outerwear, and her skirt shimmers in the light as it pools around her feet. He stands and walks to her table. She looks interesting. Perhaps a way to pass the time while his brother meets with his adoring fans.

He steps up to her table, "Excuse me, Miss. Is this seat taken?"

"No."

"Might I join you?"

She looks up from her paper and scans him- black suit, black shirt, tie that might be green in better light, "Sit. But don't say anything until I've finished writing this."

He sits and sips his coffee. The shirt is collared. Perhaps a natural fibre. There is a necklace framed in the open buttons- a tree. Her hair is swept up in a sleek twist, her makeup minimal. A little around the eyes. No marks on her coffee cup, no lipstick. No rings. Earrings- asymmetrical dangles in her lower holes. Something blue sparkling in the second ones. He watches her write. She has something tattooed on the underside of her forearm. She brushes back an errant lock of hair and he sees that there is writing on the other arm in the same place. Black lace fingerless gloves conceal most of her hands. Her nails are short, painted, and neat. He allows himself a moment to wonder about the occupation of this curious creature. Elegant in clothing, though not so much as Asgard's women. Striking in all black. Even her hair. And very different from most of the characters he has met so far on his brother's insistence. Midgardians are not, he has decided, his sort of creature. Most of them are so terribly dull.

Her phone chimes. She ignores it. It chimes again. And a third time. The sound irritates him. When it chimes a fourth time, he sighs.

"Are you aware your device is making that noise?"

"Yep. And I asked you not to talk until I was finished writing. They can wait, too."

"Would you care to silence it?"

"Nope. I have four chimes. That's not one of the emergency ones. But if I can't turn off one without turning them all off. And I can't miss one of the important ones. Suck it up, buttercup. I'll be done in a second."