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Kai comes around to the balcony where Rogue, his Juliet apparent, was hanging out last night. While he waits outside the Night Owl, he smokes a cigarette, affecting a picturesque loiter, his shades in place, the beret on his head at a jaunty angle. He wears a red scarf around his neck, a splash of color against the all black of a hipster.
*
Scarlett — Rogue to only a very few and most of them wearing eyeliner. She is most certainly the Juliet to a tragic Mercutio, had Romeo run away from the Capulets and left a far less exciting story. Then again, Will Shakespeare never considered whether the lovely Italian girl might have preferred Mercutio, either. Such is the nature of art. Baz has a few things to think about in the future. The Night Owl isn't her usual haunt, anyways, but a suitable place to find those in the musical know.
It also helps the balcony on high has a flower box. The flower box did not get there by itself else a girl wouldn't leap over it, but this particular hour, it's being tended by a slim figure and the general assistance of a cat. Not a tabby; a smoke-point creature with shamelessly golden eyes peering down upon the world in haughty disdain. Ears flick back, demanding scratches it will not get. Not unless the cat wants the maiden to completely beguile the whole damn neighbourhood.
*
Kai isn't wearing eyeliner today, but he would. Oh, he so would. Regardless, she is Scarlett to him. Upon seeing her tending her flower box, he pushes off the wall and makes his way toward the house that contains the balcony that contains the flower box, the lady, and the cat. Tipping down his shades, he says with a broad smile, "But soft, what light through yonder window breaks."
His attention strays to the cat, and he perks up. Yes, he's one of those, whose response to the treacherous, mercurial little creatures is generally 'kitty!!!'
*
Mrowr, the cat insists. Tail swaying in space, it approaches a step along the rail and makes its demands, altogether unaware an elf is likely a better target than the Soul Thief. She clicks her tongue and easily maneuvers a hardy strain of rosemary into the stretch of freshly tilled soil, making a gap for the unpotted plant to fit in. The cat takes this opportunity to fall on its head and throw paws up in the air, offering the angler fish temptation of its fuzzy white stomach. Yes, pet that indolent fur, even if the soil is being thrown about like a toddler.
Scarlett holds the rosemary plant in one hand, the other raised. "You are incorrigible, and yet what would my life be bereft of you?" The question lingers a moment, and then one has to prick her conscience with a ballad made. An answer replies, albeit a line descended, 'ere she knows its source. "Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her child, art far more fair than she."
Leaning over the rail is but called for, the dark flames of her hair hanging to her waist in stylized braids. Kai is there, while toe beans knead the air in effectively. Won't someone please pet the trap and the Soul Thief?
*
Kai waves indolently with the hand holding the cigarette. "How fortuitous to find you out today," he calls up. "I was hoping we might have a conversation in light of-" he takes a drag off his cigarette and exhales, "-yesterday." The way he says it, it was just a little bit of business, nothing to write home about. He side-eyes the cat. Aww. Won't someone please pet that poor animal before it dies of no love?
*
"Do you remember the directions, or do you need me to lower my hair to climb up?" The latter might be less effectively than going in the door and up the stairs, but do what one will. Her inhalation gives a sense of the cigarette's contents, and for all her senses are fairly mundane, they can easily distinguish tobacco from clove from oregano from weed. Pleasures for the counterculture queen. "I invite you up. Let me put on some tea." She puts the rosemary plant down on the cat, who protests with a muffled, dusty chirp and flails around. It will be waiting for Kai in the meantime.
*
"As lovely as it would be to play the part of your prince," Kai says with a twinkle in his eye, "I do recall the way." He stabs out his cigarette, boring old tobacco alas, and makes his way into the house and up. When he gets to the balcony, he beelines for the cat, holding out fingers for sniffing. Tobacco features heavily, but there are the remnant odors of a sandwich and french fries.
"Who's a good puss?" he coos. "Look at you, so fuzzy and cute." He's a sucker, the kind of soul a cat can lay claim to with little more than a purr and bunt of its head. Or setting the tummy trap. Or just being a cat, really. "You're a good kitty."
