EVENT ★ EXPLORATION

[futurologists]

With the storm gone, the water surrounding Komo has calmed considerably. Much of the affected area is in ruins, but thanks to ALASTAIR, a large contingent of Komo survived the disaster. However, with parts of Komo uninhabitable, they need to be able to reach Nalawi’s other islands. With their technology so limited due to dependence on their Gifts, it’s all they can do to build a few tiny, shoddy canoes, powered solely by elbow grease. They only fit two regular-sized people (but four Nalawi), and the wait time is long, but they do the trick. If you aren't willing to wait, you can always try to get creative. Strangely, though, anyone trying to use their magic to cross the waters will find that their powers are beginning to dampen. Similarly, anyone with superhuman abilities at all will find them waning, albeit at different rates. Those without any special powers at all will be completely unaffected. But that's nothing to worry about, right? It’s time to see the rest of Nalawi. PU’ULAI PU’ULAI is the centermost island of the archipelago and by far the largest. Most of the travel between islands is to and from Pu’ulai, as it’s the cultural hub of Nalawi and the location of Nalanni’s largest temple. It’s very populated during the day, but isn’t a residential area and clears out once the sun goes down. The first thing you'll notice is that the deer hate cats. The citizens of Komo are far more likely to let it go, but if you have anything slightly cat-looking with you here, at best, you'll be yelled at. Some Nalawi try to start fights, and no one but Komoans will allow cats anywhere near their homes or inns. Recruits might notice children running away from cats, screaming, "Dakal!" THE TEMPLE, referred to as Nalanni’s Garden, is closest to the Nalalona volcano on a neighboring island. The regular ash from it was viewed as a good omen from Nalanni, who’s rumored to live within the volcano, but it’s been months since anyone has seen any activity from it. The temple is dark as obsidian, which is coincidentally what it’s made of. There’s a copious amount of brightly colored flowers around the temple, hence the name. The gardens are free for anyone to walk through, as is the temple. One image is constant throughout the temple: an inhumanly large, vaguely feminine being made in stone and fire, a walking volcano. It would be easy for such a woman to look frightening, but she looks welcoming and caring, arms outstretched to embrace her children. Inside the temple are more murals of Nalanni, but also some curiously unrelated to her. They depict the Nalawi fighting against large, predatory cat-creatures, finally culminating in their enemies attacking Nalalona. This is when Nalanni reappears, striking them down. The temple is tended to by several Nalawi of varying ages, all very welcoming to strangers, especially those they’ve heard heroic tales of. News traveled fast once the Komo villagers crossed the waters and spread the news of their timely rescuers. There are plenty of Nalawi in the temple, making offerings and asking Nalanni to return to them -- some are hopeful, but others appear desolate. CITY HALL is where the ten members of the Council convene. No one is allowed in, as they’ve been discussing the changing state of Nalawi nonstop for days. There’s a group gathered around the hall each day, hoping their leaders will emerge and announce their plans, but nothing has happened yet. It’s a good chance to sit around and listen, though -- you’ll quickly find out that Nalawi is a meritocracy; the Council have the strongest Gifts of anyone in Nalawi, determined by a nationwide competition to prove their worth every time a seat opens. Some of the more disgruntled deer whisper that some must have lost their powers by now and no longer deserve to sit on the Council. A few arguments are beginning to break out around the city hall, and even a few scuffles. Luckily, their weakened powers have also dampened the damage they’re able to deal, and no one has been injured too badly. Just try to be respectful -- otherwise, you might upset the wrong person. Those hooves can hurt. ELSEWHERE, there's a marketplace where traditional Nalawi clothing can be bought, among other things, inactive spas shut down due to dormant volcanoes, and maybe -- if you’re very lucky -- you’ll stumble upon a ferry that still works. It’s unlikely, though, and haggling with its owner will be difficult. You could always steal it, but you wouldn’t do that, would you? You can always explore the SURROUNDING ISLANDS, which are mostly residential areas, similar in theme to the parts of Komo that haven't been destroyed. Oh, and if you're disrespectful to the islanders or were at any point rude to the people in Komo, you might wake up to find a bunch of tiny, adorable Nalawi around your bed, swinging around bars of soap in socks. Don't worry, they won't actually do anything but threaten you for a minute before storming out. ...Yet. The moral of the story is 'don't mess with the Nalawi.' OOC INFO The entire map of Nalawi is now available to characters. Updated location information can be found here.

