livebythecreed | Not everyone can be an assassin.

[ aka The Trickster, Loki and Don't Do That Again ]

You can always spot a pirate. There's a certain swagger in the walk, an unpleasant and uncouth set to the features. James Norrington has seen it all too often, most recently dangling from the end of a rope, but there are still too many young men and women who turn to a life of sin and vagrancy. It is, of course, his duty to bring them to justice, to see that they can no longer plague the innocent with their existence.

It does wear down on one's soul, even so. He is good at what he does, which is why he has the station he does. His stance on pirates is almost completely unwavering, and yet as he watches this man, he feels the desire to stay where he is, to continue with his book and ignore him as long as possible.

He just can't hide the twist of disapproval on his lips, or the way he moves in his chair, to that the draw of a pistol would be easier.

One doesn't manage to stay alive as long as Jack has without a certain amount of perceptive ability (and dangerous friends, a quick mouth and, when the occasion calls for it, quicker thinking, running or shooting) so it doesn't go unnoticed by him that the gentleman pretending to read his book is definitely looking at him, and is definitely not pleased to see him. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact he looked like a navy man - or, rather, it was likely everything to do with the fact he looked like a navy man, they were natural enemies after all.

"I'm terribly sorry, I appear to have offended you in some way, or is there just a bad smell in this room that I haven't noticed?" he started conversationally, raising an eyebrow at Norrington.

One also probably didn't stay alive that long without the kind of self-preservation that keeps people from picking fights. That one was a trick Jack had never picked up.

James sighs, and shifts. Pirate or not, he will show the man some courtesy, closing Commentarii de Bello Gallico with a snap and putting the book down on the table. It gives him a moment longer to survey the man, to try and match the appearance with the descriptions he knows almost verbatim, but this man does not quite fit any of them. It does not make him any less a pirate, but simply one that James can not yet lend a name to.

"I am sure, sir, that you have committed a great many acts that would offend any right-thinking person."

That is no doubt true, the mere act of piracy is morally reprehensible, never mind what tarnish it does to a man's soul. But here he is without his officers, without a crew, without authority to act.

As such, he can do nothing but gesture the man into the opposite seat. He might as well be hospitable, as there is nothing else he can do.

"Commodore James Norrington, of His Britannic Majesty's Royal Navy."

"I'm sure the same could be said of a lot of people,"Jack brushed off the comment with a shrug, there were plenty of bad people out there, he knew as well as anyone that one didn't have to be a pirate to commit immoral actions, although he could hardly deny the charges - even he could admit he wasn't that nice a person.

Still, the Commodore seems smart enough to not want to get into a fight that would likely do neither of them any good, so Jack was intrigued enough to drop casually into the seat and tip his hat at the introduction.

"Captain Jack Rackham, you may have heard of me..." he could live in hope anyway, "possibly as Calico Jack."

"And yet that does not excuse your own actions." James points out. He has no desire to get into a philosophical discussion with the pirate, or entertain this subject of right or wrong any more than this. He is willing to put these things aside, although the other man would do well to know that.

"Rackham?"

He does know that name. But he knows others associated with it. He knows those other names better. "Am I to assume that Read and Bonny are somewhere close by?"

Jack blithely ignores the comment about his own actions - the only judgement he cares about in regards to those is his own, after all.

And Charles'.

And maybe Anne's...

Although speaking of Anne... Jack's lip quirks into a smile at the mention of her name, and Mary's, he wasn't too put out by the fact his name was so quickly associated with the two of them, as long as it was associated at all - notoriety was notoriety regardless of the company it kept.

"Oh I'm sure they're not far away, probably doing something terribly interesting. Possibly each other."

There's a slight change of the Commodore's expression as if the news doesn't surprise him, but he would have prefered not to have known those details. It's a resigned sort of expression, but he holds back the sigh that comes with it.

"As long as it is interesting, rather than criminal, they have my blessing."

"And what about you, Captain? Are you here for purely social reasons, or are you looking to cause mischief? All I ask if it is the latter, would you be so kind as to wait until I have left for the evening?"

