An Understanding

August 12, 2014: A rainy afternoon brings out the philosophical side of some beings.

Midtown Manhattan

Rainy, busy traffic.



  • None

Mood Music:

Overcast with moments of rain. Summer rains are refreshing, however. In the City, more often than not such a day leads to cooler temperatures and less humidity the next day. Only trick is, surviving the rain with a level head. For such a tourist locale, rain means nothing really. It doesn't dampen the spirits of those that pay thousands for the pilgrammage to the Big Apple.

Loki's not in the best of spirits at the moment. Perhaps he's channeling his brother at the moment? (Who knew?) He's got no personal 'shield' up, so the rain flattens his hair against his head, his Midgardian clothing damp and singularly uncomfortable.

He sits in an outdoor cafe, though under an overhang, a glass of something deep amber sitting right in front of him. The way the God of Mischief is facing, there is the image of the Stark Tower in partial view, and his gaze doesn't leave the red letters but for a few seconds each time. Every couple of moments, his hand clenches and he looks down as if studying it, seeing it for the first time, perhaps?


From Stark Tower building emerges a heavier-set fellow, whose broad smile is quite prominent upon a weathered face that doesn't seem to smile very often. Indeed, the man's carriage is that of the sort that is beaten by the world, then beaten again for good measure suddenly given the whip to turn upon his master, and with that eagerness… a guarded responsibility cached with that rarest of commodities… hope.

Jim Reha has just come out of a meeting with someone within Stark Industries, and they were most receptive to his job-seeking. So much so that he is nearly walking on sunshine despite the downpour. Clearly such a normally dour person should not be so upbeat? That MUST be the reason for such a dismal day. How could one be that happy? He strides blissfully forward with the traffic light, crossing the street with the signal, avoiding a few splashes from cars rather deftly for such a rotund man. Eventually he makes his way to over-hangs and the like, but the weather has clearly not dampened his spirits. If anything, the downpour appears to have refreshed him, somewhat.

No man should be that upbeat in this City. Ever.


Oddly enough, the God of Chaos and Mischief is in full agreement. Particularly when his own mood is one that more matches the weather than not. With another studied flex of his hand before his face, he pushes the drink from the table, sending the glass crashing to the ground. As if it were some sort of 'voodoo' curse, a yellow taxi spins out, sliding sideways towards a detour-signed area; a hole where they're putting in new pipes in advance of winter. It -may- be that it's sliding just where said 'happy fellow' who looks ready to burst into song may be walking.

Once done, Loki looks at his hands again, and wipes his face with slender fingers, digging into one of his eyes as if attempting to clear them. Then the other hand rises, and he stares at the fingertips of each, one then the other.

Gaining his feet quickly, chairs are thrown backwards in his haste, catching the waiter in the hip as he's carrying more drinks out to other customers.


The crash of a glass prefacing the monumental rise to mayhem does not catch the weathered retail veteran's attention. The taxi spinning out does register on the periphery of the fellow's consciousness… and truth be told, he was about to launch into a most amateur and infantile version of the Gene Kelly classic 'Singing in the Rain' without an umbrella. He'd managed to avoid the bulk of the under construction area in his bliss, but now… with a ton or more of metal and rubber and glass and people bearing down on him and seeing the alternative he mutters a brief curse and a glance skywards prefaced by a mostly insane cackle.


A panel truck rushes by on a crossing artery, blocking line of sight for a brief moment to the would-be monarch's line of sight, then when it passes there is a most obscure ravenesque being doing its level best to push back on the car, to stop it from toppling into the detour area even as its betaloned feet dig in and smoke rises over the area. Mighty obsidian wings fan frantically as it attempts to retard the motion of the vehicle.

Where did that upbeat mortal go? What is this… thing? And… how dare it attempt to stop the 'natural' course of events? Well, mostly natural, at any rate…


It really is a 'fire and forget' moment for Loki. If he's anything, the Norse God really is self-centered, and at this very moment, he's not feeling all that great. It doesn't happen often, but this? This is disconcerting, to say the least.

The waiter that is hit with the wrought iron chair falls back, the glasses falling from his tray in *crashes*, the smell of beer rising in the air as it splashes on the ground. A yelp sounds from the man, and for a couple of heartbeats, he doesn't move. Not until after Loki is on the move, his eyes glued to the scene as it unfolds before him.

Loki couldn't care less for the tables that are jostled as he passes, nor does he particular take note of those mortals that are pushed from his path as he heads towards the street. There… there before him is an amazing creature. Curiosity now draws him, and when he can tear his gaze away, it's to add something to the mix. A car veers around the corner and head-firsts into a light pole, causing the fixture to bend dangerously, looking very much as if it is in danger of striking the car and the wing'ed creature.

What can he do?


