A/N: Welcome to the first chapter of my story "Trick". This story is a work in progress, and I will be updating it often until I am satisfied with it. This story feature Norse mythology, and while I intend to stick to it as much as possible, I will be taking some creative liberties. This story will feature mature themes, you've been warned. Please, feel free to give any sort of criticism, be it good or bad.
Loke is fair and beautiful of face, but evil in disposition, and very fickle-minded. He surpasses other men in the craft of cunning, and cheats in all things.
The boat hitting the shore was enough to wake him up.
He lay there in the boat for a moment, staring up at the barely lit morning sky before a smile came onto his face and he let out a soft, airy laugh.
He was free. He was really free.
The occupant got up and yawned, stretching. He didn't want to take the little dinghy he was now in, but it was all he could find. And at the time, he was essentially delirious, his mania (brought about by the pure joy of him being freed) and his desire to leave the dreadful place he had been imprisoned in for hundreds of years making him be willing to use anything to get away from the locale.
Right now, he was a bit better, he wasn't giggling crazily to himself anymore, but he was just as famished and dehydrated as he was when he left that cave. A nasty-looking scowl came onto his face. Curse his former blood brother forcing his wife to only feed him those fruits and only giving him enough water to keep him alive, just so he could continually be subjected to the position he and the other gods put him in.
His thoughts going back to his condition, he wasn't surprised that he ended up falling asleep on the boat, as uncomfortable as it was, not to mention him also making it to land.
He blinked lazily, looking to his left out at the sea as he rubbed his chaffed, causing some of the dried blood to flake off. The sky was a mish-mash of oranges and pinks, the sound of the waves hitting the shore and the occassional gull the only noise in the general area. That's when he saw it.
In the distance, something...large and red was moving, quite slowly in fact. Not towards him, but towards something to his right.
Turning his head, his eyes widened.
"What in Hel...?"
Before him, much to his shock, lay massive...things shooting up into the sky, the morning sun rising up behind them.
Humans sure had been busy in the time he was bound.
Checking out these things was added to the list of things he wanted to do, right under finding somewhere to hole up, getting some food, and locating the strongest alcoholic beverage that was available in this day and age and getting pissed.
Stumbling out of the boat, the occupant, a man with a lanky, malnourished frame and unkempt brown hair, placed both his feet onto the wet sand. He looked down at it after standing there for a moment, the calm tide washing over his feet, and curled his toes in, feeling the sand.
He grinned. It had been a long time since he felt wet sand under his feet, let alone sand period.
He stood there for a moment just to make sure that this was reality, staring at the sand as his toes scrunched back and forth. He laughed gently to himself. He had been wating for this moment for years, hundreds upon hundreds of years, and here he was, out of that accursed cave and away from that damned snake. He grimanced as he hoped his...benefactor would't mind his decision to get a little rest and relaxation.
He knew better though. He knew that he'd be out looking for him, and they would be too once they found out he was no longer bound.
He had to keep a low profile.
His contemplation was interrupted by a voice.
"You okay buddy?"
The man's head snapped up with a glare on his face, miffed about his thinking being cut short. Before him stood a portly man in his late forties in a brown jacket and beige pants, a grey cap on his head. His voice held an accent that he'd never heard before in his life.
He looked the man up and down, taking in his attire before looking back up at his cap, the look on his face half of curiosity and half of contempt as he wondered why in the name of Audhumbla someone would wear something like that.
Meanwhile, a frown came onto the portly man's face as this stranger looked him up and down before his gaze settled on his cap and morphed into what looked like a soft glare.
" I was takin' a walk and I saw your boat wash up on shore." He explained, gesturing his hand at the boat.
The portly man now took the time to take in the lanky man's appearance. Thin, pale, and dirty, with a marred face, with chaffed wrists and ankles that had dried blood on them, worry filled him upon seeing it. The guy looked to be in his late twenties, with tangled, knotted brown hair that reached down to where his neck ended that looked like it hadn't been washed in God knows how long, and was wearing nothing but a ratty pair of brown trousers with a leather drawstring.
The lanky man meanwhile took in the portly man in front of him. Humans had also changed how they had dressed. And he didn't like it.
Honestly, he liked how people dressed back when he was free better. Also, they didn't speak Old Norse anymore, apparently. They spoke a language he could've sworn he'd heard before. After really thinking, it came to him. English. It sounded different, but it was no doubt English.
"My name's Harold." The man introduced himself. "Are you okay?" He eyed the blood. "Do you have a name?"
The lanky man scrunched his face up and stared at the sand, trying to recall what Old English he knew. It had been so long since he used it, or learned it.
"I...am...Loki." He struggled to say in a thick Scandinavian accent.
He looked up at the man, Harold (a weird name). He had to know who he was, he was The Trickster, the Lord of Chaos, the god of trickery and misfortune (even if he technically wasn't part of the Aesir anymore), he had to know who he was.
Harold stared at him for a moment. "My god, are you an illegal immigrant?"
Loki didn't expect that. His mouth fell into a frown as he stared at the man. "What?"
"You heard me," Harold now regarded him with scrutiny, squinting his eyes. "What country are you from?"
The giant blinked. What was this human talking about. One moment he seemed to be concerned, the next, he was aggressive, what had brought on this sudden hostility?
Loki didn't care. He had grown bored of this man.
Looking past him, Loki found something much more interesting.
Loki moved to move pass Harold, but he grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey!" He said.
Loki turned and raised his eyebrow at him. "I'm not letting you go anywhere. I'm callin' the cops." He said, pulling out some sort of rectangular thing from inside his jacket.
Loki stared at the man, wondering if the situation he was in was really real. Was this man really trying to stop him from doing something?
That's when a thought occured to him. How involved were the gods with humans these days. Did humans even know the gods existed?
He frowned, absently wondering why the gods would let themselves fade into obscurity.
His attention returned to Harold once he began speaking into the rectangular thing.
Oh, yes, right, this annoyance.
Keeping his eyes one the man that had a firm hold on his shoulder, he curled his finger and put it behind his thumb, moving his hand near Harold's face.
"Yes, we're down by the beach, I think he's-"
Harold turned in annoyance to glare at Loki's hand.
Loki flicked him in the face.
Harold went flying. The sound of his jaw breaking resounded loudly as the object he was speaking into flew from his hand. He skidded to a stop about thirty feet from him, rolling in the sand before finally coming to a stop.
With a moan, he held his jaw, the rectangular object he was speaking into laying forgotten between him and Loki.
Now that that problem was dealt with, Loki focused on the strange horseless wagons in front of him. He smiled to himself as he got closer and closer to the city.
I think I'm going to enjoy my little break. He thought to himself happily.
Harold, meanwhile, watched him walk towards the city before passing out.