1964-02-13 - Raven's Gift
Summary: Skali creates a corpse. Loki takes advantage of it to have a paternal chat with his grandchild.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
skali louis 

Look at the apocalyptic wolf god, finally wearing a sensible ensemble of jeans and boots instead of fur and blood. The thick curls of dark brown hung freely, escaping from behind the ridge of an ear, the edge of her woolen cap, pressing against flushed cheeks like a mane as her features turned to the skies and she exhaled a thick plume of smoke. The cigarette dangling from between her fingers was the last she possessed, fifteen dollars to her name, untouched by any liquid besides dark coffee or liquor for three days now with sleep evading her human form. Yet still, she smiled as the cold made the fur under her flesh shudder and beg to be released.

"Not. Yet."

The words escaped with steam curling through perfect white teeth, just a bit sharper than they should have been, a glint in her golden eyes as every fall of a heel swayed her hips and the sparsely populated sidewalk of Hell's Kitchen at this early morning hour cleared before her prowl. It was the equivalent of a red carpet for the predator, and she rolled back her shoulders with a low growl that nobody was present to hear. Or so she thought.

"Oh mama, if I was your man-"

Nobody cat calls a creature like Skali. It wasn't offensive, it was incomprehensible, like grabbing a tiger by the tail simply to see what would happen. Slowly her pace slowed, her considerations canting over a shoulder to the man leaning against the edge of an alley. His slumped step betrayed old injuries, his glazed eyes intoxication; weak and crippled and stupid. 'Prey' something breathed into her senses, and she gritted her teeth against the instinct.

The stranger didn't see it though. He approached with that husssssh-hitch of a foot being partially dragged, a staggering lack of grace to his gait. The quiet consideration of him was misinterpreted as invitation, and the distance closed while Skali's nose flared, her pupils dilated, her body reminded her that it had been nearly a week since she had last eaten.

Perhaps it was self-defense that brought them to the back of the alley he had emerged from, his lifeless body underneath her bloodied snout. Unlikely though, given that the deity had no need to take this price for his insolence. She did so because she wanted to. Nobody would miss him, just as nobody missed her. Everyone expects the trash to take itself out.


In a city of millions none saw her. There were no witnesses to the casual brutality and end of such a soul. Yet every movement and thought of a deity exudes portent, possesses spiritual potential simply because of the softened fabric of what passes for reality around them. A life is taken, and forever after that fact the remains of the man will hold some power amongst the magical. Forever after this moment upon this day will hold a strength of omen over a being such as Skali. It is all power, ultimately, power that whorls around such creatures and grants truth to the legends.

Within the shadows of that alleyway, there is a flutter of wings. Birds of ebony feathers and ruby eyes alight upon the wrought ironwork of a fire escape while another finds a place upon the lid of an old garbage can. Each turn their gaze upon the bloody-muzzled wolf woman, transfixing her with a gaze that weighs heavy with judgement but seems unconcerned as to their reception, as if expecting their presence to be all that is required.

There is a faint shuffle of movement from back in the alleyway as the remains of the recently savaged carcass seems to lift itself slowly up into the air, like a marionette drawn to the ready by invisible strings. Arms wide, with the muscle and sinew torn and dangling from its limbs, it is a nightmare visage as the corpse rights itself. Despite its horrid wounds, no intestines or innards spill from the tears in its flesh all over its torso, most likely having been devoured in the process of such death.

Yet life returns. To the eyes of the cat-caller at the least, even as the face remains twisted into the rictus seen upon realization of its death. Blood flows over the skin, colouring the features in crimson like a millimeter thing layer of paint brushed over flesh, filling it out… filling with a trickle like water poured into a glass or some shape to take form.

Eventually that blood congeals, over the skeletal structure of the carcass and solidifies into the features of the Trickster God, Loki Laufeyson, King of Asgard.

The shadows cling to him as he smiles with still dripping bloodied lips, "Skali. I see you are enjoying your time on Midgard."


The waste is as wanton as the brutality of his death, a few bites taken still warm off the skin before she finds the age of the meat too tough, the death too quick, and the sour of sickness too thick to enjoy her meal. The pelt that had threatened to burst over her skin and ripple through her in full transformation slithers back into the pores of her flesh, her jaws snapping into a more human configuration while the pupils set within such pools of gold dilate again. Slowly she draws the back of her hand over her mouth, looking down at the bloom of red across it and sighing as if more inconvenienced by the lack of clean clothing than the life she had just taken.

The ravens were weighed with a casual consideration, as she stooped in the gutters and used the filth there to scrub at the blood on her hands. As their heads bobbed and tilted, she spoke casually to the murder of spectators with a voice still thickened by recently satiated need,

"It's not that good, brothers. But you are welcome to my kill for a favor."

Always dealing in favors. The mud stained sleeping bag her victim had called his own served as a handkerchief to clean up his blood, the motion of wiping pausing as his form recollected itself in grotesque imitation of life. A being doesn't live as long as Skali and startle easily, but she still takes a step back, a small scowl on her features as if suspecting any number of individuals to appear and scold her.

Except that one.

"Oh. It's you?"

The used bedding fell blood stained from her hands, her head tilting curiously as she peered from her grandsire to the crows, then back to him, before smiling easily. Her teeth were still stained.

"It has been quieter in your absence. I have to make my own fun. I must admit, I am surprised. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

It was hard to tell if the bow she stooped into was a mockery or an honest gesture, the depth of it hedging between both unceremoniously.


