WHO: Loki, Erik, Adrasteia & y'all WHAT: Catch-all WHEN: Late Solace / Early August WHERE: Kirkwall NOTES: Language warning for Erik, otherwise nothing yet. Open starters in comments.
It's a trying couple of weeks for one Loki Laufeyson, for several reasons. First of all, he's here, and he's not sure where here is in the greater cosmology of things. Were Thedas more technologically advanced, perhaps he would. Or perhaps it doesn't matter; all he knows is that he's far from the reach of Yggdrasil, the Nine Realms, or the TVA, despite how many (not native to Thedas) Midgardians there are here.
So. He spends a lot of time in the library but also in the room he shares with what he can only presume is the help (what fun!) pouring over the books that were suggested to him and copying documents given to him by Alexandrie.
When he isn't in the library or the group rooming situation, attempting to sleep in and failing miserably, he investigates the apothecary, the docks (of course), and the prayer garden as it is nice, quiet, and presumably, he won't be disturbed there. Presumably.
Not the only person combing through the library, then. Abby has been whittling away her quarantine time in here, for a couple of hours a day. It has a good atmosphere; she likes libraries, always has. There's a lot to read up on.
In fact, she's got her eye on one of the books in a stranger's stack. She'd been reading it the other day. Actually marked her place when she realised she wasn't going to finish it up, just to come back to it later, because she didn't think that anybody else would have been interested... the library is often sparsely populated.
"Can I borrow that." She's wedging it out from between the stack without waiting for a reply.
"Are you used to making questions into statements and ignoring the possibility of rejection?"
Loki frowns at this girl, before making a decision and lifting the books on top of the one she's trying to pry free. "Don't move the bookmarks." If she dog-eared her page, she'll find it's been replaced with a piece of blue ribbon. "And bring it back when you're done."
Abby grunts, because it's not a question that actually needs an answer, and flips to the spot in her book. There are quite a few spots marked but she remembers the number, and finds the thin blue ribbon in place of her dog-eared page. It's quite pretty, actually. She rubs her thumb against it, before she tucks it into her pocket.
"Will do." What else does he have there, in his stack? She glances down the spines, walking her fingers along them.
"How soon are you gonna need this?" She's eyeing another, at the bottom.
Loki sighs, sounding highly put-upon before he pries the book she's interested in out from the stack and presents it to her in a flourish. He noticed her pocketing the ribbon; there's more of them in this book, too, in green and blue shades. "Probably not for a few hours at least. Are you going to remain in the library or should I hunt you down elsewhere when I need them back again?" He's doing a lot of cross-referencing and would rather just have them all available but it is a library, not his library, and so he's going to make concessions for other people. "Also do you have a name or should I just call you β" He imitates her grunt from earlier perfectly.
"I'll be here." She's going to find a corner and tuck herself away for a bit. Finish this book, probably start on the nextβ the one he's just handed her. Abby flips it over, scanning the back curiously, and makes a mental note of the familiar green glow she'd noticed during the transaction, settled into the back of his hand.
His echo of her grunt makes her snort. "Abby. Good to know you."
She isn't wearing gloves. She's thought about it, but it seems like it would draw the same attention either way, so her shard is just as visible as his. "What do I call you?"
"Well met, Abby. Loki, Laufeyson, as there is another who was here once but no longer at this time." Weird stuff, the multiverse, and its strange timelines.
He also doesn't wear gloves, but that is mostly because the gloves offered him were not to his tastes. Perhaps he will later once he has a wardrobe of his own that isn't quite so pitiful.
"Anyway. What is it you're trying to learn first? Don't say everything," he intones, "because we both know that isn't true."
Everyone prioritizes information at some point. Even people who find themselves in strange new worlds.
Another person called Loki, he means? Abby shrugs a shoulder, tapping her fingers on the spine of the book. "I've only been here a couple weeks," she confesses, glancing up and over him once more, "You're the first Loki that I've met."
Because she thinks she'd remember a name like that. Laufeyson. Interesting.
