nexus_crossings | Leather and fine wine

Leather and fine wine

The days are getting darker, the air has started to bite. Naturally this means that a certain Winter spirit is starting to brighten. With Hazel's beautiful influence all around him, he's been spurred on to keep busy and ready himself to do an equally (if not better) job. While people may have seen him marching around the Nexus, often with full arms, today he's taking the time to stay in the Nexus to do a little work. Back on his world the weather took a turn into torrential rain. Here, however, it's dry. Cold, blustery, but dry.

Reynard has his trademark leather coat spread out on one of the tables in the Plaza. Two pairs of boots are waiting on the ground, one pair noticeably newer and smaller than the other. His feathered hat rests on one of the chairs, carefully weighted down with a brush. Perhaps it's no surprise then that Reynard is dressed rather lightly then, with his coat all laid out. It's around this table that Reynard moves, brushing and wiping and occasionally taking a sip from a cup. Those who approach will be met with the rich scent of mulled wine and the more cloying smell of whatever he's using to treat the leather.

Finally he pauses for a moment, thinking over his cup before asking, "What is your least desirable quality? What could you stand to improve about yourself?"

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Loki has been sworn to secrecy, but he did notice something very useful in his interaction with Hazel. The spirit of Autumn Itself (Herself?) is too great for a god to contend with, but the vessel, even in the height of the season, seems to be a bit more vulnerable.

He's not going to say a word, because that was the deal, but he never promised not to apply that assumption of knowledge elsewhere, if need be. That he sees no need yet is probably a good thing, but he won't forget.

"Oh, come now, why so harsh?" He smiles, a wild little sparkle in his eyes for a moment. "Tricksters ought to be kind to one another, if only to avoid the collateral damage were we to get into a battle of wits."

He seems to soften a little when his people are mentioned again, though, oddly enough. He will clearly at least contemplate using them as a tool or weapon, but there is some care there that is genuine. They mourned for him, when he pretended he was dead. That means something.

"Thor is trying to find them a new home. I am only trying to save them from a conqueror far more cruel and heartless than I could be." Them and the rest of the universe, although really most of the rest of the universe can go fuck itself for all Loki cares. The locals--Asgard and Midgard--he cares about, and the big picture of the heinous, unnatural wrench in the works of creation itself Thanos proposes. The bits in-between are not his concern.

For now Reynard has focused on adhering to his fellow spirit's lessons rather than bothering her about her recent encounters. He knows for a fact that if she wanted to speak with him then she would come to him herself, and in the meantime he'd better not take up too much of her precious time.

A grin curls the corner of his mouth. "This… doesn't really count as harsh. By all means, this is playful. I have exactly zero desire to get into a battle with you, of wits or otherwise."

That doesn't mean he won't get into trouble regardless of what he actually wants. All he can do is try not to dig himself a hole too deep.

Loki has his hidden agendas, Reynard has his own. Perhaps that's simply the way with creatures that find comfort in ice and darkness. Reynard is looking for something in these conversations, he's watching the people who he speaks to. He sees that touch of gentleness when he brings up the Asgardians again, confirming a small suspicion.

"That's a very selfless mission for a god described as being incredibly selfish. Are you helping them, or are you helping Thor?"

"Am I described as selfish?" His smile is hard to read, tranquil but subtly dark around the edges. "Heartless and uncaring, perhaps, but selfish?"

Honestly, it's probably open for debate. It does seem that he does a great deal for his own amusement, or his own glory, but that veneer suits him. What's real and what's a mask? Some days Loki himself isn't sure.

"From my perspective, I am the Trickster. I do what the other gods dare not do, for fear, for conscience, for dignity. Just as no iniquity is beyond me, neither is any sacrifice. As surely as I am born of ice and darkness, I am born of that."

"In this instance, I am spiting my enemy, but if it helps my brother and my people, so much the better."

Opening his arms, Reynard bends ever so slightly at the waist in an almost-apology. It helps in distracting him from how uncomfortably familiar that expression feels. "I simply listened to the stories that were told to me."

Straightening again, he waves a hand as he shrugs. "What are mortals to do, trying to understand gods they never meet? They're like children trying to make sense of adults fighting. You may cite all your complexities, but they can only speak of what they see. Whatever god Loki is in my world did not leave a very flattering impression of himself."

