please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste

[laevisilaufeyson]

Who: Anyone. Everyone.
When: Afternoon of Day 11.
What: Crashing the box opening party, and everything else.
Where: Anywhere. Everywhere.

((Note: Please read the related ooc post before responding.))

If all were right, if the scale were appropriate, the sound would be uproarious. The crack of stone would be deafening, so loud as to be tangible, a kick to the chest. If all were right... but when is it ever?

In the end the growing fissure makes hardly a sound at all. No breeze stirs, no sign at all is made of the immensity of what has just occurred, and if the observers standing about hold their breaths, it isn't because they know. It isn't because they've any idea of what they've done, of how they have so neatly severed the threads of fate, have broken, it seems, a universal constant.

Such an event deserves more than the faint clatter of stone chips on the ground, more than the low grind and scrape as the box begins to unfurl. It gets no more, however. No more than that, as the first rays of light begin to penetrate its inner gloom, falling upon a hand, palm-up, fingers lightly curled. A pale hand and bony, long-fingered, filthy, the nails grown long.

A wrist, smeared with something dark, something that has dried at the edges and begun to flake away, much, very much like dried blood. Blood, perhaps, from what twines sinuously about that wrist, binding it down to the stone upon which it rests: viscera, by the look, by the smell. Intestines, if they are as they appear, glistening faintly as they catch the light.

So on up a thin arm, slow, slow as a wet gasping becomes faintly audible and the fingers of the hand twitch. A figure comes into view, a bare torso, back bent, shoulders and hips tied with the same fleshy coils as the wrist. His head, too, is bound in place, face turned upwards towards a serpent carved from the same stone as the box, arching elegantly above him, fangs bared just inches above the bound man's face.

Man, yes, he clearly is, and for some in attendance he is no doubt familiar, even wasted as he is, even...

At the tips of the serpent's fangs two drops of liquid quiver, poised to fall into what once were eyes but now hardly resemble them. Indeed, most of the surrounding flesh is ruined, horribly burned in such a way as to make abundantly clear the nature of the liquid that grows slowly, slowly nearer to dripping down with each passing moment.

This is no gift. Not just yet. Not as things are now. This is a king brought low, a creature of the most dangerous sort: one who thinks he has lost all that there is to lose – save for his life.

Loki Laufeyson breaks out in gooseflesh as fresh air hits his skin, not from the chill, but from anticipation. So much floods in with that breath, with the light which he can barely perceive through blistered and milky corneas. So much, but it's all wrong.

Thin lips press thinner.

No ice. There should be ice. This is too warm, this is...

Enraging. The wait, the agony, it ought to have paid off, it ought to have brought him in the end to vengeance, to the severance of a lineage and a lifetime that dragged him ever lower, moment by moment. What if this is wrong? What if it's not the time? Too early? Too late?

Loki's hand clenches into a fist and he pulls, and finally, now that the seals have been broken his bonds give, tear with an awful, wet sound and he is free. Free, and he knows what he has to do. Whether or not this is the dawn of Ragnarök, he knows: his is only to destroy.

Bare feet find the ground, and a body which has lain prone for years beyond counting unfolds itself, rises. He's unsteady, soles rasping softly against the floor of the box as muscles remember how to move, how to walk. He can sense them moving, the little things outside his cell, matchsticks, light them up and they burn so quickly – human? Strange.

Some burn brighter than others, though. Some might stop him doing what he has to do. And so his arm shoots out for the nearest and he bares his teeth, a monster, a beast, nothing more than a conduit for the force that brings skull to meet stone.

Comments

[laevisilaufeyson]

((Church/Cemetary, General Store, Library))

[theshield_agent]

Phil didn't blame Kenzi for letting Clint escape. He knew that she'd tried and Clint was a world-class spy. That didn't make him any less worried that something might happen, so he was running around the town, trying to find him. He was outside the church when he noticed a commotion in the center of town by the... the fucking box.

He squinted, taking a few steps closer and--Oh, Hell, no.

He pulled out his sidearm and started looking around for any backup he could find. Of course, he also took several steps back until he was against the stone wall of the church, because if it was Loki, Clint could be anywhere with his bow ready. Shit.

[agentx13.livejournal.com]

Sharon was taking a walk through the village, not for the first time since her talk with Logan. It vaguely occurred to her that she was almost like a tiger pacing along the edges of its cage, and the thought just made her pace all the more. It was almost a relief to hear shouting from the town center. Almost, but when was shouting ever a good thing?

