milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Enter Loki.

Actually, please don't. Especially if it involves a chainsaw. Just...stare at him, since he's pretty. Or, you know, talk to him. That would work too. Because he just came into the bar and he's sitting just at the end of it nursing a cup of tea.

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Liam is sitting probably not far down the bar from Loki, a potted shamrock on the bartop in front of him.

Loki peers at him.

"The lady Bar has decided to start a shrubbery business, then?"

Liam chuckles.

"Looks like it. But this is for St. Patrick's Day."

He grins.

"I do know other holidays. I just thought I was being amusing. I suppose not."

Liam tilts his head.

"'Other' holidays?"

He smiles.

"I'm a god. Have to keep up on everyone else, you know."

Liam grins, starting to suspect.

"Ah. And your name would be...?"

He holds out an elegant hand.

"Loki. A pleasure from my end at the very least and hopefully on yours."

Liam shakes his hand with a smile.

"Liam Pace. Good to meet you too."

He grins.

"So, Mr. Pace...what are you going to do with your shrubbery?"

Liam considers.

"Take it home, I s'pose. When I go."

He smiles.

"Not bound then. Always good. I always feel somewhat bad for those unable to leave. Then again, I spend much time here...so there you go."

"I was bound for about a month. Not now, though."

He nods.

"I've been Bound before...but not in a place. It was...unpleasant, to say the least."

"Not in a place?" Liam asks, curious and sympathetic.

"To a body. I was stuck as a child with most of my power taken away from me. It didn't help that everyone was also trying to kill me at the time but...things have...worked themselves out."

There's sadness at the end. They worked themselves out...but at a price.

"What happened?" Gentle.

"To me? Nothing that hasn't been well fixed. To..."

He looks to Liam.

"Do you have children?"

"One child. Megan. She's two."

"A daughter. I...had a daughter."

And for all that he is the Trickster god, for all that he is masks and illusions and twisted words...there is so much pain in his voice that the mask can't cover.

Liam reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, and doesn't prompt. He'll get the story out in his own time.

He blinks, staring at the hand on his shoulder. People don't often offer comfort to the gods. No one does, usually.

"Thank you."

Genuine warmth.

"She was...turned against me during that time. She wanted to kill me. In the end...she died. In my arms. Odin..."

And his body shakes with his hatred...until stilling. And his head drops.

"At least she died with a smile knowing I loved her."

"What was her name?" Liam asks softly.

"Hel."

He looks to Liam.

"She...loved Wordsworth. I was reading it to her when she..."

He looks away.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."