A Very Unlikely Tale // Loki

Chapter 7

   {edited}

   The rest of the day had gone relatively well, but now Loki has apparently decided to begin listing reasons why "Midgard is an inferior realm."

This must be his idea of a bedtime story.

"...and your little 'scientific achievements' pale in comparison to Asgardian accomplishments.  Your novels, though adequate, lack in a certain complexity.  Not to mention that your books waste away in only a few decades."  I begin to tune him out, seriously annoyed at this point.  The man has been going on for nearly ten minutes now, his hands making dismissive gestures as he goes on and on and on. Of all the pompous, spoiled, arrogant,  homicidal-

"...chemicals in your sustenance..."

Briefly, I consider hitting him hard with a baseball bat.  I tilt my head, picturing him unconscious and quiet.  My fingers begin massaging my temples, seemingly of their own accord.

"...dusty little world..."

I roll my eyes at the sad insult. Not much thought went in to that one. To be perfectly honest, I have a good mind to throw a bucket of water over him.  At least then he won't be tainted by all that dust.

"...ignorant, misguided whispers of your worthless lives spent wondering if there's something more.  As if hope could save you from the fact that one day you will be nothing."

I stand roughly, having had more than enough of his chatter.  Without so much as a glance in his direction, I head in the direction of a room which Loki had not yet seen and slam the door shut. 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. The little stool in front of lovely piano, is welcoming, and I take two steps forward, lifting the wooden covering protecting the ivory keys.

I begin to play softly. I haven't played in a few years, but I grow surer as my fingers dance across the keys.  A smile makes its way into my face and I close my eyes, drowning out the world. 

Once again, I don't notice the door creak open slowly, or footsteps approach, stopping at the entrance of the room. 

Finally, when my song comes to a close, I let out a sigh of contentment.  Music is a wonderful thing. 

I hear soft clapping from the doorway.

"Holy shhhh-" I trail off, trying to stop my heart from jumping out of my chest.  I turn to glare at the god.  "Stop doing that!"

"That was lovely, Flora."

My mouth drops open.  A compliment? From Loki?

"Will you continue?" He inquires, moving to sit next to me on the wooden bench.

"...What happened to Midgard and everything on it is miserable and good for nothing?" I raise an eyebrow,  this guy has some major mood swings.

"Music may be the exception.  Or rather, this kind of music is the exception.  Much of the other genres are horse manure." He shakes his head in distaste.

I scoff at him.  I can't wholeheartedly agree, but yeah, I get it.

"Flora, I apologize for what I said."

I once again look at him slack-jawed. 
What is going on today?

He rolls his eyes at me, "I shan't say I was wrong but-"

I raise a hand to stop him. "I know.  And I'm sure Asgard has some cool stuff. It's just," I look up at him, then look down, finding my fingers suddenly very fascinating, "it's my home, Loki."

He sighs quietly, "Indeed."

We don't say anything else, and I turn back to the piano.  We sit there for an hour or so, me playing, Loki watching.  Until my fingers are sore.

Loki stands, stretching, "I am going to retire."

I nod absentmindedly, "Mkay."

I stare after him, deciding wether or not to try and sleep just yet. 

This isn't quite as awful as I thought it would be.  The guy has manners for the most part, which is more than I can say for some humans I've come across. 

I wonder what could have happened to turn him into the guy who tried to take over the world.  Odin thinks of him as his son, doesn't he?  Thor sees him as a brother, right?  But Loki doesn't see himself as Odin's son.

My eyebrows pull together in confusion.

So how does he see himself?

I don't know how long he'll be here, or how long I'll be his caretaker, but I wonder if he would let me know him.  At least a little bit. 

I wonder if I would let him know me too.

With a sigh and a slight shake of my head I slowly make my way to my room, once again falling asleep before my head hits the pillow.

And once again I am awakened, hours later, by screaming. 

I roll out of bed, grabbing a certain fairytale book, and stumble to Loki's bedroom.

I light the oil lamp again, "Loki? Loki wake up."

He doesn't hear me over his own shouts of agony.

I catch hold of both his wrists, "Loki! Wake up! You're okay, you're here.  You're safe."

He struggles against me for a few seconds before his jade eyes shoot open and once again dart to my own.

"You're safe." I repeat, my voice like a whisper, softer than the wind.

"Not until he is dead." He says in an equally quiet whisper.

I narrow my eyes, "Who, Loki?"

He looks at me for a moment, then away.

"No one." He mumbles.

I open my mouth to ask again but am interrupted by his pained plea.

"Please, Flora." 

My heart aches for him.  I have never seen a grown man seem so vulnerable.

I sigh and let go of his wrists, running a hand down my face, "Okay. Okay I won't ask."

I pick my book up off the floor.

"This book helped John with his nightmares.  He always calmed down after he read a story or two.  Take care of it okay?  It means a lot to me."  I run my fingers over the worn leather, memorizing the texture.

He nods once and gingerly turns to the beginning of a random story.

I watch him, seeing his eyes dart from the page, to me, to the wall, obviously still remembering the nightmare.  Obviously trying to forget it. 

I gently take the book from him,  and grow a little stool from the floor, placing a cushion on it because well, trees are not that comfortable.

I smile at the story on the page and begin to read softly,

"Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and two children.  The boy was called Hänsel and the girl Grethel..."