"Geography, mostly," she continues, deciding he's going to know anyway based on the book that she's borrowed from him, "Since I have no idea where the fuck this place actually is. And magic. There isn't any, where I came from."
A beat, and then a slightly rueful smile. "Been going through the fictional section too. They hide the trashy romance serials up the back."
"In case that changes I'll ask you to recall me as the eminent Loki of the multiversal effect, thank you very much." He's joking, but only a little bit. If he makes more friends than Loki of House Asgard he will see that as a good sign of his ability to be the best Loki that there ever was. Or something.
She mentions magic, and geography, and he begins rooting around his notes before he finds and unfolds a map covered in what appears to be a Nordic script, nothing native to Thedas language-wise.
Loki spreads it out on the table between them. "Here's where we are," he says, indicating a small castle drawn over the seaside town. "Here's Starkhaven, and where Hasmal was." To give her a sense of how close the opposing forces are.
[ The slight narrow of his eyes against the wind and the way it ruffles fingers through his hair, the attentiveness in his gaze that she marks even in profile at a distance because she knows it is there, the lines and shapes he makes against the water and sky: Alexandrie is watching Loki watch the water.
It makes her... tentative. Unsure, in a way that rustles nervous wings in her chest. Not wanting to be too near, not wanting to be far, not sure yet if she is succeeding in making separation in herself between the man looking at the boats and the one she leaves a candle in the window for. Not sure what she wants of him, not sure if she should have it; she had spoken to Byerly as if she did not know if this Loki would care for her, she had spoken to Byerly as if their loving one another had been inevitable.
She struggles in this way. In others. But she is quiet to watch him watch the water. And then she breathes, adjusts her courage around her shoulders like a shawl, and moves to stand beside him. Look up. Smile. ]
[ There's something about watching the boats on the water, the bustle of people coming and going that soothes Loki's continually slightly frayed nerves. When the rest of the Gallows feels like the walls are constraining him in, the water reminds him that there's an entire planet he can explore (eventually).
He misses the longboats amongst the stars of his youth; the boats here are different, as are the stars, but the whisper of freedom still exists there.
Alexandrie is different. A small bright spot in a landscape wholly unfamiliar to him; a constant in a world where his expectations and understanding continually changes. He feels guilty, sometimes, being so drawn to her, when he feels uncertain that it isn't just his own narcissist tendencies playing themselves out over and over again.
But he does wonder if Sylvie would be something like her, had she grown up properly in Asgardian courtly life.
And then he feels guilty all over again.
But when she stands near him he can't help but smile down at her, with her voluminous skirts and subtle finery and perfume that lingers around the Gallows office rooms he's been in. ]
Ah. [ A sigh. ] Your Ambassador is a difficult man to read, but it did not go as poorly as I might have feared. He wishes proof that I can be of some use to the Division, I think, but what the proof will look like I don't know.
[ Her eyebrows raise slightly. Proof. Everyone belonging to Riftwatch is obligated to join a division, and everyone who falls from the rifts is essentially obligated to belong to Riftwatch.
She cannot recall there ever being a need for anyone to prove themselves initially.
And so a special case, the way to mistrust paved by anotherβs feet. Although, given Lokiβs history with the Provost, perhaps his own as well. ]
I imagine βproofβ will look somewhat unpleasant in a way tailor-made for you and he shall be watching to see if you balk at it.
[ Perhaps watching to see if I do.
She turns toward the water and sighs ruefully through her nose, then smiles when a sail billows out on the water as if she had been the wind. ]
My conversation wasβ
[ Fraught. Laced with the fears that eat at the both of them. Alexandrie sighs again and looks for movement in the sail, but she is not the wind. ]
βhe is worried things will change between he and I, and I could not say they will not, though I did not think the change would be ill.
Even ifβ¦
[ Even if nothing comes of this.
She looks at the boats. Water. Boats again. The clouds racing one another across the sky, the summer afternoon storms that seem particular to Kirkwall gathering on the horizon. His hands. Her own. ]
I suppose it would be easy for him, to craft some series of tasks I might not enjoy or thrive at.