She hurried to the town center, drawing her gun as she heard more sounds from around the fountain. Not shouting, but she'd heard several of those noises during attacks in the city. Streets and buildings being damaged, some things being ruined.

She's barely reached the square when she sees the box - or more precisely, what's left of it - and then sees Loki. She falls back, her brow furrowed as she tries to formulate a plan. Without the top-level Avengers, they don't stand much of a chance.

She spotted Coulson and crept along the perimeter toward him. "Coulson. If you don't have a plan yet, then let's do this. Give the evac order and get everyone to safety. Then we engage Loki and keep him occupied until he's spent. Unless you have a better idea."

While she spoke, she cued up her wristcomm. No matter what happened, they needed the Avengers. "Avengers assemble."

[theshield_agent]

There was a tiny moment of relief when he saw Sharon, but it was short-lived, because this was still too much for the two of them.

"No plan yet. Working on that. In the meantime, we might need to give Banner some cover getting out of the way if Loki tries to follow. The last thing we need is two problems." He watched as Banner tried to fall back. Good. At least he knew that he needed to get himself out of that situation.

"Now we know what was controlling Clint, who, by the way, is around somewhere potentially under Loki's control, so watch out for arrows." Phil wasn't really sure if there was a way out of this. Maybe the other Loki will show up, because as far as he knows, the rest of them are all pretty human in comparison to Loki and this is about to be a game of cat and mouse to rival all games.

[agentx13.livejournal.com]

He really wanted Banner to fall back? But they could use- Oh, right. This Banner has less experience than hers. And Clint might be mind-controlled. And there's no Steve, either. Thor would be ideal, but Sharon's luck lately had meant not getting anything she particularly wanted.

She nodded. "You know him better than I do. Can you get him on comms? Feel him out? I'll initiate the rest."

She glanced back toward the square and frowned. "What happened to him in the box? I'm not familiar with that from Norse mythology." Not that Sharon was a specialist in the field.

[theshield_agent]

Phil gestured with his head. "Looks like he's already falling back. Good man." Banner was smart. He was glad he could count on the man to at least understand how to minimize the likelihood of having to deal with his not-so-little problem.

"No idea. Not exactly an expert. We might want to ask our Loki that." Assuming that he'd tell the truth, of course. He didn't seem likely to lie unless it was amusing, though.

He kept his gun trained on Loki. "Any orders, boss?"

[agentx13.livejournal.com]

None that she wanted to give. Damn it, where was Fury when you needed him?

"Go around the back. Find Loki - the one who isn't destroying everything - and see if he'll help. See if you can get Barton on comm. If he's sane, get him here, state. We keep Loki contained." She bit the inside of her lip. Or maybe... "When we've got people safe and out of the way, let me know. We'll take this into the woods where he won't be able to hurt anyone." Anyone but them, but that went without saying.

And if they got lucky, they could use Loki to attack whoever's keeping them here.

[theshield_agent]

He nods quickly and punches buttons on his communicator, sending off two private audio messages.

The first is to Clint. "Barton, if you're out there and you're you, we could really use some backup here."

Next, he sends one to Gabriel. "Loki, I don't know if you're--of course you're aware. The Loki from my world is here and we could really use your help." He's not really so sure that their Loki's going to want to help, but Phil figures it's worth a try. He's really not a bad guy.

He starts to fall back after that, trying to take stock and see if their Loki is lurking around.

[beenunmade]

Clint wasn't sure what to do. Video or audio...so he just goes with audio to Phil and Sharon. He would be on his way, if he wasn't standing about a foot away from the person who they wanted to find. "Back-up from what, exactly? Cujo pawing at the kitchen door finally?" He still had the bow held up as he stood in place, unmoving and unwilling to move. He didn't want to show weakness in this moment. He cleared his throat for a moment. "The box contained Loki, sir. Jus' in case you didn't know. Standin' 'bout...a foot away from him, he's still as tall as I remember. Got nice cheekbones, blind as a fuckin' bat. Think you can hail Banner or Lydia to get some information for me before I...do battle with the guy?"

[hung_garian]

Phil's right, Gabriel isn't an entirely awful person. That doesn't mean he's a particularly good one, though, which is why he's stayed out of this so far. He doesn't care enough to get involved; it's not that he wants them all to be slaughtered, just that he's perfectly content to rely on other people to sort it all out.

