The Ragnarok Trials

Day Three: Bold as Love

Day One
         Bold as Love
Focus Word: Bold
Word Count: 1868

Gabriel's gift did not last long. Perhaps two hours; just long enough to get the poison of Heaven out of my less-than-worthy blood.

I awoke in my soiled clothing, smelling of sweat and wet dog, musky and unappealing. Grimacing, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stretched, stumbling into the bathroom. At least Gabriel sent me home. Michael had a tendency to dump me right back to where I'd come from, leaving me to stagger through the streets, a retching, groaning mess. Flipping on the light, I stared in the mirror, grimacing at what stared back. What is it with fluorescent lighting that makes even the most handsome of men (of which I am not one) look like zombies? My hair had plastered against my face in my sleep, and my pillow had left those weird sleep lines all along the ridge of my cheekbone. Damn, I looked like shit.

It never used to take so much effort to change my appearance. I could change shape as often as a man blinks, with but a single thought, my form as fluid as water, as inherently formless as sand. Once, it was said that I was present with every fire, my eyes blinking and twisting with every twirling tendril of smoke wafting into the sky. No one could hide from me, and so I saw and I knew everything. Nothing was beyond my purview.

Now, it was rather like passing a kidney to manage even the slightest change to my appearance. And I was stuck in human form at all times, able only to affect minor change, though I could manage to look passably different if I tried hard enough. Which begs the question: why on Earth did I choose to be a skinny, bone white ginger? I am what humans made me, and though I choose to lie about many things, I choose not to lie to myself about myself. And so a red-haired, green-eyed beanpole I remain, most of the time. Concentrating, drawing forth from the trickle of power yet remaining to me, from my memory, from all those blessed comic book fans, I added some color to my cheeks and life to the rest of me. A change of clothes and a spritz of cologne and I'd be fine to go out hunting.

There was no way Baldur's body was still at the murder scene. Not this long after the actual event. But I knew where I could find him. Even if it was the last place on Earth I wanted to be.

Among the Old Gods, it has long been customary to mourn a fallen comrade with a vigil of three days. It is not out of some vain hope that he will arise on the third--even if that was the original plan, we no longer had the power to accomplish anything so elaborate--but rather to honor the three phases of all things. Even Christ acknowledges them--Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, anyone--such is their power over us. Odin, not to be outdone, hanged himself from a tree for three threes to learn those charms of his. And for the death of his son, Odin would spare nothing to mourn him properly.

I really, really didn't want to go to Odin's place. No doubt he was at the head of Campaign Kill Loki; he'd been furious to find out that I'd been freed, and even more furious when he learned I'd be the one representing Christ's law in God Town. I swear that's the only reason he's been lying low so much recently: didn't want to give me the privilege of taking him in. He mostly deals in petty cons and drugs these days, low and under-the-radar. I believe he thinks I am ignorant of the situation. The Allfather always did have a rather unfortunate tendency to underestimate me.

Following the storm, a veritable miracle of sorts had occurred and the sun had come back out. Michael handling things, no doubt; threatening to break some skulls of the Old Gods didn't stop their nonsense and behave. Don't get me wrong, I hate Michael (the feeling, as you might have noticed, is mutual), but the man is efficient. In the span of two hours, the sun was out, a breeze was blowing, and there was naught but poofy white clouds in the sky. There were even birds and butterflies flitting around.

Damn, I miss being an ascendent. Every time I see an Angel work, I am reminded of what I once was and what I am now. I am reminded of the gaping hole in my chest where once dwelt the sweet whisper of human belief, feeding me and shaping me. They made me what I was, those whispers. And I would give up my freedom in a second if it meant having them back, acid snake and all.

I felt a little naked without my jacket, but the damn thing had been through so much the night before I'd judged that it needed a rest, donning only my habitual jeans and button-down. And as I entered God Town (I am nowhere near stupid enough to actually live there, given my proclivities), I really wished I'd brought it anyway, if only to tighten it around me. Once, upon receiving such venomous stares, I would have strutted through the streets, daring anyone to make a move in my direction. These days, I was under strict orders to remain...pleasant. I'm convinced Michael inserted that little piece of awesome into the contract just to get under my skin. Have I mentioned he really, really hates me?

