2019-04-20 - The Plan


Hod reveals his plan to identify their attacker. Loki doesn't like it.

Log Info:

Storyteller: {$storyteller}
Date: 04/20/2019
Location: Hidden house

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The underground subways of NYC are legendary and for good reason, there are unused nooks, crannies, access tunnels, maintenance shafts, abandoned lines, the birds nest of underground work is a maze one can easily become lost in and never again see the light of day. And it's dark down here. Reeeeeeally dark. Especially under Turtle Bay since the attack that left the neighborhood a wasteland of rubble and collapsed infrastructure. It's also a /perfect/ place to hide out if you're desperate and confident in your ability to fend off your average homeless or desperate person.

Like an Asgardian might be.

Hod, considering this a bit obvious, has /NOT/ been hiding there. Instead, he's been hideing in the shade cast by a large umbrella, lazily floating down a river outside of Hanoi in Vietnam. Can't nobody hide from preternatural eyes like the guy that hasn't got any. But then the tickle started, somewhere along the back of his neck, the one that always comes, that summons him to places where soon things of import will be happening. A cruel twist of the Norns perhaps that wish him to 'witness' things in Midgard, or part of one of his powers he never fully understood making itself known. The itch grows. He ignores it. Two day. Three. He instead continues to work on his STUPID FUCKING PLAN. Four days. Five. An itch becomes a burn. A desire becomes a need. And soon he can't sit still. He cannot sleep. He cannot enjoy his Pho. He cannot do anything except think about returning to NYC. To Turtle Bay. To the abandoned stationed that was a bustling hub of commuting but is now a dark silent wasteland, shut off from the power grid, from the other tunnels, from everything by the cave ins caused during the attack.

It's a hidden place. A dark place. It's exactly the sort of place Hod /might/ go to ground. Which is likely why when Loki arrived a couple of days ago to continue laying low, popping into exsistence in the otherwise entranceless station, he found a stash of food, portable cooking impliments, basic communication objects (magic related, not cellular related), low key (ha!) protection and distraction wardings, basic Asgardian 'woodcraft'. All with the scent of clean cool frost and the chill touch of shadows in the power used to set them in place.

It's also likely why he's shouldn't be to surprised when an unseen speakers voice echos ominously from the shadows, "Figures you'd find one of my holes to hide in."

Loki is having an interesting party down here. There are no other beings, but, he has laid out some old documents, and several books are opened to various pages, and there is a dagger that looks like a mirror of the found murder weapon. There's also some complex traps, set by him, which…immediately go off. Illusory sights, sounds and even smells suddenly perpetuate the place. Its an assault on the senses, but only a brief one. The charge of an attacker is interrupted by a sudden slice of Loki's hand through the air, enough to make a whistle. Then his hand slams on the table in front of him. "It figures that you would fail to knock first." He knits his brows. "I spent /hours/. What did you get me into, brother? You and Sif…and me?"

Hod snorts as he materializes out of the shadows, which has always been creepy. Everyone else /steps/ out of shadows and into the light, they move from one to the next, when Hod does it it's more like walking through something clingy and caressing. They linger in light they should flee from, stick to him and peel away slower then they should and in a manner that's unsetteling. There are reasons other then the prophecy that made him easy to hate as a 'child'.

"You set up shop in /my/ hole and then ask me to knock when entering. You may have evolved in the last couple millenia but you remain as entitled as ever." the charge should be cutting, but it's to weary to be that, to worn. He saves his real hate for other gods, or at least for times when it's appropriate and useful, right now? They're in the same boat, no need to pour water /into/ it. He swings his cane back and forth until the end taps up against a large chunk of jutting concrete and he reaches out with a hand, patting around it before sitting down, using it like a seat. "/I/ got you into nothing. /Someone/ is dragging us both into it. Me more then you I might add."

"Oh yes…by all means, your lot must be the longest suffering one." Loki flips the cover of his book with one motion, shutting it. "So…who is it? Do you know? Is it really the Psedjit, because somehow…I do not think it is." Loki moves, pacing while he talks, sometimes entering deeper shadows than others, so that bits of him appear to the blind man. Feet. A hand there. Half his handsome face. "How else have they set you up? Its shadows…/no doubt/."

