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Description
[Ori's Side]

Ori followed Delilah, numbly taking in the feel of Olympus as if for the first time. When they reached her house, however, he shyly plucked at her elbow. She turned to look curiously at him; he ducked his head a little, silky black hair falling to hide his intense golden eyes. He didn’t see her smile.

“Yes, Ori?” she asked.

“Can I… stay with you?” His voice was husky and hesitant. He went on to explain quickly, fearing that she’d refuse out of hand. “My memory is fogged and I don’t know what will happen when… when they find out.” He nearly choked on that last bit; what he had done stood in stark contrast to all else in his thoughts. There would be retribution sooner or later.

Delilah thought about that, eyes hidden behind sunglasses darting from boy to doorway and back again. Ori’s eyes tracked the motion of her index finger twirling one purple-black lock. She saw how much like a lost little child he seemed, but she thought that her father Eros wouldn’t like her having a guest like him, seeing as he looked so much like Loki, who as even she knew had a reputation as an immoral flirt and womanizer. An idea formed slowly, one that might work. Ori was a nicer person than Loki. She nodded, her decision made.

“Okay. I’ll take you home,” she said, moving forward to take his hand. Ori started at the motion, but he mutely contented himself with being led by the demigoddess, trusting that she wouldn’t steer him wrong.

Olympus was eerily bright and cheerful today; the grim news of the beloved son of Zeus apparently had not yet spread. This neighborhood in particular was idyllic. Loki had valued peace and quiet, and he felt a certain kinship with that trait. There was no escaping himself, but he would not learn that for years to come, nor come to hate the fact with a bitter, world-weary passion. Ori found the neighborhood peaceful, true, but unsettlingly so. Anxiety nagged at him with every step; his instincts screamed to run and hide instead of walking around in broad daylight as if he were an innocent man. Still, he followed Delilah’s light step, not knowing how to express his concerns with his clumsy tongue.

When they reached Loki’s apartment – his apartment, he thought – Delilah released his hand in order to try the doorknob, finding it locked. She looked to him questioningly, and he stared blankly at the door, trying to remember if he had a spare key, and if he did, where he would have put it if he were Loki. He blinked slowly. Someplace clever, someplace foolproof, someplace where only he could get to, he thought. Or better yet, another way of opening the door entirely, one that only he could use. Ori moved forwards and took hold of the door knob. There was a light tingle in his fingers and he only had just enough time to step out of the way before the door swung open seemingly of its own accord. He looked helplessly back at Delilah, suddenly frightened at the prospect of what he might find inside.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, touching his shoulder in concern.

Ori shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled. Or at least that was what he had intended. Instead, he heard himself say something entirely different. “I don’t remember my home,” he said, distress evident in his wild eyes. “It doesn’t look right… It’s his.” No matter how truthful he was forced to be, it was as if he couldn’t make himself say that one name. It was like taboo.

Delilah didn’t look like she really understood, but she took mercy on him and led him inside, her form comforting him with its presence is not with reason. The young man halted, knees locking abruptly, a few feet into the living room, looking around. Familiar objects tugged unfamiliar memories from the back of his head, none too gently, and soon he sank gratefully down on the black suede couch.

Delilah looked around curiously. So this is what Loki’s house looks like, she thought, intrigued. It certainly was… Interesting. It was a pretty simple, snug place in design; it was the coloration that caught the eye. Everything was in dark, rich jewel tones: the short, coarse carpet was tawny; the ceiling was a dark marbled green, like a caricature of the sky as a tornado forms; the walls were black; and even the old cracked fish tank in the corner was a vibrant aqua. She was sure that there were some bones in the last, but she wasn’t going to go and look!

Ori moaned a little. “My head hurts,” he mumbled, staggering up towards what he thought was his bedroom. He paused, hand on the door, and looked back at the girl, not sure of what to tell her if she was really staying.

“It’s okay, I can sleep on the couch,” she said, reading his thoughts. His mind was an open book, without all of the walls and locks that Loki’s had carried. She could see all sorts of things, but he still thought in the same old convoluted manner.

Ori nodded and went through the door, ungainly on his weary mortal legs. He didn’t even notice what the room looked like, just collapsed on top of the comfortable bed and fell asleep. It was not peaceful for long. Visions of the murdered and his murderer haunted him. He saw his brother struck down again, eyes wide in death, flames flaring just once more before the fire went out forever… His recalcitrant mind bucked to another scene, and he felt his soul splinter under the world’s pressure as mother Gaia’s laughter reverberated the ground beneath.

[The End... for now!]

