Fic: Gamins
Title: Gamins
Summary: A young boy finds a new friend who will change his life forever.
Characters: Loki, unnamed character from comics
When kid Loki first appeared in Thor #617, he was running a con with an unnamed boy who attempted to pick Thor's pocket. Loki bolted, Thor gave chase and the kid was never seen again. So, this is me filling in the gaps.
Unlike most of the other gamins, I still had a home, not that it was much of one. Ever since mother died, father had thrown himself into his work and into the bottle. He would either come home drunk and sleepy or sober and angry. I preferred the former. That meant he fell asleep on the couch and I was left to my own devices for the evening.
I had started roaming the streets in the evening. Not looking to do anything or go anywhere in particular. I just wanted to get out of the house. I wasn't interested in joining the gangs of other children. I was a bit of a loner. This, unfortunately, made me the target of bullies. I was hiding from them when I found him.
A small kid in raggedy clothes; dark-haired and with the greenest eyes I've ever seen. He was lying in a pile of trash, probably dumped there by some bullies. When I asked him what his name was, he began to cry. Between the sobs and sniffles, I gathered that he couldn't remember anything, his name, his family, where he came from or how he got here.
I was more than half-tempted to just leave him. I had my own problems without having to deal with some stranger's issues, too. But the kid was too small and too pretty. He'd be a target for bullies and much worse. So, against my better judgement, I dragged him home. We snuck in through the window and I managed to scrounge up some food for him. I gave him an extra blanket and pillow and he curled up in one corner of my room and fell asleep.
The next morning. I decided that it would be too much trouble to keep him here, especially if my father found out. I looked through some missing children bulletins to see if I could find him. I didn't think he was French. He spoke fluently enough, but there was a hit of an unfamiliar accent. But the international bulletins didn't turn up anything either. I decided my only choice was to turn him over to the authorities.
But when I got home, he was gone. On the desk was a slip of paper with 'Thank you' written on it. So, simple as that, he wasn't my problem any more.
I didn't see him again until a few months later. I had taken to pick-pocketing to get some extra money since my dad spent most everything on alcohol and I was rather fond of eating. But I wasn't very good at it. I usually got away with stealing out of inattentive women's purses, but the men were harder since they almost always carried their wallets on their person. One guy caught me and painfully squished my fingers.
“If I catch you again,” he said shoving me away. “I'll do far worse than that.”
I found a nice, dark corner to nurse my hand and my ego.
“You're not very good at that.”
I looked up to see the boy staring down at me. He looked a lot different than before. He looked healthier, not so pale and skinny. He wore baggy, but decent clothing and instead of a sad, haunted look, he sported an impish grin.
“Hey! It's you!” I said.
He nodded. “Thanks for taking me in.”
“Why did you take off like that?”
“I didn't want to impose,” he replied.
“Well...I was planning on turning you over to the authorities so...”
He made a face. “I wouldn't have wanted that, either.” He smiled and shrugged. “But it all worked out, I guess. I'm doing okay. But you, my friend, need help.”
“I suppose you could do better,” I snapped, annoyed.
“I could,” he said smugly. “But teach a man to fish, as they say. Come on!”
He skipped down the street and, since I had nothing better to do, I followed. He lead me to a busy street filled with vendors and tourist.
“Wait here, I'll signal you.”
He walked over to a group of women. “Good evening to you, lovely ladies,” he said to them.
“What a cute, little boy,” he heard one of the ladies say.
“Will you allow old Serrure to entertain you with a magic trick?”
Serrure? That's what he was calling himself? It wasn't even a real name.
The women giggled and nodded. Serrure performed a rather basic trick and even so, he didn't perform it very well. But the women were still amused. He began performing (or attempting to) other trick and soon he had amassed a decent crowd. He caught my eye and winked. That was the plan, then. He would distract and I would pick-pocket the distracted crowd. It was much easier than trying to do it on my own.
By the time Serrure had finished his show, I had gathered quite a few wallets and small purses. I dashed away from the crowd as he made his final bow and waited for him in a nearby alley way.
“So, how'd you do?” he asked.
“Really well,” I told him, showing him the stash. “Come on!”
I took him back to my room and we went through the wallets. We were just concerned with the cash. Credit cards were too much trouble. Even splitting it with Serrure left me enough to feed myself for at least a couple of weeks. Maybe longer.
“Thanks for the help,” I told him.
“No, problem,” he said, climbing out the window. “I'll see you around.”