[ He knows himself well. Knows that he has very little experience with, say, serving others in a working capacity or, heavens forbid, cleaning. But there's nothing really to be done for it. He'll just have to handle whatever comes his way, and bite his tongue about it.
Loki sighs at the thought, turning away from the water to face Alexandrie directly. ]
Made even easier if he's spoken with Provost Stark, which I cannot imagine he wouldn't.
[ Loki would, in his place. It's one of the reasons he's more or less embraced his past, as much as he can, making it clear that the stories about him have truth to them. Besides, it's the future he can actually do something about. ]
I could be afraid that I wouldn't meet his standards, whatever they may be, but I don't feel there's much point to indulging that anxiety. Either I will, or I won't. Either way... [ He gestures around them with one open hand. He's here, and that seems unlikely to change.
He doesn't think he'd want it to. Alexandrie is here; he's been erased from his own timeline. Where else is there to be?
When she says 'I am like to love you're he smiles softly, looking down. ]
How is it you think it will change? Between you and your Ambassador? He can't imagine I would make attempts to create a rift between the two of you.
[ He doesn't know that he and the Ambassador will ever be friends, but he stands to gain very little by orchestrating events that would make Alexandrie unhappy. ]
[ He's... softer, this Loki. Something has stripped him of the way he bristled and pushed against the world. Has made him tired, as she is, of the endless work of being other than they are. Wanting other than what is.
She shifts closer so she can rest her head against his shoulder. ]
I do not know what he imagines, but... I have given him enough reason in the time we have shared to fear I will abandon him.
I think itβ
[ She falls silent, then, conscious suddenly of how much she had assumed when she had spoken of how she thought it would change. How much she had spoken as if her husband had come home.
Leaving the way she leans against him feels impossible, and so she curves inward. Looks down, holds her arms in close, speaks quietly. ]
I make myself so many promises in your name, and it is wrong of me to do so. You are your own man, with your own heart.
I have not even asked if there was someone in your world you cared for. Someone you have been taken from.
[ She is looking at his face because she wants to know more than she doesn't. ]
[ He wants to reassure her, somehow, that she hasn't done anything out of turn. That he could love her. He knows both of those things to be true, as much as he knows anything in this strange world, and yet.
And yet she's asked him, rather directly, a question he will not lie about in order to spare her feelings, even as he's afraid of what she might take it to mean. 'Don't be angry' seems like a strange thing to say in this context. 'Don't be sad' feels much the same. ]
Sylvie, [ He murmurs instead, watching her face while wishing he could turn away instead but. ] Is like me, but... mm. A bit feral, I suppose, or at least moreso, though if she falls out of a rift I'll beg of you not to tell her I called her such. My feelings for her are complicated and a mess, honestly, but that doesn't...
[ He shakes his head a little. ]
She's there, fighting a war I'm certain she could win with or without my help. There's also Mobius, a friend. My first real friend in centuries.
[ Loki reaches for one of Alexandrie's hands, pulling it in towards his chest, resting it over his heart. ] My heart is a strange and cold thing, most of the time, but I can only hope having true feelings for those I have left behind has made it easier for me to have feelings for another.
This world is strange and my own magic feels stilted to me, here; but you have been a bright spot thus far. I only hope I'm not... That I'm not asking too much of you.
[ To be patient. She would love him and he would gladly let her, would promise her any number of things, would even do his best to love her in return, but he doesn't even know if that's what all she wants from him right now. ]
She doesnβt know what she is. Hasnβt known. Hurts in a way she cannot live and hold and so it only lights on her fingertips sometimes like a butterfly, and even that brief touch can make her shake and wish that she had never known what it was to be as loved as she had been, and then to think the words he is gone.
There are nights it storms and she goes out alone into the gardens and screams.
There are days that she cannot let anyone touch her, because it burns.
Now she just nods numbly, curls her fingers into the cloth beneath her hand, says ]
I am sorry.
We deserved more kindness of the world. And so did they.
