PTG: Been reading the Eddas, felt like doing a short piece on the Flyting.

Actually, I really don't think Loki would be this aggressive. The only answer I have for it is: People think and act differently under the influence of alcohol. So I guess this would be kind of a semi-Loki, Loki as the Eddic poet(s) see(s) him.

Man, he's kinda vicious, huh?


I clung to a branch at the top of a pine and watched the rest of the gods retreat. When the last one was out of sight, I sat down, my back to the trunk. Yes, on a single branch -- my balance was good enough, even after the amount of mead I had consumed.

I thought back to Fimafeng and scowled to myself. I really hadn't meant to kill the guy. The little fool'd just been pissing me off, that was all. It had been Fimafeng this, and Fimafeng that, and Aegir, where do you get such wonderfully polite servants? And of course Bragi had answered, "yes, polite, exactly like Loki isn't," and I'd just lost it.

I shrugged again, trying to excuse it to myself. After all, Bragi had been the one to insult me, not Fima. Come to think of it, all of the gods'd been acting that way, and not always behind my back. They'd all been baiting me, ever since Brokk won his wager. Of course, they were the ones who'd decided he'd won, so that was really their fault as well. And that whole deal about me getting caught by that damned Geirrod, and having to send Thor off? They had no idea what really happened there. Except for Odin, of course, he's that one'd always brag about his omniscience. None of the gods were left on my side after that.

"The gods," I caught myself thinking. I no longer considered myself among their number. They'd alienated me too much. I was the one left standing to the side, making the jokes (although I preferred to sit.) Yeah, and making jokes because my wits were my only weapon. I'm not the bloodthirsty type, unlike the others. I'm just the damned loner.

Of course, what else could they really expect? At first we'd been equals; I don't know why, I don't know how, only that I liked being well- regarded and admired. And somehow, Sif's losing her hair changed that. Heimdall had asked what I'd been doing in her room in the first place, and when I told him it wasn't what he'd thought, he laughed and called for Thor. He then explained, and I watched as under his words, Thor, a fool but a friend, turned into something less. I'd have gotten the hair back anyway, gotten it and left. If Brokk hadn't spied me on the way out, and called up that fool wager, I'd have restored my place. Instead, they watched me get my lips sewn together.

They had called me friend. Odin called me brother. How can a friend, a brother, just stand idly by and watch as something like that happens? Of course I had broken with them then. They'd have done the same, despite their pretensions to honor, or whatever they called it.

I shook my head. They'd never allow me back in. Maybe they would tolerate my presence, but that was the end of any shred of friendship or camaraderie that had been left. Even after the killing of Baldur, I was willing to let them try again. But the fools had been too attached to that dreaming idealist. Baldur, the one who never went into battle. Baldur, the one who never followed through. Baldur, the one who'd routinely broken his word, his blood oath, to gods and giants and men alike. And all had forgiven him, because he was childish, and foolish, and innocent as a new- born calf. Had about the brain capacity, too.

No, if Baldur had been the penultimate, this was the ultimate. I would stay in Asgard no longer. Well, maybe a bit, but only until I found a better place, a place more suited to me. I slouched down on the branch and considered. Jotunheim was out. My parents had been from there, and I'd spent far too much time with beings whose collective IQ for the species was about room temperature, and that was a kind evaluation. Muspellheim and Niflheim were out as well -- temperature extremes I did not deal well with, though because of my mother I was well-enough off around fire. Asgard and Vanaheim were beyond consideration. Alfheim, too. I didn't think I could stand the ego of the alfs; plus Frey would be there, so a definite no. Svartalfheim was also nixed: I'd probably run into that damned Brokk again, or one of the Sons of Ivaldi, any of whom would betray me immediately. I could go to Hel (I grinned: this was exactly what most of the gods would want me to do), visit my daughter... but that was one of the first places they'd look for me. Midgard was the only option available to me. There was a waterfall area -- Franangr Falls, it was called -- that the humans seemed to take the greatest pains to avoid. I grinned. Sounded like exactly the place for me. But first...

I grinned again, then laughed aloud as I shimmied down the trunk, climbing around branches. Alcohol changes people, and that applied to gods as well, and what I was planning to do next I would definitely not do sober. Part of mind screamed at me: No! What the Hel are you thinking? Get out while they'll still let you! but I ignored it. I was leaving tomorrow as it was. Why not let the gods know what I thought of them? Why not tell them everything about each other? I grinned. Everything. And if I embellished, hey, what the Hel. Who'd know the difference?


PTG: Wow, this's turning out to be much longer than I expected. And Loki's turning out to actually be the right one after all. He just needed the right qualifiers. Excuses, if you will, for acting a certain way.

The Eddic poet(s) did have some idea of what (t)he(y) was/ere talking about. (I'm having too much fun here, with the whole poet(s) thing.) So I've changed my opinion. This is Loki, as he should be, and this is how he thinks.

Still pretty vicious.