From chaos… comes perfect order. It is not a mandatory path that the avianoid entity would insist upon for its charges, nor would any fledgeling entity ever be forced to undertake such a difficult path. In order, there is harmony, incorporating both the chaos of the unknown and the rigidity of the known. It is the first real opportunity that it has had to 'be a hero' like its partner has always been harping on it to be, though altruism and self-sacrifice are not normally its operational procedures.

Still, with the knowledge of epochs, it is almost child's play to calculate the math, examine the vectors and the available resources as it rips the door off the cab in front of it, winging the now loosened projectile into the post to attempt to knock it a few degrees away from the car and imminent disaster, the aperture cover falling to the street shortly after in a perfect economy of motion to wobble a few times before stopping. With rain-slicked streets it then attempts to push the car, spinning it so the opened side of it is away from the gaping hole in the street (and the divot that the bird-thing made skidding into the asphalt).

"GET OUT. GET AWAY!" A personable tone is not called for in this educational instance. It would love to regale someone of the various maths it is using, or perhaps extol the virtues of deep contemplation of the zen (a human term) of the moment but with so many crises erupting there is simply no time for such an education.


It is unused to having to use the voice of the irate, and it feels almost loathsome in its beak as it bellows forth.


Hugin. Munin. It's the first thing that is brought to mind when Loki sees such a creature; but the All-Father has no hope, no grasp when it comes to such magics that would be required to even begin to consider such a transformation. Even he—

And there is no scent of magic. No trace.

Chaos is a natural order of things. Nothing is ever created from order, but discovery is always derived from chaos. It is the perfect state with which to build, develop, discover. Here, and now, it is the measure by which he studies a remarkable creature.

It's a fact of humanity, really. Differences, ultimately, are despised. Feared. Loathed. And there is little gratitude to be found in mortals when something 'other' than themselves aid them in their pathetic little lives. They would just as soon level a gun at one who helps as to one that hinders. As a result, those pedestrians that could truly be of some service are running from the scene. One, two are recording on their smartphones, ready to send it up to YouTube or Vine. A mounted policeman, seated upon a supposedly 'bombproof' horse, is thrown from his steed, and the horse begins a run through the streets; primal fear rearing its head.

"They do not want your aid," Loki calls out, a single man in the middle of the fray who simply stands and watches. "Why do such a thing?"


There are certain repeating consistencies in the universe. One of those is the raven of Thought and the other of Memory. Indeed, in some ways the symmetry is nearly complete to the point that the All-Father could not have but copied the ideas into imperfect approximations, given the strange being's knowledge and memory. Much like the cycles that the Norse consistently have in their tales, this thing hearkens back to a much earlier, a much simpler time.

If ever there was a chance to address this world, to bring it under a heel of domination and control through the modern means of social media and the 24-hour news cycle, this strange bird-thing would clearly have its 15 Moments of Fame. And yet, fame is not a goal of a good teacher, but education of the student. Those who learn do the best wisdom to their teacher by carrying their lessons onwards. Thus is the burden and the blessing of Enlightenment.

The strange bird thing leaps upwards into the driving rain, its arc landing it in front of the horse even as it flares its wings up and wide and braces once more, retracting its talons to attempt a catch of the terrified beast and perhaps calm it… but definitely stop it while minimizing harm to it.

It glances to the single man and tilts its head, ever-mindful of its mission.

"This one would humbly recommend that one aid one's fellows, please. This one would also indicate that every being on this world is important. Very important."

Wow, way to go, enigmatic strange blackbirdmanthing. Angling for the whole martyr bit, are we?


Loki's appearance shimmers, and he goes from suit that he affects as his 'Midgardian' wear to his gold and green leathers, complete with boots, though he looks to be unarmed. There, he stands in the street, cars now blaring their horns as they try to get around the mess that is piling up. And to Corvinus' request, there comes a simple answer. "No."

He will give the curious creature more explanation, however. There's no hostility on the Asgardian's part. It truly is study; a poke here, a prod there. "There is no one on this world quite like me," Loki replies with a subtle bit of amusment underlying his tones. "I have no 'fellow' here. As far as I am concerned, it's the weak that will perish, leaving me with stronger, more resilient mortals from whom I can choose an army." Such is the burden of a leader. To weed out those who have no hope of survival against the coming storms.

"And -why- exactly are they all very important? No one has ever quite explained that properly."


The avianoid gently guides the now sliding horse off to the side, giving it one firm yet gentle directing slap on its rear to send it back to its rider. It cracks its neck in some strange fashion that only an avian could make without damaging something then lets out a slow sigh. Well, at least the hu… that… is not a human. That is something older by the air with which he carries himself. Someone who is used to having the voice of command and expecting those who listen to kowtow before it. It has seen this type before in its travels, though it doesn't have a name of yet.