[ Loki nods, once, and swallows. He can't deny the truth of her words any more than he can ignore the pain in her eyes.
He imagines he knows the cause of it. That he is not her actual husband, no matter how alike he may be to the other man. But when did he become this creature so full of feelings and regrets?
The TVA changed him. No; honestly the blame for that may lie squarely at Mobius' feet, instead. ]
I don't mean to make you sad, [ he says carefully, covering her hand with his own. ] By telling you of them. By virtue of not being Loki d'Asgard.
[ He wants to kiss her here, again. A promise from his cold, smallish heart. So he presses his lips to her forehead, her nose. Rests his forehead against hers. ] I would be, if I could.
"Keep staring at that cargo and someone is going to pitch you into the harbor," comes a voice, administering what is actually fair advice. Whether or not it comes from personal experience, well.
John wasn't always a quartermaster, after all.
However, he has ascended to the docks out of a small dinghy, which is now departing. Under one arm is a large, leather-bound tome, which John keeps close as he leans his weight onto his crutch.
Loki raises a single eyebrow in question. "I suppose it's a good thing I can swim, then." Please don't push him in the water, good man, he'd rather not have to deal with whatever is in the water around here. He sincerely doubts it's that clean.
But! In the interest of... being sociable or something, Loki turns away from his watching of the water to turn towards this man. "Are you native to this world or one of us who fell through, dreaming? If you don't mind my asking."
"You could buy me a drink, before prying," says John, a man who certainly never prys.
But it seems to be an idle request, as he tips his head at Loki, moving past him to ascend the steps onto the street. This is a walk and talk situation.
"I'm native to Thedas, semi-recently of Kirkwall," is the answer, one that Loki will have to keep up with him to hear. Nevermind that he's edged out of semi-recently terms with Kirkwall, after the length of time he's been present. "But you, I assume, are the latter? And newly so?"
"There's no tavern on this island with which to buy someone a drink," Loki complains earnestly, "but if you are willing to wait for a... what is it called, a rain-check, then I can definitely provide at a later date."
Walking and talking he is more than equipped for. It's more interesting than standing still in one place, after all; Loki puts his hands into the pockets of his pants as they continue onward.
"Yes, to both. I'm still quarantined, even, though I am not ill." It's said with a bit of a shrug. He understands the use of it but that doesn't make the situation any less difficult for him. "Loki Laufeyson, at your service." Because it's polite to introduce oneself.
The look John gives him might be mistaken for scrutiny, the kind one might give a man asking for a raincheck.
But it's really for that name. John remembers Loki, remembers his brother far better. And he remembers that both of them had been native to this place, and neither of them had been overly fond of him. And neither of them had fallen through a rip in the sky.
An interesting development, for the day.
"John Silver," he returns, amiable enough. "Quarantine aside, how are you finding the Gallows?"
Unless told otherwise, Loki will continue presuming that expression is about the raincheck. Granted, he at least knows that there's a version of him, native to Thedas, and that the man did not make friends easily.
He'd be more surprised to hear that Thor hadn't, either, but. Neither here nor there.
As it is, this Loki is nodding, considering his question. "It's quite the operation." Which he knows can be a bit of a non-answer, so he continues: "The structure of the organization appears to be rather loose but that makes sense, considering how many come in and out without warning."
Not exactly a compliment but. Look, he's trying to be honest.
But Loki certainly isn't alone in his assessment, and John doesn't care to pretend otherwise. It's an accurate summation of the way Riftwatch tends to operate: loosely and with some degree of consternation and chaos.
"Yes, there doesn't tend to be much accounting for Rifters. They come and go at the Maker's whim."
Ha. The Maker.
"But we've plenty of others who are called away on personal business. And you've heard of the Inquisition by now, I assume?
"I have, yes. They are the larger military force in this region focused on the war, correct, in association with the Divine?" The Divine who, as Loki understands it, comes from a nation that hasn't chosen a side in the conflict.
Or is he confusing Rivain for Antiva? He frowns to himself, trying to untangle that thread of thought.