Still, Loki. That changes things a bit. So does an actual request for help; it's harder to sit back and say 'someone else'll take care of it' when he's been asked. So after a moment of half-hearted internal grumbling, he pops into being next to Phil. 'Lurking' isn't really the word for it, but at least he's there, right?

[beenunmade]

He hadn't been caught on the way out, so he granted that as a benefit. Clint really didn't want to deal with the look of disapproval on Phil's face as he slipped out of the house -- he'd just have to deal with it later. Much later, hopefully. He didn't want to deal with him when there were much more pressing things on the plate to deal with; say for insistence the fact that the box he had been obsessed with was holding the ma--go--thing that had taken away his willpower from him once. The same individual that was destined to kill his best friend and the one who had turned him away from those that he was aligned with. Clint Barton did not approve the sudden appearance of Loki in the town they were stuck in. It made sense in some matters; they should have gotten the hint when the box was riddled with Old Norse symbols and that stupid tree. It should have really been their first clue but it wasn't. He couldn't help but think he owed some people an apology but that was too far from his mind to even think of at the moment.

After leaving his home, he had made a beeline for the box that was already open. He had slid to a stop next to the man who had been left unconscious by the god, checking his pulse as he knelt down beside him but remained silent. Eyes never falling to Castiel as much as he was taking in his surroundings. This was a small town, no one could have gotten too far especially with what happened when they left the town's surroundings to the area of woods. Clint tightened his grip on his bow as he took to just...following the noise. He had moved to the roof of the church to get a better view -- his gaze not really faltering when he finally got Loki in sight before nocking an arrow and taking aim. It was an explosive tip, given the state the god was in he doubted it would make a dent.

But it would give him some manner of satisfaction to know he got him before letting the arrow loose and drawing up another two arrows, letting them follow the other quickly.

[laevisilaufeyson]

Loki hears. So long blind, so long in the dark with only the sound of his own breathing, his own screaming, to sustain him.

At first he'd spoken to himself. The first decade, perhaps two. Difficult to tell. When words came he spoke them, exercised a tongue that once was clever but now had no meaning there, alone, in the dark. That had dwindled away to nothingness, to silence, nothing until the droplets fell and set him shrieking again.

Now what he hears confuses him. Voices, yes, sounds, words that take time to process, so long ago did he last hear them. Other familiar sounds, Earth sounds, the more he listens the more confident he is of that, but it all takes time to call up memories, to make sense.

All except for one sound. One particular sound, which rips through him like a jolt of electricity, faint though it is: the twang of a bowstring and the hiss of an arrow through the air.

He can't see, but he didn't need to see the last time, either. One. One he catches and instinct makes him throw it aside. Two. But the third, the third was covered by the sound of his own movements, of the other arrows, and it catches him in the shoulder as he turns.

The arrowhead doesn't penetrate far, but it does penetrate, bringing a well of fresh blood to the surface, blood to run down Loki's arm and mingle with what has already dried on his skin. The same blood, in some senses. Father and son.

Loki snarls and turns, fingers sparking with magic he doesn't know where to direct. A step forward has him stumbling over something, he doesn't know what and he doesn't care. His bluff hasn't been called because he hasn't been bluffing – he's nearly completely blind, and his magic hasn't fully returned to him. All the more obvious when the exploding arrowhead goes off behind him and tosses him forward onto the pavement.

What bothers him most, though, isn't being attacked. That's to be expected. It's how, the method, the tool, the familiarity of it. Only he can't place why it's familiar; it's too long ago, too unexpected, too far removed from his current experience for him to be able to bring it up now.

And so Loki turns blind eyes upward, pushing himself shakily back to his feet.

Who is this, this human – must be – he's likely not even looking at? Why does he remember, when it's been far too long for any human he know before he was put in that cell to be alive anymore?

[beenunmade]

From what Clint had heard, from what little he had heard of the events after the fight with the Chitauri and Phil dying. He wouldn't get the chance to enact the revenge he wanted to. It wasn't enough for him to allow Loki to go to Asgard to be set to trial to whatever things they could dish out. He wanted him to suffer. Suffer for the loss of self, suffer for the loss of friends. He didn't think Loki had any friends, but that was beside the point. There was nothing in him that didn't want his revenge for what happened. He deserved it. Just like anyone else would in his position. Just like Coulson deserved a punch, any of the members of SHIELD who had to put up with this guy. His lips twitched into a smirk as he watched Loki start to push himself to his feet before loosing another arrow into an adjacent building before repelling in the god's direction.

