1964-06-25 - A Visitation
Summary: Kai gets a late visitor, or maybe just a bad dream.
Related: Loki Bound
Theme Song: None
kai rogue 

Kai has been painting and drawing a lot. There is a portrait of Loki on an easel, sketches lying around of the trickster god, of a little dog, of various people in Kai's life. He's working on a series of sketches of Amora where she's wearing barely a sheet in a setting with details that accentuate the sensuality of the female form. Whatever one might have to say about the little elf, it's indisputable he's got a knack for artistry. Two hundred years of experience and honing hasn't hurt either.

Two hundred years splintered in an instant. The charcoal lifts off the page. The sketched lines ripple against the grain of the paper. Elevated trails crease open air, forming that very sheet on a scale of twelve inches and then thirty-six and then seventy-two, painted into hairpin curves at the waist and breast and hip. A shape intimates at a foot. Her face is there, but shifting out of the impossibly pretty lines of Amora's facial features. Not everyone can be so sublimely blessed. So stands the likeness of the woman in a winding sheet from her shoulder to her toes. An animating blink gives motion and those eyes coloured in greyscale stare down on Kai. She is more than a foot and a half off the ground over his sketchbook.

Kai yelps and tosses the sketchbook away from him, and he draws up on the couch, curling up in a ball. Defensive maneuvers! Then he watches the lady unfold with wide eyes. "…I was wondering when I'd be seeing you," he says. "I've been looking for him. I promise." And there's no lie there. Ask anyone, he has been searching high and low.

Long, long braids form among the loose curls that could be blonde, if they were not drawn in silver. Looking down at herself, the Vanir hitches the sheet and wraps its length around her body. A few neat tugs and pulls allow her to tie a knot for a suitable garment, no chance of it dropping unexpectedly. Her blinking allows somewhat more physical form to be taken. :: //One did not slumber, ljosalf. Does he sleep now? // ::

The same voice as before, more felt than heard, has a peculiarly melodic quality. Like windchimes and babbling brooks, the way water curls around stone and rushes out. And apparently she's genuinely concerned about interrupting his sleep.

"I haven't been getting much sleep lately," Kai says, still curled up as he watches her. Like if he makes himself smaller she'll forget all about him. "I close my eyes and all I see is Niflheim." He does look pretty wiped out, true to his claim, with dark circles under his eyes. He looks around the otherwise empty place, merely grateful that Jay has taken Kevin out for walkies. They don't need to be here to see this.

The fact a sketch is life-sized, speaking with Kai, could be the proof of hallucinations of the highest degree. The woman shifts slightly and clasps her hands in front of her. :: One sees the field but not the house. He knows the autumn harvest and not the flush of spring. Are these not essential? There is peace when work is done and cares set aside. ::

"But I'm not done," Kai says. Gods, he hopes this is a hallucination. Or maybe he's drifted off and is dreaming. So many possible, more pleasant outcomes. "I've got so much left to do. Surely Niflheim can wait a little longer. It's not like anything is going on down there that requires my presence."

The impassive expression of the strokes of charcoal caught in his own making is probably Kai's own fault. Did he give Amora an expression on the page? Whatever it was, the figure there awaits. :: Who is he to know when something is required of him? The All-Father sees not even all ends. The elf and she do not have such certain insights. The time dawns. The call comes. Then they go where most they are needed. ::

Her steady, barely blinking gaze falls to the elf, and his bid may reach deaf ears. If ears she has.

:: Why does he fear so greatly? Pain is a dream lost. ::

The expression he gave Amora on the page did justice to her and was quite friendly. Kai opens his mouth, but the pleas to his own lack of importance die on his lips. He knows why he's important: people can get at Loki through him.

"I'm afraid of that place. There's nothing there for me. I'm afraid I'll never get to make art again, or see anyone I love again, or that I'll never get to feel the sun on my face or see Alfheim again. I'm afraid of losing all the time he and I should have had together. Here, alive and well."

Then he might register her as friendly rather than terrifying, if a little remote. Beautiful in a way, a sketch through his own imagination brought to live. Pygmalion and his Galatea, in the wrong circumstance.

:: Winter comes after autumn. Would he break the cycle that always has been? One loses and one gains. :: The Vanir warrior only shifts a bit on her back foot, the robe rippling. :: Life must have its regrets and lamentations to contrast the joys and gains and hopes. One without the bitter or sour tastes would allow no hope to appreciate the sweet. One lives another way after. It is not like he becomes ash and dust, blown away. Too much of that knowledge lies in the wrong course. It has never been the telling of the light elves. ::

Grandmother always said he'd end up where they punished people, or worse, the boring place. And that happened! He never thought he was really that bad of a child. He just stares at her for a time, knowing that, friendly as she might seem, she doesn't give a damn about anything he might have to say about why he should be given a second chance. "Just give me a few more days," he says, "to find him." A tear slips free, rolling down his cheek.

:: Peace, ljosalf. What happened has happened. It is but a step through the gate he already traveled through. The time is nigh. ::

The words linger, and the charcoal turns to dust that tumbles across the floor in curves and lines that intimate the branch of tree, the ghost of leaves. And he is alone once more.

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