Hod doesn't see detail in the dark, not unless it's the /real/ dark. Luckily, underground mostly counts. And in Svartalfheim? He's a terror. "You wish to take the title of reigning champion of being shit on by our family from me? You can have it, but until you do take it it's the only birthrite I have from Dad and so I will use it accordingly." Hod seems oddly calm and matter of fact about this, but he's an Odinson and when the shit hits the fan they have a collective ability to put aside emnities in favor of getting shit done. Good survival trait really.

"Okay, so clearly you've been out of the loop a bit." he says, "Frankly? We got played big brother, and played well. From the jump this whole thing has been one long con, and you were the first patsy." he smirks a bit, "I have to tell you, discovering that did make me smile a bit. I mean, I don't often to get enjoy someone pulling a 'prank' on the rest of you, but on /you/… I drank a bottle in that fuckers honor before of course vowing to vivisect them in payment." speaking off, he reaches out with a hand, offering a hip flask to Loki as the other god paces. "The scarab. It was meant for you to find, for you to be unable to unlock, and for you-likely the only one capable of finding me-to give it to me. You were some prat's messenger boy." another amused snort, "But, once it got to me the game was properly afoot. I was led by the nose to Thoth's temple where I arrived /just/ in time for the old nerdy bastard to appear, see the dead preistest, and get all Oathbreakery on me and vanish once more. Honestly? For about 3 whole seconds I thought it was you, and I think I was supposed to think it was you, but whoever set this up dosen't know the second son of Odin well. If it were you, it wouldn't have been this slopy, this ameturish. /Even/ if you had /meant/ for me to think it was you in some kind of triple blind bafoonery, you'd have made it more elegant than this pile of shit. You couldn't help yourself." he lets out a huff of breath, "I know you that well at least."

Loki draws in a deep breath and holds onto it for a moment while Hod insults his way through his summary of things going on. He takes the hip flask, but sniffs it. "Where is the scarab now?" Loki continues to pace, finally coming to a stop as the crinkle of paper indicates he's lifted a scroll. "I have some ideas of who might be behind this…who hates us both…and you most of all. Who might also wish to see Baldur fall. Out of fairness, I did have to actually check to see if it was some scheme I set up years ago. Now and then…they pop up. Things set in motion for a few centuries before surprising me. But…no, this is not me." There's a soft sigh. "I spent a week in the shadows…I believe I was trapped in some sort of maze spell for a time. Some of it I cannot explain at all. Just darkness. The truth is hiding itself well, but…not without some trace. We will find out who this is, and make them pay."

Hod reaches up and removes his glasses, which just means the shadows in the room crawl up his face and collect in the holes where his eyes should be but never were. "I have it in a safe place." he says, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Of course not, if it was you I'd either never have suspected it, or it would have taken me longer to discover it wasn't you, really selling your innocense. Besides, if you were out to do some real evil, you wouldn't involve me. I'm a little beneath your paygrade brother." he offers a wan and self depricating smile before the glasses slide back on mercifully hiding his disfigurement, "Next time you're in the shadows, you should call." he points out. Sure, there's issues and what not in their relationship, but Loki's his brother and… well fuck it, Loki was nice to him that one time. No one else bothered until some shit was in it for them.

"Ah. Yes." he shifts a bit in his seat and then leans his forehead against his cane, resting it in front of himself firmly, "On that note I have… I have a plan." Loki's 'oh no' sense is tingling.

"I'd like it back…which is a matter you've been avoiding, since I am quite aware that you are not hard of hearing in any fashion." Loki purrs the words out in a slithery fashion, taking a step with the scroll still in his hand, towards Hod. "What is your plan?" His fingers tap one after the other against the flask. "I hope it includes Sif doing something terrible or ridiculous."

Hod shakes his head, "Not… really. A little bit, but this is mostly on me. And a bit on you. And maybe on an ally or two, depending on how many cards I wanna play." he takes a deep breath in through his nose, "If you know who the adversary is, or where to find the knowledge, I'm game. Anything other then my idea is a better idea then I got." look at him, obfuscating effortlessly. It's almost enough to make a big brother proud, "Seriously, do you have /any/ idea how to get what we need, because if I say my idea out loud, if I put it in your head, you won't be able to hide from it. Its so fucking stupid Loki, it's suicidal, even for us it's suicidal. We're talking giving Surtur a handy levels of stupid."

