Torchwood/Maloki -- Imitating Art
Title: Imitating Art
Date Written: 4/18/09
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,178
Fandom: Torchwood/Mythical Detective Loki Ragnarok
Disclaimer: Property of their respective owners
Characters/Pairings: Jack, John Hart, Loki, Yamino, miscellaneous OCs
Spoilers: For the Mythical Detective Loki Ragnarok manga/anime, DW 01, and TW 02, especially Fragments.
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: Thanks to totally4ryo for the (literal) fly-by-night beta. Sequel to Favored Son and Blessed Be. For katestamps, who wasn't feeling good on Thursday. I hope this makes you feel better!
"Damn it."
"See, this is what happens when you don't let me pick where we're going to be going."
"Oh, fuck you. This was a good idea and you know it. Pop back here, then run forward a million years or so and sell it for some major cash. Easiest trick in the book."
"Yes, just one slight problem in this case: We went back too far."
"If you can't turn any situation to your advantage, you're a shitty conman."
"All right, that's it. You are no longer the brains of this little outfit. I, however, will continue to be the beauty."
"... Beauty, huh? I just thought of the best con ever."
-----
The mead hall fell completely, utterly silent when the oak doors were thrown open wide with careless disregard. Two figures, faces obscured by the sunlight behind them, stood in the doorway, and neither flinched when every man in the hall between the door and their chieftain drew his sword.
"Who dares enter my hall uninvited?" the chieftain asked, not rising from his seat.
The two stepped into the hall, revealing the forms of a man guiding a woman. The woman was swathed from head to toe in heavy veils, giving her the almost-shapeless form of a ghost. Her escort was dressed equally strangely, in close-fitting black trousers and a style of tunic no one present had ever seen before, with sleeves down to the man's elbows and a row of circular fastenings up the front. The tunic bore a strange symbol over the man's heart, and the hand he was escorting the woman with had a leather brace around its wrist.
"My lord Hrafn," the man said, giving a disarming smile. All the sword points fell just a little in its wake. "I believe that you have been looking for a bride?"
"I have," Hrafn conceded. "However, I do not know you, nor your bride."
"This lovely lady's name is Thordis," the man said, tugging on the woman's hand. She stumbled a little, drawing up level with the man. "She will be a more than fitting bride."
"No men here have daughters by that name," Hrafn said, finally rising to his feet. "How do I know that any union will be beneficial? More to the point... Who are you?"
That blinding smile flashed again, a strip of perfect white teeth glittering in the darkness. "Why, I'm the god Loki."
The mead hall filled with nervous laughter. The idea was so completely absurd that it couldn't possibly be true.
But then again, what if it was?
"The almighty god Loki!" the chieftain laughed, walking down towards the doorways. "Prove it."
The so-called Loki released Thordis' hand and touched the brace on his wrist. The air around him seemed to shimmer for a split second, like looking at a reflection in running river water. The man's image blurred completely and when it snapped back into focus, a large, white mare stood in its place.
The gasps of surprise and alarm at having laughed at a god filled the hall, a few quick prayers for mercy flying out.
As quickly as the mare appeared, it disappeared, showing Loki in all his glory. The entire hall fell to one knee, Hrafn's bow the deepest by far. "Lord Loki, you have my humblest apologies -- "
Loki waved a hand -- oh, so benevolent he truly was! -- and laughed. "No problems, my friend. I realize I'm not much to look at. However, I'm afraid that you may have insulted my dear Tordis here, the woman I handpicked for you."
Hrafn looked ill at the very thought of insulting one of Loki's chosen and he stood, taking Thordis's hands in his. Her hands were surprisingly large, and calloused. "My lady, I am sorry if I insulted you," he said, kissing the back of each of her hands.
Thordis said nothing. Hrafn looked at Loki nervously. The god just smiled. "Thordis was so excited when she heard that she was to be your bride that she shouted until she made herself hoarse," he said. "Maybe a present would suffice?"
Without a second thought, Hrafn removed the heavy gold necklace around his neck. He placed it in Thordis' hands, curling her fingers around the stark edges of the dragon pendant.
Thordis tipped her head down to look at the necklace cradled in her hands. After a moment, she raised one arm, pulling back the veils off his face --
-- and revealing a man. A short, light brown-haired man with close-cropped curls on his head. The man let out a grin before leaning in and pressing his mouth against Hrafn's.