Comments

ugh, b.

[selfimage]

Hello, this is Ground Control to Major Tom. [ Loki waves an open-faced palm in Jason's face, back and forth, slowly enough to see if his eyes are registering the movement. ] You've really made the grade, and the papers want to know whose shirts you wear!

[ there's a hum in his voice that follows a sigh, his fingers turning from open to closed, clicking a pair of black varnished finger nails in his face to see if he'll snap out of it. ] Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare.

[ there's a linger in the air of something, Loki can feel it; a thinness in the barriers between realms, allowing the linger of the shades to pass. as someone who's made it his prerogative to frequent Hel and its mistress, it's unsurprising. the smell of Earth mingled with dust is in the air, tingling his senses.

there's something else there, though. something he can't exactly place. their meeting last time had conducted itself like a business transaction, a little playful back and forth, testing the waters of two with similar interest.

it was no fun when the other person was incapacitated by a spirits. ]

ah, loki please

[gutpunching]

[Too bad he's too busy being a space case to hear that one, that's a classic.

At first, it really does seem to fall on deaf ears. The haunted woods seem empty enough of spooks at the moment, but the eerie air hasn't dissipated in the least. They've left behind some unexpected evidence of their passing through. How long he's been there's hard to say—long enough for the ghost procession to move on, but not long enough for the spell to wear off on its own. And Jason's never been short of willpower when he's got the faculties for it, but some things you just can't grit your teeth and force your way out of without a little help.

Maybe it's just enough that there's someone trying to snap him out of it at all. Some kind of foothold of focus, or it's the familiarity in the voice that does it, or even the context of what he's saying—or just the snap of those fingers edging a little too close to his personal space.

Whatever tips the scales, when he does snap out of it, it's immediate and violent. A whipcrack snap in his nerves, like a cornered animal come to bear its teeth. He moves all at once, snatching the snapping fingers out of the air by the wrist in an attempt to twist the hand back and away, driving his other elbow in for the windpipe.

It's fast, and it's forceful, but it's also mostly blind. Even if Loki doesn't have the means to stop it when he sees it coming—and lets be real, he probably does—he could always try to duck.]

[selfimage]

[ there are a few conclusions that Loki can make from this reaction: that Mister Jason is utterly and completely mortal with absolutely no defenses against necromancy (Loki's going to guess "spellwork in general") in which to speak of, there's something off about him that he can't cover psychically, and that he's been trained in some manner. the latter is probably the most obvious. kneejerks out of a trance aren't usually so organic; where the blow lacks in judgment, it makes up for it in precision.

so, while Loki gets half the desired affect, he also gets a elbow to the chest (after centering himself a bit closer). there are bits on both their ends that don't go as planned: Loki's wrist, while hovering, is almost impossible to bend when he locks his muscles up, he doesn't move far, even when the outburst is obvious, and Loki's body is heavy. very heavy. he hardly jerks even with Jason's weight.

well, it's not like no one's told him that he doesn't have a punchable face. ]

Ooch—is this what your morning alarm feels like?

[ Loki catches him in the soft part of the elbow, throwing him a bit off balance with a slight sweep so he can gather himself. in the meanwhile, he's rubbing his collar like he's actually hurt (he's not). ]

[gutpunching]

[It works out. He shifts his weight to adjust to the deflection and so he can come back around for round two—probably going right for the punchable face, he's always been a little too quick to that—which is right about where his senses catch up to his reflexes.