"If you are different from him, your motivations kinder, all the better. That won't change you being judged by your actions, past actions included." Something he learns the hard way time and time again. With a moment to consider his own thoughts, he adds quietly, "It's something to keep in mind."

"Oh, but this time I take no offense," he says with a shrug in return. "The stories are what they are. Humans are what they are. Both are useful to me, and on a good day I can muster some fondness for both."

Actually, he has good days like that more often than not in the Nexus, but he can't allow himself to look too soft. There is something about being met with interest and reverence that's hard to resist, even for--or maybe especially for--a bitter and solitary bastard like Loki.

"My reputation is a tool like any other. Where it precedes me, I will find a way to use it to my advantage, whether I am expected to be an impish, good-natured prankster or Loki Liesmith, the Norse version of Lucifer." He studies the other man's expression and makes a soft humming sound.

"I suppose there is a matter of some challenge, to choose whether to live up to expectations or try to twist them into a different shape. I may crave recognition, but I know when I have hit the limit of what I'm willing to give for it."

This is where it takes effort to bite his tongue. How godlike. Even now when Reynard's opinion of humanity is so low, he loathes the superiority in Loki's words. Too many centuries spent suffering for being that cared so little of the chaos they cause. At least he has rules. At least he has a stake in the world. Not like the gods who dip their toes in for some entertainment.

So perhaps he is still flesh and bone, and perhaps he started this conversation with the hot blood of a mortal. The more they speak, however, the more survival instincts wrestles with the presence of a powerful being and his hot blood cools. It makes it easier to hold his tongue, but the potential problems of the being in front of him fall into his thoughts like snow in a storm.

He schools his expression into something neutral. "If you are a being born of darkness and ice, a being who dares, then what happens when reputation is not the tool you desire? Circumstance can change faster than the sky. Humans and reputation aren't useful in all. What happens when they're not? What happens when they're a hinderance?"

"You are searching for something, I fear." Loki folds his arms across his chest and takes a couple casual steps around Reynard's work--neither toward nor away from him, carefully keeping a radius of distance between them. "For assurance that I will not do what you think I must not do. Or else, perhaps, confirmation that I am what you think I am. I do not know if I can give you either, and I am not sure I wish to."

"I will say, I am also searching, and I don't have much time to find what I seek."

"Reputation has always been both help and hindrance. I will work around it. But humans? Who should I look to, other than them, for worship, for understanding, for anything even resembling sympathy? If belief does create divinity, it is those outcast, frightened, vulnerable creatures on Midgard who first called on me so many centuries ago that truly created this." He gestures to himself as if to illustrate, and it doesn't sound like he's all that enchanted with what he indicates. Loki's self-loathing runs deep, even as, at the same time, he's ravenous to be adored.

"If such is not the case, it is still humans, the ones who believe and tell my tales, that fuel me. Could I cast them aside, let them burn, to ascend or shift beyond recognition to something greater or at least freer? Perhaps. Perhaps even without sorrow or guilt, which is what you no doubt expect to hear. But the result wouldn't be Loki."

"I could be a malevolent alien, if I wished. A cosmic monster. I have seen the forces that knit my universe together." Held them in his hands, no less. And made far less use of them than he could have.

"Without humans, there is no Loki, just as there is no Thor. I do not seek to be that which I am not. If anything, I desire to become more Loki, and survive on that power alone."

"Does that answer your question?"

Edited (typo) 2018-11-24 22:29 (UTC)

For the most part he continues with his work, keeping track of Loki from the corner of his eye. There is nothing of value to steal except the knife in his own boot, no secrets to be gathered from looking alone. Even if it is a typically predatory move, he remains stubbornly unbothered by it.

As Loki is finishing up his answer, Reynard straightens for a brief break. He smiles and shakes his head. "You overestimate me. I only seek to understand something so foreign to me. I was once told to beware the unspoken answers to unasked questions. Better to ask than not."

"I must admit," he says as he starts working again. "I didn't expect a god to sound so... bound to servitude."

Loki is only posturing right now, and barely that. Pacing, with him, is often a tell of some kind of psychological discomfort, an effort to force himself to keep the upper hand of a conversation.

He's not sure whether he even has the upper hand here, but he's going to act like he does. Sometimes the only way you win is by pretending you've won.

"That was good advice, then," he says candidly. "There is no lie so effective as silence, and there are few liars so passionate about their art that they will refuse to say something, if you ask them."