*
The feline mews and haughtily twitches its tail, eyes narrowed. Teeth and claws might be employed liberally, but for the dirt skimming off its fur, a good petting might take the place of immediate savagery. "Mrrratttt," it protests, and scratches at any hand going for its belly, back paws raised for the bunny thump kick.
A sigh follows from the redhead, as she preps the kettle on a hot plate and pulls down two mugs from the cupboards. The place has an odd quality; it is an apartment, albeit one that feels a bit spartan. One that she is apparently decorating, as one of those tasks that earns a girl $20 from a friend, and all that. "I appreciate your description but a menace and pretty will do." Flattering the cat or her? "Do you take cream and sugar or honey? Lemons are a touch out of season."
*
Kai winces and pulls his hand a way. "Ow! You're a feisty one," he says. "You're supposed to sniff. We're making introductions." He shakes his head. Puss is all wound up. Still, the elf is a hearty sort. Strong, dense, quick to heal, hard to harm. It's no great injury to body or ego. Kitty is forgiven.
"I take everything I can get," Kai says with a puckish grin. "Cream and honey would be divine." He takes up a lean against the balcony, reconsiders, and busies his hands with another cigarette. "Speaking of the divine, what do you make of the other day?"
*
"Cream and honey, then. Someone after mine own heart," purrs the bohemienne; she knows her way around the galley kitchen well enough to produce a satisfactory arrangement of cups on a tray, albeit one patterned with a psychedelic paint job in orange, blue, and buttercup yellow. "They have a major difference of opinions and quarrels that have not to be resolved. I think there are broken hearts and sore feelings in the future, but the worst fallout will not be on them. It will be on those around them, as it always is. Friends and acquaintances inevitably weather things worse when there are personal matters aired."
She carries out the tray. Seating is peculiar, mostly corduroy chairs with great pillows and lumpen ottomans full of beans. Truly it's a household for the cutting edge, not at all like Scandinavian fare popular with some. Probably why she needs to help. "And you? How aware are you of Serrure's situation?"
*
Kai sits in one of the corduroy chairs, affecting a lovely lounge. It's a careless thing, putting himself on display In an age of plausible deniability, he comes off as gay as Christmas tree, but what can he do? Blend? Be someone else? Hardly. He perks up when the tea is brought. "That mug is the Ginchiest," he says. He lets the mugs cool before taking one.
"I know who he is," Kai says quietly, his gaze slipping to the flower box and the cat. "I knew who he was the first time I saw him. Scared me to death, but." He shrugs and smiles faintly. "He's captivating. He's passionate, and he has a great capacity for kindness. I think that, unburdened by his past, the prince he could have been persists."
He looks back to Rogue, and he sighs. "I adore him," he says. "And since it's the ones closest to them who pay, maybe it's the ones closest to them who should try to head this nonsense off at the pass."
*
In an age where women never enjoy sapphic delights, and the idea of planting flowers on both sides of the divide would cause mass hysteria, Scarlett has no such qualms about matters. Truth, then, she really owes her heritage to the Asgardian realm. The stars watch their wayward daughter worried, her history an entangled line. "Indeed?" That makes life easier, for all the dreamer in her stares outwards.
"There will be little hope trying to forestall Lady Amora. She has her own pains and passions guiding her heart. They are passion incarnate, burning with an all-consuming flame. Those two are too much alike. And Mr. Blake, he is being forced to bloom 'ere his time, baked between them until the vestiges of rest hesitate and force him to awakening." Sinking into a seat is a master class on self-control; the benefits of yoga are brutally exquisite for her. She lands as a leaf. "Adore, but know he stings with thorns and the salve of a smile, son of moonfire. I regret we see the moments when the last shreds fall between them all, for it will be a harsh business, and worse with another restraining element lost to us."
*
Kai offers Scarlett a brittle smile. "I expect to get hurt," he confides. "Who am I in the grand scheme of things? A silly little elf with a deep infatuation. It's enough to be touched by his greatness." He takes a drag off his cigarette, his gaze wandering into the middle distance. As he exhales, he says, "This is why I never get involved, gone by midnight, and conveniently lose their numbers. To avoid pain of losing them. They're so fleeting, Scarlett. This is different. It's the pain of having him."
