Stuttering, cold and damp (for coldsong)

[amourpeint]

It was one thing to know your world had boundaries. It was only natural, a horizon only spread so far, the land only stretched to a certain point. The world the Canvas somewhat mimicked was vast to be sure, but round- one would only wind up back where they started someday. The Canvas only went as far as it's young creator cared to let it, a vast continent and wild seas, but the idea of more was a tenuous thing for a child, so it was little surprise that the bounds of his created world had more obvious barriers. Where other Painters with more experience might mask the sight with walls or mountains, curtains of rain or leaves, there was no such blinders here, just letting those who existed in the Canvas and dared draw close see the oil-slick shimmer of paint and magic that sustained their world. Verso knew better than to test the barriers, knew that the wild chaos of the chroma that swirled there would simply unmake anyone or anything unfortunate enough to try and pass into the maelstrom.

Not that he could try it himself. Aline had wanted her painted family protected, which meant immortality, which meant that he was all the more restricted from so much as touching the edges of the world.

Given her meticulous skill and control, it was a testament to the impact grief had on her that the same care didn't seem to have been taken in the Monolith itself. At least none of the others had been there. He'd come back on his own, not sure what he'd been looking for. And without the Paintress to sustain it, the edifice had become all the more unstable, paths and bridges that had once been stable and safe to traverse suddenly treacherous. Feeling the stone crumble under his boots, unable to catch an edge, Verso expected a rather unpleasant tumble and an even more unpleasant landing. Here was hoping he could recover before Monoco came looking for him. He'd never hear the end of it.

And yet... the fall continued. The world around him went dark, and he felt something wrong as he tumbled through the void. It was a lucky thing that he didn't feel like he was falling any faster, in fact the rate seemed almost gentle, which meant when he was suddenly blinded by the sudden wash of sunlight, and hit what seemed to be smooth bright stone paths in an absolutely graceless sprawl, it wasn't nearly as messy or traumatizing for anyone who happened to see it happen.

Comments

[coldsong]

Loki is happy to remain in this form for a while, letting himself be petted as they chat. It seems likely he'd linger for longer, in fact, but eventually a uniformed soldier enters and comes to their table, looking a little uncertain, at which point Loki sighs and stretches and hops down, taking back his previous shape.

The Einherjar don't always know him at a glance, but Heimdall can send them in the right direction if he's needed. Now he and his guest are being summoned, but at least the delay means Odin trusted Loki not to let a stranger run amok for a little while.

Indeed, when they have their audience with the king, he seems both unimpressed and unconcerned by Verso's presence. Just a human, after all, and one who has made no aggressive moves. Strays don't normally occur in Asgard, but they crop up in their other lands from time to time.

It is on Frigga's insistence--without Loki having to use reverse psychology at all--that Loki is assigned to accompany Verso back to Paris. He sighs, but makes no real argument, only a brief exchange where he raises an eyebrow at her, and she gives him a little smile that fails to be innocent.

On the way out of the council chamber, he murmurs to Verso: "She expects me to return with chocolate. It's a little informal agreement we have. It can't be grown in Asgard or Vanaheim, so she enables my escape every now and again and I come back with chocolate and Midgardian coffee."

[amourpeint]

It went about as well as Verso could have hoped. He stayed respectfully quiet, aside from any questions directly asked him, otherwise allowing Loki to take the lead in interacting with his parents. Odin's disinterest works in their favor here, so he was happy to play the utterly unremarkable human here and get... well not home, but the closest thing to it he would likely find if he really was barred from the Canvas. Paris... would be a decent alternative all things considered.

And he noted the interactions between Loki and Frigga, unable to help the faint upward twitch of his mouth at the familial way they could just speak without words needed.

At the aside, Verso hummed thoughtfully, smiling lightly in response. "Well then, we'll just have to find a proper shop. Get her some lovely chocolates, coffee, and maybe a nice bottle of wine as a bonus. You can't bring her presents from Paris and not include wine after all."

If that meant they got to spend a little time lingering over a wine tasting in the process of picking just the right bottle, well that just sounded like an excellent way to settle himself after this little misadventure.

