1.16 Loki's Aside -C- Warmth

A part of him feels like he died, there on the pavement. The loss of warmth is the first feeling he noticed, after that there was nothing else that didn't blend together, stirring violently in his mind and in his veins. He couldn't place the feelings as if there was no name for them. They only resulted in confusion after all, and the inexplicable knowledge that time was passing without his consent or control.

The fact that he holds an awareness of the event that occurred in the alley should prove to him that he's not dead at the moment, but dreams don't often work like that.

And there is a part that remembers other things, moments where he wasn't in control of himself, and yet maddeningly, he was forced to watch as he rose to his feet on command, answered some questions he didn't recall later, and behaved in a manner completely unlike himself.

One thing he did know is that he had laid on the tiles in the alley for the better part of the night, his body unmoving as if comprised of lead. It was easy to imagine that he would lay there until summer, at which point the sun would melt him finally into a shiny puddle seeping into the nearby street. He was going to lay there forever.

It wasn't the sound of footfalls that caused him to stir, it was something like a command in his mind, telling him to get up get up get up....

“I was sure she'd find you.” The woman's voice echos into the fog of the morning, recognizable to him again. The woman from the shop. His eyes flicker to something of a silver, to the blue he was born with, and back to silver again. He knows this as if he's seen it happen before. His blood had continued to stream steadily from his wound in the night until it trickled under his collar and over his chest, and little rivers of red had risen to the surface of the creamed colored cotton blended shirt he wore. His face is shiny with dried sweat and cold, his lips are chapped, his hair is disheveled.

The knowledge of who is speaking brings no pleasure, he still feels no closer to being alive. He can summon no anger or disbelief, this is probably all a dream anyways, or it's the final throws of his exasperated mind as it dies, molecule by molecule on a cellular level.

He vaguely recalls rolling over the rest of the way and lifting himself over on his back in some sort of state of unquestioning obedience, his body protesting every movement or even the fluttering open of his eyes.

He strains, and falls backwards, lacking the strength to support his weight.

The glimpse he'd witnessed of the situation seemingly around him gave scant information, and the fact that he'd witnessed anything at all failed to convince him of his wellness. It could have easily been another vision, recalled as he neared the end. Both sisters seem to have gathered in the same place. The one with long purple hair sleeps, as docile as he'd found her, while the one in lime strides forward, still exuding impossible confidence and grace.

He knew there had been something wrong with her, the girl on the bench. But now he knows it's far too late, he's clearly at the mercy of these... beings.

What do you want? He tries to force the words, to rasp them out, anything, but his mouth is closed and his voice-box silent. Air is barely passing through his lungs.

The woman in green smiles sweetly, having heard what it is was he tried to say. Obscene. Naked. Indecent. He feels exposed, yet still so incredibly heavy, so incredibly and coldly non-alive.

Her eyes flair at the turn of his thoughts. “Nothing improper has happened here I assure you.” She says the words with a bite. “You see you've actually saved my sister's life, and I've come to thank you for that, or at least confirm for you that you are very much still alive.”

Bleeding, he thinks at her. I have nothing left.

He must feel dead because there is no blood left in his body. It's on his shirt, it's on the pavement, it's been consumed.

“It's not true that you have nothing left.” She says in a conversational tone. “You see, my sister, in her madness of thirst, still maintained her gentle nature and had the wherewithal to spare your life, taking far less than she actually needed. So now things may change, you may indeed die, but not if either she or I can save you. Do you understand this?”

I need a doctor. He thinks at her, absurdly, as he's still very much dreaming and can't be asking, or more correctly demanding anything. I need a doctor not your creepy smile or your sister's murderous 'help'. I do not need to understand you. I need to be far far away from you.

The woman in green smiles again, not unkindly but not indulgently either. “You misunderstand your needs.”

((STAND UP))

She commands him and he does, despite having no energy in his body to allow it. Then she ignores him, and the stream of incoherent and unkind things he is thinking at her to address the woman sleeping soundly on the bench.

