We'll Always Have Paris
Dec. 22nd, 2011 04:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hlineSerrure choked back a sob as he awoke. The images from his nightmare, of buildings falling and burning along with the people inside of them began to fade. His cheeks were wet with tears. He sniffed and sat up in the doorway where he had been sleeping, wiping the tear tracks off his face with one grimy hand.
Luc stirred from where he was curled up beside him. He opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. “Nightmares, Serrure?” he mumbled. Serrure drew his knees up to his chest and covered his face, nodding embarrassedly.
Luc looked at him for a moment before shrugging and sitting up. “Seriously, you can tell me about them if you want.”
Serrure sniffled and shook his head. The images were fading already, and ever since the nightmares had started he had felt the urge to keep them a secret. He couldn’t shake the feeling that if he told anyone about what he saw when he closed his eyes they’d hate him.
Peeking between his fingers, he saw Luc huff a sigh and roll his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, “let’s just get some breakfast.”
Serrure smiled slightly. Luc never pushed; that was why he had stuck with the other boy for so long. That, and the fact that he was an excellent pickpocket. They had a con that they worked together. Serrure would be doing the old three-card-trick. The marks would be careful to watch him for any sign of cheating, and while they were doing that Luc would ‘liberate’ their wallets.
Of course, Serrure didn’t really need the help to get money. People never guessed the right card when he was shuffling. Sometimes he even tricked himself. Just when he thought they had guessed right and he’d have to fork over some cash, he’d feel his hand warm and presto, it was the wrong card.
Brushing himself off, he followed an impatient Luc out of the alleyway and down Paris’ streets to the tourist quarter. Fat tourists were always the people most easily parted from their money.
After buying croissants for themselves and gobbling them down (croissants; you had to give the tourists what they wanted to see), the two of them set up shop on a street corner. Serrure had long-since mastered putting just the right amount of cheekiness and charm into his voice as he called out after passer-by’s, allowing the two to gather a good crowd quickly.
“Here we go here we go here we go,” Serrure chanted. “Ladies, ladies, all you lovely, lovely ladies, here we go. Sharp eyes and sharp minds, one and all – it’s an old game, I know, but one of the best.” He curved his lips into his best smile. Spreading his hands, he finished his spiel. “I hope you all want to play with me.”
Holding up a card, his hands warm and tingling as they always did when it was going to be a good day, he continued to smile at the crowd. It was mainly made up of young women on vacation, having too much fun to pay attention to their purses.
A tough, muscular woman with short blonde hair and a goggle-like pair of glasses stood out a little in the crowd, though. She was kind of scary looking, but she didn’t come forward to say or do anything; he looked at her out of the corner of his eye while spoke, trying to decide if she was with the police. They’d been cracking down on poor street performers like himself lately. Nothing he could do though. Besides, they couldn’t prove he was cheating people out of money because he wasn’t. They had no reason to hassle him.
Beside a tall, pretty auburn-haired lady, Luc smirked at him; Serrure gave him a tiny nod back. It was time to get to work.
Turning back to the crowd, he started the second part of his little speech. As he spoke, his eyes wandered around the crowd. A brunette was leaning in and looking interestedly at his cards. Just as he was reeling her in, all the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
There was a tall, muscular blond man staring at him. He felt like something was squeezing the air out of him. The sudden stab of fear made him stutter momentarily and lose his place in his patter. From the corner of his eye, he saw Luc shoot him a worried look.
Automatically, he made a small motion with his hand to let him know that everything was alright. “Big blond guy, keep a look out,” he said, partially to the brunette and partially to Luc.
Forcing himself to get back on track, he looked down at the cards and began to move them. His hands, however, were cold. When the lady picked her card, she picked right. Serrure tried to keep how rattled he was off of his face. The man wasn’t a cop, he probably would have tried to get closer to watch his hands if he was; all Blondie was doing was staring directly at him.
As he tried to convince the woman to play again, he glanced up and saw Luc standing behind the man. No, no, no, he thought, watching in horror as Luc reached for the bag slung across Blondie’s back. But it was too late as he grabbed Luc and lifted him off the ground with a growled “Whelp.”
“Serrure, run!” Luc shouted.
