lucetilogs | Post-Event Blues

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Post-Event Blues

Who: Everybody, everybody!
What: The battle is won. Now what?
When: The eleventh, twelfth, and onward
Where: Luceti
Summary: With Zompano dead and the cultists routed, Luceti is restored. Kind of.
Rating: F for Feels

On the eleventh, things were slowly breaking down. Memories of their true lives were breaking through. The village, scarred by the battle with the cultists, began to rebuild itself. Community buildings that had vanished were returned to their rightful places. The battle dome was uncovered from the earth that had covered it. Hundreds and hundreds of fake homes slowly faded away. Paved roads gave way to trees and grass. It was an incredible sight for anyone who was willing to sit aroun and watch it happen.

Things wouldn't be easy for the villagers, though. The memories perpetuated by the last ten days would not be easily removed. The feelings and hatreds it had created would take time to conquer and remove. Perhaps, in a way, that was Zompano's nastiest trick of all. The village itself may heal from his invasion, but it would take far more than a few Shifts to fix the people left behind.

Towards the end of the day, their wings returned. Much like some of the buildings, they seemed to just reappear, as if they had never been gone. Their barcodes became visible again as a singular reminder that they were, ultimately, just the property of another entity who as a whole were not much better than Count Zompano.

By the twelfth, the village looked as though nothing had ever happened. Sure, the contents of buildings might have been messed up or destroyed during the battles, but things were otherwise as they were supposed to be. The night before, people would have had to find their old beds to go sleep in, as they no longer possessed the old ones granted to them in another life.

The village was peaceful.

Modly Note: That wraps up the event. As noted in the prose above, you have the option to play up the after effects of the event more than in other ones. While it won't have the same impact universally, the Shift was constructed in such a way that people may have difficulty shaking off the emotions they developed during the event. In effect, it was a cruel send off to Luceti so they would have to deal with the loathing and hatred that came with the less desirable parts of it. Of course, that means the feelings of familial bonds will also persist for awhile as well. It's up to you, as players, to decide how much or little to play with it!

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This was a stupid idea. An incredibly stupid idea, particularly now that he remembered how much he and Stark loathed each other. And while he didn't have any animosity toward Pepper--he liked her in his own strange way, considering she was a mortal, and a somewhat annoying one at that--he knew she very much disliked him.

And yet. He hadn't had much success letting go of such emotional things after the amnesia shift that had occurred soon after his arrival. He'd never been good at letting go of feelings; he felt everything too deeply, perhaps, every pain sharp enough to cut, ever happiness a pleasant ache. But this was a thousand times worse, something he couldn't quite shake. It was disorienting, upsetting, and he couldn't quite sort it out. How could he despise Tony Stark and simultaneously feel the strong echoes of a false life in which he'd thought of the man as a brother? A false life where Tony had apparently felt the same toward him, had even gone to great lengths to take care of him?

It hurt. In a thousand ways it hurt, and made him angry, and filled him with ageless sorrow.

Loki told himself that he went to the clinic so he could put those feelings to rest. Perhaps he could even convince himself to be angry enough about it all that he could smother them both with a pillow. (All right, logic told him he couldn't do that, but he could at least contemplate the act, couldn't he? But as he arrived, both Stark and Pepper seemed to be asleep, sharing a room--of course the would, of course--and he... couldn't.

It ached. Part of him desperately wanted to hear Pepper harangue him about not eating enough, have her give him one of those sisterly hugs. He longed for it and hated it at the same time. It was a lie, that idea of family, just as his other family had been. But he missed it all the same.

Such delicately crafted cruelty as a mental attack by their enemies. He could almost respect that.

Loki rubbed his forehead with his hand, trying to sort all of this out as he silently paced back and forth across the room. Well, it didn't really matter at all, did it? The two of them would soon wake, and if the past were any sort of prolog, they would help the world get sorted back into its proper compartments. Stark would be only too happy to be loathed again, he thought.

So in a way, this was a chance to say goodbye. To let it go. He remembered how to let things go, didn't he? He'd let Asgard go with a simple motion of the hand, only he still couldn't escape that place. In a way, this felt equally self destructive and impossible to escape.

Quietly, Loki pulled up a chair and sat, stretching his legs out in front of him. He ought to say something, perhaps, wake them up and have it out. He found he had nothing he really wished to say, when he could barely sort out his own thoughts. Instead, he summoned a book forth from thin air. It was one he'd gotten for Jane, only she'd never need it again. More wasted time, he supposed, only here there was nothing but time to waste.