“Moira. ((WAKE UP.))”

The feeling of power coming from her voice carries more than a suggestion, and Loki realizes that these creatures can exact their will even upon each other. Does it depend on strength of will, or is the green one merely stronger?

Loki could swear that even the mist clears from the form of 'Moira', the green one's sister, but that would also be... maybe he needs to stop using the word absurd to describe everything.

Again awakening far too quickly, the purple one rises, telling her sister to ((STOP IT)), and suddenly Loki feels his form falling once more the the ground. She steps over to him swiftly to catch him as he falls. He is draped helplessly in her arms. How... hilarious? Ironic? Useless- isn't he going to die here? Isn't he already DEAD?

“You aren't dead.” Moira whispers to him, before turning towards her sister as if her sister means them harm. “He's mine.” She says. “((LEAVE HIM ALONE.))”

But to Moira's apparent horror her sister laughs in peals that would echo off the stones in the alley if the morning weren't so damp and full of peacefully falling snow. She composes herself and resumes speaking, her pale eyes full of mirth. “Sister, you must know your magic has waned. You failed to conserve it properly again. Mind the Date, would you for once? You never parse it out to get through the new moon. I've told you so many times.”

“He is mine.” The woman holding Loki chokes out, almost as if it's a sob. She knows she cannot stand up to her sister like this, maybe not ever. “Lyra, he... he is mine and I won't give him to you!”

Lyra, the woman in green, responds to the declaration with a shrug. “I'm surprised. To think you intend to continue to feed, are you that lacking in nourishment, that you would kill for it?”

Loki feels the woman's arm tighten around his shoulder, protectively, he thinks with a shutter he can see but not feel. “N-no...”

“So you seek to protect him from me. We do have the same required type after all, O positive. I could smell it on everything he'd touched as soon as I entered his little shop. With no one else around, I still abstained, and sent him to you. So quit tempting me with it!” She snapped at the end. “We need to get off the street.”

Lyra sounded disgusted and impatient, and having the strongest will (and assumably magic) of the three Moira obeyed and let her control Loki enough have him walk by her sister's side.

It was a surreal march for Loki, who had long since sworn off of being in the presence of women, who had so confused and disturbed him over the course of his life. This new development had him convinced, despite his catatonic stupor, that his life was over anyways, despite the things he had overheard. Just as he knows he is still bleeding, and should be in a coma or dead, or in an operating room somewhere, he knows his life is truly over at this stage.

Moira, who walks possessively before him doesn't make any further comments or claims, it's almost as if she can't think of a single good thing to say. Can she hear the cacophony of his thoughts now too? Does she know the hopelessness that washes over him, even as he is alternatively feeling maddeningly numb, and cold waves of pain?

The town that had seemed so vibrant and alive despite it's gothic glamour holds nothing but confusion for him now. In the busy shopping district, at seven something in the morning, nobody challenges them or comes out from behind closed doors, or walks the streets. A part of him wonders if it is Lyra, the green one, keeping foot traffic away, but that would be ab- stupid.

Sometime during the march he blacks out again despite the external suggestion that he continue to walk and he knows nothing more for the remainder of the morning, if not the day.

He wishes he didn't dream during this period of time, but he does. Some version of himself, another possibility? Prowls the alley at night. Concern for his livelihood and his life's work gone, his only thought is of the delicate flesh of the festival-goers, the sweet sweet feeling that will ebb into him as he sucks the life out of each and every one.

Not from thirst so much as from revenge.

They are the ones who allowed this madness, for his life to be ruined, for his body to be more in control than his mind, for his life to be ruined.

It's easy to wait for them, as they leave the storefronts, presents in hand for their children, their families, the stupid people they love. It's easy to hate them for having everything that he never will.

It's easy to suggest that this the right way to go- this path into darkness that they've never needed to walk before. Why travel through a labyrinth of narrow passageways when the streets are filled with carolers, with song, and with merriment?

It's easy to lure them on a path that leads to him.