He utters a lovelorn sigh. "I don't know much about Amora. My instinct is to not trust her, but my instinct is to not trust anyone." He grins, winking at Scarlett. "Just like it's my instinct not to love anyone, there are exceptions." He takes up his tea, has a sip, and sighs again. He's got it bad. "We must convince them that the the bonds of brotherhood transcend passing wrongs. I'm not just saying this for Serurre. Mr. Blake would regret destroying him once the passion of anger passed."
*
Her fingers wave through the air, and if it could dispel an eighth of the agony shared, it would be a trick greater than the Sorcerer Supreme's finest spells. She would be sought be celestial beings and infernal horrors, prized, slain. There is no freedom from living short of lacking for emotions altogether, and what then? The slight smile touching her lips ignites her eyes to a glow terrifying similar in its hue to balefire, the burning shades of the auroras. "You preach to a choir. Save that I am murdered with every breath, and have to keep walking. 'Tis the secret, the easiest of them. Walk away, but we both know you will not. You will stand there in the fire, immolated, longing to hold together for a breath further if you could. You will not like the cost of it, but pay it, caring no more for the debt you incur than your life hanging in the balance."
Words scoured with a shining wisdom of damning grace. She tips her head. "Why do you trust me in this? I am least among them, and I have unquestioned allegiances they all know. You look to me to move my hand in this. I do not deny the possibility, but why? The game that we have been playing can change in a heartbeat, and when it does, it will cut every last one of us down who is not in favour with one or the other. "
*
Kai drops his gaze as, word after word, Scarlett hits the nail on the head. "Well," he says with a small reprise of a still smaller smile, "we all have to go sometime. A life without passion is hardly living, and after him, there will never be anyone else to compare."
He takes another sip of his tea, savoring the cream and honey goodness of it. "See, that's exactly why I trust you. Part of it, anyway. I'm the least among all of you, just the child of renegades from Alfheim. I don't trust the most of them." The double meaning is punctuated with a wry grin. And unquestioned loyalties are a known."
He sits up and faces Scarlett, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he regards her intently. "You stepped in," he says, "and you pointed out the bonds of brotherhood. I agree with you. Of course I'm loyal to him, but I'm also loyal to peace and the notion that no one has to die."
*
"Say that standing under Death's gaze. See where it leads you." She does not say more than that, but she need not. Scarlett tucks her hair behind her ears, lifting her teacup to her lips as she turns sideways and makes for indolence incarnate: her legs slung over the arm of the seat, and her back wedged into a corner. "Passion is a force to be channeled, directed, not left to bubble away with no aim. I am the least, and do not mark yourself otherwise. He cares for you. That gives you an aegis even the All-Father will be slow to cross. And be ware. He knows you now."
Nothing like that to make someone feel good given that Odin is an ornery, demanding right bastard when it comes to anyone not his wife. Easier for a light elf than a mortal weapon, and one possibly unleashed with frightening consequences against one's enemies. Destroyer armour is useful, but what about near indestructible things in a dress?
"I stepped in. I have been stepping in for what little it helps, and hope the audacity will not see me struck low. I have to level with Mr. Blake, as much as Amora will not thank me for it, and neither will Loki. But then the bridge is burnt, and I saw Heimdall broken. This must be diverted. Death is not likely. Rage, it will be. But he can throw it all upon me. If there is one thing I am built for, it may be that."
*
Kai shrugs a little in grudging agreement. It's easy enough to accept death while one's heart is still beating strong. Then he closes his eyes and sighs. The All-Father knowing of him is exactly the thing he didn't want. His kin have already stolen from him, and them rotting in an Asgardian prison is a pawn Kai hoped would never be played. "I never wanted this," he says, "but for those moments when it's just us and everything is perfection, it's worth it."
He leans back, curling up in his chair with his tea and cigarette, which he stabs out, leaving only the tea. He wraps both hands around the mug and breathes in the waning steam. He looks over to Scarlett. "I would help you," he says. "For the sake of peace, which ultimately serves him. It's just that he's not the only recipient." He swallows, then adds, "I didn't know about Heimdall. I've been away."