"It must make things difficult, on a planning level, to have so much of the volunteer force in a position to simply up and vanish without warning." Loki doesn't envy those in charge that detail.
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quarantine in the gallows | ota
So. He spends a lot of time in the library but also in the room he shares with what he can only presume is the help (what fun!) pouring over the books that were suggested to him and copying documents given to him by Alexandrie.
When he isn't in the library or the group rooming situation, attempting to sleep in and failing miserably, he investigates the apothecary, the docks (of course), and the prayer garden as it is nice, quiet, and presumably, he won't be disturbed there. Presumably.
Disturb him, please.
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In fact, she's got her eye on one of the books in a stranger's stack. She'd been reading it the other day. Actually marked her place when she realised she wasn't going to finish it up, just to come back to it later, because she didn't think that anybody else would have been interested... the library is often sparsely populated.
"Can I borrow that." She's wedging it out from between the stack without waiting for a reply.
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Loki frowns at this girl, before making a decision and lifting the books on top of the one she's trying to pry free. "Don't move the bookmarks." If she dog-eared her page, she'll find it's been replaced with a piece of blue ribbon. "And bring it back when you're done."
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"Will do." What else does he have there, in his stack? She glances down the spines, walking her fingers along them.
"How soon are you gonna need this?" She's eyeing another, at the bottom.
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His echo of her grunt makes her snort. "Abby. Good to know you."
She isn't wearing gloves. She's thought about it, but it seems like it would draw the same attention either way, so her shard is just as visible as his. "What do I call you?"
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He also doesn't wear gloves, but that is mostly because the gloves offered him were not to his tastes. Perhaps he will later once he has a wardrobe of his own that isn't quite so pitiful.
"Anyway. What is it you're trying to learn first? Don't say everything," he intones, "because we both know that isn't true."
Everyone prioritizes information at some point. Even people who find themselves in strange new worlds.
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Because she thinks she'd remember a name like that. Laufeyson. Interesting.
"Geography, mostly," she continues, deciding he's going to know anyway based on the book that she's borrowed from him, "Since I have no idea where the fuck this place actually is. And magic. There isn't any, where I came from."
A beat, and then a slightly rueful smile. "Been going through the fictional section too. They hide the trashy romance serials up the back."
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She mentions magic, and geography, and he begins rooting around his notes before he finds and unfolds a map covered in what appears to be a Nordic script, nothing native to Thedas language-wise.
Loki spreads it out on the table between them. "Here's where we are," he says, indicating a small castle drawn over the seaside town. "Here's Starkhaven, and where Hasmal was." To give her a sense of how close the opposing forces are.
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back at the docks~
And she is trying not to behave as if he belongs to her. The amount of work there is to do means she cannot sit with him all hours of the day, and when she makes herself take half a day his mandated stay on the island means she cannot tempt him to go to the theatre or the market or a cafΓ© in Hightown with a view of the sea.
It makes her... tentative. Unsure, in a way that rustles nervous wings in her chest. Not wanting to be too near, not wanting to be far, not sure yet if she is succeeding in making separation in herself between the man looking at the boats and the one she leaves a candle in the window for. Not sure what she wants of him, not sure if she should have it; she had spoken to Byerly as if she did not know if this Loki would care for her, she had spoken to Byerly as if their loving one another had been inevitable.
She struggles in this way. In others. But she is quiet to watch him watch the water. And then she breathes, adjusts her courage around her shoulders like a shawl, and moves to stand beside him. Look up. Smile. ]
How was your meeting?
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He misses the longboats amongst the stars of his youth; the boats here are different, as are the stars, but the whisper of freedom still exists there.
Alexandrie is different. A small bright spot in a landscape wholly unfamiliar to him; a constant in a world where his expectations and understanding continually changes. He feels guilty, sometimes, being so drawn to her, when he feels uncertain that it isn't just his own narcissist tendencies playing themselves out over and over again.
But he does wonder if Sylvie would be something like her, had she grown up properly in Asgardian courtly life.
And then he feels guilty all over again.
