nexus_crossings | Age Old Advice (Seasonal Post)

Age Old Advice (Seasonal Post)

A mist has settled over the Nexus this morning.

The fog billows and wisps, keeping destinations hidden from view. Muffling the noise of the plaza, stifling everything into a feeling of bleak isolation. Those who persevere will find a warm orange glow drawing them near. At either end of the Plaza--one near the sprawling parks close to the Wilds and the other closer to the beginnings of the urban sprawl--are two oasis from the creeping cold and mists. Hazel has taken the flame from the bonfire she lit at the Equinox that has burned steadily ever since and spread it out among several torches making up the perimeter of these areas now. The bonfire is long gone, but these two areas remain. When she came into the season she was a roaring blaze. So much to prove. With her place cemented here, she has gotten down to her actual work.

The Autumn spirit is seated on a bench in one of the torch lit circles holding a conversation with a person that's difficult to make out. IN fact, when someone approaches, they will find it's a spirit she is cavorting with. After only a few seconds the figure dissolves into the selfsame mist people have sought out these places to escape from. Hazel turns to her new audience.

"If you could talk to a lost loved one just once more, who would you want to see? What advice would you ask from a loved one deigning to cross the veil to see you?"

((Anyone who chooses to participate may choose to either speak to Hazel in general about the question she's posing or if the player is so inclined Hazel will conjure up the spirit of a lost loved one to speak to your character. Please DM me in DW or discord if you choose to have a loved one appear so we can hash out what you want to do. Curses and Blessings are still available as well. Happy Day of the Dead, folks ;) ))

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"I wanted to be worthy of that," he says quietly. "And at the same time I wanted to burn you all to the ground for the hurt I felt. I am in control of myself now, in a way I was not, before. But I still don't know what to think."

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes to think on what she's telling him. And in a way it makes sense. Love doesn't cure all things. It is strong, but not omnipotent. And even gods make mistakes when dealing with the people closest to them. "I suppose I always expected you to know everything. And for Odin to know only slightly less than that."

Well, that tells you who he always felt closest to in itself, but his smile is faint, wistful and sad but real. "He tried to tell me, didn't he, that worship does not make us flawless? Ironic that I have held my family to black-and-white standards to which I know I could never adhere."

He wishes he could hug her once more. "I believe you, Mother. It still hurts, but I believe."

He lets the dissolving Asgardian illusion stay as it is, half there and half not. Blue beneath translucent ivory, red and green in his eyes. And he drops to his knees slowly, like anger has been the main thing keeping him upright. "It would be easier if you could all hate me, and I could hate you back. It would be so much simpler. But that's cowardice, isn't it?"

"It's my fault." He says quietly, unable to meet her eyes, forcing the words out. "It's my fault you were killed. You must know that now. I'm sorry."

"We cannot change the past, at least our own."

Would Frigga's life left in the world have been enough to stop everything that has happened to her sons since? Surely not. It is no guarantee but her death would have come in one form or another eventually. She did not have to watch Odin die. She was spared seeing her son murdered by Thanos.

Whether by Loki's accidental doing or not, Frigga is gone. And yet not forgotten. Certainly not in her sons' hearts.

"I can be as cross with you as you'd like but you've hurt yourself over this far more than I ever could. And I cannot hate you the way you seem to hate yourself."

"Most of it is my fault, ultimately," he says with a leaden voice, but her gentleness gives him enough hope to draw a deep breath and look up at her again, humbler and more open than she's seen him in decades. The poison in him, his jealousy and the bitterness of feeling out of place and unwanted compared to Thor, has existed since before he knew of his Jotun heritage. Had things played out differently, he might have been eased into knowledge, maybe taken it as a blessed explanation instead of a betrayal. It might have been the making of him and not the breaking. But there's no denying he's been...troubled. Even since he was a child.

"But I'm not asking for punishment," he says, and then there's the ghost of a smile on his lips. Only for a moment.

"I am not even sure I'm looking for redemption. It appeals, some days. When I look at Thor and imagine myself at his side, reconciled. Trusted."