He grimaces at Reynard's conclusion, unable to contradict it, but not certain how he feels about it.

You think yourself above them? (Well, yes.) Then you miss the truth of ruling, brother. A throne would suit you ill.

A throne actually suited Loki perfectly. Pretending to be his father--pretending to be a king--calmed and humbled him in a way no one would have expected, least of all himself. Is there much difference between kingship and godhood? Some, probably, but the structure, one giant borne up on the shoulders of many, many beings--smaller beings, but each one vital for balance--is not dissimilar. Even that may be an arrogant way of looking at it, but it's a more nuanced kind of arrogance than when he was younger.

"Is it so simple? I think symbiosis is a more appropriate way of framing it. Based on my study here, based on my experience back home. A worshiper cannot do what a god can, or else they would cut out the middleman and handle their request themselves. But a god, evidently, can do little without a worshiper."

It's a pity they will almost certainly be at odds more often than they are not, Reynard thinks. There are stories they could surely share, and puzzles they could riddle out together. But in knowing how the other thinks they would always keep their cards close to their chest, eternally seeking to outplay each other.

The more Loki speaks of cooperation and mutual need, the slower Reynard works on his coat until he's all but stopped in his listening. When the god is satisfied with his substitute perspective, Reynard considers for a moment.

He goes to say something, but hesitates. His words are replaced by a smile and he dips his head. "If that's what you think..."

For the god of lies, Loki is surprisingly honest about what he thinks of himself, his methodology, his own inner workings. And at this point in his life, after striving and grasping and failing and dying, why should he fear being wrong? Has he ever even been right?

"That is what I think," he says, raising an eyebrow. "I take it from your expression you believe differently. It's possible that we are both correct, or both wrong."

"For you, perhaps it's an academic question." Would that it were for Loki, as well! But he's not so nettled he won't take a tentative cease-fire.

"In any event, I will attempt to stay out of your way if you extend me the same courtesy in return. That is not a bargain, a threat, or an offering. Merely a statement."

Reynard doesn't blink as he watches Loki behind his smile. There are thoughts on the tip of his tongue, but the likelihood of them offending the god somehow is too high. As much as he does so enjoy needling other people, especially people he doesn't particularly like, and particularly when it might lead to a revelation, he does have some survival instincts.

He concedes his point with the slightest bow. "As I said, outside of Winter I have no desire to tread on your toes. Right now I'm just a man talking to a god while I get some work done."

Loki is irritated by that look and that smile. It looks knowing, and he doesn't care for knowing when it's at his own expense. He's tempted to force his point, try to make the man talk further, but he's fully aware he might not like what he hears.

Starting trouble where there need be none is not a good strategy. If it's something worth hearing, he'll hear it eventually.

He sighs and gives a shake of his head, smiling back despite his ruffled feathers. "But not an ordinary man."

He wanders closer again, this time with less of a stalking attitude, and peers at the leatherwork. "Weatherproofing? Dare I ask, will it snow in this place?"

Getting called out on his supernatural side, Reynard's grin only widens and he nods.

The question surprises him a little, and it shows in the way he pauses in what he's doing. So Loki has heard of him, but from some favourable source. No one who disliked him would utter his name without mentioning blizzards and curses in the same breath.

"Yes." Turning curious, he asks, "You don't like snow?"

"I love snow," he says quietly, something subtly different in his voice and body language now that they're talking about something less fraught and existential. "I've never been uncomfortable in the cold."

"I used to get fevers sometimes, in the summer, when I was very little. Never batted an eye in the cold season."

Oh Reynard so nearly shares his own tales of Seasonal fevers. It wouldn't be hard for Loki to discover from someone else, but that doesn't mean he should volunteer information to someone who wouldn't hesitate to use it. He tries, instead, to focus on what he's happy to confirm.

"Well I can't speak for before I came to the Nexus, but I've made sure there's snow every year since my arrival. Snow, ice, and the best frost patterns you've ever seen." Yes, there's more than a hint of pride in his words. If it wouldn't put wax in it he'd be curling his moustache. "A beautiful Winter is what I do best."

"I am the child of a species acclimated to sub-freezing temperatures," he says, with both effort and restraint. His Jotun heritage is hard to accept, even now, although he's made progress in the last few years.

