1963-09-29 - Teacup Tales
Summary: It has been some time since grandson and grandsire (Hrimhari and Loki, respectively) have talked. The tea is brewing and there is much to be said…
Related: None
Theme Song: None
hrimhari louis 

An incarceration in Asgard's dungeons can be spent a number of ways. For some it can be a very trying time, for others it can pass in a blink. Yet for Loki, it seemed in some ways so interminably slow and dull, yet he was able to keep himself occupied. What, however, caught his attention was how matters had progressed in the mortal realm of Midgard.

A month of time, perhaps a touch less had passed. Nobody had darkened the door to the private investigation offices of Glory and King in that long while. Inside it had become dusty, though not terribly so. A fingertip over the surface of the desk, however, showed the thin layer of particulates, and opening the shades caused beams of light to shine within and limb the floating motes in the air.

The mail had been brought up in a cardboard box, the land lady apparently having that much of a care for her tenants. But other than that, the office had clearly suffered a touch from disuse. So it is there amongst the flare of a morning's sunrise and sitting in a creaking office chair amongst the whorls of dusty motes, that Louis King turned his attention to the first handful of mail while opening each in turn with the flick of a letter-opener.

If wolves are 'about anything', they're about family.

The pack.

Hrimhari is no exception, and yet family reunions for him have not always — or often — been the most pleasant of experiences. It depends on which relative he is seeing. He avoids his father like the plague… mostly. As for his grandfather

There is a knock at the door to Loki's offices. The Prince of Wolves stands without, in 'human' form, wearing human clothes… and fidgeting occasionally in them. The silver-haired man waits patiently for Loki — A.K.A. Louis King — to answer.

An actual customer? Loki lifts his head slightly, eyebrow quirking with curiosity. He also hadn't heard the fellow approach, now that is more curious still. With silvered blade in hand and a small manila envelope in the other, he cocks his head to the side and considers. Lightly that blade tap-tap-taps against the paper. And for a moment he looks around the room. What was he doing here? This guise of Louis King had out-lived its usefulness, had done so the moment that Thor had dropped from the heavens. He was given new tasks, a new title, a new role…

And yet here he is, maintaining this facade, this persona.

Perhaps this brief instant of contemplation leaves poor Hrimhari out in the hall a moment longer than he should be. But it is only the space of a few heartbeats before Louis realizes why he maintains this alternate self. Simply… because it is fun.

A light accented voice lifts, Cambridge high society English of course, "It's unlocked, pray do come in."

The Wolf-Prince turns the handle and gently pushes the door open. His actions are neither hurried, nor slow, and despite the leather shoes on his feet — business shoes of course — he continues to move without making a sound. Closing the door behind him, Hrimhari looks over at 'Louis King', lifts his chin briefly… then offers a solemn bow of his head.

"Grandfather," says he as he stands back up again. "This one is pleased to see you. His Highness — ," no doubt referring to Thor, " — did give Hrimhari your address…" As he says the word 'address', the 'wolf in man's clothing' tilts his head to the side, curiously surveying Loki's offices.

"This is truly your den?" he cannot help but ask.

"Hrimhari," A quirk touches the corner of Loki's mouth as he gains his feet. The blade and envelope are set aside on the edge of the desk over the box of correspondence. He looks back across the way at the son of his son and tilts his head to the side. "Aye, it is one of them." For truly, where does Loki call anywhere home save perhaps the great hall of Asgard?

"I met this terribly interesting woman and she convinced me to become a private investigator. You would enjoy meeting her." His smile grows as he steps around the desk and moves up to the disguised lupine fellow. A hand rests on Hrimhari's shoulder and Loki turns his head to the side as if surveying him from a different angle to take his measure. "I trust you have been well. Any word on your father?" He asks that last as if not really wanting to know, but obligated to give utterance to such.

Hrimhari smiles, and if his ears could prick forward (at the mention of Loki's 'terribly interesting woman'), and then flatten (at the mention of his father)… they would. Instead, he rests a hand on Loki's arm, nods his head in acknowledgement, and puts his hand down.

Immediately he stretches his neck to one side, and tugs at the collar of his button-up shirt. So impractical. So frustrating. So… much like 'Two-Legs' (how he refers to most humans and Aesir).