But when she stands near him he can't help but smile down at her, with her voluminous skirts and subtle finery and perfume that lingers around the Gallows office rooms he's been in. ]
Ah. [ A sigh. ] Your Ambassador is a difficult man to read, but it did not go as poorly as I might have feared. He wishes proof that I can be of some use to the Division, I think, but what the proof will look like I don't know.
How was your conversation with him?
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She cannot recall there ever being a need for anyone to prove themselves initially.
And so a special case, the way to mistrust paved by anotherβs feet. Although, given Lokiβs history with the Provost, perhaps his own as well. ]
I imagine βproofβ will look somewhat unpleasant in a way tailor-made for you and he shall be watching to see if you balk at it.
[ Perhaps watching to see if I do.
She turns toward the water and sighs ruefully through her nose, then smiles when a sail billows out on the water as if she had been the wind. ]
My conversation wasβ
[ Fraught. Laced with the fears that eat at the both of them. Alexandrie sighs again and looks for movement in the sail, but she is not the wind. ]
βhe is worried things will change between he and I, and I could not say they will not, though I did not think the change would be ill.
Even ifβ¦
[ Even if nothing comes of this.
She looks at the boats. Water. Boats again. The clouds racing one another across the sky, the summer afternoon storms that seem particular to Kirkwall gathering on the horizon. His hands. Her own. ]
He knows I am like to love you.
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[ He knows himself well. Knows that he has very little experience with, say, serving others in a working capacity or, heavens forbid, cleaning. But there's nothing really to be done for it. He'll just have to handle whatever comes his way, and bite his tongue about it.
Loki sighs at the thought, turning away from the water to face Alexandrie directly. ]
Made even easier if he's spoken with Provost Stark, which I cannot imagine he wouldn't.
[ Loki would, in his place. It's one of the reasons he's more or less embraced his past, as much as he can, making it clear that the stories about him have truth to them. Besides, it's the future he can actually do something about. ]
I could be afraid that I wouldn't meet his standards, whatever they may be, but I don't feel there's much point to indulging that anxiety. Either I will, or I won't. Either way... [ He gestures around them with one open hand. He's here, and that seems unlikely to change.
He doesn't think he'd want it to. Alexandrie is here; he's been erased from his own timeline. Where else is there to be?
When she says 'I am like to love you're he smiles softly, looking down. ]
How is it you think it will change? Between you and your Ambassador? He can't imagine I would make attempts to create a rift between the two of you.
[ He doesn't know that he and the Ambassador will ever be friends, but he stands to gain very little by orchestrating events that would make Alexandrie unhappy. ]
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She shifts closer so she can rest her head against his shoulder. ]
I do not know what he imagines, but... I have given him enough reason in the time we have shared to fear I will abandon him.
I think itβ
[ She falls silent, then, conscious suddenly of how much she had assumed when she had spoken of how she thought it would change. How much she had spoken as if her husband had come home.
Leaving the way she leans against him feels impossible, and so she curves inward. Looks down, holds her arms in close, speaks quietly. ]
I make myself so many promises in your name, and it is wrong of me to do so. You are your own man, with your own heart.
I have not even asked if there was someone in your world you cared for. Someone you have been taken from.
[ She is looking at his face because she wants to know more than she doesn't. ]
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And yet she's asked him, rather directly, a question he will not lie about in order to spare her feelings, even as he's afraid of what she might take it to mean. 'Don't be angry' seems like a strange thing to say in this context. 'Don't be sad' feels much the same. ]
Sylvie, [ He murmurs instead, watching her face while wishing he could turn away instead but. ] Is like me, but... mm. A bit feral, I suppose, or at least moreso, though if she falls out of a rift I'll beg of you not to tell her I called her such. My feelings for her are complicated and a mess, honestly, but that doesn't...
[ He shakes his head a little. ]
She's there, fighting a war I'm certain she could win with or without my help. There's also Mobius, a friend. My first real friend in centuries.
