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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Well, then. This appears to be his chance. Loki was planning on approaching this powerful spirit to ask clemency for Thor--not that he's not thoroughly enjoying his brother's discomfort, but it increases risk and probably lowers morale amongst the people aboard the Statesman, and he still has vague hopes of seeing this version of Thor defeat Thanos. Or at least not die by his hand.

He assumes his own alternate is a lost cause. Time will tell.

In any case, he wasn't sure she would thank him for performing some kind of summoning, so he's been working out a way to coax her, more politely, because he is actually capable of diplomacy. When he enters the Nexus to find the mist, he realizes he need not have worried. She is here.

...that's good, though, right? Truth is, he's wary. He avoided her deliberately the first time around, because a god is not the same as a spirit of cyclical natural forces. He didn't want to find out whether his power could contend with hers, had no time to make an enemy, and besides, he's far more oriented toward the winter. He is cold, he is ice and fire in the darkest time of the year.

He reels in his magical aura before approaching, keeping it sizzling just under his skin. She will sense him coming, he's sure, but he comes with a neutral attitude, and visually, his bearing is that with which he would have addressed visiting royalty in his princely days. "Lady," he addresses her quietly, green eyes wary. "I request your indulgence. I would speak with you regarding my brother Thor, the king of Asgard. My name is Loki Odinson."

For all that he's an arrogant prick whenever he can be, he's not bad at kissing up, either.

Of course, then her question strikes him, and he realizes belatedly what he's walked into, and--dear Norns, no, he doesn't want to hear what the dead have to say to him. It would be nothing good, he is sure of that. He looks around the circle of torches, swallows, and says, "I have no advice to request."

Haha, there's a lie. He's got a lot he could ask Odin, at least. But then he finds his thoughts drawn to Frigga, and his heart hurts. "Only forgiveness." Those words come from his mouth like a wild bilgesnipe dragged them out between his teeth.

Hazel is of both summer and winter by her very nature. One of her fists clutches up to the sun even as the other reaches deep into the earth's cold embrace. She is change incarnate, is every ghost story that has ever been told even as she's the warm hearth waiting for a weary traveler to come home to. Today she is less a harbinger of nature than she is of the dead.

Honoring the departed falls under her domain as well and this is a very special day. Her figure is especially pallid today, her dress more subdued browns instead of the vivid reds and golds she had been wearing before. Hazel stares at Loki's approach. So many powerful magics being wielded around her though this one is at least not being brandished and postured in front of her. He's downright respectful.

"Indulgence...? What a doting brother this god has, to have you out here on such a day." Especially given how he balks at the idea of the dead having advice to give. Hazel turns the end of her shawl between her fingers and studies Loki carefully. "I am Hazel Tasker. Earnest servant of Autumn and--today at least--of mystery and the deceased."

Surely there must be someone Loki Odinson is close to. She can feel the threads connecting him to the spirits here. There are those he has lost, of that she is certain. If one of them were to sense him, well. Hazel finds her interest piqued.

"Forgiveness. You seek it for your brother as well as from the dead? What would they need to forgive you for?"

It is, perhaps, precisely that contradictory nature that makes her most dangerous to Loki. Simply by being what he is, he stands with a foot in each of two worlds, the center of a Venn diagram between contradictory concepts. He is painfully aware of the risk he's taking by approaching her, because he sees where they have some aspects in common.

He can also sort of see where Thor got the comparison to Hela, now that he recognizes how the veil between life and death wears thin around Hazel. It strikes him as a little unfair, though. Hela was every bit the sneering, implacable face of the mistress of Death. This scene is something else. This is the finger of the unknowable, beckoning the courageous to come closer.

He's not, actually, courageous. That's Thor's department, but since Thor has already gotten himself in too deep, it's either Loki or no one. "Not so much doting," he tells her, "as practical. He is, whether I like it or not, our King, and our people live and die by his leadership. Should they be attacked, they will need him at his full strength. And they are very, very likely to be attacked."

"Lady Hazel," he sketches a courtly bow, but seems reluctant to break eye contact with her. "A fitting name. I-I feel I have chosen a bad time to approach you, but-"

He can feel the stirring around him, and his heartbeat kicks into overdrive. There are so many he has failed, many he betrayed, even more he has disappointed. Given the opportunity, how many will come for him? How many swore to see him dead for betraying Thor? And his father--both fathers--one less worthy of the title than the other--

Stop. Simpering. That is his own voice, and with a breath, he forces himself to step closer to her, head high. "I did not intend to say that. I seek forgiveness for my brother. I am beyond it, a creature of chaos and iniquity."

Or is he? There's a stirring beyond the veil, a female presence that all but radiates pity for this man. For her son. Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself.

It is strange to have a self proclaimed god bowing before her, but not undesirable. So long as this creature be it god or man or beast respects Nature's order and Autumn in particular Hazel sees no reason to waste time and resources fighting. Besides, this god's demeanor is much less upsetting than others have been. Moreover, the mists are stirring beyond the barrier of the torches. Grasping hands, ragged voices. Hazel's gaze drifts from Loki's face and to the mists as she tips hear ear to listen to the wills of the spirits so close and the air is thrumming like a thousand angry bees--

Only to be quieted by a breeze that washes over everything, shushing the clamor and swirling the wisps, stirring the damp just beyond the perimeter Hazel has set here. As though the woman of the hour has arrived, stunning all other comers to silence with her dignity. Her grace. Her power. A fiercely loyal protector, a mother, a queen. And as the Medium here, Hazel feels herself being wrapped up. Being used, her magics drawn from her body as though she were nothing but a jar to contain them.