He turned to the first page and began to read out loud: "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort..."

She had no idea how much time had passed; so many things in the past days blurred together, from discoveries and renewed memories to the fire that she hated burning under her skin, the infusions she found herself secretly craving when Extremis once again held meaning for her. Although the compound healed her body quickly, Pepper was worn out from the sleepless nights that had preceded the return of her memories, and every emotional trial she'd endured since. So when Loki came in, Pepper didn't so much as stir. Her sleep was deep, and blissfully void of dreams.

So he read on, and it was some time before his voice reached her. At first, she didn't realize its significance, or even recognize its owner. She wasn't at all alarmed at the familiar tone and steady cadence of words, because in her barely awakened haze she heard his voice and felt a sense of ease--even trust. But that wasn't real, a fragment left over from a fictional life, even as part of her still struggled to grasp to it. That was why when Pepper opened her eyes, shifted so she could see him, she only stared at Loki in silence. Memories new and old, true and false told her two entirely different things about his presence there, and in those waking moments, she wasn't sure which to believe.

Loki, incidentally, had come to visit during one of the few times Tony was awake that day. Awake, however, might have been too-generous a term. He was conscious. He could hear a voice, but he couldn't process it, couldn't identify it. Couldn't assign it to that of a brother or a friend or an enemy. He couldn't even distinguish the words that were read to him, falling unabated into his awareness and dissipating into nothing. But it wasn't unpleasant, whatever the sound was, and he delayed falling back asleep to hear it awhile longer.

Loki became aware that he was being watched; he could feel Pepper's eyes on him. When she said nothing, he decided to continue on. There was a certain magic to any story, and he did like to read, even aloud. Jane had made it a very soothing, almost fun activity for him. Perhaps it was cowardice on his part, but he'd never claimed to be some sort of ridiculous hero. He'd rather stretch out one peaceful moment a bit longer, and hold on to something he had liked before it became a mocking impossibility.

He continued: "The dark filled all the room, and the fire died down, and the shadows were lost, and still they played on. And suddenly, first one and then another began to sing as they played, deep-throated singing of the dwarves in the deep places of their ancient homes; and this is like a fragment of their song, if it can be like their song without their music.

"Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold..."

There was something about this story, more than many of the other mortal books he had read, that lent itself to being read out loud. And it reminded him of stories he had once loved, in another false life that was just as lost to him as the one he'd had where he'd called Tony 'brother.' The song, he actually sang; the rhythm of it was similar to another song he knew, and it fit the melody well enough.

She could feel a growing ache within her as she read on; Tony had said nothing, and Pepper knew the task fell to her--the choice. She had so many memories of this man, from comforts offered to sharp retorts when she chided him to eat as the alcohol was cleansed of his system. But they were built from another life, a set of lies that held no meaning, or that shouldn't. Because there were other memories, ones of much more bitter words, broken lives and dead bodies. Tony falling countless stories from a tower. The way it had felt that first time when Phil was in Luceti, just after he'd died.

And over and over, Loki's refusal to apologize for any of it. That lack of regret.

Still, even as she sat up the words wouldn't come easily. The things Pepper knew she should say, likely for all of their sakes. So instead she did as she always did when she first woke: checked on Tony. In either life, he was the one constant: a man she loved, whom she wanted to live with. In both lives, she'd worn an engagement ring made of aquamarine and diamonds. Their beds were pushed together, close enough for her to look into his face simply by turning a bit. When she saw his eyes were open, Pepper smiled down at him, cupping his cheek with a hand to silently test how he'd respond.

It took him a moment to register the touch, as if the sensation took a lengthy journey to reach his mind. He knew when he was touched, and there was something he should do in return, but he wasn't quite there yet. Like the sound of a singing voice, the sensation of touch filled his mind, and that was all.

And she said nothing. That surprised Loki. But it had to be coming, the rejection, the repudiation, the reminder that all of this was meaningless so he could fully let it go. He felt regret now, and that was as much a lie as the rest; he wanted it to have no grip on him.

He kept his eyes on the book, not wanting to look at Pepper or Tony, because he felt if he saw them like that, he'd have no choice to care, and thus be forced to give them the power to destroy him. He was Loki. He did not care.

Such things are not for Loki.