So instead, he pulls to a stop. Jaw tight, eyes narrowing as the focus comes back to them and the world pings back in. (There's a long moment when he's very aware of his heartbeat in his ears and his fingers gone cold from stillness and his knees sore from being locked in place and very little else. He bites back the sick and angry feeling that comes with it so he can push through it.) He backs off abruptly. Backsteps to put distance between them and drops his hands and lets them twitch in and out of fists to test them while he gets his bearings again. As much as Loki doesn't look the brick wall, he can feel the impact rattling up his arm, and he can recognize the clearing, but the what the hell happened beyond that is still working its way back to him.]

Never been much of a morning person.

[It's not even morning. The response is dry, but distracted. A little more pointedly—]

Usually I know when I'm expecting company.

[He's pretty sure this wasn't that kind of wild night, anyway.]

[selfimage]

[ it almost looks as if Loki's willing to take another hit to get a look at him, green eyes watching Jason twist and aim for his face before stepping back and relaxing. ]

A graveyard person, then. Do graveyard people expect company?

[ Loki rubs the front of his throat with his palm, craning his head until he's massaging his collar, just above frame of his armor. it doesn't hurt, it didn't even bruise, but he's dramatic enough to make a show of it. ]

On second thought, don't answer that. Instead—well, why come to such a spooky place on your own?

[ the implication is there: were you looking for something, bro. ]

[gutpunching]

[He shakes the lingering sting out of his fingers while studying Loki's wounded look with a wary eye. That little scrape should have knocked him back at least a couple feet, but it felt more like running into a brick wall. Does lend a little more evidence to the whole namesake thing. Maybe the Themyscirans and their benefactors weren't as singular a phenomena as they seemed.

If nothing else, the chatter and the question give him time to clear his head and cast back for the answer. He exhales in a way that might be a laugh, if there was any real humor in it.]

Call it a habit. [Or a hobby. Spooky places. Who doesn't like a good graveyard. He even had himself a funeral, once.] Lets say I've got a little personal interest in urban legends.

[Mostly because they don't tend to be quite what it says on the tin. If the great untouchable Dark Knight is a man in a bat suit, the people moving through the woods at night may not necessarily be as benign as the spirit of your old granddad come back to visit. If anything, it would make for a convenient cover, considering people were encouraged to avert their eyes if they didn't listen to wisdom and avoid the path at night. Seemed like a good enough place to start being nosy. Got a little more than he bargained for, though. (He'd tracked down the sound of drums and and the glint of light on the path, then—)]

[selfimage]

[ Jason's talking, and Loki's shaking out the lapels of his jacket, causing the fur collar to stir and the useless buckles to rattle against green scales. when he finishes, he appears unfazed and uncaring that he was outright attacked. he's an Asgardian, and people regularly fight over any excuse that they can muster. (some poor guy was stabbed over a festive winter ham once, ah—story for another time.) ]

Do you? [ this is the second time personal interest has driven him, wasn't it? ] Don't tell me you used to work in a mortal morgue. [ says the supposed father to the goddess of the dead to the guy who was dead for a while. ]

So, tell me, are the dead the same here as they are everywhere else? It seems to be an ongoing theme. [ one that he knew the answer to, but hey. ]

[gutpunching]

[He's like a big green windchime, huh. At least all pretense of stealth has long been abandoned, here. Whoever else is hanging around the woods—ghosts or not—are long gone or long aware that they have company.]

Depends on what you mean. First I've seen of any alien deer people.

[In a manner of speaking, anyway. He'd come here looking for anything fishy and found it. Shame it decided to push the pause button on him before he could even get a good look, let alone draw any conclusions. How embarrassing.]

But then, maybe I just didn't get out enough.

[When he was, y'know, working in the morgue. He doesn't really remember much of the being dead thing, to be honest. Just the befores and afters. That's more than enough.]

Maybe you ought to be asking them, instead.

[selfimage]

Oddities aren't oddities when you're used to them. Their attention to detail may be a little lacking where ours would not. We are, after all, the anomalies here. This is all fresh and newish.

[ Loki says, either to Jason or to himself. then he turns to him and eyes him, bright green and searching, as if there's something that he's looking for in him rather than their surroundings. his voice slows, curious. ]

But on the subject of similarities ... you and this place aren't that different, are you?

