The Ragnarok Trials

Day One: Doctor My Eyes

Day One
         Doctor My Eyes
Focus Word: Hello
Word Count: 1631

It was storming in God Town. A real rager, too, from the feel of the thunder pounding through my feet and the frequency of the lightning forking its way from the churning maelstrom above. Knowing my brethren, it meant trouble.

I didn't really care. Until my bosses showed up and told me to handle things, I wasn't about to go sticking my nose into trouble. They'd already ruined this ugly mug enough with the lip cross-stitchery, thank you very much. Not to mention locking me up for all eternity, the Ragnarok my only escape. Wouldn't be a party until I showed up, after all. Unfortunately for all involved, the soiree got cancelled, and I was forced to make other plans.

There was a time, though--long ago, mind--that I would have followed the scent of trouble like a bloodhound on the trail of a junkie. Hell, I'd probably be the junkie. I am quite literally made of trouble, of smoke and of lies. Actually, it would have been impossible, in the old days, for me to ignore the call of mischief, the beckoning glance of chaos.

Goes to show how much things have changed these days. For all of us.

The rain followed me into the city proper, where mortals ran for cover like rats scurrying in the night. I didn't want to be in the rain, either--it tasted too much of opportunities missed, and glory lost to the ravages of time, not to mention that it was ruining the finish on my leather coat--and so, reaching a dank alleyway a couple blocks outside the boundaries, I turned and pushed open the door I found there.

Even though this place was technically in the mortal demesne, not a single human set foot here. Or, rather, I should say mortal human. We of God Town are all but human these days, trapped in flesh as we are. Ever since Christ showed up and took over the world, those of us from the old days have lived immortal, but very much fleshy, lives. Truth be told, I miss the old days. Flesh is too solid, I find, for one so used to the malleable forms to be had from smoke. But I guess beggars can't be choosers, and we were definitely begging these days.

As the door slammed shut behind me, it locked once more, waiting for the touch of an immortal to unlock it again. Christ did not take everything from us when he gave us flesh; he was too kind by half. I admit, I would likely have let us burn. But, then, I was not a very nice god.

"Hello, Loki." The god at the bar had lost a lot of weight recently. It might have been a warning about the food he served, if only I didn't know he had the best grub in town. In truth, he had more than just food; he had something for everyone and exactly what you needed, in fact, if always at a price. And it was a bad thing to cross Bacchus, I'd heard. He'd set his frenzied bitches after you if you cheated him. Luckily, I wasn't stupid, so I never cheated Bacchus. "You look like hell, my friend."

"Shove it, Bach." I pulled off my jacket and tossed it to one of the Maenads as I sauntered up to the bar. Bach would have in cleaned while I waited, and tack the cost to my bill. My clothes were cloying in the warmth, the denim and cotton clinging to my skin where the rain had managed to sneak past my coat. "You say that every time."

"That because you always look like hell." Bacchus laughed, two rows of perfect white teeth gleaming in the electric lights of his bar. He'd had curls back in the day, but lately he'd taken to straightening his raven hair and binding it at the nape of his golden-skinned neck. Handsome devils, the Greco-Roman gods. Too bad they knew it.

"Chicks dig scars," I muttered, running calloused fingers--milk white despite many years in the sun--along the criss-crossed hatch marks circling my ragged lips. Another of Bacchus' girls brought out a steaming plate of smoked fishes and a flagon of cold ale, dropping them on the bar with a sneer on her face. It didn't really mean much; they didn't like anyone, so far as I could tell. Hell, centuries of tearing people apart in a drunken frenzy will do that to a person, I hear. And the poor girls were never meant to be immortal.

Bacchus shrugged, blue eyes sparkling. "Aye, but they hate gingers. And you, sir, are the king of all them soulless shits. Not to mention a mean sonofabitch who everyone knows'll turn 'em in if it'll please his new masters. I think they'd prefer it if you were just causing a bit of chaos. Hell, chaos is good for business down those streets."

"Aye," I replied, gulping down the ale. It tasted of hops and barley and yeast and cold spring waters. Everything that it had once been, I tasted in what it was now. A bit of my old power, serving to remind me exactly how far I had fallen. Of how much I relied on my employers to keep me going in this new world. And of my punishment. "But I do not owe them anything."

"Do you not, brother? Do we not owe it to one another to stick together in these hard times?" Bacchus stared at me, eyes bright and even, straight-faced and grim. If I hadn't known him, I'd have thought he was serious.

I choked out a chuckle, not a little dismayed to hear hysteria scratching at the edges. "Maybe I've lived too long, Bach, but I've seen too much to think that we owe anything to one another. For damn near a millennia, I was stuck in a cave, chained up and burnt with acid for the crime of being true to my nature. For being only what I was. My eyes have seen years, Bach, as yours have." I snorted. "Hard times, indeed. They would be much, much harder if the Christ hadn't spared us."

"What's your point, Loki?" Bacchus looked around at his bar. For all its unassuming exterior, hidden behind locks and chains and condemned signs, it was a place of splendor. Man was richer than Hades these days, and only some of it came from this establishment. It made what he said next all the funnier. "That we are all lucky to even exist?"

"Yeah." I shrugged. "Everyone does what they can to live. You have this establishment. Hermes has his messenger service--which I believe you fund--and most of my brethren do very well supplying the underground with weapons and drugs. I work off my punishment. Given to me by the Allfather himself before the Fall. It just so happens that my employers have given me a way out of that. If you don't want their attention, don't do anything stupid."

"By Zeus, you're a bastard, Loki." Bacchus shook his head and poured himself a glass of wine. "I guess that's why I like you so much."

This time, the laugh was genuine. "Well, someone's got to, I guess. No one else does." Bacchus and I clinked our glasses together and drank, nothing but wry amusement leading us to race one another to the bottom of our glass. Unsurprisingly, I finished first. "I may not be Aesir, brother, but I am still Norse. And Odin adopted me as blood kin for a time before, you know, the cave thing..."

"You did kill his son," Bacchus pointed out, quite reasonably, I might add. "Or as good as, really."

"Hah! Having a spot of fun, was all. Everyone knew Baldur would come back. He needed to die in order to bring about Ragnarok, anyway. Who else was going to come back and lead us all into a new world if not our bright Baldur?" I could feel my lips twisting in disdain. "Who knew Odin was so keen to remain living for a while longer? Old bastard was always looking for a fight. Still is."

Bacchus shrugged, waving to the Dryad that slipped through the door and out of the rain. She glowed green, a sure sign that she'd been out dancing beneath the stormy skies. Well, at least someone liked the feel of wet skin. Probably had done it naked, too. Would've given a pretty penny to see something like that, even if they did have a tendency to molt. "Fights he likes to win, old friend. Never ones he'll lose."

I sighed, and nodded, signalling for a Maenad to bring my coat. "Alright, I'm off, then. Got stuff to do before another..." A flash of pain, worse by far than the feel of the snake's acid on my skin, knifed through me. It knocked the air from my lungs and the strength from my legs, and I half collapsed, falling against the polished wood of the bar, a grunt tearing its way from my chest. "Gah, shouldn't have said anything."

"Hmm?" Bacchus had the decency to look unconcerned. Actually, he probably could care less about me, now that I'd settled accounts with the joint. What a great bartender he was.

"Nothing," I panted out, pushing off the bar and, jerkily, my limbs twitching even as the initial stab of pain faded into a dull ache, pulling on my coat. This pain meant only one thing: my employers were calling.

"Knew that storm was bad news."