"Just what I always wanted!" he said with a laugh. Loki -- the so-called god -- put a hand on the imposter's shoulder.
The entire hall broke out into chaos as the two disappeared. Unnoticed in a corner, a red-haired young man laughed, running a finger around the rim of his drinking horn.
"I like their style, I do."
-----
Captain Jack Harkness (self-dubbed) looked down yet again at the papers that Alice and Emily had given him earlier that day. The Torchwood logo looked back up at him from the top of the papers -- he was just far enough gone that the honeycomb emblem was starting to look like eyes. They certainly looked official enough to make most people back down, but the actual words of the document carried weight too. And they had been signed by ol' Queen Vicky herself. Cheers to that.
He downed another pint without even tasting it, pushing the empty tankard towards the bartender. "Another."
"You shouldn't drink like that." A soft voice at his left, chastising him. "Life's more fun when you remember it."
"Oh yeah?" Jack snorted, looking over. A young, ginger-haired boy was perched on the stool next to him, intelligent green eyes sparkling brightly. Behind him stood a bespectacled teen, long almost-green hair tied back neatly at the back of his neck. "What would you know, kid?" He turned back to his full tankard. "It's too late for kids your age to be out and about."
"I'm far older than you realize," the boy said cryptically. "And I know more than you realize... Loki."
Jack's head snapped up as the memory flashed before his eyes: The angry look on Hrafn's face. 'Thondis' in the veils. The cash they'd earned and split from hocking authentic Norwegian jewelry to a museum, the same cash he used to seduce a pretty Chula pilot away from her ship.
"Although you go by the name Captain Jack Harkness now, don't you?" the child said, smiling almost serenely at him.
"You're the second child-who's-not-a-child to scare me shitless since I've come to Cardiff," Jack said. "Do I have a sign on me or something?"
The redhead laughed. "Oh Captain. You're more than marked." He leaned over and actually patted Jack on the top of the head. Like he was the child and the boy was the adult. "I liked your style. You're one of my Chosen."
-----
Here's the myth I based the fic off of, The Theft of Thor's Hammer.
Date Written: 4/18/09
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,178
Fandom: Torchwood/Mythical Detective Loki Ragnarok
Disclaimer: Property of their respective owners
Characters/Pairings: Jack, John Hart, Loki, Yamino, miscellaneous OCs
Spoilers: For the Mythical Detective Loki Ragnarok manga/anime, DW 01, and TW 02, especially Fragments.
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: Thanks to totally4ryo for the (literal) fly-by-night beta. Sequel to Favored Son and Blessed Be. For katestamps, who wasn't feeling good on Thursday. I hope this makes you feel better!
"Damn it."
"See, this is what happens when you don't let me pick where we're going to be going."
"Oh, fuck you. This was a good idea and you know it. Pop back here, then run forward a million years or so and sell it for some major cash. Easiest trick in the book."
"Yes, just one slight problem in this case: We went back too far."
"If you can't turn any situation to your advantage, you're a shitty conman."
"All right, that's it. You are no longer the brains of this little outfit. I, however, will continue to be the beauty."
"... Beauty, huh? I just thought of the best con ever."
-----
The mead hall fell completely, utterly silent when the oak doors were thrown open wide with careless disregard. Two figures, faces obscured by the sunlight behind them, stood in the doorway, and neither flinched when every man in the hall between the door and their chieftain drew his sword.
"Who dares enter my hall uninvited?" the chieftain asked, not rising from his seat.
The two stepped into the hall, revealing the forms of a man guiding a woman. The woman was swathed from head to toe in heavy veils, giving her the almost-shapeless form of a ghost. Her escort was dressed equally strangely, in close-fitting black trousers and a style of tunic no one present had ever seen before, with sleeves down to the man's elbows and a row of circular fastenings up the front. The tunic bore a strange symbol over the man's heart, and the hand he was escorting the woman with had a leather brace around its wrist.
"My lord Hrafn," the man said, giving a disarming smile. All the sword points fell just a little in its wake. "I believe that you have been looking for a bride?"
"I have," Hrafn conceded. "However, I do not know you, nor your bride."