When Hazel opens her mouth, her voice is not her own.

"What have I told you about trying to lie to me?"

Since being bashed into the floor of Stark Tower by the Hulk, Loki has gotten much better at guessing when and where he is outmatched. Less arrogant and more canny. (Thor will always confound his expectations, but otherwise...) The Universality of the natural world, the faceless dark of the Void, and the chill of Death will nearly always defeat simple divinity in a raw contest of power. Which is why he would never come at Hazel head-on with demands. He would certainly try to trick her, if he could think of a way, and perhaps he was considering methods until he sensed the veil and what is about to happen here. But now, it's too late to worry about that. Now, his concern is to escape with his psyche intact.

He can hear the angry spirits hovering, draws himself up a little, fingers uncurling in preparation to defend himself in some way, should it become necessary, but then the hot little voices of rage are swept away by a presence so much greater, a voice both terrifying and reassuring.

He already knows, even before Hazel's mouth opens. He brought this on himself; there is no one else to blame. He never even warned Thor he was going to attempt this.

"Mother." Color dissolves from his face, and his voice is a dry whisper. "Am I lying? Am I not beyond mercy by now?"

Hazel moves to take a step forward but the face that emerges is not her own. The firelight seems to catch on the mist as it pulls away from the Autumn Spirit's body but rather than an orange glow the light is offwhite and shimmering with the same light Loki's own illusions always seem to carry.

Who was it that taught him the finesse of those magics growing up? The illusion is not as strong as hers once were--there is a limit to the power he dead can wield even in this place but sure as the last time Loki saw her does Frigga now stand before him in her flowing dress and done up hair with sharp yet compassionate eyes that once watched over the whole of Asgard and her sons in particular. Where other spirits might be mere shapes and forms the standout supreme sorceress of Asgard holds herself to a higher standard than that, even in death.

Her illusions were always the only ones a match for Loki's, after all.

"If you have to ask me then you know the answer. Or is it that you want someone else to say it so that you can keep lying to yourself?" Her son who feels as though he's so much closer to her than he should be. He should not be this close to Death. No matter how hard he seems to try and chase it. It and his own self destruction for the self loathing inside his heart she never could heal. "It is gratifying to hear you call me Mother again."

Not a balm to the soul she had before she perished, but one that fills her with compassion now.

She could destroy him utterly with a word. And he would not blame her; she has every right. She reached out to him when no one else in the universe would have, not even Thor, and he repaid her with harsh words and treachery. That the treachery was unintentional makes no difference now. And the dead, surely, know all things. She must know.

You might want to take the stairs to the left.

He didn't know what the invaders were after. Had heard a whisper about Thor's mortal guest but no rumors about what her presence here might mean. He did not know Kurse would find his target in Frigga's own chambers. It was pure spite, that little word of advice, a moment of 'oh, let's see Thor and Odin handle this one', but he never truly thought it would result in the death of any save the intruder.

Thor was supposed to be there to handle it.

But it's not Thor's fault, and even Loki can't lie to himself convincingly enough to let him believe that.

He waits for her response, waits for the axe to fall, and the stroke goes wide, landing to one side of him. She has nearly always seen through him. Perhaps she saw even deeper than he realized. He looks up at her like he's facing a firing squad, but there's something else in his eyes, frightened and hungry.

"I should not have said that," he tells her. "I should have taken your compassion with...with the humility I have long been unable to muster. Everyone denied me but you. I should have..."

He takes a ragged breath, and releases it, eyes closing. "I'm sorry. But I have to, have to know, Mother, why--"

He swallows throat dry. "You could not have told me the truth of my heritage growing up. I understand that. Your reasons were not unsound, and it is bad for a people to have a King and Queen at odds. I understand. But you heard the tales told around the hearth, surely? The glorious battles against the Jotun, the celebration of Odin's prowess, Thor's joy in the telling. His promise to rid the Nine of the monsters for good and all when he became king."

"It was a child's aggression, nothing more, back then, but it grew. How could it not? I saw it before you or Fa--or Odin ever did. Or did I? Why did you not stop it?"

"A-a-all the love in the Nine realms cannot make me what I am not. Being of Asgard does not make me not of Jotunheim. Did you and Odin truly never think of what I might feel on learning the truth? That I spent my sweet childhood listening to tales of my monstrous, murderous forebears and the glory of their slaughter?"

When he opens his eyes again, they're red, down to the sclera, and the pink of his skin is fading into blue. He holds out his hands helplessly. "That is what I should have said. Is this your son, or merely the illusion I wore? I don't understand. Please, just make me understand."

"Because he loves you, Loki. As much as he loves your father or I." Loki Odinson he called himself. She has heard it but will not push now. Not when everything about her son is so taut and frail. Barely held together. Not when he feels so close to the veil she is crossing to be here and speak with her son. Loki will see it in her eyes that she knows and that is enough.

"You are both my son. No matter which skin you favor, which role or body. Loki, whomever's body bore you matters not, you are also my child."

He's spent so long thinking he had to choose and that was never supposed to be the lesson Frigga imparted on him. How that incongruity has twisted his heart, how his path has felt laid out for him because of the blood in his veins. Frigga thought giving him a home and a family would ease that burden.

"You didn't believe me before. Do you now?" What happened to you, Loki? Was it his own schemes that drew him so close to this place?

Edited 2018-11-08 13:03 (UTC)

"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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