His gaze drops again. "That's not really me, though. I am trying...to fight from the shadows, for my people. The ones that remain. I think there is little left in me but spite, Mother. But I know where to aim it now. I'm not sure I can defeat Thanos, no matter how much love and worship I may earn here or in the worlds attached to the Nexus. But I can try."

"Do you think it will change me? If I act like a benevolent god, if I give back to those who follow me?" At the moment, it's just practical. He needs the attention and he'll do whatever it takes to earn it. It's surprisingly gratifying, though.

"We are all of us changing always, Loki. Nothing alive stays the same."

Whether the god of mischief wants to change is another matter entirely. But Frigga can see it in him already, the things that were not there the day she died. The things he carries now that he didn't before. And as much as she'd like to stroke her son's cheek she knows it would be nothing more than an illusion and one that might hurt him as a reminder she is gone.

"You cannot walk your brother's path so you must make your own. Parallel or otherwise is up to you. But I daresay you might be surprised if you give others the chance to see in you what I did. What I still do."

"I like some of them," he tells her quietly, by way of explanation. He's not used to feeling fondness any longer. "I did not think I had that left in me, but in Asgard, when I listened to the people mourn for me, it made me feel..."

He trails off, looking for a word, and then realizes none is necessary. "It made me feel."

Sitting back on his heels, he looks up at her, more than a little broken but clear-eyed and calm again. "I was never clear on what you saw in me, actually." He tells her with that tragicomic smile of his. "But I have chosen a path and I will walk it to the end. To spite Thanos, and perhaps to give aid to those who would be his victims, without intervention."

"I'm tired," he admits, smile dropping away. "I'm very tired. I wish I could go back to when the stakes were lower, and mischief could be just that."

A game, not a gambit for survival. "But it means something to know that you, at least, can still think kindly of me. Even after everything."

"My son. The good and the bad, the better and the worse. You cannot change what irks you about Thor anymore than I could change you.

So maybe not all of Frigga's thoughts toward Loki were kind but really that's to be expected. Not even the gods are without faults entirely and Loki has done much to upset others, including Frigga. But it did not eradicate her feelings toward him as her son.

She glances back over her shoulder toward the spirit whose powers she has borrowed and then to Loki once more.

"There has to be a world that knows peace for mischief to be fun, Loki. That was once lesson I always tried to teach you."

He has a path to follow, wherever it may lead. Whether it be good or bad for him she doesn't know. Scrying and time manipulation are not in this spirit's wheelhouse and it is her powers Frigga is drawing on right now.

"You need not fight for ideals you do not believe in. It can be as simple as working against someone else, or to protect even a single person. Whatever the reason, let your ambition be your strength."

"Do you think that I have no ideals?" He looks up at her again, startled and a little wounded.

It's not an unfair assessment, really. For Loki, the ends justify the means, and since his ends change frequently, it's hard to see where his defining principles are. Maybe they're a little changeable, too.

But he never wanted to see half the life in the universe snuffed out.

It's probably not ideal that he so often defines himself by that which is worse than him. 'At least I am not that' is a poor rallying cry. But it's what he has, and he is determined not to lose to Thanos. Again.

"I may not see you again, Mother," he says, dropping his gaze again. "Valhalla and Folkvangr are not for such as myself. But I will keep your memory. And I...I love you. I'm sorry."

"I don't think you share all of your brother's, nor would I expect you to."

Loki has been very adamant since a young age that he was his own person. Desperate to be unique to Thor, though perhaps not in the ways he actually was unique. Frigga watches Loki rally himself to his own plans. There is a part of her terribly proud to see him ready to face whatever trouble is coming.

"Then we agree to meet here again, perhaps. Next year, if the fates are kind. I love you, Loki. You will always be my son."

With his gaze dropped, he won't see the illusion begin to fade as holes poke through and the mist begins to scatter. If he looks up again he might get to see a glimpse of her smile before it's gone and Hazel is left clutching a hand to her chest where she was left to lean against the bench while Loki had been talking to the spirit.

His voice fails him, but he nods, and his shoulders droop a little. Here again, perhaps. It's a thin promise, but it's not nothing, and even if it doesn't happen, if he faces torture and a true death before then, he has her promise that she'd like to see him again.