Blondie, still holding the other boy off of the ground, whirled and pointed at Serrure. “You!” he snapped out. Serrure didn’t need to hear anymore. He turned and ran, knocking over his card table and shouting, “Go to hell!”
He sprinted down the street, knocking over people and pushing them out of the way as the man chased him. Indignant shrieks and the bull-like snorts from his pursuer followed Serrure as he darted down an alleyway that opened into a parking lot. Weaving in and out between cars, it wasn’t long before he jumped onto the top of the nearest car and began to leap across the hoods and roofs.
As he ran, his mind raced. Blondie hadn’t tried the game; all he had been doing was staring. Luc had been the one to go for his wallet. So why was the nutcase trying to catch him; he shouldn’t have realized that they were working together!
“Stop running.” The man ordered from behind him as Serrure jumped off a bridge. “You won’t escape.”
“Like hell I won’t!” Serrure snapped over his shoulder. There, a way down into the Metro! If he could get on a train he could lose Blondie in the crowds.
Jumping over the turnstiles, he knocked a lady over, shouting a garbled apology. The two of them charged along the platform. Serrure mentally swore as he saw that there was no train or real crush of people. He was too early for the rush.
His lungs heaving, he barely heard the crazy man’s mutter of “Always cleaning up your messes.” over the sound of his own heartbeat. There was nothing for it, he’d have to run into the tunnel and pray that he didn’t get hit by the train.
Jumping off the platform, he shouted hysterically, “You’re insane, crazy man! Show me what you’ve got!” He’d have to be a dumbass to follow Serrure into the tunnels for a few bucks.
Light flashed, and for a split second Serrure wondered if he had missed the train coming before he slammed into something that certainly felt like a wall of steel and falling flat on his ass.
It was Blondie, but now he was wearing some sort of armour. A jolt of recognition hit Serrure. God, he was one of those crazy American superheroes! No wonder he had been able to keep up!
Scrambling back, his back hit the side of the platform as he babbled, “Look, I’ll give you your money back, all of it. Whatever my partner took, I’ll match back, in fact, I’ll give you a chance to double it if you just –“
“I do not want money!” the man roared. He was holding something up, a hammer, but Serrure felt his attention dragged away as he realized something.
“You – You’re…” Serrure felt his voice trail off as he struggled to put into words something he knew in his bones. Confusion and fear warred in his stomach, making him nauseous. “What language are you speaking?” he finally forced out, “You’re not speaking French.”
The big guy actually smiled at that. In a deep, booming voice, he said, “Neither are you. Are you?”
Slowly standing up on shaking legs, he shook his head and pleaded, “I don’t understand.” The man smiled down at him. He looked so damn glad to see him, like he knew him or something.
“You speak with the All-tongue. Everyman hears it as his native language.” The man leaned closer to him. “You are not of the folk. You are, like me, a son of Asgard. A god.”
As the man continued, his voice took a richer tone, like he was telling a story. “You are Loki, son of Laufey and Farbuti, child of Odin, son of Bor, and brother of mine. And for your myriad sins, for all the wretchedness of your past lives… I cannot imagine my present life without you. I brought you back and sought you out to bring you home, brother.”
Serrure felt a lump grow in his throat at the man calling him brother. “You – you are insane, big man, you know that? That’s the craziest…” he trailed off. He thought back as far as he could.
“Oh god.” he said in a tiny voice as his eyes began to burn.
“I don’t remember anything. Anything. You know?” His voice shook and cracked as he continued. “I just – I’ve been making suckers chase cards for money my whole life. I remember –“ he scrunched his face up in fear and confusion, “a season, a day? I can’t tell.”
“Even my name is fake.” Now that he was thinking of it, horror filled him. “I just thought it sounded good. My memories… I have no memories.” God, he wanted to believe the man in front of him, that there was a home and family and memories for him.
A warm hand laid itself on his shoulder as tears began to flow down his face and he looked away in a futile attempt to hide them. Shame raised its ugly head Serrure suddenly felt like he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to have anyone look at him with such love in their eyes.
Squirming away from the warmth of the hand on his shoulder, he forged ahead through his tears. This guy – he didn’t know about Serrure’s dreams. He had to know about his dreams; he’d leave him and hate him if he knew about his dreams.