Then he was gone, leaving me with a pile of wallets, billfolds and purses. I thought about just tossing them in the dumpster. But even though I wouldn't bother with the credit cards didn't me somebody who found them would.
Gathering them up in a bag, I went out and walked around until I found a police officer. He was trying to break up a pair of drunks. Perfect. While he was preoccupied, I quietly shuffled up to his car and hooked the bag on the window before quietly shuffling away. That taken care of, I went home to get some sleep.
Serrure and I saw a lot more of each other after that. We hung out most nights. Whenever I needed some cash, we'd pull our little con - him keeping people's attention with a cute act and a charismatic demeanor; me swiping people's money. Then we'd split the money and I'd covertly deliver the wallets to the nearest, convenient officer.
“So, why Serrure?” I asked him one time as we hung out in my room after a con.
“I liked the sound of it,” he replied.
“But it's not even a real name,” I pointed out
“I don't care, it's cool.” And that was the end of that.
It got to the point where I was good enough at pick-pocketing that I didn't need Serrure to distract people, but it seemed wrong to do it on my own so I still called on him.
That day started like any normal day. I went to school, pretended to pay attention, came home to find my father asleep on the couch and then headed off to find Serrure. He was already set up in a tourist-heavy area. He had a small folding table and was doing an intentionally poor job at Three-card Monte. He was still charming the ladies. He saw me and winked and I set about looking for a mark. I saw a large, blond guy with longish hair and a guitar case slung on his back. Probably the bohemian type. He probably had nothing but cash so I wouldn't even have to bother with returning the wallet.
I moved behind him and reached for his pocket and suddenly he was suspending me off the ground with one large hand.
“Welp,” he said.
“Serrure! Run!” I called out. No use in both of us getting in trouble. But to my dismay, the man turn his attention to Serrure.
“You!” he said, pointing toward Serrure.
“Go to hell!” Serrure yelled back and darted off. I suddenly found myself landing on my rump as the blond guy gave chase.
I tried to keep up, but I lost them almost immediately. I ran around a bit, trying to pick up their trail, but they were both long gone. Disheartened, I returned home and waited, hoping that he would turn up. But he didn't. The next evening, I searched for him and the evening after and the evening after. It wasn't until nearly a month later that I realized that Serrure was gone for good. I didn't know if he was dead or alive; if he was well or not. Just gone.
I had lost my best friend. I didn't even realize I considered him a friend until he disappeared.
Slowly, my life went back to how it was before I found Serrure. The only difference was that I could still get money when needed. But everything changed one night when a couple of police officers knocked on my door.
My father was dead. Killed in drunken brawl. I was to be placed in state custody.
The next few months were a blur. I had lost my friend. I had lost my father. I didn't care about much of anything now. I was just going through the motions.
Then another life-changing event. One that I still have trouble believing really happened. An anonymous benefactor had chosen me to sponsor. I would get some proper schooling, all expenses paid, and the only conditions being that I attend regularly and get passing grades.
Attempts to find out who this mysterious benefactor was proved fruitless. I really wanted to know who this person was. To ask why I was chosen out of all the gamins in Paris or, if nothing else, to just say 'Thank you'.
I didn't just attend regularly, I got perfect attendance. I didn't just get passing grades, I got the top scores in my grade. I cleaned up my act and became the model student. Popular, even. I figured since I couldn't say 'Thank you' in person, I could thank this generous person by not squandering the chance I was given.
Through it all, I kept expecting to wake up to find this had all been a dream. If this was a dream, I hoped to never wake up.
I graduated first in my class and got into one of the best universities in France. It was there that I met my beloved Estelle. We became engaged and planned to marry after I finished my doctorate.
As I stood on the stage, accepting my degree I thought back to my early life. If somebody told me what my future would hold, I would never have believed them. I could barely believe it now.
I was outside the hall chatting with Estelle and my friends when a man in a black coat passed by.
“Congratulations, Doctor,” he said as he passed.
The voice was unfamiliar to me, but there was something about it, the lilt and the odd accent, that brought to mind the dark-haired, green-eyed boy from my youth.
Excusing myself, I went after the man. I caught up to him as he was about to cross the street.
“Serrure!” I called.
He froze and slowly turned around. “I haven't heard that name in a very long time,” he said, smiling.
“But it's not even a real name,” I said.
He laughed. “I don't care, it's cool.”