[ Loki reaches for one of Alexandrie's hands, pulling it in towards his chest, resting it over his heart. ] My heart is a strange and cold thing, most of the time, but I can only hope having true feelings for those I have left behind has made it easier for me to have feelings for another.
This world is strange and my own magic feels stilted to me, here; but you have been a bright spot thus far. I only hope I'm not... That I'm not asking too much of you.
[ To be patient. She would love him and he would gladly let her, would promise her any number of things, would even do his best to love her in return, but he doesn't even know if that's what all she wants from him right now. ]
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She doesnβt know what she is. Hasnβt known. Hurts in a way she cannot live and hold and so it only lights on her fingertips sometimes like a butterfly, and even that brief touch can make her shake and wish that she had never known what it was to be as loved as she had been, and then to think the words he is gone.
There are nights it storms and she goes out alone into the gardens and screams.
There are days that she cannot let anyone touch her, because it burns.
Now she just nods numbly, curls her fingers into the cloth beneath her hand, says ]
I am sorry.
We deserved more kindness of the world. And so did they.
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He imagines he knows the cause of it. That he is not her actual husband, no matter how alike he may be to the other man. But when did he become this creature so full of feelings and regrets?
The TVA changed him. No; honestly the blame for that may lie squarely at Mobius' feet, instead. ]
I don't mean to make you sad, [ he says carefully, covering her hand with his own. ] By telling you of them. By virtue of not being Loki d'Asgard.
[ He wants to kiss her here, again. A promise from his cold, smallish heart. So he presses his lips to her forehead, her nose. Rests his forehead against hers. ] I would be, if I could.
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the docks.
John wasn't always a quartermaster, after all.
However, he has ascended to the docks out of a small dinghy, which is now departing. Under one arm is a large, leather-bound tome, which John keeps close as he leans his weight onto his crutch.
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But! In the interest of... being sociable or something, Loki turns away from his watching of the water to turn towards this man. "Are you native to this world or one of us who fell through, dreaming? If you don't mind my asking."
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But it seems to be an idle request, as he tips his head at Loki, moving past him to ascend the steps onto the street. This is a walk and talk situation.
"I'm native to Thedas, semi-recently of Kirkwall," is the answer, one that Loki will have to keep up with him to hear. Nevermind that he's edged out of semi-recently terms with Kirkwall, after the length of time he's been present. "But you, I assume, are the latter? And newly so?"
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Walking and talking he is more than equipped for. It's more interesting than standing still in one place, after all; Loki puts his hands into the pockets of his pants as they continue onward.
"Yes, to both. I'm still quarantined, even, though I am not ill." It's said with a bit of a shrug. He understands the use of it but that doesn't make the situation any less difficult for him. "Loki Laufeyson, at your service." Because it's polite to introduce oneself.
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But it's really for that name. John remembers Loki, remembers his brother far better. And he remembers that both of them had been native to this place, and neither of them had been overly fond of him. And neither of them had fallen through a rip in the sky.
An interesting development, for the day.
"John Silver," he returns, amiable enough. "Quarantine aside, how are you finding the Gallows?"
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He'd be more surprised to hear that Thor hadn't, either, but. Neither here nor there.
As it is, this Loki is nodding, considering his question. "It's quite the operation." Which he knows can be a bit of a non-answer, so he continues: "The structure of the organization appears to be rather loose but that makes sense, considering how many come in and out without warning."
Not exactly a compliment but. Look, he's trying to be honest.
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But Loki certainly isn't alone in his assessment, and John doesn't care to pretend otherwise. It's an accurate summation of the way Riftwatch tends to operate: loosely and with some degree of consternation and chaos.
"Yes, there doesn't tend to be much accounting for Rifters. They come and go at the Maker's whim."
Ha. The Maker.
"But we've plenty of others who are called away on personal business. And you've heard of the Inquisition by now, I assume?
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Or is he confusing Rivain for Antiva? He frowns to himself, trying to untangle that thread of thought.
"It must make things difficult, on a planning level, to have so much of the volunteer force in a position to simply up and vanish without warning." Loki doesn't envy those in charge that detail.