It's... surprisingly easy to get there. Verso isn't sure why Heimdall looks at him like that when Loki tells the man they're headed to Paris, with that knowing golden gaze, but he's entirely relieved when the moment seems to pass. Not that he has time to ask Loki what that's about- the teleportation is a riot of color and movement, resolving in the pair standing on a side street in the midst of a scorched, still lightly smoking circular design. It takes him a moment to shake himself back to sense, but he offers a grin Loki's way, already turning to lead the way with the assured confidence that Loki would follow, and that he knew the way- the street was quiet and deserted this time of day, the residents of the ornate apartments elsewhere in the city, and he could hear the bustle of what was undoubtedly a main thoroughfare a bit farther along.

"Right, what'd you like to do first? We can find a boulangerie, do some sightseeing, find the promised treats for your mother-" It didn't take him much longer than that to reach the cross-way, to step onto the sidewalk on the larger street, only to stop short, any further commentary dying in his throat.

Catching up to him? Loki would be treated to the sort of expression, pale, a bit gobsmacked in a way, that likely should have accompanied his landing in Asgard not a homecoming.

[coldsong]

Loki, too, notices the way Heimdall looks at Verso, and it makes him feel strangely defensive. Don't look at my mortal like that! Not that Verso is a person he can keep for long enough to really consider him Loki's, but for a few hours he gets his full attention, and when you're a little starved for company, that's enough.

He's just pleased Thor wasn't around to take over this mission, or to have to share it with.

When they land, Loki takes a moment to pluck at the lines of energy where the Bifrost makes its mark. In the old days, humans either ignored the strangeness or knew to avoid a sacred symbol, but things have changed in the last century. Leave a noticeable, smoking rune on the sidewalk and someone will take notice. He's quick to follow Verso, though, jogging a step or two to catch up, and looking around. It's been a long while since he's been in Paris, but he gets to visit Midgard on business every couple decades, so the general modernity isn't surprising to him.

"I mean, anything we do counts as sightseeing," he begins, but then pauses as the man trails off. He looks like he's seen a ghost, or is about to become one, and Loki puts a hand on his shoulder as if to steady him.

"...Verso? Are you all right?" The hell is he even staring at? The street looks normal to Loki. A few ugly commercial buildings ruining the old-world charm, but otherwise...

[amourpeint]

It was... different.

Verso had expected differences- his memories of Paris were perhaps skewed a bit by being memory and thus prey to nostalgia, especially with why he was painted. He might not recall exactly all the dark seedy corners properly, the edges of wallpaper or the tread-worn patterns in sidewalks and streets. And he knew not to expect it to be too much like Lumiere either- Lumiere had been the idealized construct of a grieving woman looking to escape after all, even before the Fracture had warped it further. So the lack of shattered debris floating overhead was no surprise. That he could see the Eiffel Tower rising over the skyline no longer twisted and deformed was no shock.

The people... the throngs bustling about on their way to and from various errands were no surprise either even if they were somewhat overwhelming in sheer numbers. Their dress was strange, drawing Verso's attention for a scant moment as he seemed to almost startle into movement, though the gaze skittering over a group that passed close enough to give he and Loki a confused glance in passing didn't really seem to register them overmuch. Nor, unfortunately, did he seem to realize that Loki had spoken to him, slipping from his hand though more accidental than design as he took a few steps, by some miracle avoiding collision with anyone, though that might have been that they were noticing the man and giving him a wide berth. Probably for the best, as he stopped finally, toes just about even with the curb.

The street was wrong. He'd seen cars before, remembered that they'd been starting to catch on back in Paris over the horse and carriage especially amongst the elite, and that at least one Expedition had attempted to use them, but the design was... the cars here were alien in design to him, near-incomprehensible as they trundled along, following the flow of traffic and the blink of streetlights and there were so many of them. The smell of asphalt and exhaust had him turning away abruptly, hands shaking slightly, gaze a bit too bright as it darted away from the street again as if on reflex, searching for something, anything to help center himself, taking comfort in the familiar facades of buildings as he started to walk again, a man on a mission though he knew not what it was.

Garish red and yellow had him stopping again, either ignoring or unaware of the people behind him who had to do an awkward hop-skip to one side or the other to continue around him, doing nothing other than muttering annoyances under their breaths as they noted the tension there. Verso? Could give two shits about what they thought, having gone about several shades more ashen, a tremor working through him almost like a piano wire trembling on the verge of a snap.