“Guh – God, I don’t – I have dreams. I have such hideous dreams.” he admitted. Looking back up, he sobbed, “The things I’ve done in my dreams would convict me to the gallows in any court in the land.”
“Why am I plagued by such sights?” he begged, searching the man’s face.
He saw that the man’s features were tinged faintly with horror and pity as he looked down at him. “There are things,” he started, before schooling his features into sternness, “there are things that all of us, have done in our lives that we wish to forget.”
He placed his hand back on Serrure’s shoulder. The boy drew strength from it and straightened slightly, his tears drying on his face.
“Let us just suppose that you were given a gift, eh?”
The man’s hammer began to glow with a strange blue light. He held it towards Serrure. Tentatively, he reached towards it.
“Will this help?” he asked, transfixed by the glow. “Will you help me?”
“Nothing can erase the past. For you or anyone else. All this will do is bring our paths in tandem. You still have to walk it alone.” Serrure’s eyes flicked back to the man’s face.
“But, at least, you’ll have company.” the man said, his eyes softening. “Your life, ‘Serrure’, is your choice and your choice alone.”
In the back of his mind, Serrure knew that the man was trying to give him an out. It made him pause, allowing another fear to surface.
“What if my nightmares are my memories trying to return? What if – “ his eyes flickered between the hammer and the man as he whispered brokenly, “What if I am everything I fear?”
He felt that fear begin to ebb as the man smiled at him again. “You are my brother, ‘Lock’. You have nothing to fear.” Every word was filled with love.
With the man’s words buoying him, Serrure reached out to grasp the handle of the hammer. “Anything would be better than this…” he swore. The light it gave off seemed to reach out and welcome him.
And Serrure was no more.
Loki looked down on himself in delight. His clothing was now proper Asgardian clothing. “My… word.” he said, grinning. He knew that people were staring and didn’t care.
His big brother Thor sounded confused as he said, “That’s not what usually happens…”
Loki looked up from himself and ran over to grab his hand. He began to pull him back towards the platform. “Forget what usually happens,” he chattered excitedly, “when did you get so old?”
His brother actually laughed and began to help him up onto the platform.
Then the roof caved in.
Luc stirred from where he was curled up beside him. He opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. “Nightmares, Serrure?” he mumbled. Serrure drew his knees up to his chest and covered his face, nodding embarrassedly.
Luc looked at him for a moment before shrugging and sitting up. “Seriously, you can tell me about them if you want.”
Serrure sniffled and shook his head. The images were fading already, and ever since the nightmares had started he had felt the urge to keep them a secret. He couldn’t shake the feeling that if he told anyone about what he saw when he closed his eyes they’d hate him.
Peeking between his fingers, he saw Luc huff a sigh and roll his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, “let’s just get some breakfast.”
Serrure smiled slightly. Luc never pushed; that was why he had stuck with the other boy for so long. That, and the fact that he was an excellent pickpocket. They had a con that they worked together. Serrure would be doing the old three-card-trick. The marks would be careful to watch him for any sign of cheating, and while they were doing that Luc would ‘liberate’ their wallets.
Of course, Serrure didn’t really need the help to get money. People never guessed the right card when he was shuffling. Sometimes he even tricked himself. Just when he thought they had guessed right and he’d have to fork over some cash, he’d feel his hand warm and presto, it was the wrong card.
Brushing himself off, he followed an impatient Luc out of the alleyway and down Paris’ streets to the tourist quarter. Fat tourists were always the people most easily parted from their money.
After buying croissants for themselves and gobbling them down (croissants; you had to give the tourists what they wanted to see), the two of them set up shop on a street corner. Serrure had long-since mastered putting just the right amount of cheekiness and charm into his voice as he called out after passer-by’s, allowing the two to gather a good crowd quickly.
“Here we go here we go here we go,” Serrure chanted. “Ladies, ladies, all you lovely, lovely ladies, here we go. Sharp eyes and sharp minds, one and all – it’s an old game, I know, but one of the best.” He curved his lips into his best smile. Spreading his hands, he finished his spiel. “I hope you all want to play with me.”