He didn't care if he nocked another arrow and accidentally blew up a building at this point. He wanted to see Loki dead. He didn't give a damn what happened in the long run; if he died, if some innocent bystander got injured. All he wanted was to see Loki bleed. His feet made contact with Loki's chest, Clint moving to crouch in front of him as he flipped out his knife. "'d say it's good to see you, but then 'd be lyin'." Clint moved to attack him again, close range yes. But it didn't really have the same effect if he used a gun at this point.

[laevisilaufeyson]

Loki grunts and falls back, but here, here, something solid, something real, something he can feel there, close to him. Something entirely familiar... and impossible. No, not impossible, but improbable enough as to be classified as such.

“Your name is Barton,” he says, head tilted to one side, listening for movement, waiting for the flash of nerve impulse, hands held up in front of him. Open. Ready. Empty.

“Clint Barton. I don't forget.” A lie. He's forgotten hundreds. Thousands. “I would say that it's good to see you, but I can't.”

His grin is as insolent as ever, as cracked, as confident and predatory, even now, at an apparent disadvantage.

“Surely you should be dead by now,” he adds, and here a hint of genuine confusion, an eloquent, a drawing of brows downwards towards burnt eye sockets. No lashes. Just destroyed eyes, blistered and milky-opaque, wide and staring sightlessly ahead.

[beenunmade]

Clint was always classified as impossible, it's all good. The archer narrowed his gaze on Loki, grip not loosening on his weapon as he studied him cautiously. With how he's been acting, he knew there was a great chance that Phil thought Loki's hold wasn't completely gone. He wasn't even sure Loki's hold wasn't completely gone. He couldn't keep shaking off that feeling. Even right at the moment, even with the need to put an arrow through the other one's eye. "Don't," he bit out as he straightened up before the god. "Put your hands to the sides, Loki. Now, I won't say it nicely next time." He could tell he was at the advantage right now the moment he caught sight of the man's eyes. Or what was left of them. Despite the fact that it looked like he got his just desserts at the hands of Asgard, he still wanted to see him dead. Or back inside that stupid box. Locked away for all eternity.

"So the box...it was a prison?" He mused loudly, not expecting an answer as he remained where he was. In a defensive position, just in case. He didn't trust him further than he could throw him which was basically about how far he pushed him back. Otherwise this is all useless in his eyes as he shrugged slightly. "You, of all people, know I can be a little stubborn. Regardless of being turned into your guard dog." He wanted to smack the grin Loki right off his freaking face. He didn't step closer, he moved around the god instead. Circling him as he worked around his hand around the blade, shaking his head. He guessed he was glad that Loki couldn't see the look on his face; he was sure he'd find the rage amusing. "What happened to your face, man? That how people where you come from spank a kid when they try to enslave another planet?"

[laevisilaufeyson]

“Oh no,” Loki responds easily, lightly. “This is my reward for fratricide.”

His grin widens as he lets that statement stand, lets Clint think on that a moment. Fratricide. Oh, he's bound to assume the brother he knows, that it was Thor pinned at the end of that spear of mistletoe. Not so, but Loki almost laughs to think of the reaction that must cause, all the same.

“If you think your pathetic planet is worth this in the eyes of the Æsir, you are very much mistaken. But one of their own, a god...” Suddenly Loki is no longer a boy at play, and the prophecy must be fulfilled.

“I'm sorry to say that you were hardly an afterthought in the minds of your great protectors. But that was centuries ago. You must be very long-lived.” Unless Valhalla has truly opened... but no. There would be more than one angry man waiting for Loki then.

His head moves as Clint does, tilted to hear him better, and Loki's fingers flex as he waits, smile still fixed on his features. “Do you really think you can keep me here? One mortal man?”

[beenunmade]

...Well, yes. His first thought goes to Thor and his more than noticeable absence from this place. "Somehow, I don't think you have the power to kill tall, large, and blondie." He did think he did. But a moment of weakness and wavering in his stance in front of the god didn't make for a good judgement at this point in time. He wouldn't offer up that weakness to Loki. Even if he didn't feel any bond towards the others, the Avengers. He didn't remember; as far as he knew he was just an agent of SHIELD who had to deal with this guy. "Actually, I think he probably has the power to smash you like a roach. In case you don't know what those are, pal. They're bugs...the most hated, disgusting kind. People here always take the opportunity squish them under their heel, or spray them with insectides. Which ever is more convenient at the time." It did make his skin crawl that he knew there might have been the opportunity for Loki to kill Thor. As much he'd observed, time worked differently for a lot of people. He was taken from when he was under the god's control. Bruce from after they had saved the world.