"This one has not seen the Fenris Wolf, although he has tried to see Hrimhari," the wolf-man explains with a frown. As to when Fenris reached out to his son… that is left unexplained. The prince's nostrils flare and he steps further into his grandfather's 'den'. A frown still creases his brow, but this time is merely an expression of curiosity.

It is not quite incredulity.

"You spoke of a She," he goes on to say. "A She convinced you… to do this?" Hrimhari smiles. How? Why? To what end? These other questions do not get verbalised, but they might be apparent in his expression and manner. Hrimhari picks up what appears to be a case-folder and stares at it. "You took up a Hunt," says he, in a murmur… as though he now understands it.

And approves.

Stepping to the side and waving with one hand towards one of those chairs, dusty of course, in front of his desk… Loki says, "Indeed, a Ms. Braddock. Perhaps I'll introduce you to her should you so wish." He steps back and away, touching a hand to the chair and turning it outwards for him to take a seat if that meets his desire. He pauses and then cocks an eyebrow, "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?" A glance is given to the small cupboard where he keeps such things, wondering if any is left after his absence.

He moves over there, opening it and rummaging around for the moment, taking the kettle from within and rinsing it out with a faint gurgle of water from the small sink in the kitchenette nearby. Over his shoulder he offers, "It is good you found me, I had considered getting in touch with you. Matters proceed apace for Midgard." He turns on the small burner and lends some heat to the kettle.

"For a hunting ground, Midgard is… " Hrimhari frowns at himself, puts down the folder and takes the seat offered him. "Peculiar. Diverting. Upon this one's arrival, many of this… Anew York's dogs began following — pledging allegiance. "Twas… confusing. At first."

A pause.

"What is coffee?" he asks, although 'tea' certainly makes sense. "Hrimhari will try some, thank you." Another pause as the wolf-man tugs at his jacket. "This one is curious regarding these… 'matters'," says he truthfully. "If 'tis help you require, consider it yours, Grandfather."

With his back still to his grandchild, Louis King indulges in the act of creating tea. Oh assuredly Loki could simply wave a hand and conjure such forth, but then again playing at a role is fun. He gets a pair of tea bags set, considers the sugar with a sniff. "I'm afraid I have no cream, so this shall have to do."

He waggles a hand over his shoulder, as if dismissing the concern for such matters. "War may be in the offing with the giant-kin. There was a round of prideful contest between my father and brother. I have been named Protector of this realm."

He shakes his head and turns back, resting his hands upon the edge of the counter as he looks to Hrimhari. "Your presence would be welcome, but do not feel you must sacrifice of yourself for Asgard. I know it has been some time since you set foot in its hallowed halls."

Hrimhari sniffs at the air, leaning forward in his seat a bit, chin raised at the scent of the tea. It appears to please him — although if it had not, he would still be too polite to refuse.

"This one's aid is yours, Grandfather," he replies. "The moving mountains — ," his term for the clay giants. " — have been creating chaos upon Midgard. They have already felt the claws of Hrimhari…" The Wolf-Prince scowls. The lesser Jotuns were not quite like the frost-giants, but still… it was hard for him not to despise them.

"How best can Hrimhari help?"

"My brothers, Thor and Balder are here on Midgard." Loki remains there against the counter with his arms folded over his chest. He cocks his head to the side curiously as he lets his thoughts wander about possibilities, how best to utilize Hrimhari and what he should be aimed at. Though he gives a small nod at the last of the young Asgardian's words. "We are quartering at a building in the midtown of this city,"

The kettle continues to gurgle faintly, though Loki touches a hand to its side, perhaps offering some incentive for the pot to boil. He looks back towards Hrimhari. "Balder will need your aid for he holds the task of stifling the advances of the Jotun."

A small business card is taken from the stack upon the desktop, Loki leaning forward to grasp it. He squeezes it and it gets a faint glow before he hands it towards Hrimhari, "This will guide you to it should you seek our lair. Several Asgardians should be on guard there."

The Wolf-Prince reaches for the card, sniffs at it, and tucks it away in one of the pockets of his jacket. He seems pleased with himself at that — making some practical use of the jacket (and everything else), as though he has only just now discovered its other uses.

The mention of the Jotun darkens his mood somewhat, and all he can do — at first — is nod his head. "If necessary, this one will find other wolves from the Nine Realms to aid the Woolly Bear — ," his term for Balder, " — against the giants. They will come out of vengeance as much as duty."

