Summary:Loki shows up to inform Hod of the goings-on with their enemy Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
Related LogsTheme Song{$themesong} |
  |
It's a sunny day drifting towards dusk, the sky is clear and blue and the clouds, whispy little things float across the sky lazily, carried by the barest breeze that keeps the heat of true spring /just/ at bay, along with the more odious of New York's unpleasent smells. Hod leans against the wall outside of a bodega, a bacon egg and cheese on a roll in one hand, a chocolate milk in the other. His cane is resting next to him, hooked into the crook of his foot. If one didn't know who he was or his handicap, he'd look like any other hipstery uptown guy, sunglasses on, enjoying a nice day with a decent sandwhich.
This is Hod's real skill, and it's not magic. He just blends in, vanishing everywhere he goes into the background so easily that it almost makes one wonder. But then he was always like this. Sitting somewhere, unobserved, silent witness to the world around him while others didn't even realize he was there. It was never a skill much lauded in Asgard where drawing praise upon ones deeds was as important as actually performing them. One more thing about him that didn't 'fit' the Aesir mould.
And suddenly Hod is no longer alone against the wall. There is another figure there and the faint smell of frost and the strange way that portal travel smells. There's nothing quite like it, really. Not bad, not good, but particular. Loki has chosen his place well. There's only a small chance that Hod would attack him in front of all these people, and he's not sure what Hod might believe.
Hod speaks around a mouthful, his words a bit muffled but understandable, "Was wondering when you'd show up and explain the media frenzy." he says, swallowing and raising his chocolate milk to his lips to take a hit. "It's not a bad plan really, but I'm not sure it's going to work for very long. When J rmungandr doesn't exactly show up with the better portion of Sao Paolo hanging out of the corner of his mouth people are gonna know it's a sham." bite. Chew. "Damn but it's got you stamped all over it." he smirks.
Loki makes a humming sound. "What does anyone /really/ know of the prophecies, or what we might be doing to stop it. But, it has bought us a small amount of time. Baldur is in Asgard, safe. I found out than an assassin has been sent for him from the Otherworld…dark fae, the Tuatha. And to me, this means there is only one pantheon left that hates us all." Loki brings a bottle of coke to his lips and takes a sip. He must have teleported with it. "And it also means that the assassin has to target someone new."
Hod purses his lips and is silent. Hod's lack of eyes are well known, so is his Sight, capital S, and how much he hates it. Prophecies are not his favorite topic for obvious reasons, "I came to the same conclusion. I Saw something, a man. His features, his…" he sighs, "I hate trying to explain to people like you what it's like to 'see' a thing for soemone like me. I lack the proper language for it. I know what the man who cast the spells that lead us to Thoth looks like, which I have to tell you, is a weird thing for me to say outloud, even after all these years." he takes another bite and lets that hang in the air for a moment, "Wasn't Greek." he finishes eventually, harkening back to their previous discussion on a list of potential enemies.
More milk and he takes a breath, "You know they possess weapons capable of killing us, not to mention those adept at using them." another bite, then he crumples the wrapper in his hand, wadding it into a tight ball, "So, they need a new target, B's off the table. If the goal is to pit us against one another, they'll have to… what? Target other pantheons or try to force one of us three oathbreakers into another untennable situation?" he's asking because this sort of double thinking, while not /new/ to him, isn't his forte. That's more Loki's thing then his.
"Are you /certain/ he was not greek. I was beginning to think it was quite certainly the Olympians. But, it could yet be the Tuatha. Describe him…perhaps between the two of us we can figure him out. And I think the assassin will go after you or Sif, in his absense. Possibly me, but I feel like I threw them off that trail." He drums his fingers against the coke thoughtfully.
Hod nods his head as he chugs the last of his milk, crushing the little box in his fist when he's done, "Yeah. Father dropped me in the middle of the Pelopennesian war when he exiled me. I know the Greeks. This man carried the blood of the Norse and the Keltoi, his hair was uh… a color I guess? I have no frame of reference for this that would help, I was going to have someone translate for you, get you an image of the man from me in a way you can understand, but she's a bit hard to reach right now. I'll have it provided for you soon as she's not busy doing something silly." Like having a life not revolving around the needs of him and his family.
"A color that is like shadows or a color that is like the lack of them?" Loki asks, trying to narrow it now. "Norse you say? Keltoi. I see. That is interesting…I was hoping the Olympians would have answers. Perhaps he's someone father outcast a long time ago, too…who is angry and prepared to do something about it. Its obvious they hate the light. I will have to see what god there might be of darkness among the Keltoi." He rubs at the back of his neck.