[ it was like listening to the same beat, or the same hum, a chorus in a song whispered over and over again, and while occasionally the notes changed, the piece, more or less, remained the same. this one he knows, because it feels the same almost everywhere. there was something about him that wasn't quite right, that resonated here, with the dead. he knows Hela's presence, even when something wasn't hers. ]

[gutpunching]

[Anomalies is a good word for it. They're fixing the timeline by dumping a bunch of anomalies blindly into it. Sounds kind of like fighting fire with fire. (Which, to be fair, is just what you need to do, sometimes.) He doesn't comment, since Loki's moved on to looking at him a little too close. He can feel the scrutiny that comes before and with the question, though he's not sure he appreciates it. Carefully—]

I'm not sure I follow.

[Not sure. Not entirely unsure, either, because he can put two and two together when they're sitting next to each other. As far as he knows he doesn't exactly have borrowed time written in neon lights over his head. He's sure as hell not going to volunteer it first if he doesn't have a reason. But everyone on the crew is, after all, an anomaly, one way or another. He has a feeling this conversation's tipping into careful territory. But he'll feel it out, first.]

[selfimage]

[ there's a clear look that Loki doesn't believe him.

even with his powers wafting like smokey tendrils, and his senses dulled like the edge of an overused knife, he knows it. familiarity in the family has its ways of sticking with you when you're a god. ]

Would you like me to go into detail?

[ for once, it's not a challenge. he could go into detail, list off the abstract reasoning to his question, but he doesn't. it's a sensitive topic that he's broaching, and while he doesn't do so without a certain amount of arrogance, there's also a lingering understanding. Loki was stained with death, even when Hela's hand had written him out of the book of the dead. there were points in his life that he had written with a quill dipped in blood of his own incarnations. the extremity of certain existential traumas bore their weight on him, even by his own hand.

if anything, he's curious. there weren't many mortals that were stained with death. he was offering it quid pro quo. his own sorcerous inclinations for explanation of the details. ]

[gutpunching]

[What follows is a beat of wary silence. It's an odd position to be in, all of a sudden. He doesn't have much understanding of it, himself. Just that it happened. Even Talia and Ra's, for all their resources, hadn't been able to put a finger on why he'd woken up six feet under, still half dead from the beating that had killed him in the first place. And he hadn't sought it out, after he'd been healed. Because the far away intangible what that had brought him back had paled immensely in the light of what he'd found once he was himself again. He'd left that mystery in the past to pursue his life again with purpose. To do what he could to make sense of his half-baked second chance by doing what no one else would do in his absence.

He can't do much of that, here. And face to face with someone who may provide insight, if not answers, he weighs the worth of his secrets—if you can call it that, when Loki's looking at him like he's wasting both their time by dodging—against it.

If nothing else, better to know what Loki does know. Or at least, what he thinks he does. There's a tic in his jaw while he turns it over, a tight line in his posture that does not at all invite further investigation. But sooner or later—]

Try me.

[He's listening. What better place for a ghost story than a graveyard, after all?]

[selfimage]

[ long ago, in another life, he would have dismissed the prospect of this little game entirely. mortals lives were fleeting, useless in the divine plan, meant to worship the gods above them. for all of Loki's arrogance in the last millennia, it hadn't been until recently that he saw the constraint on time as a mechanism that meant something was far more precious than something that lived forever. perhaps it was that existential trauma kicking in. ]

You feel like death.

[ may as well lead with the best of it. he pauses, for dramatics, and then continues with the chunk of the article instead of leaving it at the clickbait. ]

Not in the way that mortals would think—ah ... how do I put this? I wouldn't have known it unless I've frequented the same halls, myself. Most mortals who resonate the same way aren't usually on their feet.

Have you seen it? The underworld? [ then, to clarify. ] ... Any of them?

[ they were all one in the same, as much as their lords would bicker about the petty details. ]

[gutpunching]

[Existential trauma's a real killer, huh.

