nexus_crossings | 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 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."

Leather and fine wine

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