The Forgotten || LOKI LAUFEYSON

1. LOKI LAUFEYSON

THE STREET AT THE END of the block was deserted. A street lamp flickered, confusing the hovering insects around it. Its light remained the only source of illumination for the street. The only sounds to be heard were the low buzz of those insects, and a faint but noticeable hoot of a steam train miles away, loud enough to be heard this far. Dark clouds shrouded the sky at midnight, and slowly drifted away to reveal a shining full moon. No home in this tattered region had their lights on, if you would consider them homes even.

A rat scurried away out of sight upon the taps of my boots, echoing through the empty and silent street. I strode swiftly, my dark green, leather cape dancing behind my chins. My head remained covered by the rather large hood that accompanied this mortal clothing. My boots reached up to my dark slacks, revealing only one thing about me: the striking blue eyes.

I took a sharp left to the lane on my right, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

✦✦✦✦

I stopped at the place I've been stopping a lot at lately. Large pillars stood, towering around me. Their silhouettes could be seen from a distance, yet I chose to walk up to the mortal mourning center. The smell of earth instantly filled my nose, indicating more mud had been cleared today for new pillars. My eyes having already adjusted to the dark, I found myself automatically stopping for a few seconds before entering. If you looked closely at them in the night, you could make out the tiny engravings of mortal names on the pillars, bluntly signaling they disappeared as dust with the rest of the other half of the universe.

Consequently, I had realized, this planet was going through pretty much what every other planet was facing, including mine. I had gotten no word from Odin, nor anyone else from Asgard. I remember a time over the course of the last few months when I actually hoped I would receive some sort of message. It was almost funny thinking they would now. Of course, the last thing on their minds would be to inform their bastard son of any happenings or updates from the place of his birth. No doubt Thor had received any information he wanted by now. Their favorite son, the future king. I almost spat in distaste.

Visibly sighing, I turned around the now familiar pathway circling the giant death pillars to reach my stop - a garden bench towards the end of the "park". It stood meekly in the midst of the void usually felt in this place, and often proved a spot for almost everyone to sit after their walk. It's back faced what seemed like the reception counter of the graveyard, horridly designed of course, considering most sitting could constantly hear exactly what the generally drunk counter man was saying. Most of the time it was non sensical buffalo dung talk, but on rare occasions he did say a few words that turned my head.

As it appeared, today was one of those nights.

I lowered my form on the bench, my green eyes subconsciously scanning my surroundings and my jaw setting itself as a habit. My eyes crinkled in curiosity, realizing what was missing in the scene. Turning my head ever so slightly to position my ears at a more suitable angle, I caught what I somehow wanted to hear after a few seconds. Today, it seemed, the counter man had found a phone drinking buddy to chat with, and was rambling away. The words were hardly noticeable, but its rather suitable to be a literal god. Once I could clearly hear what he was saying in the other room for no particular reason as such, I settled back comfortably on the bench, my dark hair enveloping the sides of my face.

The man yelled into the phone, clearly zonked. "So howdy, buddy?"

His friend's reply was almost instant, "Yeah her nose was bloody." I resisted the urge to inwardly roll my eyes. Humans. So lightweight. Back in Asgard, there was no concept of being "drunk". I shut my eyes in self-annoyance, hating the fact that I still associated everything with Asgard, despite knowing very well that it wasn't my home. Exhaling it off like I did countless times before, I tried to focus my attention on the conversation that somewhere deep down, I knew I didn't care of.

"Wait, dude, don't you have some, night shift crap right now?" The man asked his phone pal, who replied with a grunt.

"These fellas were paranoid at one time. After the amount of people that dusted away to nowhere, they've sorta given up." My eyebrows furrowed, not getting the crux of the conversation. "S.H.I.E.L.D gave up," the man continued. My stomach lurched with a feeling I couldn't quite place, but I knew I was intrigued now. "Wow I never thought I'll be saying those words, like ever."

"Heh, I know right," his friend replied. "But your life is so much better than mine. You get to meet the Avengers, man. Like you can see those legends every damn day if not talk to them. I sit here aiding sad people to look at the names of their families all day. Ain't my idea of fun, ain't my idea..." I half expected to hear a thud indicating the man had passed out by due to the alcohol. He certainly did sound much more zonked than usual.

His friend laughed from the phone. "Yeah all that happens, but now these Avenger kids are all locked up in their cabins all day. They're recruiting people for something, nobody got no clue. Not like there is anything left to recruit people for," My eyes flew open wide, hearing with utmost attention now. The man here grunted in response, while the other continued sighing dramatically, "So yeah, I barely get to see them now days."

"Yeah, when was the last time?"

"A week back, they wanted me to get a report and a file ready for this fella they were interested in. Funny chap, that guy. A Noah something, I guess."