Description
[Ori's Side]

Ori followed Delilah, numbly taking in the feel of Olympus as if for the first time. When they reached her house, however, he shyly plucked at her elbow. She turned to look curiously at him; he ducked his head a little, silky black hair falling to hide his intense golden eyes. He didn’t see her smile.

“Yes, Ori?” she asked.

“Can I… stay with you?” His voice was husky and hesitant. He went on to explain quickly, fearing that she’d refuse out of hand. “My memory is fogged and I don’t know what will happen when… when they find out.” He nearly choked on that last bit; what he had done stood in stark contrast to all else in his thoughts. There would be retribution sooner or later.

Delilah thought about that, eyes hidden behind sunglasses darting from boy to doorway and back again. Ori’s eyes tracked the motion of her index finger twirling one purple-black lock. She saw how much like a lost little child he seemed, but she thought that her father Eros wouldn’t like her having a guest like him, seeing as he looked so much like Loki, who as even she knew had a reputation as an immoral flirt and womanizer. An idea formed slowly, one that might work. Ori was a nicer person than Loki. She nodded, her decision made.

“Okay. I’ll take you home,” she said, moving forward to take his hand. Ori started at the motion, but he mutely contented himself with being led by the demigoddess, trusting that she wouldn’t steer him wrong.

Olympus was eerily bright and cheerful today; the grim news of the beloved son of Zeus apparently had not yet spread. This neighborhood in particular was idyllic. Loki had valued peace and quiet, and he felt a certain kinship with that trait. There was no escaping himself, but he would not learn that for years to come, nor come to hate the fact with a bitter, world-weary passion. Ori found the neighborhood peaceful, true, but unsettlingly so. Anxiety nagged at him with every step; his instincts screamed to run and hide instead of walking around in broad daylight as if he were an innocent man. Still, he followed Delilah’s light step, not knowing how to express his concerns with his clumsy tongue.

When they reached Loki’s apartment – his apartment, he thought – Delilah released his hand in order to try the doorknob, finding it locked. She looked to him questioningly, and he stared blankly at the door, trying to remember if he had a spare key, and if he did, where he would have put it if he were Loki. He blinked slowly. Someplace clever, someplace foolproof, someplace where only he could get to, he thought. Or better yet, another way of opening the door entirely, one that only he could use. Ori moved forwards and took hold of the door knob. There was a light tingle in his fingers and he only had just enough time to step out of the way before the door swung open seemingly of its own accord. He looked helplessly back at Delilah, suddenly frightened at the prospect of what he might find inside.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, touching his shoulder in concern.

Ori shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled. Or at least that was what he had intended. Instead, he heard himself say something entirely different. “I don’t remember my home,” he said, distress evident in his wild eyes. “It doesn’t look right… It’s his.” No matter how truthful he was forced to be, it was as if he couldn’t make himself say that one name. It was like taboo.

Delilah didn’t look like she really understood, but she took mercy on him and led him inside, her form comforting him with its presence is not with reason. The young man halted, knees locking abruptly, a few feet into the living room, looking around. Familiar objects tugged unfamiliar memories from the back of his head, none too gently, and soon he sank gratefully down on the black suede couch.

Delilah looked around curiously. So this is what Loki’s house looks like, she thought, intrigued. It certainly was… Interesting. It was a pretty simple, snug place in design; it was the coloration that caught the eye. Everything was in dark, rich jewel tones: the short, coarse carpet was tawny; the ceiling was a dark marbled green, like a caricature of the sky as a tornado forms; the walls were black; and even the old cracked fish tank in the corner was a vibrant aqua. She was sure that there were some bones in the last, but she wasn’t going to go and look!

Ori moaned a little. “My head hurts,” he mumbled, staggering up towards what he thought was his bedroom. He paused, hand on the door, and looked back at the girl, not sure of what to tell her if she was really staying.

“It’s okay, I can sleep on the couch,” she said, reading his thoughts. His mind was an open book, without all of the walls and locks that Loki’s had carried. She could see all sorts of things, but he still thought in the same old convoluted manner.

Ori nodded and went through the door, ungainly on his weary mortal legs. He didn’t even notice what the room looked like, just collapsed on top of the comfortable bed and fell asleep. It was not peaceful for long. Visions of the murdered and his murderer haunted him. He saw his brother struck down again, eyes wide in death, flames flaring just once more before the fire went out forever… His recalcitrant mind bucked to another scene, and he felt his soul splinter under the world’s pressure as mother Gaia’s laughter reverberated the ground beneath.

[The End... for now!]