If Thor wasn't a god who – for divine cross-pantheon purposes – had a legitimately split identity, I would start to suspect the guy had a personality disorder.
I shook my head and tried to ignore the bare warmth that remained on my skin from where Thor's fingers had brushed across my cheek.
He pointed right at me. “Are you going to bathe? Are you going to change out of your ridiculous,” he snorted as he looked at my outfit, “Inappropriate clothes? I cannot promise you will not get dirty again – you most certainly will. But please have the dignity to do it in a toga.” He clamped his hands on his hips and posed heroically, though his last statement had been a pitch for a dress that both men and women could enjoy – not something that required the spruiking of a Nordic god in body armor.
I ran a hand through my hair (or tried to) and shook my head.
“We must investigate this, Details,” Thor said with his hands still on his hips, then he pointed my way. “We must investigate you.” There was a wicked flicker in his eyes as he finished his words.
I ignored it and tried to look dignified while standing around in my smashed-up bedroom in a dirty trench coat and dirtier PJ’s. “What's the big plan, then?” I flicked my hair over my shoulder. “Going back to the Ambrosia so you can have at least a hundred beers between each thought?” I crossed my arms, not wanting to let him dominate this conversation through his ability to switch between caring and being a complete nong. “You know, just so you don't tax yourself.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You attempt sarcasm, Details. Where are your priorities? I would have thought that you – of all people – would enjoy the prospect of getting clean.”
I snorted, not wanting to admit how tantalizing that prospect was.
“The plan, Details – which I will continue to call you until we can replace it with a more appropriate name like Paperwork, or Goddess of Getting Kidnapped by Sea Monsters while Climbing Ladders.” His eyes sparkled.
I looked at him with my lip twitching.
“The plan, Details, is to head to the Immigration Office. There, you will open up a file on yourself.” He kept posing, trying to underline with his tight posture how tight he thought the plan was.
“Right.... I don't see how that will help. I have seen my own file, and I remember all the details—“
“I have access that you do not. Also, in your current state,” he nodded towards me, “I do not trust you to be able to pick out the important facts.”
What a jerk. What a total jerk. He'd gone from holding my hand to happily shrugging and admitting I was mad and untrustworthy.
“Plus,” he let his voice echo and a mischievous grin spread across his face, “While you are in your office, Details. You can do us both a favor.”
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. A favor for Thor? What would that entail?
“Because of the seriousness of this situation, it is clear to me that I cannot allow myself to be hindered.” He took another rattling manly sniff.
Hindered? What? He wanted me to lock myself in a cupboard so I wasn't a liability to him while he ran around Earth smashing up the goons and bad guys? “What do you want, Thor?” I asked when I realized he was too busy enjoying the moment to fill me in on the plan.
“You are going to grant full working visas to every single one of my divine identities,” he said with finality, and boy did he mean it.
My mouth froze in place, then I shook my head firmly. “Not on your life, sunshine,” I snapped. Grant full working visas to every single one of Thor's identities, all at the same time? Dear lord (literally), that would be a nightmare. That would mean Thor would have access to every single power, visage, personality-trait, and belonging of Zeus and Jupiter at the same time. It would be a total, and destructive, nightmare.
Thor ignored me. “While you are there, you can remove all restrictions on Jupiter and Zeus. I will need the ability to travel freely everywhere.”
I snorted. This god was a fool.
A part of me realized that while I ran through the reasons why I wasn't going to grant Thor what he wanted, I was more of myself than I’d been in days. The prospect of getting back to work was reminding me of who I was.
“Also,” he brought up a hand and appeared to tick off his wish list on his massive fingers, “I would like to ensure that no retaliatory actions can be taken against me for...” he stuck out his bottom lip, “Any indiscretions that might occur on my behalf.”
I snorted again. The prospect of denying Thor's idiotic application was bringing me back to myself in such a comforting, reassuring way. Clearly all I needed was a great big pile of ridiculous visa applications and a rejection stamp. I lifted a hand to push up the glasses I wasn't wearing. “There is no way—“
“There is every way,” he let his voice bottom out in that same tone he always used to threaten me when it came around to his visa assessments. “You will make it happen.”
“Let me get this right,” I crossed my arms and stared up at him, “You think I’m not only going to give you three visas, but I’m going to ensure you don't get in any trouble if you break any rules. Wow.” I made the word pop with my lips. “How about no.”
“Tie my hands, Details, and you might as well offer yourself up to your kidnappers. I’m doing this to protect you.” He kept his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.
Sure, he was doing it for me. If doing it for me meant he was doing it for the prospect of having as many drunken brawls as he could with impunity.
“If you want to find out what is happening to you, how to stop it, and who you are,” he added the last one in a quieter, more thoughtful tone, “You will need my help. If you handicap me,” he shrugged his shoulders and trailed off.
He was, presumably, attempting to tell me that if I handicapped him by refusing to wave the rules, he'd be as useless as a soggy old rag when it came to battling gods. Which was a total lie. Up until now, he'd been fine at saving me – if a little slow. Being Thor, and having Mjollnir or course, was enough. He didn't need the ability to wear yacht pants, carry around gold-plated guns, and be generally and hairily above the law too.
