We'll Always Have Paris
Well, fuck guys, sorry its been such a long time between updates. I honestly just kind of lost track of things. Anyways, here's the newest part.
Loki shifted his weight onto his foot carefully. Aside from a small twinge, he felt nothing. He smiled, thankful not for the first time that he healed so quickly. As he straightened up, his ribs protested and he grimaced. Torn tendons were one thing; cracked and broken bones were another thing entirely. Closing his eyes, he inhaled carefully and deeply before exhaling, getting the pain under control. When he opened his eyes, he began to carefully hobble over to the window.
Peering out, he saw a sheer drop. The castle appeared to be on the edge of a cliff. Looking farther, he saw a green grassy plain lightly dusted with white. Small dots of people and animals moved along a brown line that meandered across the meadow. Mountains loomed in the distance, with thicker layers of white covering dark grey stone.
So, he was in a mountainous region of Midgard. If he recalled correctly, his human side knew this place as Latveria, ruled by the supervillain tyrant known as Doctor Doom, whom his brother and some humans known as the Avengers had fought against.
He rubbed his forehead. Serrure’s memories came and went like the tide, sometimes disappearing when he needed them most to make sense of his situation here and at other times overwhelming him with useless information, like where the best dumpsters for food in Paris were.
The tyrant of Latveria was also currently his host and quite honestly was doing a fine job in that area. When he had awakened, there had been another meal waiting for him, made of fruit, cold meats and a bowl of thick vegetable soup. His clothing had also been returned to him, cleaned, mended and with its metal parts gleaming. However, while his physical needs had been met flawlessly, the door to the room was still locked from the outside.
Loki let his head rest against the panes of glass that made up the window. He needed to find out where his brother was and what had happened to him. Doom claimed to be his ally, but his actions were suspicious. The last thing he could remember before waking up here was his brother lifting him off of the train tracks in the Metro station. This suggested that Doom had something to do with him and his brother being separated. Loki let his lips curl into a small frown. No matter how good a host Doom was, he could not forget that.
The godling drummed his fingers on the stone windowsill. He needed to get out of here and find Thor again. But how? He did not know where he was in Latveria, so he couldn’t make a run for the border of the nearest country; he was still injured; and he had no real way of actually leaving the castle. While he could probably eventually jimmy the lock on his door open, he didn’t know how to get out of the castle without being noticed.
There was a hesitant rap at the door. Loki jerked and looked over his shoulder at the door. There was another knock. “Just one moment, please,” he called as he hobbled back into the bed. Let them think he still couldn’t walk; keeping how healed he was a secret was the only advantage he had.
After he had arranged himself amongst the pillows, the same servant from last night entered with a wheelchair and a green blanket. He looked only slightly drier than before.
“Lord Doom requests your company at lunch,” the man said haplessly.
Loki lowered his eyes to the bedspread momentarily. He didn’t have much of a choice; Doom was his host and he was at his mercy. He would have to play nice for now.
“Tell Lord Doom that I will be happy to dine with him.”
Once he had been wrestled into the wheelchair and had the blanket over his lap, they traveled down many identical stone corridors lit with electrical lights until they reached a large hall, wallpapered green, with a long oaken table down the middle. Paintings of Doctor Doom lined the walls in varying sizes. Loki’s host definitely had an ego. If he flattered that, it would be easier for him to escape.
Doom sat at the very end of the table. Behind him was a thick wooden door; oak, if Loki was not mistaken. The servant settled his wheelchair at the spot to Doom’s right.
On the table was what an Asgardian would call a ‘light lunch’; several cheeses and breads, more than either of them could eat. There was also, to Loki’s delight, what looked like mead.
But first, to stay on the Midgardian’s good side: “Good afternoon Lord Doom.”
The armoured man gestured magnanimously at the spread in front of the two of them. “Good afternoon, Loki.”
“May I ask why you requested my presence for this meal, m’lord?” the boy asked as he tried to keep himself from shoveling too much food onto his plate. It would not do to let the man know just how hungry he was; he wanted his leaving to be as much of a surprise as possible.
“Business. Before you left the last time, we were about to embark on a new joint venture.”
