The terrace at 315 Uxbridge Road is completely refurbished. New hardwood, new tile, new paint, new everything. What was once four storeys of separate flats is now one unit with a floor dedicated completely to Oxford Comma, with sound proofing, a home studio, a practice room (with even more sound proofing), and storage, naturally.
     It's a good spring day in London. The sun is actually out, and not merely, you know, in the atmosphere somewhere but actually showing its golden face. And it beams down on Balthazar Davies where he sits, lounging in the glass terrace on the roof. His cinnamon colored hair -- bits of red and gold both swimming in the brown -- is still short from his recent excursion and his skin is still a warm caramel, deepened from the extra sun exposure. He wears suit trousers, a spring wool blend in cocoa brown-- and a fitted t-shirt, cardinal red and distressed from many years of loving care and wear and tear -- or so it seems. The shirt itself is rather new and on it block letters that spell something out in Persian.
     No better day than this to sit on the roof and play the guitar in the sun.
     Sun in Oahu, You and Me, Tea for the Rest of Them: the songs keep coming. The pages would make confetti all around him if he were actually handwriting them. For now, they are in his mind and in his PDA, which rests nearby along with a still-cool can of Boddington's Ale.

     A man who can stay pale enough to satisfy the remains of the goth crowd when living in Los Angeles has no trouble remaining equally pale in London. Though in this case, Loki has acquired a faint pink streak across his nose and cheeks from what time he's spent outside today alone.
     There's most of a written song on his own PDA, tucked away in his pocket as he enters the terrace. Showing off that one doesn't seem entirely conducive to the atmosphere he's trying for on this conversation. He has the snappy pace that usually comes with the consumption of some kind of drink with "triple shot of espresso" in its description.

     Glancing up, his PDA in his hand and his guitar cradled against his body, Balthazar smiles in greeting. Sun-child, he is -- in stark comparison to you. "I think we'll be ready to start recording in another week," he offers. He's seated on one of the several chairs -- his a chaise lounge that should be inside -- and is pulled in for inclement weather. The other chairs could all be found in a den somewhere, to be sure, so make for a strange garden setting. A bit fantastic really. There's food, bits of Mediterranean cuisine -- goat cheese, honey and walnuts; dates and figs and hummus with flatbread.
     He is beaming. And he is centered. Inspiration sparks off of him as if he were the sun itself. There is Desire. There is Creativity. There is Love. It must be really annoying to someone who can feel it all vicariously.
     Balthazar sets his guitar on the end of the chaise and takes another sip of the Boddington's. "So... settling in from Hawaii finally? I think I'm just now back on my own timezone." His accent is decidedly more lilty now that he is back on native (mostly) soil. There is a half-Persian, oddly Celtic cant to it.

     "More or less," Loki says, taking over a nearby chair. "It always takes most of a week to get back into the local mindset. I may have one or two songs to throw in the pile soon, depending on whether or not I can beat the lyrics into shape. The vacation was a nice change of pace, but I'm in the mood to get back to work." He's sound less American than usual for his part, broadcast standard slipping into his vowels.
     Perched on the edge of the chair, he throws a look out at the glass and sunlight. Caffeine and sunlight... It's as close as he's going to get to courage, and so he runs with the moment all at once. "You have a minute for interruptions? Something came up that that I need to check in with you about. Not...exactly having to do with the band."

     "Great," and that's genuine, "I'm looking forward to seeing those. I'm finally getting to where I want to work again," his smile slants sideways. "I got a little spoiled with all of that, I will admit. But... I am getting there. Slowly but surely."
     Not band? Balthazar nods, "Sure," he says without a hint of curiosity, and he sets his guitar in the stand next to the chaise lounge. Now it's not work. Now it's whatever it is you want to discuss.
     He lounges back, filling his seat like a sultan in the sun. There is a kind of lazy regality in it. It not intentional. His focus is now on you and you alone. Has he ever looked at you so directly? "What's up?"