“You'll do fine as you are,” I clicked my tongue. “Plus—“ I began.
He put up a hand and shook his head. “Please don't pretend to think in your current state, Details. I saw you when I came in – you are breaking apart,” he said the words without a hint of sympathy. “You are beginning to doubt who you are. You are having visions. Flashes of things you do not understand.” He still had an eyebrow raised as he stared down at me. “In your current state,” he thumped a hand on his breast plate, “Let me make the decisions. Your last decision saw you curling up on your bed like a...” he paused to search for a word.
What was he going to say? Like a girl? Like a frightened child? Like something abjectly foolish and pathetic?
“Like someone who,” he clicked his fingers, “Cannot win.”
“You mean a loser,” I supplied with a stony look.
“Yes.” He clicked his fingers again, excited that I knew what he was talking about. “Somebody who cannot know victory through their own general weakness and inability to try.”
My nostrils flared. He was such a bloody, freaking, god-sized turd.
“Details, we will go to the Integration Office, and you will grant me all that I ask. In exchange, I commit to keeping you safe,” he gave a bow, “And finding out who you are.” He flicked his gaze up at me.
I gave a small shudder but tried to ignore it immediately.
“For now you will bathe.” He flopped a hand at me. “You smell of an unsavory mix of sand, seawater, and general filth. You offend my nostrils. You also look unappealing.” He noted with a genuine nod of his head.
Words couldn't express how much I hated this guy.
“Go, bathe. You will be safe in your own temple,” he said the last word with a look that suggested he'd swallowed something nasty. “As long as I’m here, no vagabonds, gods, or evil creatures will ass
ail your walls.”
I glanced over at my bullet-hole-covered walls. They were already assailed.
But I realized that a bath was what I could use right now. A quick one – enough to get this awful gritty sand from my hair. Thor, though I hated to admit it, was right: I would be safe as long as he sat on my porch with Mjollnir, sneering at potential attackers/ women walking their dogs late at night.
I still wasn't going to grant his visa applications, though.
“Go bathe.” He flopped a hand at me again, shooing me out of the room. “Unless you need a hand, that is?” he asked with a curled-lip smile.
I sneered at him and walked from the room. “You want to do something handy, Thor? Fix my bloody door.”
I went to have a bath.
Chapter 12
The feeling of warm, clean water surrounding me was the most glorious experience I'd had in days. It was comforting to be able to relax back in my simple, white bathtub and watch a single candle flickering on the bench beside me. It was such a stark difference to running away from gods and sea monsters.
Though the thought of it pained me, it was comforting to know that Thor was nearby to ensure no militant/cycloptic girl guides tried to force their way into my cottage temple.
Then again, he was probably destroying my stuff as I languidly lay in the bath. Or worse, he would be searching through it. I imagined him grabbing my basket of old weather reports – the one I kept in my lounge room – and sniggering until he cried tears. That, or he'd be outside chewing on my roses as he read through one of the many diaries I had that kept a meticulous record of my days.
The damn brute. I didn't know how to deal with him. He was a firecracker of a nong. What was worse, he was always more in control than me.
I sunk farther into the hot water, allowing it to lap over my closed lips.
I swirled my fingers around in the water, creating small eddies and vortices.
At least I wasn't sandy anymore. About the only thing that I could be happy for. After this lovely, but brief, bath, I imagined things would get dirty again. They'd get loud, they'd get ridiculous, they'd get out of control. In the middle of it all would be the loudest, dirtiest, and most controlling nong of them all – Thor.
I sighed again.
“Details,” Thor thundered from the door.
I gave a startled jump. “Don't you come in here, Thor,” I snapped.
He paused in silence, then laughed heartily. “Are you threatening me again, Details? I have told you, you cannot best me in battle. Do not provoke me.”
I stared at the door. I would not put it past the giant cactus to burst in and laugh at me while waggling his eyebrows.
“You have bathed for long enough. We must save the world.”
I glared harder at the door. If I was the goddess of deathly stares, then the door would have turned into dust by now.
That thought sent an unsettled feeling mucking up my stomach. It reminded me that, if Thor was right and wasn't playing an outrageous game with me, then I couldn't be sure of what goddess I was. All these years I could have been convinced that I was the goddess of details and facts, only to be wrong.
What was my legend? Where did I come from?
“Details? You have gone quiet. Are sea monsters attacking you from the drains? Do you require rescue, again?” he said the last word with enough sarcasm to impress a school-full of rebellious teenagers.
The door handle rattled.
I leapt up from the bath immediately, water sloshing everywhere, and grabbed for my bathrobe.
The door, despite being locked, opened anyway. In strode Thor (keeping in mind that my bathroom was only small and couldn't permit too many strides from a giant Nordic god).
I had enough time to whip my bathrobe on and to prepare a shocked and indignant glare.
“Details,” he said with a cheeky smile fattening his cheeks. He looked down at the bath and appeared to inspect it. “There are no sea monsters there, unless they are of the pitifully small variety.” He pressed his fingers together in case I didn't understand how small he was talking about here.
