1964-03-28 - Special Orders
Summary: Skali tracks down the memory-deficient Loki and makes a simple book request
Related: Love & Royalty
Theme Song: None
loki skali 

The effort had been exhausting. While the wolf-god did not make a habit of tracking down people like a bloodhound, she had some capacity to manage it when dedicated to the task. And of course, blessed with a bit of luck. While her daily route around Central Park had been circuitous of late due to the whole rift in space and time (always Central Park, why?), the deviation from routine had brought her step down a side street infrequently traveled, her steps slowing, a lengthy pause as she allowed the stale air between tall buildings to settle into her senses. She breathed deep, having abandoned cigarettes in the last few days to keep her nose sharp after conversations with Amora.

And now the front door of the little bookshop opened, admitting one wolf-in-woman's clothing, or at least an approximation of clothing. The denim was practically painted onto her legs, boot cut to little ankle high leather, and a carefully cut jacket that had more dog hair on it than the designer label would have predicted. She sipped coffee from a little paper cup, pretending to read the titles nearest to the door, and every so often taking a deep huff of air that could have just been a bibliophile's appreciation of the smell of fresh paper and old spines.


Upon entering the store, Loki is not hiding. He is behind the counter which is very near to the door, pressed up against the side wall. So, when she enters, she can see him at once. He does glance to her and smiles, thin-lipped and polite. On his hands are gloves, which he is using to turn the pages of a very old book that appears to be in German. His greatest concern seems to be for her coffee cup, anxiety rising and he stares at it, and her, trying to acertain if she's a spiller, or not. He LOOKS like Loki. But a bit younger in appearance than Skali would remember. He is not dressed like Loki, though, instead in a fairly dorky sweater and a button-down shirt.


Skali didn't read. There were some women that could balance good looks and a burning intellectual need to turn dead trees with letters on them, but she was not one of them. However, she was quite good at faking things when she had an invested interest in purveying tidbits of knowledge, and now her golden eyes settled upon the Odinson himself with an unflinching weight. There was no recognition to betray her, just a small smile and a little nervous 'hello' (as if she was actually nervous). She even added in a little bottom lip bite for good measure.

"Do you have a copy of Toward a Psychology of Being? I have checked three other shops and keep striking out and need it for this class-"

She trailed off, looking hopeful as she kept a very firm hold on that coffee cup.


There is a patient and honestly…a little flirty…of a follow-up expression on the man's face. Its a soft smile, and his words come out with a buttery smoothness, crafted to continue this 'flustered feeling' he senses. "Ohhh…I am afraid this is the wrong shop for that." The book he was handling makes a soft 'fup' sound when he closes it. He comes from around the counter, all lean and he must be somewhat aware of his own general attractiveness. "These books in here are all nearing 100 years old." He touches a spine with a gloved finger. "Though, there are some on psychology. I believe I have some Aristotle in Greek…" His voice rumbles, "If you enjoy reading in Greek." His verdant eyes stay fixed upon the shopper. One can imagine…he's a pretty good salesman.


Skali sighs as if this news was truly enough to take the wind out of her sails, looking over the counter at the book he had left behind and the Germanic text across the dust jacket.

"Oh. Well, that's to be expected, I suppose."

She pulled at a sleeve hem, seemingly disinterested in his offer of Grecian Philosophy (who could blame her? She was much too pretty to care about that kind of thing). Then again.

"Can you special order books in? I've been looking for a text; it's hardly the centurion sort, but try finding anything in German around here. It's painfully difficult."

That oddly colored gaze rose to meet his own, a strength in it that no playing at the demure waif would be able to masquerade. It was the sort of consideration a tiger weighs an offered toy with - certainly you can do better?

"Konrad Lorenz?"

The hopeful query rose between them, and she looked away as if suddenly interested in the dust motes caught in the sunlight that played through the windows.


Serrure moved back to the counter. The book he was looking at was most certainly a translation of the Elder Edda in German. He cuts off some of the charm, like sweeping away a rug, which does chill the mood of the place without him purring in it. "Sometimes I am able to find something rare. I have my sources. I will need your name and a phone number, so that I can let you know if I manage to find whatever title you are interested in by that author."


Skali winces at the change in demeanor, adding quietly,

"I'd be happy to pay substantially for your trouble. I understand that it's not your specialty and I did not mean any offense."

Clearing her throat, she stepped quietly to the other side of the counter- too quietly - did she even make a sound despite those heels? It was a subtle sort of prowl that she covered distance with, as if the topline of her frame carried a dancer's ability to segregate motion into parts.

"Skali. You can call me at-"

And she provided the number to Namor's penthouse suite. Gods be damned if she had money for a phone at her place on a dog-walking pay. She was silent as he scrawled out the information, seemingly waiting for something as she studied him with a slight tilt of her head.


Oh, he freezes when she says her name is Skali. He stares at her, trying to judge if she JUST HAPPENS to have a name the same as in his book he's been studying, or if…she's Asgardian and may be friend or foe, accordingly. When she studies him back, waiting for that reaction, his manner changes again, slight rise in his pulse. "I am Serrure…I will be sure…to call you if I find this." There's every sense that if she growls, he's running.


It was all fine and good to pretend at being human when they didn't do THAT. The sudden uptick in pulse, the slight widening of eyes; Loki may as well have just transformed into a rabbit in front of her, quivering and ears twitching like she couldn't see him. But oh she could, she had seen him from the moment she walked in, from the second that little hit of magic leaking smoke-like tendrils outside this shop door had brought her sniffing along the doorstep like a monstrous wolf of legend. There's a flicker of something deep in that golden gaze, something large and fierce and awful pacing just underneath the skin. Then she exhales slowly and smiles, perfect rows of white (human) teeth.

"I know, it's a weird name. My parents were really into Norse mythology. I was supposed to be a twin but I guess I absorbed the other one in utero or something."

That was a lie, but at this point, it was just fun to fuck with him.

"Serrure? Uhm, pleasure. Really any of Konrad's works in the original German would be wonderful - I'm specifically interested in his 'On Aggression' text but would be open to 'Man Meets Dog.' Thank you so much for your time and uh-"

She held up an empty coffee cup,

"-Do you have a trash can I can use?"


Loki holds out his hand for the cup. There must be one behind the counter. Its not /fear/, exactly, leaking out of him, but…self-interest, and uncertainty. Still, definitely able to be fucked with. He never takes his eyes off her and his polite smile is only barely on his lips. "Of course, Skali."


The coffee mug that's handed over is only dregs, and yet it bears the distinct scent of whiskey. There was probably once a bit of coffee in there too at one time. A dip of her head, the little brunette curls bouncing around her cheeks in their perfectly styled loops at the enthusiastic nod and then she's slipping out the front door with a -

"Thanks! Call me!"

The door shuts. Then reopens abruptly, a small frown on her lips as she amends,

"About the book. Not, you know, other things. Unless- you know what, nevermind."

The door shuts again, this time with apparent permanence as the woman slips back into the street, a large dog that had presumably been waiting obediently outside falling into perfect heel. In only a few steps, their motions were practically synchronized, and then the crowd swallowed them up.


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