Loki raised one delicate, pointed eyebrow as he forced himself to nibble, not gnaw on his food. “A new venture?” He mentally debated whether or not to probe further. He wanted to keep Doctor Doom from knowing too much about his condition; on the other hand, he obviously already knew about the memory loss…
“And what, precisely was this venture?”
Behind his faceplate, Doom’s eyes narrowed calculatingly. For a moment, Loki wondered if he had given too much away.
The man stood up and turned away from the table, towards the doors behind him. Loki’s body, ignoring his babbling mind, quickly snatched several chunks of bread and cheese and hid them in several small pockets in his clothing and under his blanket.
There was a loud thunk as the tumblers in the door disengaged. The doors slowly drifted open, releasing a very slight smell of burnt pork as Doctor Doom walked back towards Loki. As he was pushed through the doors, Loki carefully relaxed his muscles like he would when he was about to be beaten by someone and applied a look of relaxation and slight boredom to his face. Loki did not get fazed by any situation.
When the armoured man turned on the lights in the room, Loki nearly made a liar of himself.
All around him, stretching along the stone walls of what was now clearly a hall were tanks of him. An older him, with his horn markings, thinner than the ones scored into his flesh by his biological mother when his real ones wouldn’t grow. They all appeared to be in a deep sleep or dead. A few, cut apart, floated in smaller jars on shelves that took up space along the walls where there were no tanks, above flat wooden tables covered in leather and metal restraints. On one wall was a large map of Latveria and Europe in black ink on parchment.
And in the middle of the room, with several large cables connected to it was a sturdy-looking metal chair, again covered in restraints. A metal helmet with thinner cables coming out of it and attaching to the thicker cables sat in the seat. The smell of burnt pork seemed to be coming from it.
“I love what you’ve done with the room.” Good old snark, not too insulting but not too impressed, and best of all, it needed no input from Loki’s still gibbering brain.
Doctor Doom ignored him and pulled a cloth off of what looked like a control panel with a flourish.
“This, Loki,” he boomed, “is your power multiplied a hundred times over.”
“My power was not enough?” The part of Loki that was not occupied in slowly stopping its gibbering liked that; just a little reminder that he was a god.
“No, it is not,” Doom said coldly. “Perhaps if just against your brother, but not all of our enemies when the work together.”
Loki had calmed down enough to make a guess at who Doom was talking about. “The Avengers.”
“Yes. But with your power, multiplied and focussed, no one could stop us! Not even Richards.” The man spat the last word out like it was filth upon his tongue.
Loki focussed on the important part, promising himself that he could figure out the rest later. “And you absolutely require myself for this?” He injected a slightly derisive tone into his voice. He could not let Doom know just how terrifying this room was.
The man behind him hesitated. Loki prayed that it was not because he was about to harm him for his rudeness.
“Yes.”
Loki closed his eyes thankfully. Whatever this was, it needed him to be used against his brother. He could work with this.
“Victor,” he said imperiously as he turned slightly to look at the man behind him, (Why did that name slip off of his tongue?), having carefully put a cruel smirk onto his face, before suddenly slumping forward into his seat.
A hand was lightly pressed against his chest. Doom had managed to make his movements look entirely unhurried and unworried when he had crossed the room to catch Loki.
The boy carefully shook his head, steeled his expression to look slightly weakened, and looked back up.
“I’m terribly sorry, Lord Doom, but I fear that the excitement has gotten to me.”
“I will call for a servant.”
“My thanks.”
As he was being wheeled back, Loki began to think. He had some food, so that was one thing he did not have to worry about getting for his escape. Thankfully, that one glimpse at the map on that…laboratory’s wall had been enough (he had always been praised for his memory, his teachers in Asgard had been astonished that he could remember something he had only glanced at several weeks ago), so he knew where he was.
The only problem, he thought to himself as the door locked behind him and he hid his food under his pillow, was how to get out of his room. It appeared that Doctor Doom was wary of letting him outside unsupervised. (Rightly so, but it was still annoying.)
Curling up under his blankets, he rested his head and began to think. The dim light of the fire’s embers barely illuminated the room.
Wait.
The embers.
A fireplace needed a chimney.
Loki rolled over and hid his face, grinning. After a few more meals where he could secret away food, and maybe another look at the map, he’d be able to leave and get back to Thor.
