(Untitled)
Date: March 3rd 2003?
Status: [complete]
Setting: Lower Tadfield Railway Station, Tadfield Manor
Summary: Ishtar teeters towards the bar
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Status: [complete]
Setting: Lower Tadfield Railway Station, Tadfield Manor
Summary: Ishtar teeters towards the bar
( Read more )
"Here, you can lean on me," he offered. "It's not much further to the door and you'll be alright once you reach the steps. Whatever possessed you to wear these shoes for a trip to the country?"
He wasn't entirely sure what he was babbling about himself, but talking would distract her from whatever was troubling her and maybe it would earn him a smile or a kiss ... Loki knew that he ought to be careful to avoid Ishtar's seductive influence, but to be honest he quite enjoyed it and letting her affect him just a little bit surely wouldn't hurt. Besides he wasn't used to this much activity in a single day yet and was beginning to tire again. He might not be able to maintain the necessary amount of concentration to fend her off completely for their entire conversation. Better to save it until it was really needed.
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“The shoes weren’t the best idea I’ve ever had, but then… I was in Amsterdam, playing hostess at the new house for opening night, then I had this whim to come to London. London was unutterably depressing, so I hopped straight on a train and ended up here. I didn’t know I was going on a trip to the country.” She sighed as they walked to the door, “My clothes, nearly everything’s in Amsterdam. I’ll have to get someone to send them. Quickly.”
She let him lead her into the manor. “So I just pick a room? How odd… but then,” she smiled, a faintly predatory gleam in her eye, “this whole place is odd, isn’t it?”
She fished a cigarette case out of her pocket with her free hand, flicked it open with the grace of much practice and slid one between her lips, which curved slowly into a smile as she spoke. “Tell me, Loki, how odd is it? What are the rules to this game? And will you try my new blend?”
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"We should definitely steal you a pair of wellingtons before that," he declared. "There's some guy called Adam here that doesn't want the town or people destroyed, so he's paying for our rooms in exchange for our good behavior. Shouldn't be a problem for you as he never said anything against having sex or parties with them."
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She produced a cigarette lighter, a cheap pink plastic thing and lit her cigarette, lifting it in an imagined toast. "My thanks to this Adam. Perhaps I'll express them personally, if he permits me my little parties." She returned the cigarette to her lips, her eyes fluttering closed as she inhaled.
She opened them again on the long exhale, the smoke a faint rose colour. "Ah me, I feel better for that. Are you sure you won't take one? Well, I've got plenty, in case you change your mind, and I'll have one of my girls ship out the pharmacy with my wardrobe."
"But really, Wellies? Can you really see me in wellies? Can't I just ask this...whoever..." she gesticulated wildly, "to maintain a sunnier outlook?"
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"Uriel," he supplied. "And you can try, I guess. Be careful, though. If I remember correctly, those Judeo-Christians are big on chastity and an altogether miserable bunch. At least the group he's with."
"Once we're in the bar, Ishtar," he promised. "I much prefer smoking when I'm comfortably sitting down." At least the last time he'd tried some of Ishtar's special blend it had made him a little dizzy and he right now she was leaning on him.
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After what seemed like an eternity to Ishtar's sore feet, they came to the bar. There were stools ranged along the bar itself, and clusters of chairs and settees of various apparent comfort around more-or-less matched tables. Somehow they negotiated their way to one of the more squishy looking sofas.
Ishtar dropped into the deep cusions with relief, and patted the cusion next to her. She looked up through long lashes "Sit with me?" She looked over to the barman and called out, loud enough to be heard, not loud enough to offend, "We'll have an ashtray, a mohito, a bottle of Moet and..." she looked searchingly at Loki for a moment, and then turned back to the barman, "an apple juice or similar, please!"
"Don't look at me like that," she wriggled on the sofa to remove her long jacket without standing, deliberately not looking at him. "I'm depressed, not deaf." She lined up three cigarette cases (one white, one black, one gold) the hideous pink lighter and a jewelled snuff box on the table. "I heard you mention non-alcoholic drinks." An ashtray was placed on the table just in time to receive the remains of her cigarette. She lined the ugly glass recepticle up with the rest of her smoking paraphernalia.