Everyone who saw me stopped and stared. Several of them glared, and some tapped into whatever power they possessed to fling curses my way. Because of Gabriel's protection, they bounced off, which only pissed them off worse. No one likes to be reminded that someone they hate has more power than they, and more privilege. But at least they were smart enough not to try again. Hermes waved and smiled. He was always a weird one; I am a lot more like him now than I care to admit. A liar, a trickster, but an orderly one. He knew nothing of chaos.

I liked him, anyway. Anyone with enough balls to wave to the most hated man in town is worth cultivating.

Odin lived in the center of God Town, right smack dab in the middle of a twenty square block area. In the midst of thousands of gods, Odin had fashioned for himself a den right at its center. If that doesn't tell you something about him, I don't know what to tell you. Penthouse suite and everything. Cons and drug sales, indeed.

A wave of my hand, Jedi style, opened the otherwise locked door. Typically, you'd need to be buzzed in to the place, but I have enough of my old skills left to get past a locked door. I just convinced it that it really wanted to me open for the moment. Pushing my way into the building, I stopped cold the second the door closed behind me. I knew that the majority of the Norse gods lived here, and that they more than most were angry about their lost power, but I never realized that they'd turned it into a temple to their old glory.

Let me tell you something. There is nothing on this plane, or any other that I can think of, as creepy as a big, angry man towering before you in shiny metallic purple armor. Especially when he's carrying a giant sword, the light shining from which changed colors every second, flashing through every shade in the rainbow. It is especially creepy when that men is smiling at you from beneath his visor. "Greetings, Lie-smith."

"Heimdall...hey, there...buddy." I waved, really wishing for a weapon of some sort. I was pretty sure that Gabriel would show up if my life were in danger, but Heimdall was perfectly capable of dealing damage without ever becoming physical. He was a scary, scary man. And, if the armor were anything to go by, a little obsessed with the past. "You're looking...bold."

The Watcher did not move. "I continue my duty to the Allfather. The Bifrost is gone, but I watch nonetheless. I have not lost all my sight, Loki. I can see the blood on your hands." His voice was deep, as always, but it missed the timbre that all-sight had once lent to it. His eyes roved, but they lacked depth. Heimdall was all but blind these days. Once, I might have cackled in glee; he is my eternal enemy, after all, whom I was to kill and lose my life to all at once. Now, I simply shook my head.

"You see nothing, Heimdall. You can, perhaps, sense the building around you, but you can see no blood. And even if you could, you would see nothing. I have no guilt to wear me down these days."

Heimdall moved just slightly, a tremble that was gone almost before I could register that he had wavered in his watch. "I will destroy you, Loki Lie-smith. There will never be a day that the blood ceases flowing for your sins, and my sword awaits nothing more than to exact revenge for the entire world, propitiation for your evil deeds. And do you know what I shall do then, Laufeyson? I shall laugh."

"Actually, you'll die," I replied, shrugging. "You're too much a stickler for the rules, Heimdall. I die? You die. You die, I die. That's how it works. Are you prepared to throw away your own life just to honor the old way?"

For a moment, the purple-clad Watcher did not speak. We stood together, in silence, surrounded by the wood and the smoke of Odin's hall, a recreation of where we had once dwelt. A clear bit of obsession if there ever was one. "I am willing to do anything to honor the old way, Loki. Keep that in mind."

"Gotcha, buddy." Did I mention that Heimdall was creepy? "I need to see Odin. I'm here to investigate Baldur's murder."

Heimdall made a choking sound, and it took me a moment to realize that he was laughing. So out of practice was he that it sounded like he was coughing up moth balls. "Investigating a crime you committed, Loki. This is...most amusing."

"Yeah, well, he recovered the time that I was involved. I don't think Christ is going to bring him back this time. Just tell Odin I'm coming and move aside, Heimdall. Unless you want Baldur's murderer to go unpunished." Looking past the Watcher to the elevator, I pushed myself past him and was stepping into it before he could move an inch. I am not without my skills, and fighting a blind warrior is not so very difficult.

"What makes you think Odin will help you, Lie-smith? You killed his son."

I shrugged. "Only once, dude. And not this time. I figure he'll probably help me once I've convinced him that I wasn't involved this time. Yeah, he might hate me, but he loved his son. And there ain't nothing so bold as love."