He gives a weak little laugh, both hands clasping under his sternum. He's not going to look up at her as she disappears. Too much. Too much. But he can feel the light of her dwindle and fade, and if he tears up as she goes, well...

No one's there to see but Hazel.

It's a long moment before he wipes his face, clears his throat, and looks up at the spirit. "That was...painful," he tells her quietly. "But I could not be more grateful. Are you all right?"

He's not sure what to make of that gesture, but if it's just that Frigga is somewhat overwhelming, he wouldn't be shocked.

What was that? What was that?

No spirit has ever been so powerful that it could take hold of her magic as thought it belonged to them instead of herself. Frigga's talk with Loki is only now trickling into her memory. Autumn has to give it to her as she was not at all home for most of that conversation. The gaze she turns on Loki is fearful and angry--for a moment.

It passes as she feels her powers coming back to her as though they had never left. She takes another deep breath, her hand touching her chest lighter now. Hazel is fine and moreover she's done her job well enough that a Queen sorceress was able to pass through the veil. This is no cause for anger. She should be proud of what she's accomplished here.

"I will be. That was...not pleasant for myself either."

He stays where he is, kneeling, humbled not by Hazel or even by Autumn, but by Mother. Which is, in a sense, a related concept. He's forgotten his normal illusion isn't quite there, too, so he's still red and cobalt under the translucent peach fleshtone and the ice-green eyes. It's an odd effect, but no doubt she's seen odder.

He watches her without fear, resigned to whatever reaction she's going to have to this. His intentions have clearly gone far awry, but she can't justly blame him. He didn't even ask. He nods slowly at her and gives a shaky sigh, letting his hands drop loose in his lap. He needs time to recover, and he probably won't get much.

"That was my mother," he tells her, by way of explanation. "I would have died before asking to speak to her. But she's always known me better than I know myself. Thank you."

"If you have wrath to dispense, kindly focus it on me." That sounds a little grudging--he doesn't want to be cursed--but he's not sure whether she's capable of putting the smack down on a spirit and he wouldn't want anything to disturb Frigga's rest.

She watches Loki for a moment but says nothing as a soft breeze drags the mist to and fro out beyond the ring of torches. It's gone quiet now. Frigga's departure or perhaps her being here at all has silenced all of the other spirits who may have wanted a word with one Loki Odinson.

"We agree not to speak of this. I, of your mother or what transpired here. And you, of my powers being wrested from me by a ghost."

Edited 2018-11-15 16:50 (UTC)

He's clearly surprised by her bargain, but after a blink and a slow, thoughtful tilt of his head, he breaks into a smile.

"Oh," he says, "very much agreed."

He feeds some of his energies back into the half-there illusion, restoring the color of his skin and eyes to something less unearthly and reminiscent of winter. "And I will recommend to Thor that he mind his manners. Neither of us are good at admitting when we are outmatched, but I am somewhat more accustomed to being humbled than he."

Good.

An accord reached within one of Hazel's safe spaces. Where Autumn can hold witness. Hazel feels less nervous now. If it is broken she will know, though if it breaks out of season there will be nothing she can do about it until the next fall comes. For the moment, however, it satisfies her enough that Loki isn't going to go encouraging everyone to demand time with the strongest spirits they can find.

Her duty is to the dead, but that was...more than she'd bargained for.

"I would appreciate it. May the winds be ever at your back, Loki."

No, really, he thinks it's a fair trade. He doesn't particularly want it that conversation to be known about to anyone. There was so much in it that was brutally personal, not to mention the fact that he's not a fan of showing off his Jotun skin.

Will he keep the incident in mind, in case he has to turn it to his favor later? Of course. But he's too wiped out by it to come up with anything clever just now.

He takes a deep breath, to all appearances utterly relieved, and stands. He bows, and it still shows, how he's a bit shaken up. "Particularly when I'm leaving your vicinity, I assume?"

It's a weak joke, possibly ill-advised, and he hastens to leave once it's spoken, pausing at the edge of the clearing for one last somber farewell nod.

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Age Old Advice (Seasonal Post)

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