Finally she looked at him. "If you don't want to tell, I won't ask. Pick a ciggy case, sweetie."
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Shrugging off the thought Loki sat down beside Ishtar. "It's just for a while," he explained. "It'd have a ... chemical reaction with something else in my blood."
No, he didn't want to tell. It had felt good talking about it with War, but though he'd have called Ishtar a good friend, if anybody had asked, their acquaintance was a lot more superficial. He'd enjoyed several of her parties, and yes, her body, too, on one or two occasions, but they'd never spent much time together in close proximity as he and War had on those beautiful old Viking longboats.
"Hm ... the luck of he draw?" he smiled at Ishtar and shuffled the cases around each other secretly palming a couple of cigarettes from each and dropping them into one of the others at random finally choosing to visibly pick up one from the black case. Whether it had originally belonged in there not even Odin might have known, but that was all part of the game.
He snipped his fingers to light the cigarette, gave the lighter a superiour smirk and took a quick taste of the drink the waiter had put in front to him before risking his first drag of the cigarette. Was he even supposed to smoke, yet? Could he handle it after all this time? Ah, but who could say no to this beautiful goddess and her special blend?
"Still orange juice," he commented lightly to Ishtar. "They really need to start stocking some alternatives."
Out in the lobby Sister Mary recounted the room keys once again. She could have sworn she'd only given away one key today, but there were two less than she'd had this morning.
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Idly she picked up her second cigarette of the day and lit it, lounging back into the deep cushions. "I've been experimenting with Shisa," she pronounced after a long exhale. "There's something to be said for the heavy molassed sweetness... is strikes a nice chord with the opiates... a spoonfull of sugar to make the medicine go down, and all that jazz."
Ishtar's worries faded slowly under the blanket of sweet smoke. The business plans for the new Amsterdam house would be left to Petaline, she decided, she'd ring the girl later and have her ship out Ishtar's luggage. A test to see whether the lass was up to the job. As for the changing times, well, who can say that they won't change back again? All history is a cycle: maiden mother crone and back to maiden again with the new moon.
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Normally he wouldn't have been affected this quickly, but it had been about three years since he'd last smoked anything at all.
"Don't like medicine," he mumbled. "Had enough of that lately."
One of his hands had somehow found its way onto Ishrar's thigh. He stroked it absent-mindedly while humming an old Norse lullaby he'd learned from Frigga back in the days of strong men and sailing ships.
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It had been so long since she'd had divine company of any sort, and for all that he hadn't been a constant, or indeed frequent part of her life, Loki had been a memorable and an enjoyable one.
She picked up the tune of his song, humming along gently as part of her mind idly tried to work out which of her blends he was smoking. She realized she didn't care to know, didn't want to work out which of the pleasurable effects she had created was working its way through his system.
Who wants to know all the answers? Chaos and chance... well, who'd settle for routine and predictability if they had the chance to choose chaos?
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Were flames supposed to be pink? He didn't have time to make up his mind before a man stepped out of the fireplace and knelt before Frigga holding out his hands to receive the baby.
"Shadow?" Loki mumbled vaguely surprised. Somehow it didn't seem right and at the same time completely natural that Shadow was now holding little Balder in his arms. He wasn't sure why that was until he remembered that he hadn't seen Shadow in quite some time. "Just where have you been?"
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He spoke, mumbling into her hair. She wondered where the dreams would take him. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she reached into her pocket for her mobile. She flicked it open, tapping on the keys with painted nails.
The text message sent, she took her shuffled cigarettes from the table, piling them in her lap. One by one she lifted them to her nose and set them back into their proper homes.
She looked down at Loki, and dropped a quick peck of a kiss on his forehead. "Sweet dreams," she whispered.
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He was completely lost in his dream, though. It was good to be home again.
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