"I'm using 'giving Surtur a handy' at the next flyting." Loki says abruptly, lifting one finger swiftly, claiming it for himself to use to insult odin's-beard-knows-who. "I want to hear the idea…" He replies, his voice on the chillier side, and facing the left wall instead of straight on.

Hod purses his lips, "You really really really don't." he offers, and by now Loki may recognize the ediquette involved. When doing something truely dangerous, the sort of thing that Asgardians live for, it's polite to offer three times for someone to slip out of it without being told what it is. It means they can avoid almost certain death without being seen as a coward, because they didn't /know/ what they were being offered. Being polite, in the Asgardian way. Also the flask is full of single malt high end scotch, the kind they literally don't make anymore.

Loki still has the flask, though he hasn't taken a swig yet. It could be a hostage. "I might be into getting you killed for ignoring my request…it sounds like a perfect idea so far." The Prince counters with a sly tone, the voice coming at a slightly different angle.

Hod sighs, "Loki, don't posture and flex. It's unbecoming." he says calmly, "You're my big brother, you can kick my ass up aaaaaall over the place, you always did before and I'm not half the Aesir I was two thousand plus years ago. I've been running and hiding from Heimdall and Father for the entire tenure down here and I'm tired. I'm tired of always worrying the rest of you would show up one day and put goat dung in my sockets while I slept again. Or abandon me in Svartalfheim again. Or that thing with Sjojn." he grimaces, "That was particularly cruel brother." he says in a heavy tone.

"So I believe it's abundantly clear you have the upper hand, even here," he waves a hand through the gathered shadows, "at this point posturing and playing games simply makes you appear weak and afraid. The Loki I remember was never either of those things. Mischevious, sadistic, cruel, cold, clever, charming, wicked with a dagger, second only to myself and father with a spear, manipulative, reputedly good looking though I have no idea about that one… but never weak or afraid. You wish for the scarab, I'll give you the damned thing, though at this point I imagine it's useless. You want to hear the plan, I'll tell you, I was merely offering you the polite means to avoid what I'm pretty sure will mean that the Norns get to wear our flayed hides as new winter shawls."

Loki makes a soft humming sound. "It has been a long time since you knew me, brother." His words evoke, crafted with a deep undercurrent tone, playing with silvery strands at the past, weaving towards unseen ends. Hod may judge his skill with a spear and dagger as valuable, but those skills pale compared to his greatest weapon, one so oft overlooked among Asgardians. "Think of me however you wish…but consider that without me, you would be framed, alone, marked, alone, with no allies for your plan. It is time to turn your wrinkled face to the future. Death will not be our fate." His tone rises in pitch, slightly, and more in vigor, bolstering, even, inspiring in its suggestion. "Tell me the plan…and I will tell you the enemy."

Hod is quiet for a long moment, then he offers the now familiar wry smile, "Loki, I've been framed, marked for death, and mostly alone for two thousand five hundred years, give or take a few decades." he moves a bit so that he's 'looking' in Loki's direction, "Without you, I'm weaker, yes, but I am /not/ without allies." He waves his hand in the darkness as if Loki could see it, beckoning, "C'mere you silly git. I'm not Thor, I'm not Father, I'm not the Three, or Sif, or Iudunn, or Rav, or any of the others. I am Hodr," he pronounces his name properly a feat rarely accomplished, "You don't have to put on the airs here, brother. It's just us. Drink the excellent scotch and sit down, you… you may need the seat." he pauses, "Good speech though, very…" he claws a hand in front of his chest and shakes it almost like he was rolling dice or something, "resounding."

He then leans back a bit and lets out a long slow breath from between his teeth, hissing. It fogs of it's own accord and a couple of lonely snow flakes drift away from the breath, an old sign he's worried, "I think we should visit Yggdrasill undetected, travel the trunk, arrive at the roots with an appropriate gift, and consulte… ahem… consulte uncle Mimir." he cringes as if expecting Loki to hit him for such a stupid idea.

"If you wish to try, I think you should, but we don't need that old creature to tell us what we already suspect. I think its likely one of the Tuatha de Dannan…or the Olympians though. They've both been quiet…and both hate us AND the Psedjit." Loki hands the scotch back, and his voice is quieter.

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