"This lovely lady's name is Thordis," the man said, tugging on the woman's hand. She stumbled a little, drawing up level with the man. "She will be a more than fitting bride."
"No men here have daughters by that name," Hrafn said, finally rising to his feet. "How do I know that any union will be beneficial? More to the point... Who are you?"
That blinding smile flashed again, a strip of perfect white teeth glittering in the darkness. "Why, I'm the god Loki."
The mead hall filled with nervous laughter. The idea was so completely absurd that it couldn't possibly be true.
But then again, what if it was?
"The almighty god Loki!" the chieftain laughed, walking down towards the doorways. "Prove it."
The so-called Loki released Thordis' hand and touched the brace on his wrist. The air around him seemed to shimmer for a split second, like looking at a reflection in running river water. The man's image blurred completely and when it snapped back into focus, a large, white mare stood in its place.
The gasps of surprise and alarm at having laughed at a god filled the hall, a few quick prayers for mercy flying out.
As quickly as the mare appeared, it disappeared, showing Loki in all his glory. The entire hall fell to one knee, Hrafn's bow the deepest by far. "Lord Loki, you have my humblest apologies -- "
Loki waved a hand -- oh, so benevolent he truly was! -- and laughed. "No problems, my friend. I realize I'm not much to look at. However, I'm afraid that you may have insulted my dear Tordis here, the woman I handpicked for you."
Hrafn looked ill at the very thought of insulting one of Loki's chosen and he stood, taking Thordis's hands in his. Her hands were surprisingly large, and calloused. "My lady, I am sorry if I insulted you," he said, kissing the back of each of her hands.
Thordis said nothing. Hrafn looked at Loki nervously. The god just smiled. "Thordis was so excited when she heard that she was to be your bride that she shouted until she made herself hoarse," he said. "Maybe a present would suffice?"
Without a second thought, Hrafn removed the heavy gold necklace around his neck. He placed it in Thordis' hands, curling her fingers around the stark edges of the dragon pendant.
Thordis tipped her head down to look at the necklace cradled in her hands. After a moment, she raised one arm, pulling back the veils off his face --
-- and revealing a man. A short, light brown-haired man with close-cropped curls on his head. The man let out a grin before leaning in and pressing his mouth against Hrafn's.
"Just what I always wanted!" he said with a laugh. Loki -- the so-called god -- put a hand on the imposter's shoulder.
The entire hall broke out into chaos as the two disappeared. Unnoticed in a corner, a red-haired young man laughed, running a finger around the rim of his drinking horn.
"I like their style, I do."
-----
Captain Jack Harkness (self-dubbed) looked down yet again at the papers that Alice and Emily had given him earlier that day. The Torchwood logo looked back up at him from the top of the papers -- he was just far enough gone that the honeycomb emblem was starting to look like eyes. They certainly looked official enough to make most people back down, but the actual words of the document carried weight too. And they had been signed by ol' Queen Vicky herself. Cheers to that.
He downed another pint without even tasting it, pushing the empty tankard towards the bartender. "Another."
"You shouldn't drink like that." A soft voice at his left, chastising him. "Life's more fun when you remember it."
"Oh yeah?" Jack snorted, looking over. A young, ginger-haired boy was perched on the stool next to him, intelligent green eyes sparkling brightly. Behind him stood a bespectacled teen, long almost-green hair tied back neatly at the back of his neck. "What would you know, kid?" He turned back to his full tankard. "It's too late for kids your age to be out and about."
"I'm far older than you realize," the boy said cryptically. "And I know more than you realize... Loki."
Jack's head snapped up as the memory flashed before his eyes: The angry look on Hrafn's face. 'Thondis' in the veils. The cash they'd earned and split from hocking authentic Norwegian jewelry to a museum, the same cash he used to seduce a pretty Chula pilot away from her ship.
"Although you go by the name Captain Jack Harkness now, don't you?" the child said, smiling almost serenely at him.
"You're the second child-who's-not-a-child to scare me shitless since I've come to Cardiff," Jack said. "Do I have a sign on me or something?"
The redhead laughed. "Oh Captain. You're more than marked." He leaned over and actually patted Jack on the top of the head. Like he was the child and the boy was the adult. "I liked your style. You're one of my Chosen."
-----
Here's the myth I based the fic off of, The Theft of Thor's Hammer.