And still Pepper said nothing as he finished the song. So he turned the page and continued to read, voice calm and measured.

"As they sang the Hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and a jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves..."

Lucky Hobbit, Loki thought grimly even as he continued on. Lucky dwarves, though these fictional dwarves were not very like the ones he'd personally known, it didn't matter. No one ever cared to touch his feelings like that. They always expected him to be the one to change. Well, everyone but Rogue. Perhaps that was why for her and her alone, he'd been willing to try.

He'd need to get back to her soon. Once this horrid situation was resolved, he would.

Pepper watched in eager hopefulness, but to no avail. Tony didn't move, didn't even seem to notice, and for a moment she had to pinch her eyes tightly closed. She would not break down. She utterly refused, and as she took in one shaky breath then another, Pepper reminded herself of what those working in the clinic had said. It would take time, but he was recovering. He was getting better, and he would be himself again.

She simply had to hold herself together until then.

"Why are you here?" She already knew, yet the question still needed to be asked. Why would he be so eager to indulge in memories they all knew to be false? Why would this man, this so-called god who had tried to kill Tony and ruin their entire world show him kindness now, when they had all been manipulated into thinking it true?

God, she didn't want to do this. Not any of it, and Pepper bowed down, touching her forehead to Tony's as she struggled still to keep everything in.

Loki sighed quietly when Pepper finally spoke. That was it, then. He pulled a scrap of green ribbon from his pocket and tucked it between the pages of the book, then rose to his feet.

"Because I want to be," he said. Why bother explaining something like this to someone who had no real interest in the answer? All an explanation would be was a window into a quaking, fragile heart that he hadn't quite patched back together, an invitation to be hurt far worse than he already expected. He laid the book on the corner of Tony's bed. Hopefully the library would have another copy.

No, better to be an orphan again by choice than cast out.

"I finally got Rogue into something like a peaceful sleep," he added after a moment. "There isn't anything else I can do for her at the moment." Then he turned toward the door.

"Which you?"

Was it cruel to ask that? No more than it had been for him to force her into that choice, she thought. Oh, Pepper recognized that much, certainly. How Loki continued to read until she spoke, then stood to make his exit. It wasn't right--no, it wasn't fair to put this on her shoulders like that, especially not along with everything else already there.

She was not the only one who had the burden of breaking apart what had been fed into their minds. Pepper absolutely refused to be.

"Hah." Loki looked down at his hands, brushing his fingers together. "Things are perhaps not so mixed-up for me as they are for you. I know I am not a mortal. That line is clear." It was easy at least to pick out what memories had been of him as a human, because he had been so weak, because everything had been so pale and dull to see and touch and smell.

Yet apparently the invaders hadn't been able to make his heart feel like that of a human; it was the emotions that were hard to shake. And because of that, some things were far easier to say, even though by preference he would have kept them secret. "I loved Tony as a brother, once. Before this." He smiled, because that was what he always did when something hurt that much. He had tried in his own way, and had known it would never be good enough. It never was.

Because he was so pathetically alone. He hadn't felt alone until coming here and having his carefully built layers of anger and hate stripped slowly away by time and idleness.

"I will do things on my own terms."

Edited 2013-08-14 02:08 (UTC)

Pepper thought it might be less clear for Loki than he tried to portray; he was there, after all, offering comfort in a fashion. She stared down at her lover, still and unresponsive, wondering how much awareness he had of the conversation happening around him, about him.

"When we'd all forgotten everything." Another time when they'd been robbed of the memories that defined them, although in retrospect Pepper had to think this was worse. At least then they had been left to fill in their own blanks, and Pepper recalled Tony telling her about how he and Loki had become friends--and what Loki asked him to do.

"You aren't the only one trying to figure things out, Loki." She looked at him at last, for the first time since she'd discovered Tony awake. Whatever compelled her to speak on, be it that fictional life or her own current needs, Pepper didn't have the will to resist, although perhaps it would have been better if she had. "It hurts, you know. Looking at you, and knowing--everything."

What had been. What had never been. What would be, after all those memories were reconciled.

"It doesn't really matter what I figure out though, does it?" he asked quietly. "I tried, Pepper. In my own way, I tried. And I was a fool for having done so." He looked away for a moment. "It was easier to be so alone when I could imagine nothing different."