He doesn't flinch for the declaration, not least because he had a hunch it was coming. And every Bat's got an ingrained appreciation for dramatics. So that's how it is, huh? Come back from the dead, but you don't really shake it off. It's still a part of you, somewhere, a crack in the foundations for anyone who knows how to look. Shouldn't be a surprise at all, really.

He very briefly and very pointlessly entertains the idea of playing dumb a little longer, but it doesn't seem like a very productive use of his time. Instead, he resists the urge to pace and fixes Loki with a sharp look while he gives his answer.]

If I did, I don't remember it.

[Is that helpful at all? Probably not. But then, he did come back with some very serious amounts of brain damage. Only about half seriously—he'd asked the same about Ragnarok, during their first meeting—]

Is there more than one?

[selfimage]

[ oh, he likes that look.

in response, Loki cants his head to the side, as if he managed to get his attention more with the look balanced at the edge of the blade rather than the words, themselves. ]

No, mortal perceptions are built a certain way. Limited, though it's most likely to keep you from being overwhelmed. The divine can be ... well ... [ the last word, delivered a little breathless with exasperation. ] ... Overwhelming. No one wants any mind-breaking trauma.

[ he's thinking of Thor, of his father. he didn't want to think of his father, but there he was, lounging in the throne of his brain. there weren't many in the Ten Realms that would dare linger in front of Odin, not even his own family. Thor had been terrified of him for a time, and the only thing that kept Loki going was his own bitterness when he was confronted with punishment. ]

And yes—[ he waves an open hand to the graveyard around them. ]—there is. This world has its own, most likely. My culture has two, or three, depending on who you ask; only one that most mortals think is important.

[gutpunching]

[No real comment on the last. Jason isn't actually much of a religious man, even after everything. Maybe some atrophied part of his lapsed childhood faith had wondered if there was a heaven after all, before the end. (Didn't really matter, now. He very much doubts he'd be invited back, if there was.) Maybe in another life, what happened to him would have (had) reaffirmed his faith. In this one, it's been wrecked beyond salvage.

For most of his ALASTAIR stay, he's kept a pretty low and casual profile. No sense drawing too much attention where he doesn't need it. But in this, he is restless, dangerous, and not entirely rational. Angry. Easily the most traumatic experiences of his life, and everything since has been tied up in it. He's never had a problem with focus.]

How thoughtful. [That cuts like a knife.] Sure would hate to break anything.

[Except he had been, anyway. Broken. Some pathetic Pet Sematary project crawling his way out of the dirt with his bare hands. Half dead. Head empty except for the one name that mattered. (And what a joke that was.) If it wasn't for Talia, he'd have stayed that way. It sits bitter and burning behind his teeth, but he keeps it caged back, because it also begs the question—]

Why ask a question you already had the answer for?

[To see if he would answer it?]

[selfimage]

[ even under the glare of the blade, he seems casual enough. if he poked the bear too hard, then he had enough low-level sorcery to wiggle his way out of it (even with the slow drain of magic). if it was something he was good at, it was running away. ]

We're all stuck as the inter-dimensional clean-up crew. [ he says, smoothly. ] Aren't you at all curious to know if we're as random as they say? We're quite the eclectic bunch from around the multiverse.

I may be able to get an inkling of what happened by senses alone, but that really doesn't do much for perspective, does it? [ a big sigh. ] Well, you're as clammy as high tide at the pier.

[ he's already gotten the hint that Jason doesn't want to tell him much of anything. sometimes it was better to look for what wasn't there, other than what was. there were tactics to avoid subjects, to lie by omission, and as the god of lies, some of them stuck out like a sore thumb. ]

[gutpunching]

[Suspicious bastard is a charming character flaw he's yet to work his way out of. Which works in Loki's favor as well as against him, in this, because figuring ALASTAIR out is pretty high on his list of things to do, lately.

After a sense of pacing mentally back and forth, he eases up enough for some breathing room. How much perspective can really be gained is another matter entirely. But in some measure of good faith—]

What do you want to know?

[Maybe he'll actually answer it this time.]