"When I complain about the cold, I'm lying."

He smiles at the boasting, but it's a gentler smile than he's had so far. He's liking the sound of this, and the glimpse of softness may be fleeting, but it's at least as honest as his earlier posturing.

"Frost flowers?" He asks quietly. "I've always liked the more delicate examples of cold weather phenomena."

Because he's weak and undersized for a Frost Giant, perhaps. Or because he likes treading narrow lines.

"In any case, I'll make sure my roommates have good coats." It'll be an opportunity to get something nice for Harley. Even if she probably already has her own winter clothes.

Now that is interesting. For all that Reynard knows of old stories, the details of Loki's origins were not among them. So here is someone who can withstand much of what Winter throws. Will he take it as a chance to enjoy the Season, or defy it? A curiosity for his Winter self to observe.

Reynard touches his own chest with splayed fingers. "I am a master at my craft. Frost flowers, hair ice, glaze, diamond dust... I do it all. The most exquisite, unique formations Winter can offer. Only one person every twelve Seasons seem to notice. They'd sooner destroy it than admire it."

"They should make sure for themselves. Or..." He tilts his head at Loki, peering at the god thoughtfully. "Shouldn't they have to pray to you for them?"

Chances are unless something extraordinary happens, Loki will not openly revel in the cold and the frost, but neither will he seek to dodge it. Winter is beautiful in its austerity and finespun delicacy. He is not sure his trueform actually matches it, but it's at home there.

His smile spreads a little, and he nods. "I'll admire it."

That's not meant to be diplomacy or kissing-up. "Especially frost flowers."

The softer moment dissolves, though, as he laughs at the idea of someone praying to him for a coat. "I'm not the god of jackets! And I wouldn't extort prayer from my roommates. At least, not Harley; I like her."

"I suppose if someone outside our makeshift household wants me to shop for them I'd take prayer in exchange, but they'd better make it good."

Reynard raises an eyebrow at Loki's assurances. Whether or not he's being diplomatic, the Winter spirit can't help but be sceptical. Few people remember to take time to enjoy Winter when the less appealing parts are such an inconvenience. He'll see, though.

The more Loki speaks, the more suspicious Reynard looks, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully at the god. "How long have you been personally interacting with humans?"

Cold won't inconvenience, Loki. Driving precipitation might, or powerful winds. He's more fond of a still, quiet, snowy landscape than sleet actively pouring down on his head. Either way, though, only time will tell how he reacts.

"How long have I been personally interacting with them here or in my own world as well? Here, since my arrival. In my own world...I don't know, eight or nine centuries, off and on. Less so in more recent years, I suppose, after I was told to keep my hands to myself in no uncertain terms."

"What's that look for? A god can't give a gift to a human without it being some sort of spiritual transaction now?"

That expression stays pinned in place until Loki gives his answer. Reynard nods with a knowing 'ah', as if Loki's words explain far more than one simple query. Picking up the smaller set of boots, Reynard sits down and starts brushing.

"You've yet to learn a lesson which can only be learned through experience. If I tell you, you'll posture and scoff, and stubbornly refuse to acknowledge it. I would have.," he says with a shrug. "Anyone would. But it's good to know. It's difficult sometimes to remember that age doesn't guarantee knowledge."

"If it's a lesson to do with the fact that they die and go where I cannot follow, I've learned it already, and choose to ignore it," he says quietly. "A very long time ago."

He tilts his head, watching him work on the boots curiously for a moment, but opts not to ask who they're for. This has been an interesting conversation, and possibly useful even above and beyond whiling the time away, but maybe ending it on an upnote seems prudent.

Even Loki can be prudent sometimes.

"If it's something else entirely, then I will simply wait to be taught," he says cheerfully, after a brief pause. "And in the meantime, I think I will leave you to your work."

"Farewell, for now. I look forward to meeting you again later...although you'll forgive me if I dodge you during the height of the season. I would hate for there to be misunderstandings."

Reynard simply smiles back. It's one thing to choose not to learn more, and another to give nothing away. While the spirit's lack of response may well be marginally irritating, it does comply with the god's choice to leave the topic be. The best outcome, from Reynard's point of view.

"A wise choice," he says to talk of avoiding trouble. It's better for them both. Uncharacteristic for both, too, but they can at least pretend. "Safe travels, Loptr."

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Leather and fine wine

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