He couldn't tell where the Hell Loki was from. Some twisted future where the Asgardians locked him up after killing the protector of Earth, perhaps? It wasn't exactly an inviting thought. It made his skin crawl a little as he stopped in mid-step before turning fully towards Loki. He didn't give him an opportunity where his back was to him. He imagined he wouldn't, but a guy could hope couldn't he? "I'm sorry...you lost me. All you keep talkin' about is crap I don't give a shit about...really? I don't even know what the fuck an A-sir is." Clint really didn't trust Loki as far as he could throw him, but making light of the situation that was in front of them right now was the only thing that came to mind as he took in a deep breath.

"Centuries? Did you hit your head in the box? Before I got here...I was still at your side." He was getting a little annoyed with all the fancy-talk that Loki was spewing forward. There was something about his face that made him want to punch him and something about his voice that made him want to listen. "This mortal man can do a lot 'n if it was within my power...you'd be gone. Just in case you were wondering. I'd much rather have you back in the box where all we had to do was press our ears against to it to listen to your cries of pain. It was nice...soothing almost. Like listening to ocean or a whale sounds CD."

[laevisilaufeyson]

“I am well aware of what roaches are,” Loki responds, clearly tickled. “Magnificent creatures. Do what you will to them and they persevere.”

He props himself up on his elbows, pose and posture almost relaxed, circumstances notwithstanding. “You lie, but you lie well. Did I teach you that, or was it a talent you've always had? Frankly it's difficult to keep up. I couldn't have chosen a more competent agent.”

Which is, of course, more a compliment to Loki himself than to Clint. So it goes. “A bit thick though, at times. A bit ignorant. The Æsir are your pals in Asgard. My dearest sibling is one. His father, another. The core pantheon, if you will. Grand. Golden. Unquestioned. Utterly unconcerned about your little species, beyond what their duty dictates.”

Which is little enough, in the end, however it looks. Little enough.

“But it hardly matters now, does it?” He sighs and tips his head back, baring his neck. “What are you waiting for? See what you can do. One way or another I am meant to die today. Nothing should delight me more than to see Heimdallr deprived of the pleasure of taking my head. Do it, if you can. If your blade is sharp enough.”

It won't be. It likely won't be. A gamble, this, but either way Loki wins. “You wish me gone; take the initiative, Agent Barton.”

[preytosociety]

Lydia hadn't looked back since they'd started running. Not even once. Looking back would only make it worse. She'd learned that lesson already.

She didn't start crying until the back door to the library was in sight. It was difficult to tell who was pulling who at this point, all she knew was that there was no way in hell she was letting go of Bruce's hand. Not even when she practically slammed into the door and fumbled to get it open single-handedly, urging Bruce inside before slipping into the building behind him and slamming the door shut.

"We ... we have to block the exits. We have to barricade the doors, and-- a-and the windows, and... oh god. Is he dead? Is that guy dead? There was blood and-- .... what was that? Who did we let out?" Bruce would know. Bruce had to know. He was smarter than her, so much smarter. He was bigger and stronger and she felt so small.

Tears streaked her face. She was having a hard time catching her breath. Panic barely covered it. The last time she'd been this scared-- ...

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce is terrified too, but not really for his own safety. Wordlessly, he pulls Lydia to him, hugging her tight against his chest. If anything had happened to her -- if anything does happen to her, he'll never forgive himself. The same is true for anyone else out there, like Castiel, that poor bastard, and Mina. Bruce doesn't believe in God, but he hopes something out in the universe is cheering for her, because she's going to need the help.

His heart is beating fast, too fast, and he really needs it to calm down, and he holds onto her until it starts to seem like that's possible. He feels guilty for that; maybe he should Hulk out, save everyone, but he's way too panicked. He'd lose control in a heartbeat.

Taking a shaky breath, he squeezes her one last time before he pulls away, and he starts to lead them deeper inside the library. Blocking the doors won't do much good.