To plant the suggestion to be compliant, to give him not what he really needs but what will satisfy him to his very soul.

“Send your girlfriend this way, or your parents if I don't kill you in my... eagerness.” He mutters to the man-child that stands ineptly before him. “Send everyone. It's only right, things will be better this way.”

His voice sounds hoarse, he doesn't need to use it much anymore.

The nightmare persists, showing Loki a dream that disgusts him yet is all too real.

He can feel the boy's blood flowing into him, strengthening him, he feels his anger subside with it. A small victory over the betrayal of this town. He'd removed the mental hold he was keeping on the boy so he could savor the terrific realization in his victim's mind as he concluded, correctly, that he was dying.

Gluttonously, Loki takes far much more than he needs. He can stop himself, he can avoid killing, but there is nothing else now. He would probably have to empty his stomach after this, so he could find the boy's family and do the same.

He is reminded of every betrayal as he drains his victim. Of the betrayal of Moira, who didn't have the strength to starve herself, the betrayal of the people of Midnight Hollow who let creatures roam free in the night and could have saved him, the betrayal of the town of Twinbrook (they would be next) for having nothing of value to keep him rooted there, allowing degeneracy and lonliness. The betrayal of his parents, for dying without forcing him in a direction, and even the betrayal of the woman he had loved, for daring to lead him on for so long. Without the lies of Andrea he would have found someone. He wouldn't have had a need to run away. She would see him again, as would Jennika- the girl he rejected. He wouldn't need to kill Jennika, but he knew he'd need her to see what he had become.

The boy dies here, and Loki moves on, having gleaned the location of his victim's family from his rampantly running mind as it faded away into nothingness.

The most frightening part of this dream is how it all makes sense. It's an emotional necessity, in the moments he kills, but after he is left with his vaguely normal, dis-associative loneliness. He will never feel whole again. Never have the family that was so close to being in his reach, and with or without the revenge part of things, he knows he will live a life laced with the poison of regret.

In a stupor, hours or days later, he stumbles to the door of his tiny room, and the green woman stands in his way, her frame tiny but somehow insurmountable. He does not posses the strength to raise his head and glare at her, which he genuinely wishes he could do.

“When am I going to die?” He asks dizzily, leaning on the doorframe for support. His voice sounds foreign to him compared to the ones that cycle through the visions in his head. He hadn't killed anyone yet- maybe it could be prevented, maybe the green one would be willing to kill him. Blood trickes from his mouth where he's been biting it from the inside. The gash on his cheek is from earlier in the alley, one of the many times he fell from exhaustion.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Loki, right?” He's never been awake long enough to tell her his name. She gleaned it from his mind. He flinches as if struck. That would be a perfect end for a man named Loki. After rampaging as a murderer-

“Stop it, you can't think that way!” She cuts in.

She stomps her foot, losing her cool. It would probably be kind of cute if she were a normal woman, but she is something of a monster, and-

“That's enough, Loki. Stop worrying about things that you cannot control. Your life is very important to my sister and she's still sleeping so you cannot talk to her right now.”

Not to you, he thinks, hoping to goad some kind of passionate response. Hoping she'll end his suffering right now and prevent him from ever being able to-

“((GO BACK INSIDE))” She commands him impatiently.

Instantly he backs up into his room, tiny and claustrophobic as it is. He gains control of himself immediately after her command is complete. She didn't hold onto him.

He crouches, waiting for her to do something, eyes in and out of focus. Delerious, angry, on autopilot.

“Why am I still alive?” He asks bitterly as if it's a challenge.

“Don't be dramatic. You might not die from what you're facing, and I'm certainly not going to kill you when it matters to my sister. I don't care about your life, I also have no need to end it.”

He scowls. “I saw myself, as a monster, like you.” His voice is hollow and haunted. “Kill me.”

“((LAY DOWN AND GET SOME REST!))” She commands instead and shame washes over him as he feels his feet carry him to the bed, and his arms lay obediently at his sides.