"What-" It was more an explosion of a gasp than a word, but Loki would surely get the gist as Verso's panicked gaze turned to him, a hand gesturing sharply towards the facade of a McDonald's that had been rudely superimposed into the charm of the neighborhood with it's gaudy lights and modern sleek lines. "What the fuck is that?!"

Loki, the man was not alright. And it seemed like an import fast food joint was the bridge too far for the poor guy today.

[coldsong]

See, if the Asgardians kept up with humanity's fashion trends a little more closely, they would have noticed that Verso's clothing is not typical of modern Paris, or any modern city on the planet. It fits in better with their own aesthetic, longcoats and sword-belts and boots. It's only now that they're on a city street that Loki notes the contrast between the men in business suits, the women in sleek dresses or tailored pantsuits, the teens in denim and band t-shirts, and his human friend.

Oh, they've made a mistake here. He realizes it as Verso takes off, and Loki is forced to dodge through some of the pedestrians to keep up. For a moment he's afraid the man will just walk right into the street, like he doesn't see the cars. Fortunately, Verso turns at the edge of the curb, but Loki still feels compelled to follow close at his heels.

He'd grab him to steady him, but he's afraid it might be like waking a sleepwalker. Risky.

And then they're in front of a McDonald's, of all things, and it's that which seems to break the facade of calm the man is clinging to. Not sure what else to do other than steer him back into an alley and interrogate him, the godling opts to just...answer the question.

"It's a McDonald's. A cheap restaurant. They serve sandwiches, fried potatoes, and sugary drinks."

[amourpeint]

To be fair to them, Verso's outfit wasn't the latest in actual civilian fashion either. If he'd shown up in the type of suit he might've worn in Lumiere back in the day, he might look a bit overdressed and maybe archaic but fit in a bit better. As it was, he stood out about as much as Loki. Maybe a bit moreso given his current agitated state that had some passerbys looking askance, but as was the way in any city? No one was approaching the freaked out weirdo. Especially not since it looked like Loki already had him in hand. Or at least was willing to take charge of him.

"A what?" He understood what Loki had said, but the slight shrill on the question hinted that it wasn't about what it was actually. Nope, not this time. Verso was clearly having a time of things, shaking his head with a breathless laugh. "Putain de merde, are you kidding me? This- it's wrong-"

A sharp gesture towards the street at large, very nearly knocking a drink from a passerby's hands, the only thing saving the poor latte being the teen's jerky skitter to one side that had them bumping shoulders with the girl to the other side causing a minor hubbub that continued off down the sidewalk quietly.

"It's all wrong, everyone's dressed weird, the streets are fucked up, I don't even know where to start with the- are those automobiles?- and what do I even make of that-" This time the object of his frantic ire was a bus stop, the sides of which were decorated with brightly lit ads.

[coldsong]

Given they're both in bizarre costumes, the locals may just assume they're performing some kind of street theater. It happens in Paris, just usually in the more touristy areas. Right outside a McDonald's in the middle of the business district isn't the worst place to find tourists, but there are better ones.

"I'm starting to think you neglected to tell us a few things about where and when you came from." Loki points out softly. Then he has to clear his throat and stifle some amusement when Verso gestures at the ads on the bus stop.

"Mind you, I should have noticed you're not dressed in quite the twenty-first-century Midgardian style, but..."

He sighs and shakes his head, coming closer to clasp his arm. "Let's get off the street, you're starting to make a scene."

[amourpeint]

At least he was responding again. Full of agitated, frantic energy to be sure, about five seconds from pacing or bolting or something of the sort, but responding all the same.

"When-" He started, before catching himself with some effort. Forcing himself to stop and breathe. Think. Listen to what the fuck Loki was telling him, a faint sound catching in his throat as he forced himself to not have another little outburst at twenty-first century. He did however mutter, in a low, agitated tone under his breath, rapidfire French as he shook his head slowly.

"To be fair," He managed to get out in a much calmer-seeming tone. "I wasn't aware that when was in question."

Loki's touch was, in a way grounding. The reminder that they were in public, that his outburst would likely have drawn attention... he finally nodded at the suggestion of going elsewhere.