"Loki. Remember when I said I'd met Norse gods?" He glances back at her and slips his arm around her shoulders, instead of leading her by her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. We never should have -- and I had a bad feeling. We should've thrown that thing in the ocean." Just like Phil had wanted.

[preytosociety]

The proximity helps. Her arms are around him almost automatically and she clings to the back of his shirt, resting her head against his chest. Having someone there... it always brings her back to herself. Back home, there's no one. Here, the fear never lasts very long.

She steadies her breathing and manages to quiet herself by the time Bruce pulls away. She nods as his arm settles around her shoulders and leans into him just slightly as the head past the shelves, towards the tables. "I remember." But she hadn't completely believed him. She sure as hell believes him now.

"Don't apologize. We all did it. We all wanted it open." She'd really though it could be a way out. Not for her, but for--

Her eyes widen and that frantic look is back for a brief moment. "What if she can't stop him? What if he goes after the others?" Specifically Kobra and Daneel. Why are they always separated when something terrible is going on? At least now she's moved on from terrified and settled on a moderate level of anxiety. "... What are we supposed to do?"

Lydia doesn't like not having the answers. She hates it. Despises it. It makes her look weak. She is weak.

[greenisnteasy]

He helps her sit down, then pulls up a seat next to her, still close because he's still afraid of himself here. He exhales slowly and glances down at his wrist; there's no stealthy way to check his heart rate, so he just does, and he can write it off as heart problems. Calming down now, but he'd feel a lot better if he got back down to a resting heart rate.

And he won't stop feeling responsible for this. Out of everyone, he should be able to recognize when it's just a bad idea to carry on with an experiment. He has a front row seat to what the consequences of that are like.

Lydia starts to freak out next to him, and he tries to shake himself out of his thoughts to deal with that. He takes one of her hands, holding it between his own, and he leans forward until she looks him in the eye.

"I don't know. I don't have any of the answers." He squeezes her hand. "We have these, at least," he nods at her wrist. "We're not totally cut off in here, but we're safe. We can call out, check on the others."

[preytosociety]

Lydia hadn't even thought to worry about Bruce. Not with the way he got them out of there so smoothly and all his clear and levelheaded thinking. That changed when he checked his heart rate.

She holds his gaze with nothing but concern. There are a few reasons she could think of that would require him to keep an eye on his heart rate and aside from being a runner, none of them were good. Checking on the others would definitely happen. Soon. She had to call Daneel and make sure all of them stayed in the house. But right now, she had to check on Bruce.

"Are you okay? Do you feel dizzy? Any pain or numbness?" She's incredibly aware of his background in medicine, but like hell is that going to stop her. She squeezes back, very gently, but enough to let him know she's there for him. "I'm sorry for freaking out. I'm not-- I mean I'm stable. You don't have to worry. It's fine, see? Just... just think of the ocean? Unless it freaks you out, then just-- never mind."

[greenisnteasy]

His clear and levelheaded thinking is why his heart rate isn't a concern anymore, but he still feels guilty about running away like that. Should he have stayed and helped? Should he go back and help? Can he trust the other guy? Lydia would probably be okay here, but he doesn't want to leave her alone. Maybe he's not doing his duty; maybe he needs to listen to his gut like in New York.

He's definitely sinking deeper into his mind now, but he tries to come back out for Lydia, smiling at her and squeezing her hand gently.

"I'm fine. It's under control; I was just double checking. Old habit, really." He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, then pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay. You and me, in a library. We got this." He smiles down at her and squeezes her hand again. He should probably let go of that, but it almost feels like a lifeline.

"Maybe there's something in here about what's going on. Did you see any other books on mythology?"

[preytosociety]

She doesn't seem entirely convinced, but she makes an attempt a smile anyway. For his sake.

Not wanting to let go just yet either, she carefully wipes at her eyes with her free hand, making sure not to disturb her makeup. Old habits die hard. She shakes her head, sniffing, "There was another Norse-specific text, but it's for children. I don't know how useful that's going to be for anything other than trying to beat some culture into Kobra's brother."

Lydia was surprised to feel another pang of worry. Caring about people wasn't something that just happened overnight, or at all, usually, but she cared. She did. She really cared about these people and the thought of anything happening to them was making her feel sick.

"I have to call Dan." She stands, still holding his hand, and pulls him gently towards the book in question. "You find it, check it out, I'll call him. But I'm staying with you. Do not leave me alone." Her voice gets a little quieter, "... Okay?"