     "One of your uncles said that I should talk to you about supernatural things," Loki says, in a clipped rush before he can chicken out and come up with some other excuse, something less uncomfortable to bring up. "I'd been hoping that all of that would stay entirely separate from work with the band, but enough of it is fucking with my head that--"
     He stops, and shrugs, dropping his gaze from yours. At his hands, because that's what's in that direction. "I really have no idea how to talk about this. Or what to call it, or what most of 'it' is. He said you would know more."

     One of my uncles. That means you've had the dubious honor of meeting one or more of the twins...
     There is silence for a time, and a time of staring. "I was hoping it would as well. And it was the major reason I protested. In vain. Ah..." Balthazar pauses there for a moment. "I ... really try to stay out of my uncles' affairs -- all of them. I will say that... I'm sorry. For ... a whole host of things. If it makes you feel better, I had no idea they were going to choose you, Loki. And... I can imagine that you'd be angry with me for not saying something. I hope you can understand my hesitation. Even... now that you know... more."
     But now that the cat is out of the bag, Balthazar sets aside all pretense. With a wave of his hand, he brings forth a service of rich coffee, cubes of sugar, even cream though you never use it. "I am... happy to help you, if I can. I don't know that I'm going to be able to help you make anymore sense out of it. It's... pretty nonsensical. I struggle with it too. I ... guess... well... how much do you know?"

     "It might've helped to know sooner that there was someone else who'd understand what--seemed an awful lot like going slowly insane, at least to start with," Loki says. There's a small twitch at the appearance of coffee, but at this point he just can't be intimidated by magically appearing coffee. He leans forward to pour himself a cup, with a murmured but entirely sincere, "Thanks."
     He sits back further once the coffee is doctored to his taste, still too wired on adrenaline and caffeine both to look tired, despite the subject. "Or maybe it would've made it worse, knowing then that you were--aware of these kinds of things. It's harder not to be paranoid when something new is suddenly everywhere. But either way, it's too late for me to worry about might-have-been." A thin smile appears for a moment, between sips of coffee. "It, uh, does help to know you protested. Moot point or not. I'm not sure I'm looking for explanations so much as some reassurance that this exists outside of my own experience. The explanations don't help much so far. It sounds like English, and yet it makes no sense. Completely different paradigm from what I'm used to."

     Balthazar is nothing if not compassionate. "I can imagine. Being here... in London... that's sort of like... being in the jungle for me. It is... very different from my home. Time is different, the landscape, everything. Here... I really just wanted to be...well... normal. As normal as I can get anyway. I wanted something of my own. Something that didn't come to me because of station or birthright or ..." he shrugs his shoulders a little. Insert any number of reasons here. "I was... really quite upset," he smiles a little. "I don't normally raise my voice. But I yelled at my uncle Gwilym, though he outranks me. I also gave Bran a piece of my mind. Aeron... not as much. I respect what he does, even if we don't really agree on the methods. Anyway," he exhales a clearing breath. There is a little relief, but there is also weight. "I protested when I felt my work was being infringed upon for his work. I was... outranked and out-voted. But... if it helps you... I don't know whether it will or not...I think you've been holding up about as well as anyone could be expected to."
     Balthazar looks at you for a moment more. It is a serious look, but again steeped in compassion and understanding. "I don't know that you know much about my world. I'm not sure how much he has told you. Probably just enough to keep you going. But... I guess I should introduce myself. I am... Balthazar ap Iowerth," Gwilym's brother and High King, "... Grand Duke of the kingdoms of the Otherworld. Which sounds like a really long, and not very good, band name." He smiles at that, and sunlight shines in the corners of it. "I ...told Gillian that my father was in ...government. He is. I just didn't tell her that he was the government. There are well over a thousand kingdoms out there... all in the world that exists between Heaven and Earth. Sort of like..." he thinks for a moment, "... parallel galaxies? Where things seem the same, or similar, but they're really quite different. Bizarro land. Myths and magic, angels and demons and all of that, never really ceased to exist. The battles, the politics, they just moved...and people stopped paying attention after a while. You know... what with the Age of Enlightenment and Reason. Now, there has to be a formula for everything. But.. some things defy Logic, Loki. I'm sorry," Balthazar half-winces. "I'm sure this is too much and sounds completely mad and I'm not sure it's helping. Would you... like to see it?"