*
What tangents they might discuss when not under the umbrella of greater matters, those of broken incarnations and lives fit back together with difficulty. Bits never realign quite right. Her wounds might bleed, and his family might lean down under shadows cast by crimes in his likeness. "We were lovers in his previous incarnation. I would have walked into the fires of Muspelheim for him," she says in a quiet undertone given precious little emotion, the distance painted. "Though I am sure he told you, whatever he can remember. I trust perhaps there may be recollections, but the emotions are gone with the winter snows."
Why she divulges this is her own choice, the legacy of countless options and decisions painted through weeks and warming months. Seeds bestir themselves, and sprout to a sun, but for some, the night is their own venue. "I'll bring more tea. I brewed up the last of the black and there are a few other good choices. Oolong, a white, and more. I may not need the help. My first step is clear. Peace in the kingdom matters and subjecting one's needs to the greater good becomes reflex. I've learned a thing about that."
*
Kai closes his eyes, and he nods. How could he compete with someone as glorious as this Asgardian, with her flame-colored hair and melodious talent? He's just a small thing in the presence of giants. "He said you were, but I don't think he remembers very much. I think when he returns to himself, he'll know I'm not worthy. Sometimes I hope he never remembers, but that's not fair to him, so I hope he doesn't remember any time soon."
He passes over his mug and smiles at her, dim as a pale winter sun drowned in mist. "Thank you." He then says, "I just don't want my greatest contribution to be ornamental. If I'm in this, I don't want to be a helpless bystander or a damsel in distress. I know I'm a ridiculous thing, but, given the situation, I'd rather be more."
*
How? Physiology makes the rule, the XX rather than the XY. Simplicity can be glorious, and time swished through the hourglass leaves no contenders, only one victor and memory in subtle poignancy. "He is closer than you think to himself. I have the feeling you will see the end of days with these two in their ignorance. For how can one exist in a state without the other aware? Has that ever happened before?"
Scarlett is very good at dodging when she needs and wants to. Nothing like exchanging masks, preventing him from scene. "Why would you be ornamental? For gods' sake, if you are happy and you make him happy, how is that not to be commended? As much as I should hate you and despite you, I do not. It would not be me." A shrug follows, a sip of tea to soothe her throat and the ache that will never vanish. "I understand what it is to yearn for being necessary, important, a contributor rather than an accessory. What is worse than being left forgotten in the background? And thus, why we are what we are. We know his pain."
*
"As much as I should feel threatened, I rather like you more than that," Kai admits. "It's not in my nature either to hate easily. Maybe we share comradery. I don't know. I'd rather have that than enmity." He curls up with his tea, taking what comfort the act brings him. It harkens back to earlier times when things weren't complicated. "He does make me happy," he admits. "And I make him happy, though the gods only know why.
"I don't speak out of self-pity, you know?" He looks to her. "After my parents were thrown in prison, I made a point to become very small. I wanted them to see someone who wasn't like them and who held no grudge. But it's not just important to me to be someone because of ego. If I have the All-Father's notice, there will be a cost, and if me or my parents are going to pay it, it can't be in vain. I will act. I'd rather it not be at odds."
*
Threatened by what, a bunny with great big teeth? A kitten with a propensity for chasing ater dust motes? Scarlett threatens no one, and no one wisely is threatened by her. Camaraderie it is, then. She slips off the padded seat, swiveling to lower her legs, and then saunters off into the kitchen to fetch the teapot under a rather hideously charming knitted tea cozy, the sort grandmothers make with tight stitches and awful colours.
"You speak from a desire to have a meaningful route. Why throw the shuttle across the loom of your destiny if not to make something of it? Who wishes to live in obscurity?" Questions she does not answer, but they are given to the elf.
*
Kai lifts up his cup when the pot is brought out. "I did for the longest time," he says. "I still would if not for the fact that I can't imagine walking away from him to go back into hiding." He manages a brighter smile. Camaraderie is much nicer, and it fills the elf with joy. Which is, after all, his preferred state of being. "Let us at least agree we share the goal of peace for the same of the realms. I do what I can to counsel Loki, but he'll do what he does." No illusions there.
