Of Gods and Memories (LokixFemaleReader) [COMPLETED]

9

I change out of my hoodie and t-shirt at 5.30, opting for a striped long-sleeved top and a brownish-grey knit jumper which I had no idea I owned. I decide to wear eyeliner too, and shove a gun into the waistband of my jeans before heading out to my motorbike. Honestly there's no longer any hope for my hair, and I'm about to jam on my helmet too.

It's not very far into town from my place, and the streets are pretty empty, so it's only 5.45 when I get to the bar. I park my motorbike, then go inside to wait.

The place is busy, but there are still a few seats at the bar. I take one in the corner, where I can see the door and almost everyone seated at the tables. Old habits die hard.

I only have to wait about five or ten minutes before the door swings in and Ben enters. He looks around, then spots me in the corner. He smiles and heads my way, taking the seat next to me.

"Eager to see me, huh?" he teases, smoothing down his hair. I guess it's windy outside.

"I notice you're not late," I remark, "and you don't know how early I was."

"So you admit you were early."

"Duh," I roll my eyes, "you are too, we're just different degrees of earliness."

He studies my face, making it hard to keep up my completely deadpan expression.

"I can't figure you out," he smiles slightly, shaking his head as I raise an eyebrow.

"Maybe there's nothing to figure out," I say, and he frowns.

"Everyone's got a story," he says, "there's always something to figure out."

I don't have anything to say to that, there's something about he looks at me that makes me think I can trust him, even just a little bit.

"Ok," I say eventually, "then what's your story."

"Mine?" he looks over at the bartender, ordering two beers.

"Thanks," I say as the man passes them over. I eye Ben over the rim of my glass, taking a sip. He stares back, matching my movements.

"Are you gonna say something or do I have finish this first?" I ask at last.

"Right," he puts down his drink, "my story. I'm twenty four, lived in Arizona most of my life, I worked as a vet nurse, and I can touch my nose with my tongue."

"So you're young, smart, and weird," I ask, but smile so I don't offend him.

"That's me," he spreads his hands, "now," he leans closer to me, "what about you?"

"Me?" the smile slips from my face. I want to talk to this guy, I don't think he'll hurt me, but I can't tell him about me. I could lie, make up a fake life...

"I lived and worked in New York for the last two years, I'm twenty two, and I can tell when people are lying."

"That's it?" he asks, and I nod.

"That's me."

"Can you always tell if someone's lying?"

"Test me," I lean back in my seat, watching his eyes, "two truths and a lie."

"Ok..." he rubs his beard, "I can recite Homer's Iliad, I speak three languages, and I can play guitar."

I'm watching his eyes carefully as he says all this, watching the way they flick down when he says he can speak three languages. Haha, I can speak fifteen as far as I know. I've only ever tested fifteen.

"You can't speak three languages," I tell him, "but reciting Homer's Iliad is impressive."

"You're right," he laughs, "I can speak four."

I raise my eyebrows, impressed.

"And you can play guitar?"

"yeah," he nods, "been learning since I was six."

"You must be good," I watch his face carefully. He smiles, then shakes his head.

"No," he says, "I'm pretty average. Now your turn."

"Oh," I sit back, "no. Not for me."

"That's hardly fair," he frowns.

"I never said I'd play two truths and a lie, I just asked you to tell me two truths and a lie. Not the same."

"Come on," he tries, "I wanna know more about you."

"I'm not telling you about me," I say.

"Why not?"

"Just because."

"That isn't a reason."

"Fine," I think for a second, "I'm fluent in over ten languages, I can hit a bullseye at 100m with any knife, and I know how to break both your arms and legs with one hand."

"Shit," he rubs his beard again, looking slightly unnerved, "I'm guessing the language one is a lie."

"No," I shake my head, "I can read, write and speak fifteen languages."

"I reckon you could easily be a knife thrower, but I don't wanna test the arm and leg thing."

"Make up your mind," I sigh, "you were the one who wanted to do this."

"You can't hit a bullseye from 100m with any knife," he tells me, smiling.

"Correct," I say, "I can only do it with well-balanced ones."

"Whew," he whistles, looking around, "remind me never to get on your bad side."

"I don't just go around breaking people and throwing knives," I snort, "I hear that's kind of illegal."

"You know," he takes a thoughtful sip from his drink, "for someone wo marched me at gunpoint out of an unknown forest this morning, you're kind of cool."

"It's hardly a forest," I roll my eyes, "but thanks. You're not too bad yourself."