“I searched for you,” I found myself saying. “After that day, I searched but I couldn't find you.”
“Forgive me,” he said. “My brother found me.”
“The blond guy?”
He nodded. “He took me home before I could say 'Goodbye'. Then things got very busy.”
“I know what you mean,” I replied, laughing
“I'm glad to see you've done well for yourself.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I wish I could say I did it all myself, but it was only because somebody, I still don't know who, paid for my schooling.”
“That person may have provided you a chance, but it was you that made the most of it.”
“I just wish I could thank him or her.”
He motioned to robes I still wore. “I think this is thanks enough.”
“You seem to have done well for yourself, as well,” I said, noting the fine suite he wore.
He smiled. “It was rough at first, but I'm happy with my life now.”
“Just one question: what is your real name?”
That question made him laugh. “I'm not sure if you'd believe me.”
“It can't be worse than Serrure,” I quipped.
“Very well,” he said. “My real name is Loki.”
So, I was wrong. “You mean like the Norse god?”
“No, not like the Norse god.”
That was not possible. “You mean you're the real Loki?
“Yes.”
“And the blond guy?”
“My brother, Thor.”
“But, I thought you were enemies,” I blurted out, mentally kicking myself immediately.
But Serrure, Loki, just smiled fondly and said, “Not anymore. I was given a chance, too.”
I was still trying to absorbed the very idea that I was talking to a god when I heard Estelle call my name.
“Your lady is calling you. You'd best go,” Loki said.
“I'd like to talk to you again,” I said, then remembering who I was talking to quickly added. “If that's alright with you, Sir.”
“Well, if your going to start acting like that, no,” Loki replied with a laugh. He pulled out a pad and pen and wrote down a few things. “These are my screen names,” he said handing it to me. “Feel free to ping me when you want to chat with your old friend, Serrure. Goodbye.”
He gave my hand a brisk shake and walked away.
“Who was that, love?” Estelle asked as she approached.
“An old friend.”
As far as I could tell from my (admittedly brief) research, Serrure is not a real name. It just means lock. Anybody more knowledgeable in French, please feel free to chime in. :D
Gamins [from French] - An often homeless boy who roams about the streets; an urchin. (from thefreedictionary.com)
Three guess who the “mysterious benefactor” is. :D
Summary: A young boy finds a new friend who will change his life forever.
Characters: Loki, unnamed character from comics
When kid Loki first appeared in Thor #617, he was running a con with an unnamed boy who attempted to pick Thor's pocket. Loki bolted, Thor gave chase and the kid was never seen again. So, this is me filling in the gaps.
Unlike most of the other gamins, I still had a home, not that it was much of one. Ever since mother died, father had thrown himself into his work and into the bottle. He would either come home drunk and sleepy or sober and angry. I preferred the former. That meant he fell asleep on the couch and I was left to my own devices for the evening.
I had started roaming the streets in the evening. Not looking to do anything or go anywhere in particular. I just wanted to get out of the house. I wasn't interested in joining the gangs of other children. I was a bit of a loner. This, unfortunately, made me the target of bullies. I was hiding from them when I found him.
A small kid in raggedy clothes; dark-haired and with the greenest eyes I've ever seen. He was lying in a pile of trash, probably dumped there by some bullies. When I asked him what his name was, he began to cry. Between the sobs and sniffles, I gathered that he couldn't remember anything, his name, his family, where he came from or how he got here.
I was more than half-tempted to just leave him. I had my own problems without having to deal with some stranger's issues, too. But the kid was too small and too pretty. He'd be a target for bullies and much worse. So, against my better judgement, I dragged him home. We snuck in through the window and I managed to scrounge up some food for him. I gave him an extra blanket and pillow and he curled up in one corner of my room and fell asleep.
The next morning. I decided that it would be too much trouble to keep him here, especially if my father found out. I looked through some missing children bulletins to see if I could find him. I didn't think he was French. He spoke fluently enough, but there was a hit of an unfamiliar accent. But the international bulletins didn't turn up anything either. I decided my only choice was to turn him over to the authorities.
But when I got home, he was gone. On the desk was a slip of paper with 'Thank you' written on it. So, simple as that, he wasn't my problem any more.
I didn't see him again until a few months later. I had taken to pick-pocketing to get some extra money since my dad spent most everything on alcohol and I was rather fond of eating. But I wasn't very good at it. I usually got away with stealing out of inattentive women's purses, but the men were harder since they almost always carried their wallets on their person. One guy caught me and painfully squished my fingers.