He sits up a bit and uncurls. "I love him," he says. "I haven't told him. I don't want to jinx anything. But, by the gods! What love will drive us to." He shakes his head. "I like you, Scarlett. From the first moment I saw you, knowing I should run the other way, I thought you were swinging. I still do." With a small laugh, he adds, "Maybe that's what I bring to the table. I generally like everyone."
*
"In some ways I am." Scarlett puts down the teapot with care, concealing the strength buried in her bones and vital muscles, the strength that makes her a threat so much more than her slender disposition and lithe, yoga-toned build woud ever imply. But then that's the truth of the realms, even Midgard. Not is as it appears. She stoops to pour another cup for him first, and then one for herself, the practiced grace present in every smooth gesture. If one can separate the lift of the pot from the tip or the withdrawal when the tea levels off in the cup, she has failed.
Lashes rest against her cheek and she laughs, the sound a crystal bowl capturing the resonance of distant stars. "You should not. I am not entirely a perfect creature, and who knows what his brother will think of me."
*
In contrast, Kai is very careful about lounging indolently, curling up like a tired child, stretching out. One has to know propriety in order to break it so effortlessly. His grandmother tried to teach him to be a proper elf, bless her heart. She tried. "What would I do with perfection?" he says. "Someone perfect would annoy me."
He thinks for a long moment, then says, "I have to believe some part of him yearns for the brother he loves, and he'll eventually see we only acted in the interests of making peace, and he'll hold no grudges." He waves a dismissive hand. "Maybe because that's how I can believe Loki might be redeemed. Heimdall? Mercy."
*
Propriety lies in the realm of Scarlett's soul; she has no escape from manners and acknowledging them. She adds a splash of cream and a dash of honey to the cup that already boasts both, raising it to her lips. A sip gives the infusion of heat relegated to her palate, stolen through her fingers, and diffused through her palms.
"Mercy is a powerful force. So is need and family. Is the action he took before his sin to bear when he is no longer the same person? Are we different from those we were, and will the All-Father accept that?" A query she cannot answer.
*
Kai dares not speak to the All-Father's acceptance. It's not something he lets himself think exists. Better to anticipate the worst and let the best be a pleasant surprise. "One could say he's already died for his crimes," he says. "To have lost the man he was who did those things. Even if he does end up recalling them, it'll be through the filter of one who's already become someone else."
The prospect seems to cheer him. "Bygones," he says. "Maybe if we gave them a few hundred years to cool down, they'd see it." He purses his lips, then drops his gaze and asks tentatively, "How fares Heimdall?"
*
"I would hope it sufficient for the crimes enacted, and for the damage done. And yet among immortals, is that acceptable? What is the cost of a coup, and revelation?" Scarlett ruminates on the matter over the dark, steeped brew of camellia leaves and delicate flavours, breathing in the steam and allowing that to percolate around her skull. "I anticipate we would be long dead 'ere the choice arose, to be certain. You would not hold the measure of time as has a king who dwells on a high place, given the deep view of time unparalleled by any save the Norns and their queen."
There is no admonishment there, no transient sensibility of emotion. One can only be scoured down so much before there is nothing left.
*
Kai admits with a helpless shrug, "I don't know." He exhales sharply. "I don't know. I've never had to think about this before. I left a long time ago and lost myself in mortal indulgences. I imagine I've abdicated my right to have an opinion about the bigger picture."
He sets his teacup aside so he can rub at his temples. "I can love him," he says with a sigh, "I mean, that's something I can't help but do. If there's something you think I could accomplish on your behalf, I'll try. Other than that, maybe I'll find some way to use youth and obscurity to some advantage."
*
"Let me pursue the two courses I know to be best. With Lady Sif no longer in the picture, I am a safe go-between and a scapegoat. What could they or the All-Father do that is not already worse than the fate I suffer?" A blithe, glittering look passes over her eyes and gives dimension to her features, but her pretty countenance bears no evident emotion deeper than her fair skin. "I was prepared to be imprisoned indefinitely in his name before, this is nothing new. Keeping the peace may help. I cannot guarantee anything, but let me see at least if his brother will hear me out. Based on that, I think we may be able to engage in a discussion. Importantly, we mustn't antagonize him upon Lady Amora. Were Sif here… but Lady Sif is not."