     "It sounds completely mad," Loki says, and has a deep gulp of coffee. "But so does everything else going on around me lately, and the madness you're describing makes something almost like sense to me. Parallel universes with different rules. There are a few bad movies with that premise."
     It must be the coffee, that has him taking it so calmly. Or that it's all made so little sense for enough time that the depth of not making sense no longer matters all that much. "Like...isn't the right word. I think it could be useful, if you could show it to me here." Another thin smile, as he raises his cup towards the sunlight through the glass. "In the middle of the day, when it doesn't seem so unreal. Is it difficult? Moving between the galaxies."

     "Not for me," Balthazar notes, turning and reaching for his Boddington's. "It could make you a bit nauseous." He smiles slightly, quickly. But it dissipates quickly. "I can show you without you moving. Here..." he says, as he rises and he joins you near your chair. Bending down, he holds open his hand, cupping the palm of it slightly. In it appears a sphere -- it is not a solid sphere but one of light and illusion. In his grasp, stars and nebulae appear and then congeal into a vision of earth... but not earth.
     "There are continents and oceans, islands. Some have found their way there in storms or have fallen through portals in caves. Others have lived entire lives there never knowing that this world, the one you and I are in right now, exists. At one point in human history, the separation between worlds, realities was not so stiff... or they knew the ways, oes? There are holidays on the calendars of the western world, and many other nations on earth, that still celebrate the times when the passages between worlds are open. One of those is Halloween, I think."
     Balthazar lifts his gaze to you to see if you're still with him. He lets you see him for how he truly is -- not muted for everyone else's benefit. His eyes are filled with meteors and comets, shards of amber and flame that sparkle within the brown. And he is beautiful. Angelic. "There are well over a thousand kingdoms there," lights sparkle all over the continents and islands. "My father rules over them all. And one day soon, my brother Gruffydd will take his place. As for where it is? It exists on the fringes of heaven itself, where dark matter and created matter converge. My mother is from heaven itself. An angel, an houri," he murmurs. "A Persian muse. Of sorts. I guess that's the easiest way to explain it. You know," he smiles warmly, "...this would be a lot easier with LSD or ecstasy." He laughs a little at the incomprehensibility of all of this.
     "Here's my home," he says. And he shows you an island of untold beauty. The capitol city of all of the kingdoms, with its influences from Athens, Constantinople, Rome and Venice. It is modern looking in some ways but definite nods were given to the great empires of Earth. The basilica on a plateau of limestone is a royal palace beyond palaces. "That's where I was born and where I still live. When I'm not here. The surfing is good there." There is a kind of sadness that comes over him for a moment. He doesn't explain it.

     Loki leans forward to look into the sphere, and--it is, in a way, like television, isn't it? Mystical and magical, true, but he's not the kind to have his brain broken by seeing things in front of him that aren't really nearby. Or maybe it is nearby. It depends on how we're defining "near" today.
     "An awful lot to take in," he says wryly, with a rapid blink at your transformation. Revelation, as the change is entirely in how you're seen. "I've actually stopped trying anything harder than liquor since this started. Life is weird enough all on its own."
     His gaze drags back down to the vision and the island. "What I--okay, one of the things I really don't understand in all of this, with the size and scope and scale of these universes--as long as I'm being alliterative--is why you, or Gwilym, or anyone else should be paying much attention at all to this place. Here in the very prosaic corner of reality, where people want logic and reason and something that looks scientifically plausible enough to pass muster. Why come here at all? What's here that you can't get in a thousand kingdoms over there?" Not plaintive, but there's more than curiosity to that line of questioning. He can't look entirely sanguine about all of this, even with coffee at hand.