With that happy thought, he easily fell into a dreamless sleep; the first since he had woken up in Paris.
Loki shifted his weight onto his foot carefully. Aside from a small twinge, he felt nothing. He smiled, thankful not for the first time that he healed so quickly. As he straightened up, his ribs protested and he grimaced. Torn tendons were one thing; cracked and broken bones were another thing entirely. Closing his eyes, he inhaled carefully and deeply before exhaling, getting the pain under control. When he opened his eyes, he began to carefully hobble over to the window.
Peering out, he saw a sheer drop. The castle appeared to be on the edge of a cliff. Looking farther, he saw a green grassy plain lightly dusted with white. Small dots of people and animals moved along a brown line that meandered across the meadow. Mountains loomed in the distance, with thicker layers of white covering dark grey stone.
So, he was in a mountainous region of Midgard. If he recalled correctly, his human side knew this place as Latveria, ruled by the supervillain tyrant known as Doctor Doom, whom his brother and some humans known as the Avengers had fought against.
He rubbed his forehead. Serrure’s memories came and went like the tide, sometimes disappearing when he needed them most to make sense of his situation here and at other times overwhelming him with useless information, like where the best dumpsters for food in Paris were.
The tyrant of Latveria was also currently his host and quite honestly was doing a fine job in that area. When he had awakened, there had been another meal waiting for him, made of fruit, cold meats and a bowl of thick vegetable soup. His clothing had also been returned to him, cleaned, mended and with its metal parts gleaming. However, while his physical needs had been met flawlessly, the door to the room was still locked from the outside.
Loki let his head rest against the panes of glass that made up the window. He needed to find out where his brother was and what had happened to him. Doom claimed to be his ally, but his actions were suspicious. The last thing he could remember before waking up here was his brother lifting him off of the train tracks in the Metro station. This suggested that Doom had something to do with him and his brother being separated. Loki let his lips curl into a small frown. No matter how good a host Doom was, he could not forget that.
The godling drummed his fingers on the stone windowsill. He needed to get out of here and find Thor again. But how? He did not know where he was in Latveria, so he couldn’t make a run for the border of the nearest country; he was still injured; and he had no real way of actually leaving the castle. While he could probably eventually jimmy the lock on his door open, he didn’t know how to get out of the castle without being noticed.
There was a hesitant rap at the door. Loki jerked and looked over his shoulder at the door. There was another knock. “Just one moment, please,” he called as he hobbled back into the bed. Let them think he still couldn’t walk; keeping how healed he was a secret was the only advantage he had.
After he had arranged himself amongst the pillows, the same servant from last night entered with a wheelchair and a green blanket. He looked only slightly drier than before.
“Lord Doom requests your company at lunch,” the man said haplessly.
Loki lowered his eyes to the bedspread momentarily. He didn’t have much of a choice; Doom was his host and he was at his mercy. He would have to play nice for now.
“Tell Lord Doom that I will be happy to dine with him.”
Once he had been wrestled into the wheelchair and had the blanket over his lap, they traveled down many identical stone corridors lit with electrical lights until they reached a large hall, wallpapered green, with a long oaken table down the middle. Paintings of Doctor Doom lined the walls in varying sizes. Loki’s host definitely had an ego. If he flattered that, it would be easier for him to escape.
Doom sat at the very end of the table. Behind him was a thick wooden door; oak, if Loki was not mistaken. The servant settled his wheelchair at the spot to Doom’s right.
On the table was what an Asgardian would call a ‘light lunch’; several cheeses and breads, more than either of them could eat. There was also, to Loki’s delight, what looked like mead.
But first, to stay on the Midgardian’s good side: “Good afternoon Lord Doom.”
The armoured man gestured magnanimously at the spread in front of the two of them. “Good afternoon, Loki.”
“May I ask why you requested my presence for this meal, m’lord?” the boy asked as he tried to keep himself from shoveling too much food onto his plate. It would not do to let the man know just how hungry he was; he wanted his leaving to be as much of a surprise as possible.
“Business. Before you left the last time, we were about to embark on a new joint venture.”
Loki raised one delicate, pointed eyebrow as he forced himself to nibble, not gnaw on his food. “A new venture?” He mentally debated whether or not to probe further. He wanted to keep Doctor Doom from knowing too much about his condition; on the other hand, he obviously already knew about the memory loss…
“And what, precisely was this venture?”