Truth, that. It is not an easy portent to face.
"From there, perchance if we can try to curb any excesses on Loki's part, it would help to create a space in which a dialogue can begin. If his brother is ready. If his brother is in his right state of mind for it. With that recourse, can you perhaps sound out with Loki what his intentions are? His goals? Is he seeking restoration to Asgard or to be left alone in a self-imposed exile?"
*
Kai's gaze goes into the middle distance as he listens. He nods slowly, stroking his chin and the sparse beard growing there. "A fair course," he finally says. "I can speak to Loki, figure out what he plans. I know he would rather have reconciliation. I would be surprised if he wanted anything less than restoration to Asgard. If he'll listen to me, I'll ask him if baiting Lady Amora is the best strategy." From his tone, chances are good he doesn't think it is.
He renews his study of Scarlett; she's a fair sight for any eyes, in any case. Even he can appreciate her beauty. It's not the reason for his consideration, though. "What is the fate you suffer?" he asks.
*
Relief might be spied at the fringes, behind a sense of obligation and duty, a watery tincture diluting the painted range present on the canvas of soul and flesh. Certain elements demand their due, carried up on upwelling currents towards the surface, yet never given proper due to manage for long. "Reconciliation would be desirable," Scarlett agrees, sipping her tea between the long stretches of contemplative silence whilst coveting her own counsel on the matter. Alas, 'tis a lonely world where she walks. "I doubt he should wish to be in exile. He was in his previous incarnation and that represented no happy time for him. It would be a divorce of the worst kind from everything held fear, home and the one place of importance. They do not do well apart from their realm," says the bohemienne, her certainty a quiet statement without fear.
Beauty does not help. "The Norns alone know and do not speak. Hela screamed and flung me from her realm upon seeing it."
*
"I chose exile," Kai says, "and it's been difficult. I mean I wanted this. I was born here, raised here, it's the only home I've ever really known and I miss Alfheim so badly I feel like I could die sometimes. I can't imagine what it would be like for him." He takes a drink of his tea, once more taking pleasure in earthly things than considering too deeply what he's missing in higher realms.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "That you're fated so. I'm starting to realize the true luxury of a choice. Would that I could extend it to everyone."
*
"What we want is not always what we seek." Scarlett, the philosopher queen, fares no better trying to assess her purpose in all things. "You were raised to Earth or Alfheim? Forgive me, 'tis not clear what you meant there, and I would not wish to assume the wrong thing. Would you not find common companionship about then, that? Surely you can obtain at least a rapport." Her eyes almost close, the luminous emerald vanishing, their lantern-brightness erased.
"There is naught to be sorry for. What I should wish for may come to pass or not. In that I am exactly the same as everyone else born." Her smile brightens a hint. "Do you not know there are many Norns? Alf Norns, svartalf Norns, even for trolls and jotun and things for which we have no name. Who is to say it was Skuld who cast her eye in my direction?"
*
"Earth," Kai says. "My parents came here after they, uh, committed their crime. I was born in London, raised here and there all over the world. When they were caught I was taken to live with my grandmother in Alfheim, but…" He shakes his head, then stretches. "But I'm not cut out for manners or history or tradition. I skipped out and came back. This place isn't much, but it's what I know. The times change, and me with them."
"Are there?" he asks. "Grandmother never got to that part of my education before I decided to learn at another institution." By which he gestures to the world in general. "Where, when people look at me as though I'm a liar and a thief, it's because I've earned it." He scratches his head idly, blue eyes glinting as he begins to remember mirth again. "Was it? Or do you know?"
*
The notion of elves born on Midgard, will the worlds never cease to amuse and delight?
Scarlett dips her head in a nod. "There are. The greatest of them are in Nornheim, of course. There is also simply a Norn for… I know naught how many things. Some are malevolent and others not. Part of my education, though, such is sure. One day perhaps I should learn more, and perchance not."
Her gaze flows over him, curious as one might find her, lips parted slightly, tasting the air. "Was it which?"
*
"Skuld," Kai says with a silly grin. "I wonder if there's a Norn for Midgardians. I hope so. If we have to have them, they should, too." Such a generous soul. He shakes his head. "Do you ever want to be something other than what you are?" he asks. "I imagine everyone thinks about it sometimes."