“If I catch you again,” he said shoving me away. “I'll do far worse than that.”
I found a nice, dark corner to nurse my hand and my ego.
“You're not very good at that.”
I looked up to see the boy staring down at me. He looked a lot different than before. He looked healthier, not so pale and skinny. He wore baggy, but decent clothing and instead of a sad, haunted look, he sported an impish grin.
“Hey! It's you!” I said.
He nodded. “Thanks for taking me in.”
“Why did you take off like that?”
“I didn't want to impose,” he replied.
“Well...I was planning on turning you over to the authorities so...”
He made a face. “I wouldn't have wanted that, either.” He smiled and shrugged. “But it all worked out, I guess. I'm doing okay. But you, my friend, need help.”
“I suppose you could do better,” I snapped, annoyed.
“I could,” he said smugly. “But teach a man to fish, as they say. Come on!”
He skipped down the street and, since I had nothing better to do, I followed. He lead me to a busy street filled with vendors and tourist.
“Wait here, I'll signal you.”
He walked over to a group of women. “Good evening to you, lovely ladies,” he said to them.
“What a cute, little boy,” he heard one of the ladies say.
“Will you allow old Serrure to entertain you with a magic trick?”
Serrure? That's what he was calling himself? It wasn't even a real name.
The women giggled and nodded. Serrure performed a rather basic trick and even so, he didn't perform it very well. But the women were still amused. He began performing (or attempting to) other trick and soon he had amassed a decent crowd. He caught my eye and winked. That was the plan, then. He would distract and I would pick-pocket the distracted crowd. It was much easier than trying to do it on my own.
By the time Serrure had finished his show, I had gathered quite a few wallets and small purses. I dashed away from the crowd as he made his final bow and waited for him in a nearby alley way.
“So, how'd you do?” he asked.
“Really well,” I told him, showing him the stash. “Come on!”
I took him back to my room and we went through the wallets. We were just concerned with the cash. Credit cards were too much trouble. Even splitting it with Serrure left me enough to feed myself for at least a couple of weeks. Maybe longer.
“Thanks for the help,” I told him.
“No, problem,” he said, climbing out the window. “I'll see you around.”
Then he was gone, leaving me with a pile of wallets, billfolds and purses. I thought about just tossing them in the dumpster. But even though I wouldn't bother with the credit cards didn't me somebody who found them would.
Gathering them up in a bag, I went out and walked around until I found a police officer. He was trying to break up a pair of drunks. Perfect. While he was preoccupied, I quietly shuffled up to his car and hooked the bag on the window before quietly shuffling away. That taken care of, I went home to get some sleep.
Serrure and I saw a lot more of each other after that. We hung out most nights. Whenever I needed some cash, we'd pull our little con - him keeping people's attention with a cute act and a charismatic demeanor; me swiping people's money. Then we'd split the money and I'd covertly deliver the wallets to the nearest, convenient officer.
“So, why Serrure?” I asked him one time as we hung out in my room after a con.
“I liked the sound of it,” he replied.
“But it's not even a real name,” I pointed out
“I don't care, it's cool.” And that was the end of that.
It got to the point where I was good enough at pick-pocketing that I didn't need Serrure to distract people, but it seemed wrong to do it on my own so I still called on him.
That day started like any normal day. I went to school, pretended to pay attention, came home to find my father asleep on the couch and then headed off to find Serrure. He was already set up in a tourist-heavy area. He had a small folding table and was doing an intentionally poor job at Three-card Monte. He was still charming the ladies. He saw me and winked and I set about looking for a mark. I saw a large, blond guy with longish hair and a guitar case slung on his back. Probably the bohemian type. He probably had nothing but cash so I wouldn't even have to bother with returning the wallet.
I moved behind him and reached for his pocket and suddenly he was suspending me off the ground with one large hand.
“Welp,” he said.
“Serrure! Run!” I called out. No use in both of us getting in trouble. But to my dismay, the man turn his attention to Serrure.
“You!” he said, pointing toward Serrure.
“Go to hell!” Serrure yelled back and darted off. I suddenly found myself landing on my rump as the blond guy gave chase.
I tried to keep up, but I lost them almost immediately. I ran around a bit, trying to pick up their trail, but they were both long gone. Disheartened, I returned home and waited, hoping that he would turn up. But he didn't. The next evening, I searched for him and the evening after and the evening after. It wasn't until nearly a month later that I realized that Serrure was gone for good. I didn't know if he was dead or alive; if he was well or not. Just gone.
