"There's a dozen of them here. Try asking different ones and collecting answers. Make it your personal Pokemon," Pres deadpans. "Gotta catch 'em all."

     "Well, whatever we're going to say, we better think fast," Pres mutters, slouching down again. "Here she comes." Maddie turns, eyes and lips rounding as she spots their sister.

     "You can always choose to quit, Loki. If you do not wish to be a priest, then you will be doing my king no good with your service. You will tax his energy, and your own. And you will both be less for it. Be honest," Aeron murmurs as he takes the 8-ball and rolls it down the length of the table, sinking it into the left corner pocket.

     "Reincarnation is not about fairness, you see. India is not fair; life is not fair. And, by extension," Valmiki's smile includes and encompasses a wince, "the universe itself... there is no true fairness save that which mankind attempts to impose upon its surroundings. An argument can be made that doing so is a mistake; even if it is not a mistake, it is a quixotism. I am, myself, a quixote."

     Loki veers off in the direction of not-the-city, leaving a scrape of rubber on the pavement behind him from the sharp turn. "Off into the wild unknown! Except I don't think you have any of that left in this country. Off into the slightly less tame than usual moderately known?"

     "I'm not sure how to talk about this, period. I thought maybe it would get easier once other people knew, but..." Loki shrugs, and slouches back in his chair. "I wasn't entirely fair to her. Other people's problems always look easier than your own."

     Maddie's in the back seat, lazing on the cushions and staring out the windows. Both Wests are a little bit unusually quiet, but eventually Pres speaks up. "So, Mads. Loki. Magic."

     "Let me try this again, chronologically. I met this guy in a bar..."

     Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. He doesn't try to put it into words out loud. All he does is reflect a tiny portion of that affection back in your direction, in a small assurance of a friend.

     "It's not true, of course. People are born with talent, they get ahead because of their families, all the usual inequalities. But it's what everyone wants to believe. Here--your entire family is vivid proof that it's not true. People are born naturally superior to everyone else, with inherited power that matters."

     It is the morning prayer, you with the water in your hair. And in each droplet's bouncing, the water turns to sunlight, turns to honey, turns to pure gold to his senses.

     She brushes her fingers through her hair, then picks up her drink. "It'd be impossible for him to run off with it. He'd have to find it. I just ..." She looks forlorn. "I seem to have misplaced my confidence. I don't know where it went, Loki. I need help."

     "Thank you for the welcome, sir. It's very kind of you to open your home to all of us. We'll try not to get in your hair too much. Right, Maddie?" He lightly pokes his baby sister in the shoulder. "We've been touring family reunions this month, it feels like. Next week: the Hatfields and the McCoys."

     He laughs at that, setting his menu aside. "Right," Pres grins, the smile sparkling. "Right on the fucking edge. Let's live to have regrets but save the regrets til we're eighty. We're in London, right? Cheers, mate."

     "I have an impending sense of doom myself at the moment. Maybe it's contagious. So... what's yours? Maybe we can trade..."

     "Sex is a joy and a comfort. It's also fun." Gwilym grins and sits up now, looking over at you. "And it's also entirely possible to fuck up human relationships without it, so not having sex isn't a get out of trouble free card."

     "...You are on the Hero's Journey now, Loki. And I'm sure you realize that it's not exactly the easiest road to follow. The clues are obscure at best," Aeron drawls out, "...the gods occasionally fickle and prone to obfuscation..."

     He glances to you and then to the dog. "Intelligence is a curse. But you have earned a right to know things, Loki. So - go ahead and ask."

     Balthazar comes up behind you, "I won't drop you, I promise," he says quietly. "It'll just be the best way for you to see." His arms wind around your waist, a hand lifting to brace against your chest. He pulls you to him; the grasp is firm but not squeezing. And you are lifted as he vaults upward.

     It fills you, surrounds you. Is it that feeling or his arms or both? There is the feeling of sudden motion, lifting. Like a rocket, you zoom straight up. Or rather, it feels like up to your brain. But all you see, if you do crack your eyes open, is golden light and Balthazar's face. Are you standing still? Or are you dreaming?

     "...Enjoy him when he comes to you to show you a part of the universe, to teach you. Please him, because you love him and have faith in him. Please him, because you enjoy it. When you surrender yourself to serve him, you will find yourself freed."

     "Run."

     He is a narcotic, an aphrodisiac, and a stimulant all in one rather delightful package. Balthazar kicks back on the sofa, sitting in the opposite corner to face you, allowing him to stretch out like a languorous sultan.

     Since when am I the one who needs-- oh, right. Since I got to go another round of discussions about my future with my dad.

     Maddie shoots Balthazar a look that wavers somewhere between you didn't tell me! and you're a WHAT?. She blushes as the applause and murmur both move around the room with their rhubarbing rumble, and she hastily - very hastily - takes a drink. A large one.

     "...These days I'm spontaneous if I grab rum and Coke instead of Mac 'n' Jack."

     Loki grabs his glass on the way. "A few hours of breathing space. I think. I may be on California time." His phone gets one cursory examination before it's disposed of in a pocket in much the same manner. "Boston time will just have to do."

     "I could slay a dragon for y', if that's what you want," Gwilym offers easily. "Or I could show you a dragon. One I'm not related t'. Why are you standing in the dark watching trees?"