Its response is equally without hostility, rather matter of fact, even. It does not, however, speak in a condescending tone, for that would be disruptive to Enlightenment. "This one would tend to agree with your second statement, however, the third one is erroneous. It is from the strength of many that the exemplars may be found it is true, but all who would strive to protect this world would and should do so. One never knows if the fledgling that is bereft of opportunity may have been the next genius that builds a magnificent device, or the well-set adult who wastes their opportunity yet provides for others will be the one who is the most worthy. While temporal strength is a goal that is laudable, it is a short-term and ultimately futile maneuver, as strength is consumed by weakness. It is the nature of humanity to draw from weakness and destroy strength. Even one such as yourself must have seen this over the ages?"

The tone remains neutral as it actually answers the question. So odd, this bird-thing.

"There is a Storm coming. It will come and it will come hard. If this world is not prepared, it will perish. All who live here contribute by living here. Depriving this world of future defenders and the chance for their Enlightenment is a peril, that this one strongly suggests one does not engage in."


The police officer that had been unceremoniously dumped is back on his feet and jogging in the direction of his mount. Cars are beginning to stall due to traffic, and in the distance, the sound of sirens cry.

"Do you know me, creature?" Loki's voice is hardly above a whisper. "I know a Storm comes. It's been destined. Foretold. Some blame me for it, but that is far from the truth. It would mean the end of the Nine Worlds. The felling of a great Tree. I seek to prevent it. And to do so, an army is necessary." And his rulership of Midgard, but that is going without saying for the moment.

Now, there is something about the God of Deceit. When he is in the Court of Odin, more often than not, he is forbidden to speak, lest he sway his audience. It's not sorcery, no. It's the simple telling of truths mixed with omissions. To hear him speak, he truly doesn't lie. But one must always watch his words.

"Your method is different than mine, and mine has worked for countless thousands of years. On Midgard and before that, on Realms never dreamt of in these mortals minds." Loki scoffs at the logic, a barked laugh.

"There will always be another when one passes. Mortals ask the question, 'Do the times make the man, or does the Man make the times?'. That, now, is a question I pose to you. Here. In this street."


The bird-like being tilts its head slightly for a moment. It is about to answer when the being goes on a bit of a monologue about himself. If there WAS a doubt, well, its partner has provided Enlightenment in his way.

"I know of one. That is enough for now. And one's duty is paramount, one's burden eternal. Yet even when one engages in the tasks for one's burden, one does it with the understanding that there is an underlying need for the actions one takes, reviled and imperiled by one's past though one might be. This one understands full and well the burden of bringing vast Wisdom to those who are not prepared for it, and it is almost painful."

A kindred spirit, perhaps? It definitely understands that such complex topics are understood by blessed few.

"Aeons, one says? This one's methodology has been in place for easily as long, in places akin to the ones one speaks of. This one has seen the folly of putting one's eggs 'in one basket', as it were. Always must one be prepared. Always."

"The equivalency is false. Time is. Man is. They exist in inter-twined synergy such that to attempt to separate one from the other produces a paradox far worse than… what is the local… yes…. Chicken and egg." Is that a bit of mirth in it's tone? A challenge, or a casual acceptance that the two philosophies are different yet not fully incompatibile?


Here. In this city street, Loki stands in the rain and stares at the creature. Whatever the God of Chaos was expecting at the beginning of this, it certainly wasn't this. Isn't this. Searching his brain, rereading all those tomes in his mind, scanning for such a being as this, and he comes up empty each time.

An understanding. A truth that only one other truly understands; his son. He is whom he is, whom he needs to be. And his destiny? He knows it, but he's not entirely certain what the ending will be, other than the prophetic stories as handed down by the Norse. All the whispers back 'home'.

"Who are you?"

Sadly, there is little time for him to catch an answer. The sirens are growing closer and he has no desire to remain here for much longer than is necessary.

"Time and man. One creates the other. If a man is destroyed, time will find reason for another to rise. Everything for its reason." Loki does catch the avian's dry sense of humour and actually finds a soft laugh.

"You and I have a great deal in common then. By what name do you go by?"


This is often the reaction that it gets when it presents Wisdom to prospective students. It fufills its purpose in so doing while accomplishing a slight fraction more of its intended goal with every iota it distributes well. The iota that were not distributed well were a disaster that is still unfolding. It is also becoming used to the comfort of even the older beings of this world not knowing it.

The lesson of others who have fought against the inevitable, however, is what keeps things from happening again.

"This one is The Corvinus. One is known well for the chaos one brings, especially at the end of time when Jormungandr awakens."

Without stating the god's name he's named him, yet preserved his anoynymity. How.. courteous?

"May this one ask one a favor of setting some things aright here? It would most assuredly be counter to one's reputation and decidedly preserving of it at the same time?" It bows slightly, while keeping an eye on the outlander. More of that mirthful tone, almost playful?


"The Corvinus," Loki repeats. To hear the familiar name upon the creatures… beak brings a ghost of an acknowledging smile, and coupled with an inclination of his head, "Well, we're actually trying to prevent that." Ragnarok is an event where no one wins. (Not even him.)

A brow rises at the request, and for a long moment, Loki simply stares at the avian. It's not for long, however, before the God of Deceit actually laughs, the sound truly amused. "Yes."

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