Behind his faceplate, Doom’s eyes narrowed calculatingly. For a moment, Loki wondered if he had given too much away.
The man stood up and turned away from the table, towards the doors behind him. Loki’s body, ignoring his babbling mind, quickly snatched several chunks of bread and cheese and hid them in several small pockets in his clothing and under his blanket.
There was a loud thunk as the tumblers in the door disengaged. The doors slowly drifted open, releasing a very slight smell of burnt pork as Doctor Doom walked back towards Loki. As he was pushed through the doors, Loki carefully relaxed his muscles like he would when he was about to be beaten by someone and applied a look of relaxation and slight boredom to his face. Loki did not get fazed by any situation.
When the armoured man turned on the lights in the room, Loki nearly made a liar of himself.
All around him, stretching along the stone walls of what was now clearly a hall were tanks of him. An older him, with his horn markings, thinner than the ones scored into his flesh by his biological mother when his real ones wouldn’t grow. They all appeared to be in a deep sleep or dead. A few, cut apart, floated in smaller jars on shelves that took up space along the walls where there were no tanks, above flat wooden tables covered in leather and metal restraints. On one wall was a large map of Latveria and Europe in black ink on parchment.
And in the middle of the room, with several large cables connected to it was a sturdy-looking metal chair, again covered in restraints. A metal helmet with thinner cables coming out of it and attaching to the thicker cables sat in the seat. The smell of burnt pork seemed to be coming from it.
“I love what you’ve done with the room.” Good old snark, not too insulting but not too impressed, and best of all, it needed no input from Loki’s still gibbering brain.
Doctor Doom ignored him and pulled a cloth off of what looked like a control panel with a flourish.
“This, Loki,” he boomed, “is your power multiplied a hundred times over.”
“My power was not enough?” The part of Loki that was not occupied in slowly stopping its gibbering liked that; just a little reminder that he was a god.
“No, it is not,” Doom said coldly. “Perhaps if just against your brother, but not all of our enemies when the work together.”
Loki had calmed down enough to make a guess at who Doom was talking about. “The Avengers.”
“Yes. But with your power, multiplied and focussed, no one could stop us! Not even Richards.” The man spat the last word out like it was filth upon his tongue.
Loki focussed on the important part, promising himself that he could figure out the rest later. “And you absolutely require myself for this?” He injected a slightly derisive tone into his voice. He could not let Doom know just how terrifying this room was.
The man behind him hesitated. Loki prayed that it was not because he was about to harm him for his rudeness.
“Yes.”
Loki closed his eyes thankfully. Whatever this was, it needed him to be used against his brother. He could work with this.
“Victor,” he said imperiously as he turned slightly to look at the man behind him, (Why did that name slip off of his tongue?), having carefully put a cruel smirk onto his face, before suddenly slumping forward into his seat.
A hand was lightly pressed against his chest. Doom had managed to make his movements look entirely unhurried and unworried when he had crossed the room to catch Loki.
The boy carefully shook his head, steeled his expression to look slightly weakened, and looked back up.
“I’m terribly sorry, Lord Doom, but I fear that the excitement has gotten to me.”
“I will call for a servant.”
“My thanks.”
As he was being wheeled back, Loki began to think. He had some food, so that was one thing he did not have to worry about getting for his escape. Thankfully, that one glimpse at the map on that…laboratory’s wall had been enough (he had always been praised for his memory, his teachers in Asgard had been astonished that he could remember something he had only glanced at several weeks ago), so he knew where he was.
The only problem, he thought to himself as the door locked behind him and he hid his food under his pillow, was how to get out of his room. It appeared that Doctor Doom was wary of letting him outside unsupervised. (Rightly so, but it was still annoying.)
Curling up under his blankets, he rested his head and began to think. The dim light of the fire’s embers barely illuminated the room.
Wait.
The embers.
A fireplace needed a chimney.
Loki rolled over and hid his face, grinning. After a few more meals where he could secret away food, and maybe another look at the map, he’d be able to leave and get back to Thor.
With that happy thought, he easily fell into a dreamless sleep; the first since he had woken up in Paris.