There is a pause while Hrimhari considers the quickest way to gather some of the wolves, before he inquires: "Why are clay-legs here? They would not come for no reason."

"Ah," Loki's expression is a touch frayed as he turns back towards the kettle that is now shrieking its readiness. He takes it up off the heat, tilting it on its side as he pours the hot water into two coffee mugs. He unwraps a tea bag and casually slips a bag into each before he turns back to offer the mug to his grandchild.

"That is a tale that would take some telling," He looks up and to the side thoughtfully, "And part of it is not known fully in truth. But…"

The desk chair complains as he drops into it, slouching a touch as he dabs the tea bag into the mug. "Thor and Odin clashed, prideful. Thor inflicted upon himself exile and took up place here. Muspelheim took this as an opportunity and sought to gain a son of Odin to torment. Yet Surtur was under sway of another of the fire giants, for this other faction had kidnapped his daughter."

Loki grins a bit, realizing that the tale is indeed treacherous. Yet he goes on, "We rescued the daughter, yet Muspelheim is still in flux. While this was occurring, Jotunheim started launching expeditionary raids. To get Thor to speak with father, I returned to Asgard and was imprisoned. Thor came to see to my freedom and in so doing matters resolved with Odin. Only…"

He takes a deep breath, "Your wise great grandfather had perhaps set out to engineer the growth of the conflict with the giant-kin and thus… here we are, on the edge of war."

Hrimhari's countenance shifts through a number of expressions in response to his grandfather's tale. He takes the offered tea with a nod of his head in gratitude. True, there are paths through the darkening woods — twisting, turning, misleading treacherous paths — that make more sense to him that this all affair.

In actual fact, he understands it better than he lets on — learning the politics of the Realms was crucial in representing his own kind among them. Still, it does not change the fact that…

"Wolves are so much simpler," says he, sipping at his tea.

It pleases him.

Loki's news of Odin — Hrimhari's 'wise, great grandfather' — and his efforts to divide the various races of giants causes a growl to rumble softly in the back of the wolf-prince's throat.

Hrimhari nurses the mug a little while longer, sipping from it occasionally while pondering this news. What happened to his pack could likely have been a by-product of Odin's machinations… but unlikely. His head instantly fills with the yelps and howls of dying wolves — images Loki will no doubt see, given their relationship — before the prince banishes them.

It darkens his mood again, and he looks directly at his grandsire. "The Allfather provoked this?"

A frown touches Loki's features as he turns his head to the side. He is not above dissembling, even to his progeny as it were. But he does at times seems loathe to offer insight that may or may not be true, for it is half the fun the knowing. He looks back to Hrimhari and murmurs quietly, "I don't know." For it's true he doesn't, though of course… he has his suspicions.

"I would not put it past Odin to create such tension, as he was perhaps seeking to draw the crown prince back to Asgard. Crisis to home and hearth unifies families of course." He shakes his head, "But perhaps he has not done so in this case." He spreads a hand, fingers splayed as if cutting loose those words with such little weight to them.

"It does not matter, ultimately. We must deal with what is here and now."

"Hrimhari will follow the path despite the scent."

The wolf-man nods, drinking more of his tea. He is brooding now, mindful of the possibilities. Could his losses be laid at the Allfather's footpaws? It is all too likely… nevertheless, he nods to his grandsire's words. More pressing Hunts require the prince's attention.

He finishes the tea quickly.

"The hounds of Midgard will be told what to hunt for," he tells Loki, setting the mug down. "They are no wolves, but… the 'disregarded servant may go anywhere unseen'." The prince nods his head slowly. "This one will call more wolves — those not as fragile as the beasts, however noble — here as well. Hrimhari is pleased to serve."

Although it is clear very little about this whole affair pleases him. He glances at the mug. "By what name do you call this tea?"

"Then come to the manor and find us, Balder will assuredly set you to task." At that Loki smiles as he lifts up the mug. A sip is taken and then he answers lightly in that easy tone of his. "Darjeeling, Hrimhari. Darjeeling."

And with that some small threaded tendril of fate is decided, the paths of the gods amongst mortals mapped out in another small facet of what is to come. He leans back and rests his elbows upon the arms of the chair, holding the mug close to his lips with green eyes glittering across the way.

"Now, tell me what has passed for you, grandchild."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License