He wasn't wrong. No matter what any of them reasoned, they had lived through too many things; Tony and Loki had fought on opposite sides of a war, one with consequences that touched every part of her life. In a way Loki had opened the door for Killian, and what she had become. But she closed her eyes it wasn't the fire she saw, or the sense of falling that overwhelmed her.

It was the memory of finding realizing she'd missed his phone call.

"Do you know how your army was defeated?" There was no accusation in her voice. Perhaps she was too tired for it, or too sympathetic. But this was important, and maybe, maybe in this moment when they were both so raw, he'd finally understand.

Or maybe it was an apology for what would inevitably come.

"Tony took a missile into the wormhole to save the entire world. And he thought he was going to die, so he tried to call me. He was going to say goodbye."

One moment out of so many horrible ones that had happened that day, and over the months since. One moment, and now that Pepper knew just what it meant to lose everything, to have no hope of living the life she should in her own world--how could she forgive him, even if that false persona wanted to?

Edited 2013-08-14 02:53 (UTC)

"It didn't matter to me how the battle was decided," Loki said. "And for the most part, it still does not."

Slowly, he turned back to face her. For a long moment he was silent; then he spoke slowly, as if stacking the words together. "Because I now know you, I am sorry to have caused you such pain. And I can be sorry to have caused Tony such pain as well."

It was easier to say these things plainly because he was still so off kilter, because things were no longer quite so clear. He would no doubt regret having said all of this later. "I don't feel regret like you do. And in that time, that place, I have nothing at all to lose."

And everything to gain, only if he took it.

In that he was at least honest, though it was a poor consolation as Loki admitted the same thing he had so many times before. But the silence hung heavy as he turned, and Pepper held back her reply, a final request for him to go because she thought this time, there might be more.

And so there was. Surprise flared in her eyes as he apologized for Pepper’s suffering, and almost for Tony’s as well. Of course she couldn’t be certain how much of this came from Loki of Asgard, who had no father, and Loki Odinson, Attorney and friend. But the doubt was eased by a simple desire to believe what he said was true, to take it as it was without breaking down the particulars. She didn’t want to have to pick apart anything more than she already would.

“Thank you for that.” Not for regretting, which she had long thought he should feel—but for admitting it to her. Pepper knew it couldn’t have been easy, and her gaze lowered to Tony once more as she considered it. He wouldn’t be absolved by that admission. What had to happen still would. But it helped ease something within her that had ached for a very long time.

Loki wondered if she truly understood what he had meant: that the only reason he cared in the slightest was that Pepper and Tony were now people with whom he was well acquainted. But there was no benefit at all to pointing that out. Just like there was no point at all to noting yet again that mortals were very strange in the way they viewed combat. They took it so personally.

He could regret his previous actions because they now stood in the way of something he'd wanted. If he'd had any idea this waited in his future, he would have chosen a different course, perhaps. But this was not something he could have ever conceived of.

"Both of you cared whether I lived or died," he said after another long moment. "It was nice while it lasted."

She did understand, at least in part. Pepper hadn't taken his words to mean he now regretted all of it, or that he was ready to apology to humanity at large. She thought it meant he had seen their personal pain, and in coming to care for them, he in turn felt guilt over his role in causing it. That was enough for her, because it was so much more than the easy lack of remorse he'd shown until now.

But even so, it only took them so far. Pepper also understood that guilt was limited; even if it hadn't been, those actions weren't easily forgiven. So while part of her could agree that it had been nice, the part that had only known someone caring if still flawed, the reality of what had actually happened, what he'd actually done still stood untoppled in her mind.

"Yeah." She opened her mouth as if to say more, then closed it again when she realized that there was nothing more she had to say.

That seemed clear enough.

Rogue always spoke of things in terms of doors, open or closed. This one felt as if it had been rather firmly shut, but what else had he expected? That was how it always was.

Family. He'd once written down, "Such things are not for Loki." And he had been right.

He turned to go again. "When you've finished with the book, it can go back to the library."

"Alright. I'll make sure it does." She glanced toward the book again, thankful to have it. Though she couldn't say she would read it with the same talent Loki had shown, it might not hurt to do so; to give Tony something to listen to while he still came back to her.

He had his back to her, and Pepper almost said goodbye--but in the end, she let him leave in silence. Even without speaking the actual words, that was what this whole conversation had truly been: a farewell to the false life that had brought them together.

Except unlike the poetic saying, Pepper wouldn't define the sorrow as sweet.

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Post-Event Blues

[Locked to Pepper and Tony] August 12

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