[selfimage]

[ they were in the same boat. Loki's quest to uncover ALASTAIR's secrets may be self-serving in some ways, but they were awkwardly heroic in others. trying to undermine a future-self that had fallen back into the narrative loop of being the eternal villain was harder said than done; in many ways, fate was the blame, and they were currently employees under the guise of protection to force ALASTAIR's choices on other worlds.

it really wasn't something he liked, and it almost went directly against his nature for chaos. ]

What happened? What do you remember?

[ the expression on his face (frustrating, partially to him) becomes somewhat sympathetic. there's no pity, no criticism—he had already spoken of his blows with death during the course of Ragnarok—just a retired understanding. dying and coming back constantly wasn't fun, not even for a god. other things, such as destroying other incarnations of yourself, was even less so. ]

[gutpunching]

[Despite a propensity toward oblique gallows humor on the subject, it's not actually something Jason's talked about seriously to...anyone who isn't Talia. So the leap to a near-stranger gives some understandable pause. He's been taking Loki with a wary grain of salt and then some. A little bullshitter to bullshitter back and forth on top of a business relationship where the business is their mutual employer. Little soon for much else, but he takes his time to consider leveling a little, anyway. He's not all that sure understanding or commiseration are what he even wants. But one thing's for sure—if Loki were at all offering pity, here, this conversation would have been over before it even began.

Okay. Fine. Cards on the table. At least, a few of them. Lets see if you're on to something, here.]

I remember being murdered. [Bluntly, for all the weight that ought to carry. This is the obvious part, isn't it? And, because he's not above grudges—] By a psychopath.

[He was fifteen. And despite the betrayal and the trauma that came with it, the dying was not the worst of it. It was the coming back. And thinking too hard about it gets him thinking about Bruce, and that's where it just gets messy. Probably beside the metaphysical point, anyway.

The edge on him hasn't gone away so much as eased back inches into constrained and bitter humor. He lifts a shoulder in a shrug.]

Gets harder after that. I mostly remember being brain damaged. [Whatever brought him back certainly hadn't healed him up in the process.] Crawling six feet out of a coffin with my bare hands. Doesn't get fuzzy til after I bit it, so it must have been the explosion that did it and not the crowbar.

[Or maybe just the coming back at all. You tell him, bud.]

[selfimage]

[ push and pull was easy. Loki had a way of feeling people out. while he was a considerable weapons wielder, as well as a gifted in sorcery, the risk with Loki had always come from his observation. Volstagg had said it was what made him dangerous, and Loki had a tendency to agree.

brain damaged; mortals just don't walk around after that. there were some that he knew had, but out of common occurrences? it really wasn't one of them. there was nothing magically inclined about Jason, nothing that really tipped Loki off existentially, it was just that weight that was so familiar.

while there are bits that are surprising, Loki doesn't seem to perturbed. ]

Explosions are always good for scattering the senses. [ he exploded, once. ] And certainly traumatic. Do you really want to remember?

[ because if he can or can't may not be the issue if he doesn't want to. honestly, who would? Loki goes on though, like he doesn't exactly expect him to answer. ]

I can attest to nagging gaps in memory, and the dissonance that comes between events not matching. [ there's a pause. ] Like remembering an interaction without the words, but the feeling that it left behind. A mountain the mist.

If you were brain damaged, how are you here now?

[gutpunching]

[Once he'd started it got easier to pick up momentum. Picking words with no intention to ease the weight of them or avoid the bottom line of them. Like he's feeling it out. That if he's going to be telling it, he's going to go for the jugular every time. There was an explosion, and it killed him. He'd been brutalized with a damn crowbar, he'd dug his way to freedom with his bare hands. (And still, the miserable madman responsible is walking free.)

He keeps a close eye on Loki's reaction—or lack thereof. Loki's not the person he really means to vent this frustration to, but he takes it in perfect stride. I can attest, and do you really want to remember? The speaking-from-experience kind of question that isn't trivialized or condescended by waiting for an answer. Turns out dying's no picnic no matter how mortal you're supposed to be.

