“So,” She made an attempt to keep the tone of her voice as dull as possible. That way maybe he wouldn't think she cared about the picture and stamp on it with his big, black boots. Much less on the sketchbook that lay next to it, and was filled with copies of the mesmerizing green eyes in various stages of completeness.
His eyes never left the picture, but there was a distinct difference in the way he was grinning now. Was it possible for a guy to look even more condescending? Frin had to pull out all her limited acting skills to state her question as unconcerned as possible. “Why are you here?”
He didn't answer her question. Of course he didn't. Why would he inform her; a mere mortal, of his great and all powerful purpose in coming to Earth.
Yet he did knock her of her bike and she could see him, so she did deserve at least some answers, right?
He didn't seem to think so.
At last he looked away from the picture, narrowed his eyes and acknowledged her presence by asking in return: “Where do you reside?”
It took a few moments to register that he was asking her where she lived. So... Not all knowing. Good to know.
Feigning nonchalance, she pointed over her shoulder. At which he replied: “Lead me there. I will need a place to... gather information, before I find more suitable quarters.”
Deciding not to care about the weirdness of the events, Frin shrugged and slowly walked up to where her stuff was sprawled on the dusty road. Great, sand all over the place. If any of the books were damaged, her teachers would kill her. That was, assuming she was still alive next Monday to be killed.
She wiped the grains from the pages, carefully hid the picture inside the cover of her Maths book and stood up when her bag was packed once again.
He hadn't moved, so when she was back on her feet, she saw him towering over her. Apparently he had liked the view of her kneeling before him.
“Don't get used to it, cape-man. If you're aiming for that form of subjugation, you should have travelled back in time.”
His only reply was a raise of his eyebrow and a slight diminishing of his grin.
“This way,” Frin sighed and went to get her bike. Guess the second part of the journey home would have to be on foot. She doubted he would let her peddle alongside him. The image of him trudging along, trying to keep up, while she raced home, made her snigger briefly. He would probably just blow up her bike, should she made an attempt to flee.
She was walking beside a man, wearing a green cape and a golden helmet with big horns. Never mind the fact that she was the only one who could see him, the whole idea was ridiculous.
They passed old Mrs. Tildik, who owned the disorderly cafeteria slash B&B. Maybe she could dump the guy with her. That was, should mister High and Mighty be willing to consider changing his outfit. Of course, when he remained invisible to the rest of the world, his outfit really didn't matter.
Mrs. Tildik was probably wondering as to why she wasn't riding her bike. Explaining would cost to much trouble, so she just smiled a little and walked on.
It would have been a lovely walk. The sun was shining, sort off. No rain, no wind, no storm. Not anymore at least. She would possibly have enjoyed herself, were it not for that kind of sickening feeling of impending doom. The rock inside her stomach now weighed at least a ton and her throat felt as if she had been in a two hour debate.
Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, she glanced sideways. The man who looked like Loki, now wore a grim mask of brooding silence. There was simply no other way of putting it. He was a figure, after all, of olden days. In which they had a much more colourful way of pronunciation. She could use big words just like he could.
He did look gorgeous like that.
With a swift motion she turned her eyes back to the road in front of her. No! No falling for the weird, evil dude. Even discarding the magical tornado-storm kind of wind he arrived in, he was mean to her. She should get rid of him as soon as possible. After doing a photo shoot.
The hovel she called home, lay on the edge of town. A tiny house, with two rooms, a kitchen, bathroom and miniature front yard. Her backyard was the sea of tranquility. Or as others would call it: Little lake. Kind of dull.
The house, which stood on its own and even had sort of a porch, was a small consolation for having no parents, she figured. Having just turned eighteen a few months ago, this was her inheritance. No rent, just the costs of daily living. Which she coughed up by helping out Mrs. Tildik on weekends.
She parked her bike on the porch, unlocked the front door and walked in, calling over her shoulder to the man who had stopped walking once he had reached the low gate in the fence: “Close the door behind you, or you can personally go fly-hunting.”
Dropping her bag on the kitchen table, she heard the slam that announced he had indeed heeded her request. “Go easy on the glass, will you,” she muttered before looking in the fridge. What should she serve a god?
Deciding on some simple juice and a box of cookies, she looked up to see him standing in the doorway. He seemed totally out of place and the look on his face was priceless. Like he just swallowed a lemon. Maybe tea would be better? He could use a good cup of tea, by the looks of it.
“Tea?” She therefore asked. His reply was a glare.
“You know, you could walk a lot easier inside when you remove you helmet. It looks like it weighs a ton.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” was all he said. Yet he did remove his helmet. His hair underneath was pitch black and greased back to make it look slick. Or perhaps just to keep it away from his eyes. It was not so long as in the picture, actually. She saw it merely reached his ears. Maybe he just had a haircut. Or he just waved his hand and made it shorter. She really didn't care one way or another.
She sat down and decided to stare at him for as long as it took to get him to say something. She didn't have to wait long. Which was too bad really.
“Who are you?”
Well, that was not exactly the question she'd expected from him.
“My name is Frin, Frin Dottir.”
He was moving closer again and looking at her intensely. She would have given so much for a guy who would look at her with the same level of interest he was now displaying. Ignoring the fact that he was merely examining her like a bug in a petri dish.
“Who's daughter are you?” His voice was strange. Like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. It kind of freaked her out.
Feeling the urgent need to put some distance between herself and the Loki-lookalike, Frin jumped up from her chair and moved to stand by the counter. “My parents died when I was two.” It was not his concern to know that was all she knew about the people who gave life to her. She had never even known their names. She had been found outside a small orphanage with only the name Frin stitched onto her dress. They had given her the surname Dottir, thinking it would match her Scandinavian sounding name better than Smith or Jones.
Ignoring her need to get away from his stare, he walked up to her, narrowed his eyes and said: “You have Asgardian blood.”