A circuit board the size of a city, rendered in crisp black and white, crackles with energy so sharp it can be felt with every footstep along the conductive pathways that make up the streets of this place. The air smells of ozone, and sparks cascade at periodic intervals from the windows of the microchip buildings. A constant buzz of power underneath and through the city pulses in a steady beat that bears a slight resemblance to the way waves sound when crashing on a
sandy beach.
     It's always black and white in Loki's dreams, and so he's always black and white in them. His skin crawls with lit up circuitry patterns in this place, flickering bright and dim to the beat of the city. He walks at a more leisurely pace than the sparkling world around him.

     Oh, you have got to be joking.
     Gwilym is dressed in black, the shadow armor which he wears between worlds. His hair drops over one eye, the other sparkling emerald as he looks around. The red-gold of his hair and emerald of his eye are the most vivid colors in the landscape, and they glow with preternatural gleam as he drops from shadow into dream to land ahead of Loki.
     "You still aren't ready to begin living yet, are y'? What's it going to take?" Gwilym cocks an eyebrow in challenge. A gloved hand lifts, held out to Loki as if in offering or to slow his pace.

     Loki stops, rocking back on his heels, and says, "You would show up when I don't have the list at hand," in a tone of casual accusation. "I'm just going to have to ad-lib? Fine. I should've expected as much, from you." He waves a hand towards the world around him. "How much living it up you expect me to do in my dreams, I can't tell. Or is it time for another round of criticism on what I do in my waking life?"
     He takes a pair of sunglasses from mid-air, the lenses blank with crackling static, and slides them on. "Your turn first, if you want it."

     "I show up when it's convenient for me. Believe it or not, my life doesn't pause when I'm not keeping an eye on you and the trouble you're getting your sticky fingers into," Gwilym retorts with casually rude cheerfulness. "Speaking of, when are you going to get laid?"
     He drops to sit cross-legged in front of you, hand folded into a fist, chin on glove. "I could go on for days if you let me," he rattles on easily, "and to be fair, you wouldn't be able to stop me. But I can see you've got your knickers in a twist, so you may as well say what's on your mind. Just remember as you do that I might react according' to my own whims, not yours..."

     "You reacting according to your own whims? Wow, I don't know how I'd cope with that sudden change of habit." Loki settles against the wall of a building-sized microchip, sparks cascading over him and disappearing before they hit the ground. "How about you tell me how to turn the wiretapping off? No one else is giving me permission to get inside their heads, and it's none of my fucking business how they're feeling if they don't care to tell me themselves. Which most of them don't."

     He smirks, and he floats up so that he's still approximately at conversational level - still cross-legged and apparently quite comfortable. "You can't turn it off," Gwilym answers easily. "Ask me another one, why don't y'? Try to make it a more interesting one than wah wah, you gave me a gift and didn't save the receipt."
     Oh, good. You're starting to actually react. It's about damned time...

     "A gift?" That comes out a touch shrill, and Loki's hands ball up. "I don't have permission. I don't have consent. I can't even plausibly warn people that I'm doing it. I'm constantly invading people's privacy without so much as a warrant, and there's no way to turn it off? If I didn't have a job I wouldn't leave the house. Forget inconvenient, this is wrong, and I can't stop."

     "It's a gift," Gwilym answers patiently, rolling his eyes a bit. "And if you weren't being a complete and utterly self-centered prat, you'd have realized what a gift it is, and how useful it is. Pull your head out of your arse, Loki, no man's son. Think."
     Duw, I need a drink. He sticks his hand through Nothing and pulls a full pint out of nothing. Gwilym drinks greedily.

     "Useful doesn't equal ethically justified," Loki snaps, and slumps back against the wall. "Being able to set people on fire with my mind every time they annoyed me would also be useful, but you don't see me asking for that either." He slides his staticking glasses up on his forehead. "Do you have no concept of the right to privacy? No, stupid question, of course you don't." He stares at the glowing
ground, the circuit patterns on his skin fading away into gray.

     "The ability to set people on fire with your mind is for the advanced class only." Gwilym drinks, then tosses the cup aside. It clangs as it hits circuitry and bounces. "Right to privacy? No, I don't suppose I really have much of a notion of such a thing. Because I'm generally too busy making sure that the right people are doing the right things," he stands, and his one visible eye flashes, "and that the wrong people do not succeed with their plans. I hold the balance between Chaos and Order, and I don't work to bloody order."
     He strides forward to within inches and the air around him crackles with ozone. When his voice sounds, it isn't audible. Maybe this has escaped your notice, Loki, no man's son, but I'm not precisely the bloke next door. I am, in fact, trying to help you. Your recognizing the true value of my help would be nice, but I only believe in miracles I can see with my own eyes.

     I'm stuck working for the supernatural equivalent of the fucking CIA. My dad's going to kill me twice over if he ever finds out.
     "Fine," Loki says, in a way that means whatever and is not actually any kind of agreement. He presses back against the wall more like he's watching for incipient violence than in a fit of sullenness. "Can't turn it off. Can't get rid of it. Supposed to appreciate it. So noted. You're too busy to come up with an instruction manual, so I'll cope."

     "I could give you an instruction manual, but you wouldn't read the damned thing. Can you even remember where you left the manual for your 'phone?" Gwilym retorts brutally. "And for the record, if I were a government organization, which I'm not, it'd at least be bloody MI5, not your Yank CIA. Bloody bastards couldn't take over an abandoned privy with a month's notice without twelve different agents on the ground and twice that in kilos of explosive."
     He straightens and exhales, shaking his head. "Your problem is that you took a chance and it didn't work out the way you thought it would so now you're sticking it out in limbo rather than taking a chance. You resist living for the sake of living, you know you're bloody unhappy, but you'd rather blame anybody else who comes along, whether it's your dads, those West girls, or me. So, I'm going to say this, as a friend and not as your patron, and while I'll probably end up saying this often, right now I'm only saying this once."
     Gwilym takes another step forward, his hand on your shoulder and his other hand threading into your hair with electric speed. One moment he's out of range, the next, he's in range, bending in close with unwinking attention. "Get over it."

     Loki flinches, and mutters, "Sure. I'll get right on that, boss." His fingers are pressed so tightly into his palms that in the waking world, his hands would be bleeding.

     "I like you. I really do. If I didn't, well..."
     Gwilym draws back, looking exasperated. "You're young," he says finally. "And youth makes its mistakes. I did. Sometimes I still do. But I am older than you, boyo. And you're pulling in like a turtle and not even looking for answers."
     He takes a step back, and then another, rising slightly into the air on each step. "And I think if you face that realization with even one eye open, you'll find it unforgivable. All I'm really asking y' to do is be true to yourself. So get to it."
     With that, he winks out of existence. One moment there, the next moment gone.

     The rude gesture towards where Gwilym's disappeared is largely gratuitous, but it's a change of pace from huddling against the wall. Loki flicks his sunglasses away into nothingness. "Fucking supernatural forces," he says wearily. "No wonder my dad warned me off them."

Posted by rowan at March 24, 2009 08:54 PM