[coldsong]

The thing is, Loki is not without compassion. He was already suspicious about how not shaken Verso seemed, back in Asgard. It's rather nice for that uncertainty to be confirmed. Even more interesting to see him rebalance himself now, bringing back the subtle charm even as he must still be reeling.

He likes this man.

"Come," he puts an arm around his waist, gathering illusion around them first, then pulling them through space, to land on a rooftop nearby, a place with a view of the street they were just on. The scent of cheap burgers and fry oil wafts through the air around them.

"Well. Our problem becomes a bit more complicated, perhaps, but don't fear. I'll stay with you until some satisfactory solution is reached."

[amourpeint]

At it's core, it's all Verso really has in a lot of situations. Especially now, moreso than he'd assumed back in Asgard, he'd had his 'good hair and charm' to work with as Monoco had put it before and little else. He could fight to be sure, wouldn't die for losing but who knew how that revelation would change things. And it always did, and so very rarely for the better. So he'd drag himself mentally back to his charm kicking and screaming if necessary.

Even if Loki, who'd seen the more at ease way he'd gone about it before would surely clock the tension underlaying it now.

And honestly- while the sudden arm, and shift of the space around them were new, startling to be sure if the way he tensed at Loki's side in surprise was any hint, it seemed a much less harrowing sort of thing for him than the state of Paris. His gaze still skipped around, the breath let out was a bit shaky, but he offered a wry sort of half-smile and nodded.

"I can't say I'd not appreciate the assistance," Being alone in a city that he had memory of, could bluff his way through? That was one thing. This? This was something else entirely. "I suppose the best place to start would be the Painters..."

But even as the idea formed, it faded on his tongue, a faint furrow of brows flickering into existence ever so briefly. Would that be the best place to start? Canvas messes naturally were in their purview but would it end well for him? He was... a creation outside of it's Canvas, and who knew how Painters would respond to that impossibility, when they couldn't even agree on the idea of if their creations existed properly, with free will or souls. Who knew what they'd do with him if they caught wind.

A faint, brisk shake of his head as he dismissed the thought. "Perhaps not. Like as not to cause more problems than it solves."

[coldsong]

Loki has extensive skill in cold-reading, is brilliant at guessing what will increase a person's agitation, and usually knows more about the folk around him than they want him to. He's not clairvoyant, though, and he's not a mind reader. He can't tell what's going on in Verso's head, aside from the undercurrent of oh shit.

Now is the time to find out, though. He puts his hands on the man's shoulders and steers him toward a couple wrought benches that must have been placed on the roof for maintenance men to take coffee breaks in fair weather. Once he's seated, and Loki beside him, the godling leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees. "I'm not clear on what you mean by Painters, Verso. I want to help you, but a lack of information is just going to make this situation get more tangled."

That's not a question, either. It's just commentary. Because if Loki were in Verso's position, he would be hesitant to answer questions, and hesitant to trust.

[amourpeint]

Verso doesn't resist the guidance, more than willing to drop to sit on one of the benches in a similar posture to the one Loki takes, fingers laced as one foot jogs in a bleed of uncertain energy. Clearly weighing something in his head as he considers what Loki said, a grimace crossing his face.

"...More than likely that means you don't have any," He replied slowly, a bit reluctant. Because while the idea of just not touching any of the implications there was so nice, Loki was entirely correct. A lack of information had gotten them into the current tangle, continuing that trend just risked more problems than it avoided. "They're... magic users of a sort, Painters, Writers, and the like. Reality-benders. Can be dangerous naturally, so most tend to focus their abilities on creating worlds of their own inside Canvases. Books. Exercising their abilities in contained places where it's not like to cause as much backlash or harm."

Not that this explained why Verso thought a Painter would help in this situation. But then he wasn't sure how much he wanted to explain, would likely make his choice depending on how Loki responded.

[coldsong]

Loki listens intently, trying to read his tone of voice. The mention of magic users, reluctant though it is, is surprising to hear. Most humans aren't so cavalier about the possibility. Not any longer. Verso is clearly more than just familiar with the idea. He's knowledgeable.

Paired with how he's been taking Asgard in stride, it creates an interesting picture.