     "This is the one that's real," Balthazar says in quiet answer. "The rest, Loki, are dreams. And ... what I am here to do...well, I am really just here to make music so far," he smiles a little at that and then shrugs. "It's not very grand, despite my title."
     He withdraws a little, the illusion dissolving like sugar on the tongue. He returns to the chaise lounge. Sitting forward, he rest his arms on his thighs, looking at his hands and then you. Without the glow of the otherworlds in his hand, he appears ... like the Balthazar you have come to know.
     "The two universes need one another. We are all splinters of the Divine. We want to bring a little of that here... to inspire people to dream, to be better than they are... and to learn something of ourselves in the process. Our world isn't perfect, even if it is a dream. We all have things to learn... to experience. The bigger picture, of course, is the battle between Good and Evil. Heaven and Hell. Earth is right in the middle of that battle. And you are now a part of it. The Holly King has chosen you to be his agent here. To help in his part of the work. I don't know what that is. We don't talk about that. Like I said, I've really tried not to ... get into it. I just ... really want to write and play music. Not very lofty."

     Loki sinks back into his chair. It doesn't last long; he needs to pour himself more coffee. "I don't really follow how that place is less real, if you came from there, and you seem real enough, but--maybe that part I don't need to understand just yet." He shrugs, and his expression's caught between grimace and black humor. "I begin to feel like I'm dogging people to tell me what parts of the lecture will be on the final."
     A second try at slouching back into the chair, cup refilled, and if it hasn't reached anything that could be called relaxation, he at least doesn't look...unhappy. "All I wanted to do was find a good band to play the drums for. I can sympathize." He coughs out a laugh. "I think I accidentally agreed to all of this at some point. If it's when I think it happened, the only condition I put on it at the time was that it not interfere with the band schedule."

     "Well, it's not about people telling you what to do, Loki. You cannot be a passive observer now. You've... made the deal." Balthazar's mouth twists. It's neither smile nor frown. "You're going to have to study hard... and ... just do the best you can. And you will have to... as I ...learn to live with the fact that you are not just a drummer in a band. There is no time for self-pity..."
     There is a moment of quiet thought. Balthazar looks to his hands, his attention turned inward. "Now that you know who I am... and I guess what I am... I have a request to make of you." Cinnamon eyes lift to you. "I.... doubt you would but... I would appreciate it if you did not confide any of this to Maddie. I... have no idea if I can ever confide in her myself. I ...wrestle with that," he says in a hush. "I don't like lying. Or not being honest. I'm not lying so much as omitting. Especially to someone that I care about. This is really sort of a ... long-term relationship sort of conversation..."

     "I'm not in any rush to tell anyone else about this," Loki says, dropping an extra sugar cube into his coffee for some more fortitude. Or sugar rush, as is more useful. "Even if I'm...not fond of concealing these things, either. Or getting into anyone else's business. I'm already keeping secrets between two thirds of those siblings from each other, so what's a secret from one more? You don't mean it maliciously, and you know more than I do about juggling two worlds. I'm not going to second-guess you on that."
     And as long as we're on secrets... He looks up at you askance, to ask, "Are you already aware of the, uh, abilities Gwilym has been dropping on me? For all I know, they're all standard issue where you come from."

     Balthazar shakes his head. "No, I'm not aware... Gwilym's business is... his business. His gifts are his to give. I would say if he has given you magical abilities... I can see that you have magic... but I won't know what sort just by looking at you. But... he doesn't give gifts just for the sake of doing so. Unless it's Christmas," he smiles warmly.
     He looks at you a moment longer then nods about the Wests. How did this get so tangled? "I'm glad you understand my intent," he murmurs. "I ... care about Maddie quite a lot. And I don't want to send her running for the hills. I'm already afraid of what she's going to think. I'm trying not to think about it, actually."
     And that may be the reason for his sadness. He misses her on one hand. He cannot be honest with her on the other.