His eyelids blink slowly, closing, he fights it and it does not matter. Kill me, he thinks, I don't want to be like you are.

“Don't let what you've seen in a fever dream convince that you're going to live out the dream, alright? Your mind is producing horrors because you're recovering from the shock. You could have died, your body and your mind knows this. But, you might not have to die, so let's not assume something so morbid, alright?” Her voice is soothing and gentle, but to him he fears that she has to be lying, there's no way what's coming for him is what he wants.

She continues on, ignoring the stream of his listless thoughts. “I know no other way, just so you understand. I was born with this ability and the accompanying affliction, and I can tell you that if you survive the transformation that is working it's way through your body now, you will become much greater than a mindless, useless beast.”

He feels himself drift off to sleep and it's sweet non-release and Lyra, the green woman rises slowly from the bed.

She hadn't seen many of his visions, and she hadn't really turned anyone before and so couldn't decide if they were typical or not. The reality was that this young man clearly harbored a lot of anger that would need to be dealt with in one way or the other, but that doesn't mean he was going to become something as a vampire that he never was as a human.

There was more in the depths of his mind than just the turmoil of the emotions he was failing to navigate, and she was really starting to wonder if it was worth starting some sort of recruitment mission to bring to her un-aging ranks the minds of men like his. The vampire community at large relied on the comfortable stagnancy of magical endeavors and rarely found the future worth any kind of pursuit or encouragement. A scientist, unorthodox or not, would probably give the elders something new to focus on instead of their own futile clinging to the ways of the past.

But that was not for her to decide.

For now she would save her sister's morsel for her, and that would be enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Right! So this if of course, some of the evil I was thinking back when Loki joined Meghan and Dustin in college and I said I was glad they had met and befriended him. Not only was he the only sim in Aurora Skies to voluntarily befriend them both and stay close, he also happened to be the only premade Sim in that town in TS3 that had also been in TS2. So of course once I looked him up out of curiosity I realized that I was somewhat familiar with his story in that game, and that coupled with the fact that The Sims 3 is something of a prequel to The Sims 2 meant that he was a child when I started playing Aurora Skies and I had no idea his severe bone structure and all that was the result of his destiny to live as a mad-minded inventor. That being said, he starts the game as family oriented, lucky and ambitious, which is not really how we remember him from TS2.

Here is a bonus image that made it into foreshadowing a few chapters ago but I will likely not need to story purposes because this is about the Sparrows, d*mmit!

There are premades for Olive Specter and her son-by-the-Grimm Nervous Subject in Midnight Hollow. They are a possible future for Loki that I will likely not be pursuing unless I feel like staging more of his life and less of the Sparrows (unlikely).

Noticeably missing from The Sims 3 completely are Loki's destined evil wife, her ex Vidcund Curious (although the Curious family is in town and I have theories that each town in TS3 begins at a separate point of time) and her lover Abhijeet Cho.
If you wanted to play out their family you'd need to pickup Loki from Aurora Skies, steal Nervous from his mother (and kill her why-not), live out possibly generations of Curious' in Twinbrook until one of them looks correct, and create Circe and Abhijeet after moving everyone to that whatever desert gambling world, uhm Al Simhara. No wait, Lucky... Palms? Sims is weird.

Oh, and can I talk about how dumbly proud I am of the pattern on Loki's shirt that looks like blood? It's a marble pattern that I painstakingly matched to the color of the original shirt.

The sister's personalities are;

Lyra (the green one);

Commitment Issues, Avant Guarde, Perfectionist, Animal Lover, Proper.

LTW: Drink from 20 Sims

Moira (the purple one);

Great Kisser, Shy, Good, Irresistible, Coward

LTW: Reach level 10 of the medical career

They are identical twins except for the hair color, and their favorite colors are the colors of each other's hair for, fun or something. We won't actually see too much of them so I plan to share them as soon as I can figure out how to share sims online. Any suggestions about that?

Midnight Hollow is so freaking fun to stage in!