“Excuse me,” I blustered at him, “But where I come from, you don't walk into people's bathrooms while they are in the middle of taking a bath!” I stamped my foot.
He looked down at my foot then up at my face. “Where do you come from? Where I come from, I walk into bathhouses all the time. Two of the places I come from, anyway.” He shrugged his shoulders.
I clutched at my bathrobe, aware that my knuckles were as white as the toweling fabric that surrounded me. What a lecherous jerk. “Thor,” I looked up at him, “What would Hera think if she heard about this?”
At the mention of his half-wife's name from another identity, Thor lost the act. He paled. “She wouldn't think, she'd hit me.” He shrugged his shoulders, and this time it was a far more genuine move.
“Right,” I said, happy that the mention of his paranoid, but still legitimate half-wife was enough to make my point. “I'm going to go get dressed. Then I'm going to reject your visa application.” I mentioned over my shoulder as I headed for my bedroom.
Thor followed right behind me. He paused at my bedroom door.
I had to turn and look at him pointedly. “I'm going to get dressed alone,” I pointed out, “I'm a big goddess, and I know how to put a sweater on.”
“Toga,” he said automatically. “I thought we discussed how—“
Luckily my bedroom door hadn't been damaged in Loki’s attack on my house, and I took the time to slam it in Thor's face.
I waited several moments, ensuring Thor wasn't going to open it/kick it down/hammer it to pieces with Mjollnir.
When it remained firmly closed, I dressed. I didn't put on a toga. I may not know what goddess I was, but I still wasn't one of those goddesses. Which was a comforting thought; it reminded me that regardless of what I found out about my past and my true powers, it would still not invalidate the life I’d been leading to-date. It would frame it in a different reference. Who I was – all those books, muffins, roses, and mulching – wasn't going to be wiped away if I found out I was the goddess of rejecting foolish god ideas. It would still remain as part of my history, I would just look at it differently....
I grabbed something sensible. No skirt and heels for me, thank you. I put on a sensible pair of black work pants, a sensible shirt, and a sensible pair of shoes. I tied my hair into a sensible bun. If Thor was right – and I hoped he was wrong – and this all did end up with a god battle somewhere, I knew for a fact a toga wouldn't be a helpful thing to wear. Toga's had a habit of snagging on broken tree branches/spears of war gods who were chasing you. They also had a habit of slipping down at inappropriate moments.
I patted my clothes neatly and reached over to pluck up a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses from my dresser. I stopped. I didn't need glasses. I had no problem with my vision.
My hand hovered there. My fingers closed around the glasses and I pushed them onto my face anyway.
I didn't care if I didn't need them. I wanted to wear them.
I walked over to my door and opened it again dramatically.
Thor wasn't there.
He'd been shadowing my every move, and now he'd nicked off. I checked through my bedroom window to ensure he wasn't hanging around there staring in through the gap in the curtains like a creepy giant stalker.
Nope.
I heard noises from the kitchen.
I marched there only to find Thor with his head in my pantry. He had two tins worth of cookies and slices in his arms, and he had almost devoured his way through both of them.
I let my lips slide open and I stared at him.
He stared blankly back as he finished a swallow. “These are okay,” he shrugged his shoulders then wiped his fingers on my pantry door, “But I could do with a beer to wash them down.” He looked at what I was wearing. “Unless the fashion in togas has changed in the past two minutes, then you have disobeyed a direct order and are not
dressed appropriately for divine adventures.”
I shook my head and pushed my glasses further up my nose. “You can't order me around, Thor – I don't belong to your pantheon.”
“That you know of, Details.” He dropped the tins, having finished their contents, and waggled a finger at me.
“Precisely,” I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow before he could, “For all you know, I could be from the Indian pantheon, or Chinese.”
“You don't look Chinese,” he pointed out with an easy shrug. He appeared to find more crumbs on his fingers and wiped them on the rack of clean tea towels behind my pantry door – all of them.
I responded by pushing my glasses further up my nose, though they hadn't slipped down from the last time. “You are a slob.”
“And you don't need glasses.” He walked past me and whipped my glasses off in a quick move that saw me unable to respond.
When I tried to snatch them off him, he used his superior height and held them aloft with one arm.
Yes, that's right, like a child keeping a toy from a younger sibling. There was no way I was going to jump for them. I did, however, consider a quick junk punch – that would fell the brute. If he wasn't Thor, that was.
Instead, I settled for turning sharply and heading for the back door. “Are you going to act childishly in my kitchen all morning, or are we going to do something proactive about saving the world?”
“Childishly?” he repeated, tone neutral.
He wasn't going to comeback with “Takes one to know one,” was he? If this was going to degenerate that far, then I was ready to call Odin and have him pick up his son before the crotchety big baby needed a diaper change.
“Where are you going?” He brought down the arm that held my glasses aloft and stared at the rims thoughtfully.
I thought he was going to offer them back to me – realizing that the game was not funny to people who were divine and much, much older than preschoolers (by a factor of eternity). But as soon as I made a step towards them, he crushed them in one of his giant hands.
Modern Goddess: Trapped by Thor (Book One) Page 19