"Well now, that would be telling," although there's a definite mischievous glint in Jack's eyes, maybe it's just because he's pleased to have ruffled the commodore's feathers, however little he showed it, or maybe he actually has something planned, it's hard to tell which.

"But rest assured I had no idea you were going to be here, so I certainly have no plans involving you."

"Is it too much to hope for that your plans consisted of having a simple drink, a game of chess, and an early night?"

It's wishful thinking. If pirates had wholesome lives, then they would not be pirates and he would not be required to spend his days chasing them and hanging them. He can't even leave for the evening, because if any mischief occurs, and he's willfully ignored it, or the possibility of it, then he's failed in his duty.

Perhaps then... he can offer another option.

"Allow me to buy you a drink. In exchange for... a tale of one of the strange places you've sailed to."

"How early or late my night is depends entirely on the company I keep," Jack replied easily, and while there was nothing specifically risque in his words, his tone certainly left no room for interpretation about exactly what type of 'company' he meant.

A free drink and a chance to spread a little of his reputation, however... well, he was never going to say no to that, was he? The more people who heard his tales, the more people who could repeat them, and that was no bad thing

"Very well, a drink it is. Rum, if you please."

No one ever expects to see the gods. Ragnar claims to see Odin, says that he guides Ragnar's steps but Rollo has never seen the gods. He knows they watch, he knows they laugh at him, but he never expects to see them. Not in the flesh. Not walking and talking and existing in this mortal world.

He isn't sure how he knows, perhaps it's because he's close to death, but he knows that the thin youth is a god. He doesn't know which one, and he doesn't want to try to guess. Insulting a god is worse than ignoring them, although neither is a good idea.

At a loss, he falls to his knees, keeping his head bowed. The young sharp-featured man will pass by, and Rollo can only hope to be none the worse for the encounter.

For some of the Aesir, even the most arrogant of them, having a mortal prostate themselves in front of you is just an expected occurrence, barely worth noticing, in fact they would probably be more shocked by a mortal that didn't show some deference. Loki was not one of those - for him, it was much rarer, the closest he tended to get was a kind of vaguely respectful wariness or outright fear, which frankly was unfair - most of the gods had done a few terrible things, so why was he the only one with a reputation?

So unfortunately for Rollo, when he bowed before Loki, it caught the god's attention and he turned to the man with a pleased smile, and if there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, well... better hope there wasn't.

"You show proper respect, mortal." he commented "I like it."

It is not just Loki who is to be feared. All of the gods play games with the lives of mortals. Even the seers cannot be certain of what the future contains, what the gods have planned for them, and a wise man fears Odin and Balder as much as he fears Loki. But Loki is the most likely to cause harm to mortals without reason, to cause conflict and mischief for his own amusement and Rollo has faced too much of that already. He does not need Loki's curse upon his shoulders.

"Yes, Lord," He says, raising his head just a little, trying to get a better look at the god. Perhaps looking at him is a bad idea, but he can not resist the pull, the desperate need to look into the face of a diety.

Loki toyed with the idea of telling him to keep himself prostrated, or punishing him for daring to look up, but decided it would be more interesting to lull him into a false sense of security - he may have use for this man down the line, or be able to strike all the harder for gaining his trust, whichever took his fancy in the moment.

"You may stand, and I will permit you to look upon me, we will converse as men."

Any other human might have got up hesitantly, just in case the god was up to something. Loki is almost certainly planning something, but Rollo can't help himself, standing up as soon as the command is given. He has the sense to bow low before straightening up, keeping his hands away from the axe and the knife at his belt.

"Yes, my Lord."

He shifts. He can't help it. Loki does not appear as he always thought he might. He imagined a man like Floki, all wicked quick grins and twitches, filled with energy and always moving. But the god in front of him is composed and stately, measuring up options. It's far more frightening.

"Lord, your presence honours us. But... I am wondering what we have done, to deserve such honour."