"A need for eyes, perhaps a voice." Loki's voice is hollow, with a watery quality as if he had been drowned and cared not a whit to be speaking to her from the depths of the ocean. Yet in this form there is still a measure of the regal to him. It could be in his bearing as he holds the corpse construct into his own shape, its form twisting and slithering into place to present a macabre approximation of the trickster's armor and crown. Or it could be the tone in his voice that seems at ease with the moment despite its gore.

"Matters proceed apace on Asgard. I have dealt with Thor and Sif. Odin lies in the Odinsleep unlikely to recover and Frigga watches over him." He tilts his head to the side, blood sloshing across his features to create the half-smile at the corner of the deity's mouth. "The noble houses have accepted my rule, and in time Asgard shall return to the fore of the 9 realms. Yet until then…"


"We abandon courtly pleasantries then and begin with asking for boons?"

As she rose from the bow, her tone was playful, no obvious offense taken though had there been some slight imagined, she likely would have concealed it. Humor hides weakness, a smile makes another question who really holds the winning card. It was all habit at this point. She knew there was no way to outsmart the Trickster himself.

"It is good to see what a deity can do when they put their mind to it. I have said before, should you wish for my services-"

Her hands spread, as if making a play in cards,

"You have only to ask."


There is no tone of a request to his words as he speaks through borrowed lips, Loki's smile is there but no hint of humor comes across. Instead he tells her lightly, almost conversationally, "I would have you observe, see what is there to be seen and then if it is of note, have word sent to me." There's a slight gesture to the side as the animate corpse shuffles forwards, still in shadows and visible mainly as a glistening slick silhouette of cruor.

There is the rustle of feathers as the twin ravens begin to groom their feathers, hopping close to each other and turning red eyes upon the two speakers. It is to them that Loki motions as he murmurs, "These two are now yours. They have served me in the past in my time upon Midgard." Crimson eyelets turn back towards Skali as the monarch brushes off the surface of an abandoned and rusty generator in that alleyway that served one of the old buildings around them.

There's a pause as he takes a seat and then lightly pats the wire-screen surface of the mechanism, as if signalling for her to have a seat herself beside him. "Now tell me what has passed for you, grand daughter. And how I may aid you."


The wet, sucking noise of whole parts rent under her own teeth now forced into imitation of life once more made her nose twitch on its own accord. She breathed in iron and the foul undertones of a punctured gut, wishing for his scent and the familiarity it offered. To the two birds, she turned her attentions instead, knowing better than to call them to her like some trained hawk. Instead she took in their scent, their dark red gazes glinting beady out of black wings, the clean shine that their beaks preened. They were pretty as all things that come of Loki are; perfect in form but corrupted in purpose.

"Aid me? Do I look so destitute?"

The old metal groaned as it allotted her frame as well, her back easing against the algae-stained bricks in a sprawl that allowed her to feign languid disinterest in their conversation. Of course it was a ruse, but she could not tolerate simpering, even if the wolfish parts of her were inclined to such a greeting for family.

"I lived as a human for a while. It was pointless, painful, and exhausting. Then I lived as a wolf again, but the wilds shrink and I think this world is too small to hold a wolf like me once more. I take the Sorcerer Supremes' advice. I try to start again. It's much the same as it was before. I cannot expect him to understand that though."

The glint of her yellowed iris' lingered on his twisted features, finding what she could recognize among the devastation that had taken a man's life and smiled, this one a bit weaker than before,

"No matter how I hunt, I still am hungry. I am so tired of being hungry."


"The word I would apply to you, child, is aimless." Loki leans forwards upon the makeshift seat, his form leaving the mark of gore upon each place it touches. Crimson fingers slither together and entwine as he turns a thoughtful gaze upon her. "Accept the burden of duty and fulfill my wishes."

There's a momentary wildness in the sitting monarch's gaze that reaches even beyond the blood and viscera. "As Hogun has stated in the past, service is its own reward, yet do my bidding in this and I assure you that more palpable ones will come." He turns his head to the side, looking over towards the mouth of the alleyway.

A moment passes before he adds quietly, "Eventually I plan to return to Midgard, after we have conquered Jotunheim." Those dark eyes swivel back towards her, "On that day, you will be free to consume your fill. If by that time you still serve."


A silence stretched after his words, her eyes distant and turned towards the mouth of the alleyway. No breath moved the corpse beside her, a cold depth where her senses demanded Loki should stand. The humor had died on her lips as he spoke, already abated by the honesty of her admission. When she finally was moved to break the quiet, it was with a sideways glance to those grotesque features underlined by ethereal beauty,

"This feels different than the opportunity you offered me before. This feels-"

Her voice trailed off as her eyes closed and she breathed next to a dead man with a happy little sigh,

"-like something I was made for."

Rocking to her feet, she landed in the thickening soup of drainage from his borrowed figure with a little splash that stained the hem of her jeans. While the hours could have been passed in idle conversation, it would not have filled either of them with anything of import. Loki had his pawn, and she had the comfort of a leash being clipped to some unseen collar, a seed of purpose that wilding destruction could not grow. With a glance over her shoulder, she smirked and remarked in departure,

"An agreement then. No oaths are spoken. No favors owed. My gratitude for this opportunity."

And that bow was unmistakably mocking as she skipped back a few steps, and disappeared around the corner with black birds winging to shadow her passage.


And then, with a soupy rush of falling detritus, the form that had been holding together by the power of Loki's will returns to the gory inanimate corpse it was only moments ago. For a moment, the twin ravens hover nearby, wings flapping and a faint caw echoing down the alleyway. They eye the carrion, considering, then turn their gaze after Skali and her departure…

For a time they almost seem to argue with each other before they lift off into the air and flutter after her.


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