Mortal Questions

Chapter 5

On the third night, Thor is tired and ready go to bed early when Loki takes a shower, dries his hair and works the tiny braids in above his ears. He lets the rest fall free back over his shoulders.

Thor turns over in bed as Loki straightens his tie and makes sure his cuffs are folded perfectly for his cufflinks, "Where are you going this late, brother?"

"To see Violetta. She has invited me for a third show."

"You are going? You swore you would not go to the second."

"My curiosity won over my senses."

"And what of tonight?"

"I am yet again curious."

"Only curious?"

"Yes, Thor. My interest is purely academic."

"And that is why you have made yourself so neat? Why you wear a white shirt and your silk scarf?"

"Is the scarf too much?"

"I think you look very nice."

"Good. She will be pleased when we meet after to discuss her production."

Thor shakes his head, grinning, "Yes, of course she will- and I am certain that is all you will discuss. If you would smile at them, you would have women falling over themselves to greet you- the same I do Perhaps even Violetta."

He puts on his jacket and buttons it, "I do not need such adoration. I have only ever wanted the devotion of a few, and not adoring crowds."

"And yet you sought them-"

"Because I could not find the attention I craved, large as it was, in any other way. You know how Odin's praise felt. As though a crowd of thousands fell at your feet in worship. And even then, the crowds fell short. We've discussed this. Repeatedly. Can I please leave now to escape this conversation?"

Thor waves him out, "Go, be with your woman."

"She's not my woman, Thor."

The door closes and Thor turns over, speaking only to himself, "Only a few more days."

Loki, meanwhile, hails a cab and tells the driver the address on the card. Upon arrival, he shows the card to the proper people and he is allowed to enter and find his table. He doesn't know the night's theme, but when the lights darken and the stage illuminates to show what appears to be an impressionist dungeon, he cringes. But he still stays. The performances include escape acts, naked women in chains hung over water who pick locks while blindfolded and climb the links performing acrobatic tricks until they drop into the water. There are fire dancers, women who work with fans of flame and clothing so tight it leaves nothing to the imagination. They seduce one another, hiding illicit touch and stolen kisses behind the fire. And then there are whips. He keeps his calm, but under his mask, he is incredibly uncomfortable, cringing with each strike. There are others in the room clearly excited by this play. And after the whips, the gold painted men return to the stage as they did the night before, elevated on the air on hooks through the skin on their backs. Once lowered, they are tended to by women who dress their bloodied backs and then carry them off stage, returning to play in silk scarves, binding one another to the implements and to each other before they mime acts that he is certain would make his brother blush. He wonders what Natasha feels when she watches these performers. Perhaps she would like to join them. His imagination wanders, picturing the redhead on the stage in a leather corset and little else. He smirks when he realizes she would likely kill him for thinking such a thing.

The final act. The stage shifts and the women bring out a figure in a black silk bag. They attach something to a hook suspended from the ceiling and raise it up, the figure writhing. The bag splits and out pours layers of silk in varying shades of red, fluttering down nearly to the floor. Loki guesses there is at least fifteen feet worth of silk trailing from Violetta's waist, the entire thing a skirt that looks like spilled blood. She wears only black lace on top. He wonders what the hook is attached to.