"If you were to ask everyone in this city whether they believed magic use is possible, perhaps three or four percent would say 'yes'. Of those few percent most would be practitioners of ritual spells, spiritual adherents to one tradition or another, rather than reality-benders. The kind of power you describe is not unheard of in Midgard, but it's so very, very rare, if you asked around about it, you'd get sent to doctors for the sake of your own mental health before you found anything."

"So. I think we an safely assume we have no Painters on this world. Far more likely to encounter them in Asgard, Vanaheim, Alfheim-although you don't want to ask too many questions about magic-users in Alfheim, because the elves will find you and it might not be so nice."

"So, I must ask: are you one of these Painters, yourself?" That might explain how he got here. Accidents happen to any mage. Doesn't entirely explain his behavior, though.

[amourpeint]

It made him feel a bit better that Loki was offering information in turn. An unspoken sort of tit for tat that soothed some of his unease, helped him ground himself in the new place he'd found himself. Concrete facts helped with that sometimes, and this situation was a bit beyond the 'five things you see, four you can touch' tactics.

And it was something to turn over in his head, a mental note added to watch his fucking ass in Alfheim if even Loki was giving him warning about the denizens. He might be immortal, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a bad time.

"There's not been a proper census done, but there's enough Painters, Writers and the like that each has their own guild, and each guild has their chapters in various countries. How much power they have... it depends from person to person really, but there's quite a few." Loki's description of how little magic there was in this version of Earth... it was a little startling. And his question was understandable. If anyone would accidentally launch themselves to what might be a whole new reality? A Painter or Writer would be the one to manage it. He can't help a short chuckle at it though, the weight of a joke somewhere in the tone as he shook his head. "No, not me. Not a Painter or Writer, or anything like that."

He was likely going to have to explain the truth. At least the bare bones, he didn't think he'd need to divulge the family drama from back home, but being a creation might... have to be offered up to keep things from getting too unpleasant. And if they didn't have Painters or Writers, they didn't have the quagmire of opinions on the personhood of a creation to cause issues.

[coldsong]

Loki's only concern in offering information is the safety of Asgard. At the moment, he does not judge Verso to be a threat to that, and there's no reason not to share what he can. Besides, if they can figure something out together, maybe Loki can stay away from Court for longer, and that is its own reward.

"That is typical of most worlds where magic exists, in my experience," he says thoughtfully. "There is inevitably a subculture, and how toxic it is depends on how the rest of the world treats the sorcerers. If they're at risk from the world at large, they can be exceptionally cruel to one another."

"Asgard is generous with her magic, and we've had few internal conflicts because of that, I think. Not none, though. Just...few."

He tilts his head. "So, not a Painter or Writer, but you have extensive knowledge about them. Explain."

[amourpeint]

"They're the main powers that be." Verso pointed out with a faint, wry smile. "Which flavor of them rules tends to change from country to country and era to era, depending who's willing to take hold of rulership. Most people are... cautiously respectful of the guilds. Not afraid, they tend to generally try to do right by things, but that sort of power is definitely a thing most are mindful of."

He weighed his options here a moment. Loki could likely all but hear the click of the mental abacus as he weighed his options, the pros and cons of what he gave here. It might be better to pretend but...

If magic was common amongst Loki's kind and others, there's no saying he wouldn't be outed later. And there was a difference between playing dumb like he'd started out doing, and actively lying. Not that he thought Loki would begrudge him that, but there didn't seem to be a need to yet.

"You recall I said they practice their abilities in their own Books and Canvases, yes?" A tilt of his head as he turned his attention towards Loki, studying him. Watching for whatever reaction would come. "This is typically done with creating worlds within them. Entire realms, only constrained by the creator's whims and wants for it, populated by whatever they wish to create to do so. Not that the creations tend to know they are creations, or that there is something outside their little world. They are well-known not to be able to survive outside of them anyways, so it's generally considered cruel to tell them about it."

A faint huff. Nothing for it. "I'm one such creation."

[coldsong]

"Do they generally try to do right by things?" Loki raises an eyebrow. "If so, they're better than most beings in this universe. But perhaps if they police their own well enough it works most of the time." Or maybe someone's suffering in silence somewhere, and Verso just doesn't know it. Either way, it's not really Loki's business, it just goes against everything he knows about mortal and immortal nature. A just rule may last a generation or two, a Golden Age, but corruption is impossible to resist forever.