Holding up a card, his hands warm and tingling as they always did when it was going to be a good day, he continued to smile at the crowd. It was mainly made up of young women on vacation, having too much fun to pay attention to their purses.
A tough, muscular woman with short blonde hair and a goggle-like pair of glasses stood out a little in the crowd, though. She was kind of scary looking, but she didn’t come forward to say or do anything; he looked at her out of the corner of his eye while spoke, trying to decide if she was with the police. They’d been cracking down on poor street performers like himself lately. Nothing he could do though. Besides, they couldn’t prove he was cheating people out of money because he wasn’t. They had no reason to hassle him.
Beside a tall, pretty auburn-haired lady, Luc smirked at him; Serrure gave him a tiny nod back. It was time to get to work.
Turning back to the crowd, he started the second part of his little speech. As he spoke, his eyes wandered around the crowd. A brunette was leaning in and looking interestedly at his cards. Just as he was reeling her in, all the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
There was a tall, muscular blond man staring at him. He felt like something was squeezing the air out of him. The sudden stab of fear made him stutter momentarily and lose his place in his patter. From the corner of his eye, he saw Luc shoot him a worried look.
Automatically, he made a small motion with his hand to let him know that everything was alright. “Big blond guy, keep a look out,” he said, partially to the brunette and partially to Luc.
Forcing himself to get back on track, he looked down at the cards and began to move them. His hands, however, were cold. When the lady picked her card, she picked right. Serrure tried to keep how rattled he was off of his face. The man wasn’t a cop, he probably would have tried to get closer to watch his hands if he was; all Blondie was doing was staring directly at him.
As he tried to convince the woman to play again, he glanced up and saw Luc standing behind the man. No, no, no, he thought, watching in horror as Luc reached for the bag slung across Blondie’s back. But it was too late as he grabbed Luc and lifted him off the ground with a growled “Whelp.”
“Serrure, run!” Luc shouted.
Blondie, still holding the other boy off of the ground, whirled and pointed at Serrure. “You!” he snapped out. Serrure didn’t need to hear anymore. He turned and ran, knocking over his card table and shouting, “Go to hell!”
He sprinted down the street, knocking over people and pushing them out of the way as the man chased him. Indignant shrieks and the bull-like snorts from his pursuer followed Serrure as he darted down an alleyway that opened into a parking lot. Weaving in and out between cars, it wasn’t long before he jumped onto the top of the nearest car and began to leap across the hoods and roofs.
As he ran, his mind raced. Blondie hadn’t tried the game; all he had been doing was staring. Luc had been the one to go for his wallet. So why was the nutcase trying to catch him; he shouldn’t have realized that they were working together!
“Stop running.” The man ordered from behind him as Serrure jumped off a bridge. “You won’t escape.”
“Like hell I won’t!” Serrure snapped over his shoulder. There, a way down into the Metro! If he could get on a train he could lose Blondie in the crowds.
Jumping over the turnstiles, he knocked a lady over, shouting a garbled apology. The two of them charged along the platform. Serrure mentally swore as he saw that there was no train or real crush of people. He was too early for the rush.
His lungs heaving, he barely heard the crazy man’s mutter of “Always cleaning up your messes.” over the sound of his own heartbeat. There was nothing for it, he’d have to run into the tunnel and pray that he didn’t get hit by the train.
Jumping off the platform, he shouted hysterically, “You’re insane, crazy man! Show me what you’ve got!” He’d have to be a dumbass to follow Serrure into the tunnels for a few bucks.
Light flashed, and for a split second Serrure wondered if he had missed the train coming before he slammed into something that certainly felt like a wall of steel and falling flat on his ass.
It was Blondie, but now he was wearing some sort of armour. A jolt of recognition hit Serrure. God, he was one of those crazy American superheroes! No wonder he had been able to keep up!
Scrambling back, his back hit the side of the platform as he babbled, “Look, I’ll give you your money back, all of it. Whatever my partner took, I’ll match back, in fact, I’ll give you a chance to double it if you just –“
“I do not want money!” the man roared. He was holding something up, a hammer, but Serrure felt his attention dragged away as he realized something.