(It's funny how it's the healing that raises an eyebrow in this kind of conversation and not the resurrection. Coming back from the dead is easy. Picking up the pieces is not.)]

Didn't take. [Which isn't entirely true. It did, he just got better. He amends, spreading his hands wide as if to give Loki a good look at the merchandise. Not that there's anything new to see. Is the concept of the Lazarus Pit something that's unique to his world?] Took a little dip in the fountain of youth and put me back together again.

[Of course, there's always a catch. He'd known that from Bruce's debriefings on the subject. And then from the way Talia had looked at him, once he caught up to her after ditching to escape to Gotham the first time. Like he was a rabid dog that might bite her if she moved too fast. It lasted for days, the green glow of the pit sitting behind his teeth and behind his eyes when he closed them, festering in the back of his head and the bottom of his breath like a cancer. It's faded, since. (Can he say for sure it didn't stick? Stain itself into his marrow for good? Does it make a damn lick of difference?)]

[selfimage]

Yes, I get it; you're certainly not egg-shaped anymore.

[ thanks for the show, bro. if he wants a good eye-rake, that's exactly what he gets. Loki tips up his hand in a casual, thoughtful gesture, as if he's dismissing himself.

there were relics, ways that mortals made themselves more than they were. it wasn't as if his world wasn't littered with an array of super-powered mortals in tights and fancy suits flitting about. there would always be people like Dr. Strange, like Victor von Doom, who dabbled in sorcery; there would always be people like the Scarlet Witch and her son, Billy, who were more inclined to it. places like a fountain of youth were wonders closely guarded, and never without cost.

nothing of a magical nature was ever without cost. ]

So, died, returned, seemingly irreversibly damaged, but just kidding ... that accounts for the little bit of Hel's halls that you feel like. Most likely your gaps. Well, almost ...

How about the cost? Did it put you in the spiritual red?

[ when Loki wasn't fixated on himself and his own existential problems, he couldn't say that he didn't like a good story. while there were other details that were best left to pry for another time, some were still there, semi-related and possibly relevant. ]

[gutpunching]

[Look, just because he was slow to share doesn't mean he doesn't like to indulge in his fair share of drama when it happens. He cracks an awful kind of smile at the question, sharp like a knife and not half as pretty. To be fair, he's not precisely the most reliable narrator in the world about this particular period of his life. But what can you do.]

Beats me. Can't say I was ever consulted on the matter.

[Just thrown in headfirst and set to sinking or swimming from there. Spiritual red could mean anything or nothing to him. How to you quantify something like that? Unless in vague measures of potential madness, post-traumas, lies you stopped having the luxury of letting yourself have faith in? This boy wonder just ain't what he used to be, but how much of that can be contributed to cost? Reminds him why he hadn't bothered to pursue the kickstart of his new existence, much. The more sense you try to pry out of it, the more it feels like a waste of energy that could be used elsewhere.]

I don't think I know how to go about answering that. Unless you really think I'm here because someone gambled on the Pet Sematary and I just didn't come out right.

[As if the timeline fixing they're doing is just removing him from it again in the first place.]

[selfimage]

[ what could be consequence and debt could also be seen as a domino set. ]

The house always wins.

[ spiritually, existentially, and universally, in this case. ALASTAIR's ambitions rubbed him the wrong way: deciding what should be, or what was the best in accordance to rules not established by the multiverse on any level. who perceived what it was to say that one thing was best played in a certain way, or that such constructs shouldn't collapse? (there was an itty-bitty bit of bias as a god of chaos in there somewhere.) ]

Whatever it may disguise itself as. [ there's a glance to the side as if it were manifesting and he could cast a sour look in its direction. ] For us, it's cause and effect paid in debts owed. There is no hard currency. It's good and bad, better beneath the eye of opportunity.

If it makes you feel better, we're all abominations here.

[ he says it wistfully, like it's a better thing than what the words paint it as. the word has been used against him more times than he can remember, and he'd rather own it than have it as an insult. ]