He's not going to enter into that sort of debate, though, not while Verso is still slowly, cautiously, choosing how and what to confide. He waits for a moment, nods his understanding about Books and Canvases, and then just listens. The more Verso explains, the more his brows crease, because good gods, is that even ethical, to create sapient life confined to a realm completely under a single person's control? People are terrible! Artists no less than other folk. He pictures Guernica. Saturn devouring his child. A whole world full of that sort of darkness and turmoil...

But then Verso says he's a creation himself, and maybe he wasn't expecting Loki's first response to be concern for him, but that's what it is. "Norns, and you escaped?? If you want asylum in the Asgardian Empire, I'll make it happen. You need not fear being returned."

[amourpeint]

"It works better some eras than others, admittedly." People were people, with all their flaws and failings. Powers didn't change that, just amplified them in some. But like Loki, Verso was content to leave that debate for another time.

It was the next part he was more concerned about. That furrow of brow showed that the godling had cottoned onto the ethical dilemma- one that was still quite in debate back home as far as Verso recalled. Assuming said Painter or Writer or whatever even thought of their creations as sapient. Also in contention.

He couldn't help but be startled at the response. Loki had proven to be personable, nice to be sure when he wished, but there was a difference between that sort of kindness to a stranger in his realm and the empathy inherent in that offer of safety. It took him a moment to sort through the surprise before he continued on, wanting to somewhat reassure Loki, as well as keep himself a bit separated from the drama he'd come from. He could manage that. A simple enough thing with what he'd given so far.

"The Canvas... wasn't a bad one, I can say that much. It's Painter was a child when he made it, and it was mostly maintained like that until his passing some years down the line. Unfortunately his family is still... grieving. And their conflict has made things somewhat... tense as I'm sure you could imagine," A faint huff, a wry smile, because... honestly, maybe this was for the best? All Verso wanted in the Canvas was to be Unmade. Here... maybe there was something more for him. At the very least he wasn't living under the shadow of a dead man if he remained. "I can't say I'd mind staying though."

[coldsong]

Loki wouldn't go so far as to say he can sense an individual's soul. There are probably illusions and constructs and artificial intelligences that would slip through under his radar, but it's easier and kinder to err on the side of assuming one is speaking to a person than not. There is something simple and commonsense about the way he assumes and accepts it, perhaps: two qualities Loki does not have in abundance. But still, he's sitting here talking to someone who exhibits the full emotional spectrum, who seems to be cautious with information, who appears to be running from something.

Yes, he wants to help.

He seems a little relieved to hear that Verso's Canvas wasn't an inherently terrible place, but really it almost doesn't matter. Even an idyllic paradise entirely under the control of a single person, flawed but omnipotent in the space they command, is terrifying.

He nods, expression shifting subtly from relief to concern and back again. "If you want to stay, I can argue your case according to our laws. You might be remanded to Vanaheim rather than the Asgardian capital itself, but there's no real difference in laws. It's just more farmland and forest, and fewer cities. Either way, I suspect you'd be more comfortable there than here. You'd have to fake a ridiculous amount of documentation to get around down here."

[amourpeint]

Verso could agree with that. Their Canvas was lucky, in that it's creator was a child who did see his creations as individuals, with souls and sapience, that he loved his Canvas and all of the creatures in it, and wanted more than anything for it's denizens to be happy and fulfilled. Crafted it around a sense of joy and discovery, a whimsy that never quite slid to the horrific. Who as he grew, realized it would be more responsible of him to step back, to let the Canvas exist without him meddling with his abilities, let the people who called it home determine it's direction.

Their Canvas was also unlucky in becoming the bone of contention in the feud that followed his demise. But that was something a bit more fraught in the telling.

"You're likely right," Verso mused, finding a bit of relief in the consideration. That there were options for him. "I thought at first... there's a city in the Canvas that mirrors Paris. But I'd estimated that this was still the Earth I knew, so it wouldn't be so difficult to get by, not... another one, apparently?"

A soft, breathless little laugh. "Merde."