“You – You’re…” Serrure felt his voice trail off as he struggled to put into words something he knew in his bones. Confusion and fear warred in his stomach, making him nauseous. “What language are you speaking?” he finally forced out, “You’re not speaking French.”
The big guy actually smiled at that. In a deep, booming voice, he said, “Neither are you. Are you?”
Slowly standing up on shaking legs, he shook his head and pleaded, “I don’t understand.” The man smiled down at him. He looked so damn glad to see him, like he knew him or something.
“You speak with the All-tongue. Everyman hears it as his native language.” The man leaned closer to him. “You are not of the folk. You are, like me, a son of Asgard. A god.”
As the man continued, his voice took a richer tone, like he was telling a story. “You are Loki, son of Laufey and Farbuti, child of Odin, son of Bor, and brother of mine. And for your myriad sins, for all the wretchedness of your past lives… I cannot imagine my present life without you. I brought you back and sought you out to bring you home, brother.”
Serrure felt a lump grow in his throat at the man calling him brother. “You – you are insane, big man, you know that? That’s the craziest…” he trailed off. He thought back as far as he could.
“Oh god.” he said in a tiny voice as his eyes began to burn.
“I don’t remember anything. Anything. You know?” His voice shook and cracked as he continued. “I just – I’ve been making suckers chase cards for money my whole life. I remember –“ he scrunched his face up in fear and confusion, “a season, a day? I can’t tell.”
“Even my name is fake.” Now that he was thinking of it, horror filled him. “I just thought it sounded good. My memories… I have no memories.” God, he wanted to believe the man in front of him, that there was a home and family and memories for him.
A warm hand laid itself on his shoulder as tears began to flow down his face and he looked away in a futile attempt to hide them. Shame raised its ugly head Serrure suddenly felt like he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to have anyone look at him with such love in their eyes.
Squirming away from the warmth of the hand on his shoulder, he forged ahead through his tears. This guy – he didn’t know about Serrure’s dreams. He had to know about his dreams; he’d leave him and hate him if he knew about his dreams.
“Guh – God, I don’t – I have dreams. I have such hideous dreams.” he admitted. Looking back up, he sobbed, “The things I’ve done in my dreams would convict me to the gallows in any court in the land.”
“Why am I plagued by such sights?” he begged, searching the man’s face.
He saw that the man’s features were tinged faintly with horror and pity as he looked down at him. “There are things,” he started, before schooling his features into sternness, “there are things that all of us, have done in our lives that we wish to forget.”
He placed his hand back on Serrure’s shoulder. The boy drew strength from it and straightened slightly, his tears drying on his face.
“Let us just suppose that you were given a gift, eh?”
The man’s hammer began to glow with a strange blue light. He held it towards Serrure. Tentatively, he reached towards it.
“Will this help?” he asked, transfixed by the glow. “Will you help me?”
“Nothing can erase the past. For you or anyone else. All this will do is bring our paths in tandem. You still have to walk it alone.” Serrure’s eyes flicked back to the man’s face.
“But, at least, you’ll have company.” the man said, his eyes softening. “Your life, ‘Serrure’, is your choice and your choice alone.”
In the back of his mind, Serrure knew that the man was trying to give him an out. It made him pause, allowing another fear to surface.
“What if my nightmares are my memories trying to return? What if – “ his eyes flickered between the hammer and the man as he whispered brokenly, “What if I am everything I fear?”
He felt that fear begin to ebb as the man smiled at him again. “You are my brother, ‘Lock’. You have nothing to fear.” Every word was filled with love.
With the man’s words buoying him, Serrure reached out to grasp the handle of the hammer. “Anything would be better than this…” he swore. The light it gave off seemed to reach out and welcome him.
And Serrure was no more.
Loki looked down on himself in delight. His clothing was now proper Asgardian clothing. “My… word.” he said, grinning. He knew that people were staring and didn’t care.
His big brother Thor sounded confused as he said, “That’s not what usually happens…”
Loki looked up from himself and ran over to grab his hand. He began to pull him back towards the platform. “Forget what usually happens,” he chattered excitedly, “when did you get so old?”
His brother actually laughed and began to help him up onto the platform.
Then the roof caved in.