     If he weren't quite so wired, he'd probably find a way to avoid the topic again. As it is, Loki is riding the wave of courage as long as he can. "I pick up on emotions now. Surface ones, nothing deeper. I can't turn it off." He's speaking mostly into his cup of coffee, now. "Which is one of the reasons why I'm so sure you only mean the best for Maddie. I can feel some of the way you get when you're around her. I really...don't like that I pick up on these things without anyone's permission. Or them knowing I'm doing it. But you're the first person I've been able to tell." He looks up again, with an awkward shrug. "I thought you should know."

     Balthazar looks at you and nods a little in thought. He is quiet for a moment, and in that moment materializes a cup of Turkish coffee, honey and hazelnut cream. "If one is empathic, one is empathic," Balthazar quietly offers as he stirs the honey in. "There are many people who are that way just... from the moment they take in air. Having it, feeling it -- it's no different. You can be ethical and empathetic. Being observant," he peers at you as he looks at you, "...is not a crime, Loki. A priest may find his calling -- or the calling may find the priest -- you do not have to confess your calling to anyone..."
     He still sits forward, bent, his hands cupping the wide body of the mug in his hands between his legs. "But ... gifts from the universe," his voice lifts, as if that were to be a rhetorical question. "... it doesn't really matter if you like it or not. You have it. God ... or in this case, Uncle Gwilym," his mouth twists at that, "... has seen fit to bless you with such. So... now... to not use it would be... impolite. You were chosen for a reason. You are going to have to accept that. You entered an agreement. You will have to accept that too. The more you fight it, the more unhappy you will be. That's how blessings work. Have you read much literature? Greek myths could come in handy. I know it's not my uncle's particular mythos, but it still applies..."
     He sits back after a few moments, quietly taking his cup of coffee with him. He curls his long legs on the chaise, nooking himself in its promised comfort. "I do... mean only the best for Maddie," Balthazar quietly echoes. "And you... really." He looks up, his eyes warm and brown behind a veil of caffeinated steam. "I don't think you need special powers to discern my feelings for her. I'm... pretty sure it's obvious. I'm not particularly good at secrets, as I'm sure you've noticed." There is a wry tone to his voice then.

     "Weren't the Greek myths all about mortals being endlessly transformed, killed, or otherwise ending up in horribly tragic situations because there was no fighting the will of the gods?" Loki's mouth quirks, in something near dark humor as he looks back at you. "Maybe just the ones I've read. The whole concept of there being virtue in accepting the will of the gods, the existence of gods aside, is still sort of incomprehensible to me. If my dad knew I was getting involved in this kind of thing, he'd..."
     It's not a line of thought he wants to follow. Better to choose one with fewer traps laid in the path. "I'd have to be blind not to see what you feel for Maddie, but I've also known people who were very good at projecting what they wanted other people to see. Los Angeles, land of actors and posers. You? You seem to mean what you mean. I'd call that a virtue." The coffee lifts towards you, not quite a salute. "I'll take some reassurance where I can get it. And I'm not about to tell any of Maddie's siblings what's going on until she gets around to doing it herself."

     "Those are the ones," Balthazar lilts quietly. He is subdued in thought. Reflective, introspective, perhaps. "I don't know that there's virtue in acceptance, but when meeting a force greater than yourself, and finding such strange things, there is a certain intelligence in accepting what has been given and ... figuring out how to make it work. For you. For what he wants. If you concentrate on, you know... finding out how to make it work for you, then... you will probably find that it suits his means to an end. But," eyebrows lift, "...I'm just... speaking. I don't really know his intentions. I'm sure they are for your own good and for the good of the Point Of All This at large. I... wish I could tell you what that is. But though my mother may sit at the foot of the throne of God, I don't really know what the Point is or how it may be achieved. We all have to figure that out on our own."
     Balthazar sips at his coffee and he looks at you. There, again, is that quietude. Perhaps angels (or half angels in his case) are all like this. There is a silent gratitude for your secrecy, but he doesn't say anything else about Maddie or the Wests of America. "Was ... any of this helpful at all? I'm really not sure what else to tell you. What might be helpful..."