I had lost my best friend. I didn't even realize I considered him a friend until he disappeared.
Slowly, my life went back to how it was before I found Serrure. The only difference was that I could still get money when needed. But everything changed one night when a couple of police officers knocked on my door.
My father was dead. Killed in drunken brawl. I was to be placed in state custody.
The next few months were a blur. I had lost my friend. I had lost my father. I didn't care about much of anything now. I was just going through the motions.
Then another life-changing event. One that I still have trouble believing really happened. An anonymous benefactor had chosen me to sponsor. I would get some proper schooling, all expenses paid, and the only conditions being that I attend regularly and get passing grades.
Attempts to find out who this mysterious benefactor was proved fruitless. I really wanted to know who this person was. To ask why I was chosen out of all the gamins in Paris or, if nothing else, to just say 'Thank you'.
I didn't just attend regularly, I got perfect attendance. I didn't just get passing grades, I got the top scores in my grade. I cleaned up my act and became the model student. Popular, even. I figured since I couldn't say 'Thank you' in person, I could thank this generous person by not squandering the chance I was given.
Through it all, I kept expecting to wake up to find this had all been a dream. If this was a dream, I hoped to never wake up.
I graduated first in my class and got into one of the best universities in France. It was there that I met my beloved Estelle. We became engaged and planned to marry after I finished my doctorate.
As I stood on the stage, accepting my degree I thought back to my early life. If somebody told me what my future would hold, I would never have believed them. I could barely believe it now.
I was outside the hall chatting with Estelle and my friends when a man in a black coat passed by.
“Congratulations, Doctor,” he said as he passed.
The voice was unfamiliar to me, but there was something about it, the lilt and the odd accent, that brought to mind the dark-haired, green-eyed boy from my youth.
Excusing myself, I went after the man. I caught up to him as he was about to cross the street.
“Serrure!” I called.
He froze and slowly turned around. “I haven't heard that name in a very long time,” he said, smiling.
“But it's not even a real name,” I said.
He laughed. “I don't care, it's cool.”
“I searched for you,” I found myself saying. “After that day, I searched but I couldn't find you.”
“Forgive me,” he said. “My brother found me.”
“The blond guy?”
He nodded. “He took me home before I could say 'Goodbye'. Then things got very busy.”
“I know what you mean,” I replied, laughing
“I'm glad to see you've done well for yourself.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I wish I could say I did it all myself, but it was only because somebody, I still don't know who, paid for my schooling.”
“That person may have provided you a chance, but it was you that made the most of it.”
“I just wish I could thank him or her.”
He motioned to robes I still wore. “I think this is thanks enough.”
“You seem to have done well for yourself, as well,” I said, noting the fine suite he wore.
He smiled. “It was rough at first, but I'm happy with my life now.”
“Just one question: what is your real name?”
That question made him laugh. “I'm not sure if you'd believe me.”
“It can't be worse than Serrure,” I quipped.
“Very well,” he said. “My real name is Loki.”
So, I was wrong. “You mean like the Norse god?”
“No, not like the Norse god.”
That was not possible. “You mean you're the real Loki?
“Yes.”
“And the blond guy?”
“My brother, Thor.”
“But, I thought you were enemies,” I blurted out, mentally kicking myself immediately.
But Serrure, Loki, just smiled fondly and said, “Not anymore. I was given a chance, too.”
I was still trying to absorbed the very idea that I was talking to a god when I heard Estelle call my name.
“Your lady is calling you. You'd best go,” Loki said.
“I'd like to talk to you again,” I said, then remembering who I was talking to quickly added. “If that's alright with you, Sir.”
“Well, if your going to start acting like that, no,” Loki replied with a laugh. He pulled out a pad and pen and wrote down a few things. “These are my screen names,” he said handing it to me. “Feel free to ping me when you want to chat with your old friend, Serrure. Goodbye.”
He gave my hand a brisk shake and walked away.
“Who was that, love?” Estelle asked as she approached.
“An old friend.”
As far as I could tell from my (admittedly brief) research, Serrure is not a real name. It just means lock. Anybody more knowledgeable in French, please feel free to chime in. :D
Gamins [from French] - An often homeless boy who roams about the streets; an urchin. (from thefreedictionary.com)
Three guess who the “mysterious benefactor” is. :D