Hod sucks air through his teeth and chuckles, "A color uh…" he makes a face, "I don't know. Like…" for a blind man, even subtle differences in color are monumental, so while a sighted person may say everyone with yellow hair was golden, the statement makes no sense to a blind man who's seen gold and blond hair both only a handful of times in three millenia. Those colors are nothing alike. Clearly. This is where language breaks down completely for Hod and he quickly grows frustrated, "Bah. I will have my friend translate later." he waves the thought away, trying to remember that he long since got over his infirmity and isn't envious of others at all. "I don't know if they hate the light or if I was simply the perfect ready made fall guy for their plans. I'm not even sure they knew I was still alive. Hell, none of the Aesir were certain, perhaps they also assumed I had perished, and using shadows for the attacks was the perfect ploy. After all, blame it on the dead boogey man, not only can you never find your suspect, but if you do he's already clearly the bad guy." he shrugs, "Samhain is the fella you're looking for by the way, their god of darkness and the dead." you end up god of something no one likes apparently you join a pretty small club. They all know one another, friendly they may not be, but they know one another. "Kinda creepy motherfucker actually. Bit morose even for me."
Loki arches his brows. "Oh…yes…thats right. /Him/. Well, time to pay a visit, then. I don't suppose you might know where he lives these days, do you? He seem friendly with the Tuatha?" Detective Loki in full effect. He's made plenty of enemies and currently…he's trying to remember if he ever stole Samhain's shoes or pissed in his ale.
Hod's cheeks puff out, "Well, I can /find/ him." because of course he can, he's not like Ullr good at tracking, but Hod has his ways, "The question is whether or not we /want/ to. There are more of the Tuatha then you can shake a stick at, half of them have a dozen names or more, some of their realms cross over into other's territory, they're…" he shrugs again, "Weird." which is saying something coming from an Aesir, "Friendly or not, he may just hate everyone else more then he hates his own people, I don't know. Lemme send out some whispers in the Dark, see if anything whispers back. If so, I'll find you before I make any moves. And I'll bring a translation of the guy I saw." aka, an image of some kind.
Loki nods, but also frowns, two things Hod can't see. "Yes…if you can find him, we can find the answers to this. But, its good to be prepared before we do it. Lets not wait too long though. We are all in danger while this plot is in motion. Ohh…and…you shouldn't trust Amora. She does /not/ think well of you."
Hod nods his own head, unwittingly mimicking his brother, "Agreed. I grow tired of looking over my shoulder and could use a vacation. Once my name is cleared, of this at least," he adds half under his breath, "and this damned mark is taken away, I'm off to some place nice and peaceful for awhile. If I can get you and Sif to not mention my being alive to anyone, then there's at least a small chance I can disappear into the ether and once more-" then he stops talking, takes a breath, sighs, "You told Amora. Great. Now everyone knows." his head drops back against the brick behind them with a thok sound. "I wouldn't worry about me trusting her, I don't trust any of you. I almost like /you/, but I don't /trust/ you Loki. Not sure that's ever in the cards again." he almost sounds sad, but it's an old wound that's scarred over enough he just seems resigned to it's realities.
"That's a lie. You do trust me, deep down. You may be master of the shadows…and perhaps you will not admit to yourself, but you do trust me at the base of things. Even without your connection to Baldur, you would not believe that I killed my brother." Loki insists, making a bold, even brave, counter argument for trust.
Hod is silent for a long moment before he speaks, and this time despite the resigned sadness still in his tone, his conviction is without question, "Loki, you are my brother, and I love you. But you are a great big bag of dicks. Thor's a bigger bag, so there's at least that, but you are USDA approved Grade A douche. But." he then adds with a small smile, "You're not wrong either. Torture Baldur, humiliate him, out wit him endlessly, all these I would believe, but murder?" he shakes his head slowly. "Deep down, behind all the lies and the twists and the turns and the infinite betrayals, you are our brother. Bor's balls damn us all, we are family. You might drive one of us to kill ourselves one day, prolly me, but you wouldn't kill us out right." he reaches over, finds Loki's shoulder with a little searching, and gives it a firm squeeze, "Just… remember that next time you trip me over a cliff into the ocean. Now, if you don't mind, I have to go hunt down a god of death, darkness, and creepiness. Also a young college student who can translate. I run in fucked up circles brother. Fucked. Up."
"Dear brother, Hodr…the next time you insult me, I shall not let it go. You test me with your tongue, for there is nothing I like better than a good flyting. Perhaps though your memory is very long for all the terrible things you perceive us to have done to you, but you have forgotten that I win those contests." Loki threatens him with, apparently, a roast.