Chapter Text
In all the times before, preoccupied with his escape attempts and/or his misery of still being trapped in Jötunheim, Loki – Loptr? – did not notice – refused to notice, sometimes – many things about his then captors… who are also his people, now he cannot deny it.
The markings round their nearly naked bodies – or even plainly naked bodies, usually children or youths or in the nest – for instance. He himself sports very intricate “kinlines,” mostly in braids of four lines, similar to Laufey. Dié and Leí are similar, just in reverse regarding the placement on their bodies. But not everyone sport such intricate kinlines. Many surrounding the Monarch have less intricate four braided lines, or three, sometimes two – the kitchen staff, mostly.
Dié and Leí explain that the different lines signify both personal and familial markers. The number of lines braided together also shows to which class the person belongs to. Those who have the markings of four lines braided together on their skin – the four-liners, they say – belong to the highest class. Meanwhile, those possessed of single lines on their bodies – the one-liners – belong to the lowest class.
“Do the classes also signify other things?” the not-ás asks, huffing with muted displeasure to find that, just like in Asgard, there is a cast system here and it might mean he cannot interact with those of the lower ones except in official capacity.
Dié gives him a knowing look. Leí grins outright.
“Abý has many ‘inappropriate’ family and friends, so why not you?” Leí is the one to answer.
“Nabé’s nanny and bodyguard and second mum is a one-liner,” Dié offers, next, with a smile in their whole being – eyes, face, voice, and feel.
Nabé… Nar Bestla, the purported late elder sibling of Laufey, Loptr’s supposed aunt, who has the same name as King Odin’s late mother. – He shied away from the information when it was firstly given to him, some time in-between his escapades, and he does the same now, by asking, “Where is she, now?”
“Abý has been persuading them to return, to introduce them to you,” Leí pipes in, excitedly, before Dié can say anything else.
“That good?” Loptr cocks his head, his curiosity peaked by Leí’s joyous eagerness.
“That good,” Leí grins again, toothier than before, showing Loptr a glimpse of why the æsir would portray the jötnar as fearsome monsters. – The rows of sharp teeth are fearsome indeed! – But the childlike fondness and hero-worship shining in this jötun’s eyes quite defeats the image. Especially when, from their storage dimension – which many people can create and do use, here, unlike in Asgard! – they retrieve a portrait of the subject of conversation.
“Their name is Ké Kí-childe,” Dié expounds as Loptr scrutinises the person portrayed with vivid details and likeness and colours on the sheet of bendy metal – a jötun with single lines sparsely flowing down their body, holding a sleepy child who bears markings as intricate as Laufey’s familiarly and cosily in their arms. “Their lines are simple, their name is simple, but there is nothing simple in their mind.”
`No, there is nothing simple in their mind,` Loptr agrees, as he meets the eyes of the portrait, which seems to stare right at him with long-suffering fondness and shrewd knowingness. `Maybe, I need not hold back from interacting with commoners, here, despite the norms, if my… well, others already did that before.`