Loki can see the uncertainty in the man's eyes now that his are actually being met, and the grin that spreads across his face is lazily smug. He enjoys unsettling people, that's part of why he gives in so easily to his changeable nature, it pays to never be quite what people expect, whether friend or foe, keeping them on their toes makes everything easier for him. Like fire, he can be controlled and helpful, or wild and dangerous, and you never really know from one moment to the next which he's going to be.

"Oh I wouldn't worry yourself too much," he waved aside the uncertainty with a casual hand "It's nothing you've done. Simply good luck."

"Hey pup!"

The happy greeting is quickly followed by a ruffle of that short dark hair, Gabriel's smile bright and pleased. He doesn't often get to see any of his kids, at least, they don't often know he's about. Things ended... badly with the Norse folk. But that doesn't matter, because Gabriel has tried so hard to keep in contact with his children. Especially Fenrir. He's always felt a close attachment to the little wolf, although little is hardly appropriate anymore.

It wasn't really appropriate in the first place.

"I hope this is a social visit. Not that I don't want to see you kiddo, but the world's come close to ending too often in the last few decades."

Edited 2018-02-17 20:45 (UTC)

Some people, at least those people who didn't have enough knowledge of norse mythology under their belt, might be surprised when they saw the way Gabriel/Loki interacted with his son, especially if they'd already met Fenrir, who was a walking dictionary definition of the strong, silent type. How could such a bright, friendly person possibly be the father of the brooding, glaring brute that was Fenrir?

Of course, if they then had a chance to see Gabriel angry, then maybe they'd understand. Or if they'd been patient and caring enough to get close to Fenrir, and find out that underneath his scowling, silent trust issues, he's actually a very sweet and attentive person... with an incredibly short temper and a towering resentment for the norse gods who imprisoned him for a crime he hadn't yet committed.

Except for his father, that is. Which is why the cheery greeting and the hair ruffle, actions that would have got anyone else viciously mauled, earn nothing more than a nod and a vague growling noise that may or may not have been a greeting. Probably was.

He even managed to get a huff of laughter out of the wolf (however human shaped he was right now, there was no mistaking him, he was a wolf), and something approximating a sentence "Not ragnarok yet."

"Always good to hear," Gabriel says, sinking down into a plush seat that wasn't there a moment ago. What's the point of phenomenal cosmic power if you can't be comfortable? There's room for Fenrir too, if he wants to settle down, although Gabriel knows how his son has always prefered the floor. It's a wolf thing.

But that was Fenrir for you. Even in this shape, he was coiled, ready to fight or flee as necessary, constantly weighing up everything around him, judging what was a threat and what was not. There was so little that really could threaten him, but it was part of his nature to be watchful.

If Fenrir had been a few hundred years younger, he would have petted that dark hair a little longer, scratched behind his ears, but the boy was too old for that now. It wasn't cool to let your dad feed you treats anymore. Especially when your child has jaws that could crush the world.

"Just fancied some time away from the others? Can't blame you. Although I'm hardly flavour of the month kiddo, you're not going to earn points for hanging out with me."

Fenrir regarded the chair for a moment, considering his next move, then flopped down onto the floor, leaning his back up against the chair with his legs stretched out in front of him. He snorted, shaking his head slightly.

"Don't want their points." He growled dismissively. His father was one of the only ones he could really trust, he was the only one who didn't judge him for what the stories said he would do, who wanted him to be free and comfortable instead of chained up alone. He had thought once upon a time that Tir trusted him... but that particular betrayal had cut him deeply.

The Trickster shifted, moving forward in his chair so that he could more easily reach out to his son. He's always been so incredibly tactile, and one of the many wonderful things about Fenrir, at least when he'd been younger, was the way he had always appreciated a friendly pat or a scratch behind the ears. Of course if he's not in the mood those powerful jaws could take your hand clean off, but Gabriel's never suffered at Fenrir's paws.