     Loki takes his time mulling over what you've said. And refilling the cup of coffee; there's nothing quite like it for propping up a mood when discussing awkward topics. "I'm trying to work with it. Even if I don't agree on every point, I'm not so set against what he's trying to do that I'm willing to go all Sisyphus about my objections."
     His gaze drops back to you from where it was lingering in the distance. "Helpful? Yes. You really have no idea how much. Just being able to talk about it..." He lets out a breath, sitting back. "I don't intend to come fret at you about this constantly. I'd rather talk music any day."

     There is a small smile for that, "You don't have to agree, to serve. You just have to serve to the best of your abilities. Whatever those are," he shrugs a little. Balthazar takes another sip of the coffee then sends it back from whence it came -- some sultan's dream, somewhere, or maybe it was the dream of the bean, to be sipped one day by an angel's son.
     There is an exhale: relief, again. "Good, I'm glad it was helpful. I... don't want to get in the way of anything. I'll probably be going home for a while. But... weeks, months there would be just days here. I have a lot work over there too. And my brother's to be invested soon. I can't miss that. So I might be a bit slow to respond, maybe a bit scarce. But I will try to stay in touch, and with Maddie too."
     He misses her. It is on his face. It is in his eyes. It is in the deep color of his skin.

     "I'll send you the song I'm working on, if you want some distraction from other work," Loki offers. "It still needs a bridge before it's ready for practice. Instrumental only, maybe." His coffee's nearly gone all over again, and this time he's not rushing to refill it. "Should I expect Maddie to appear in London this summer? Most of the family will be in the city at this rate."

     He brightens at that: he welcomes the distraction from talking about how strange he is. "Sure, I'd be happy to take a look at it. I have notes. I'll send you, Reg and Billy what I have so far. Ah...they don't know any of this, by the way. Until my uncles showed up I was just... you know a singer in a rock-and-roll band." It was simple. It was quiet. It was mine.
     "She's planning on being here, yes. I want her to be. She wants to be. I'm not sure what her parents are going to say about it. Or her brother. Or her sister, for that matter. I can't imagine I'm going to be very popular with the West clan... apart from Maddie. But.. as long as she's in my corner, I'm doing alright, I think," he murmurs. There is a smile there for her again. It is a sweet chord, but there is a minor fall to go with his major lift of Hallelujah.
     His PDA makes a sound, a soft alarm. "Would you mind locking up on your way out?" Balthazar wonders. He picks up the PDA and turns it over to see who's seeking for him. Which king, he wonders. Which meeting. "I need to head home for a while. You're welcome to use the studio as much as you like. You and the boys can practice. I'll be back in a few weeks... by Saturday, your time."
     He rises with graceful strength, pocketing the PDA and giving you a nod of farewell. Golden wings, pinioned not with feathers but with golden flame, spark and burn without scorching as he steps toward the hall. There is a momentary soundless blast, like the colorful sparks of a roman candle (no smoke).
     And then you are alone...

     Loki raises a hand in general agreement to locking up, already drawing out his phone to start pulling up the song he means to send you. "See you Saturday."
     It's probably a good thing he's said it before the wings appear, because that's enough to unsettle him right back into silence. Knowing and seeing continue to not be quite the same thing. No matter how often this happens. And this specifically doesn't usually happen, not outside of his dreams...
     "Right," he says, to the empty room, and stands up. Because what else is he going to say? The world is strange. The world keeps getting stranger. At least he's not the only one to notice.

Posted by rowan at April 15, 2009 01:11 AM