     Balthazar smirks as he sips. "I suppose it has to be good for something..."

     "Well, it's not about people telling you what to do, Loki. You cannot be a passive observer now. You've... made the deal."

     "Psychologically, I'd say the significance of the snow is your lack of resolve. You're confused, and you don't want to make a decision because the choices available to you either suck or are too unknown in their long-term consequences. You do not want to shut the door, but you have not yet decided to open it, either."

     "I happen to like portions of my so-called life," Loki says, and leans back on his hands. "But by all means, let's pick up where we left off." The very brief flush covers where leaving off happened, even if that's not quite what he meant.

     "...Sleep, and realize that even for all the troubles and sorrows you have taken upon yourself, this one sorrow has been answered. You are not alone."

     Loki follows Gwilym without further question or complaint. Maybe one glance to Aeron, before he moves. The promise of coffee ahead helps, but more of it is that he only has so much energy to give to irritation at his own confusion when the world is busy being very strange around him.

     Loki watches the bird a moment, then turns away, taking his cup with him. Whiskey goes better with coffee than alone, especially at this time of day. If you say so. There's only a faint undercurrent of the weary adolescent, Whatever.

     Loki slides back, dragging his foot away. "Sure." And on tonight's episode of Seventeen Synonyms For Yes... He stands up, momentarily shaky for reasons that have nothing to do with general ability to walk.

     Are you putting on a show for him or me...
     Or is it actually about Loki...

     "I want to rig a credit card scam," Pres answers bluntly, "to siphon off enough cash somehow to pay for my operation."

     "We'll try to tone it down for the newcomer nonetheless," Pres answers Balthazar with a slight grin to Loki. "I'm the dull one, I'm afraid. My sisters got all the glamour in this family."

     Loki gives up on this episode of Life isn't as simple as it seems in high school. It's not like he ever listened when he got it from his dad back then either. "I'll spend time with Pres in Oahu, anyway. I like Balthazar just fine, but I have no idea what he prefers to do on vacation. Probably things involving sun."

     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."

     Every seat is filled in Shepherd's Bush Empire, apart from those taking a quick break between shows -- ten minutes -- to get refills on beer and visit the necessaries. The old BBC theater is packed and the murmur of the crowd, the babbling Babel of nearly three-thousand, puts on its own kind of show.

     "Well, that presumes you really are driving, and that changing stations isn't better done by the person who isn't supposed to be keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel," Gwilym answers promptly. "No man's an island, Loki, no man's son."

     She rises, moving further forward, peering into the gloom. She gasps sharply. "Oh. My god. Is that what I think it is? Loki, tell me if that looks like marble to you!"

     "You know," Gwilym tells you, his face upside-down relative to yours at the angle he's bending, "this isn't satori you're building for yourself. It's not even a very good escape, is it? It doesn't defend y' from feeling a damned thing."

     "I'm not anticipating this show selling out fast," Loki says, and out comes the phone again for another quick note. "It doesn't conflict with any scheduled shows for the band, either. Greek gods interacting with Celtic characters almost sounds interesting now. Not enough that I'd get between the two of you and some Shakespearean bonding."

     "Well, research - I'm your girl. Glad you're fine. Sorry Pres isn't." The corners of her mouth turn down, and her shoulders visibly drop. "Tell me about it?"

     Gwilym smiles again, and he stands straight, moving to your side of the table, moving towards the corner behind you, looking over his shoulder and down at you. "So. Now what, Loki, no man's son?"

     His scar is vehemently visible - an actual indentation about half an inch deep in his calf, about four inches long and a quarter or a third of an inch wide. "It's just so stupid," he mutters. "...I shouldn't need help."

     "Hey. Get in before the nice police officer changes his mind. Welcome back to hell."

     "Then, by the power vested in me," Balthazar rolls out with a grin as he rises, "I pronounce us band and drummer..."

     Okay. So this isn't precisely what usually happens. But the principle is the same. Candy, strangers, see "Do not take" and go from there.

     "Naturally." Gillian smiles. "So you'll help me? I'd like for us to make a few experimental forays before I invite anyone else. I don't know Balthazar well enough. He might try to do something silly like stop me because it's dangerous."

     In the envelope is a simple note. The revolution begins at eight. Sharply.

     "Caustic," he notes with something of appreciation to his tone. "I don't know who the Lakers are," he drags on. "But I do love a good decimation. That is why god invented rugby."

     "Hey, stranger! Glad to see another Yankee yet? My Georgian grandmother would roll in her grave, if she were dead. How've you been?"

     "So what's his story?" she says, jerking her head toward the recalcitrant yank. "And what are you doin' with a Yank. Are you his official tour guide to all the worst sorts of places?"

     "My father would kill me if he knew I were taking rides from strange men I met in clubs," Loki says, either oblivious to any potential innuendo in what he said or prepared to pretend he is. "Let's take your bike, save the cash for the good drinks."

     Loki says without any offense taken, "Old enough to drink in the benighted You-Ess-of-Ay, even. So over eighteen." He trails along in the same direction, doing up the buttons on his jacket awkwardly with one hand. "You want my number, or should I start moping around in here hoping to run into you again?"

     July, 2017. The West family's research vessel is moored for the time being at the marine institute near Long Beach, while Fore West (IV) is helping with research on long-line pier fishers' effects on local shark populations...