He stretches, catlike, and lies sideways on the chair, using the arm for a pillow and the other to drape his legs over. "I mean, do you ever wonder what it's like to just be…" Normal? What is normal? To him, it's maybe eighty years and then it's all over. "To be one of these poor people?"
*
"Skuld, Urd, Verdandi. They belong to the Well and through them, all the waters of the world are said to flow. Theirs is the water that foretells all things happening on the roots and trunk of Yggdrasil," says the auburn-tressed maiden. His last question begs the longest measure of regard. Somewhere in the oubliette of thoughts, voices murmur and cry, a cacophony swelling to a point no silence would ever engulf the pandaemonium wail. "I know what it is to be them, yes. To feel their fears and their doubts, uncertainty in the face of a vastness beyond them. How they stand together and stare in trepidation at a sky known to them for four thousand years that no longer reflects anything familiar, and their myths come wrongly alive."
*
Kai tilts his head. "Do you really? How did you accomplish that?" He's tried. He's tried! But he's just not able to relate once age sets in. He chews the inside of his lip, and he says quietly, "Nothing's been the same since then. Even I can tell that much. They used to never doubt the were the center of the universe, and now, well. It's never going to be the same, is it? For them, I mean."
*
"I imagine the last time a shift of this magnitude transpired, it would have been around the turn of the eleventh century when they realized the Second Coming was not at hand," Scarlett muses, "or possibly the period of industrialization in England that completely demolished the old ways living in the countryside. The Age of Enlightenment when faith was shaken to the core, and science replaced blind belief in a benign, omnipotent, omniscient god. For we know gods, do we not? And they are not without their flaws and foibles, their incoherent behaviour, their joys and grandeur are merely reflections of those down here. IT may be their cares vary and their interests are as diverse as grains of sand on a beach."
*
Kai wrinkles his nose. "Besides, they're hardly benign, are they." He looks out toward the street, where there are people going about their lives doing what people do. "There's a woman a tenement a few blocks down from mine. Her name is Mrs. Peterson. She's not got many years left, and her children never come to visit. She lives all by herself, and she's got a medical condition to manage. I check in on her, make sure he's got food for the week and whatever help she needs medically.
"It's funny," he says. "We talk about things like the Great War and the Roaring Twenties, and for her it happened so long ago, and for me it was like I was there just yesterday. But she speaks of those days so fondly, and there's no one left to listen."
*
"I know not. You are infatuated with one, ask him." Scarlett goes silent in that sense, and she wraps her arms around her knees. "'Tis a number of predicaments for the young and the old. What is five thousand years to him? What is fifty to Midgard? They are each full of their own values, and yet so passingly short. The years for you that speak to great longevity will in their turn seem like nothing to other races. More and more, we are left to devise a particular understanding on a shifting dune. Knowledge is hard-earned, and precious for all that. Do what you can to remember. When there is naught but her of dust and dreams, the memory will live on. The Egyptians had it right; immortality lies in a name."
*
Kai grins despite himself and says, "I'm not sure 'benign' is the word I'd use." And he doesn't elaborate, just smile into his teacup and takes another drink. Then he lets his head fall back on the arm of the chair, gazing up. Grandmother would have a fit. "I remember them," he says. And when they die, I wish their souls to the glory of their choosing. I try to picture them the way they were in their stories, young and vibrant. They'll never know who I am, but I know them." He taps his temple and explains, "Superhero mask. I can't have people knowing Kai Alfsson has a heart."
*
The chuckle follows. "They will know, in their fashion. Your heart is too plain, alfjar. You cannot deny what you are, unless you were to call yourself Lord Spindlepuff or Peaseblossom, like the last of your ilk to grace my presence." How terrible must that have been. The frosted whiteness of her hair is hard to note, wherever it might be. Fingers tease against her brow and skim a line or two. "You are a good man. You break my heart that you should be so and the circumstances of life are as they are! How can we not venture into the wilds of Vanaheim or move through the Asgardian markets, nor catch poetry in Singapore and the very best of street food in Delhi or Caracas? Augh! For all our cares."