"I know, big guy, I know." He says gently. "Getting away from there for a while will be good for you. You should see a bit of the world, make some friends." He pauses, just for a moment, and lets his hand squeeze at the pup's shoulder. "You could come to the Americas. Great wide open spaces for wolves up in the north."

He wrinkled his nose at the suggestion he make some friends, they weren't exactly his strong suit - he'd never had the charm of his father, even when he was younger and more naive - but the suggestion of wide open spaces had him tilting his head thoughtfully. Space to run was something he was often lacking, the aesir kept him on a tight leash - literally, a lot of the time, and he didn't get much chance to really stretch his legs. Admittedly with mortals around he had to do it in human form, but that still meant being able to run, even if he did have half the number of legs.

"Could do." he nodded.

"And I'll come with you. Do a bit of father-son bonding. We've not had the chance to do that for a long time, have we?"

And that's true. The last few hundred years, he's frankly neglected his children. Not necessarily out of choice- he couldn't easily go back to the Norse Parthenon, even if he'd wanted to. There wasn't a place for him there now. But Fenrir was out of there now, and hopefully for good. If Odin and those other assholes came for Fenrir, they'd have to fight both of them this time.

"We could try Siberia too. Less humans around. You could let the wolf out."

Fenrir contemplated the suggestion for a mere moment before nodding in agreement, it was unusual for him to invite or agree to company of any kind, it wasn't that he didn't want it, just that he was too wary of other people, but his father could be trusted, and it would be nice to let his guard down while stretching his legs. The Siberia suggestion was a good one as well, a good run through the snow would freshen him up nicely.

"Good."

There's a soft noise, a pleased noise. He didn't expect for Fenrir to turn the offer down, but he has been a very distant parent. Fenrir might have fared better if Gabriel had hung around with the Norse gods, but he's always known when it was time to cut his losses and run.

Besides, Fenrir wasn't a pup anymore. He didn't wand crowding and fussing. He just needed to know his dad was going to be there for him, and hopefully, this was the way to do it.

His had strayed back to the short dark hair, stroking gently again, remembering those days when the pup fitted into his arms.

It was a testament to how relaxed Fenrir was in that moment that he was still sitting down - a lot of the time he was filled with restless energy, the first to get up and start pacing. He was so used to being chained up or held in place that he didn't like to sit still for very long unless he was totally relaxed, but sitting there with his father it felt okay to put his guard down, just for a little, and get some rest - they'd get moving soon enough, and that was good enough for him.

He didn't get very many moments of peace. None of his lives, the one he'd been created for, or the ones he'd chosen from himself, had been particularly safe or easy, there hadn't been very many moments to sit and reflect or just exist, with nothing pressing. And it was good, to do this now, with his son.

Neither of them was going to get much peace in the future, they should enjoy it while it lasted.

"How long?" Fenrir asked after a long moment, a lengthy question shortened in his typical terse manner. He hoped his father understood what he was really asking - how long they had when moments like this were possible, before everything their destinies held would come to pass, if they would come to pass. Nobody really knew how long it would be until Ragnarok, but if anybody had even the slightest clue, Fenrir assumed it would be his father.

[ Choose from original flavour, Pirate!James, or ModernAU!/Kingsman!Norrington (the gayest spy in M15) ]

Not everyone can be an assassin.

Gabriel / SPN

Thor / Rule63!MCU

Jack Rackham / Black Sails

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Teddy Altman / Young Avengers

Loki / Norse Myth

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Dirk Gently / Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

Bucky Barnes / MCU

Jillian Holtzmann / Ghostbusters

Fenrir / Norse Myth

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Leviathan/Envy / Angelic Myth

Crowley / Good Omens

Maladict / Monstrous Regiment

Stiles / Teen Wolf

Maecenas / Rome

Scorpius Malfoy / Albus Potter and the Major Daddy Issues; The Play

James Norrington/ POTC

Lucifer Morningstar | Lucifer (FOX)

Mad Sweeney | American Gods

Axis | Teahouse

Leonard Snart/Captain Cold | DCTV

Tony Stark » MCU