YSP Creative Writing Portfolio 2015 by MacKenzie Scott

Portfolio MacKenzie Scott 2015 Young Scholarâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Program - Creative Writing

Table of Contents Introduction Final Drafts: Poetry: Morning of The Bichara Theater Sea Captain Collision Course House Plans Prose: An Impromptu Rendezvous Diner Nights Wannabe (Revisions N/A) Fate of the Liesmith

First Drafts: Poetry: Awakening (Morning of the Bichara Theater) Sea Captain House Plans Collision Course Prose: An Impromptu Rendezvous Diner Nights Wannabe Fate of the Liesmith

Introduction I attended the Young Scholar’s Program at UMD during July 2015. Before this, truthfully I never expected to have even enjoyed creative writing as much as I did over the course of the program. While I had always viewed it as a hobby of mine and did write my own pieces of poetry and prose before this, I never did view it as important as I viewed other things. However, the Young Scholar’s program has definitely changed my feelings towards my writing into something that is more concrete and here to stay. Morning of the Bichara Theater was the first piece I wrote; in it I describe waking up in my grandfather’s house in Naga in the Philippines. Comparing the differences made with my first draft and final draft, I can personally see how much I had learned just from listening to critiques of other’s poetry, not to mention the critiques on my own. Sea Captain was a character poem inspired by walking along various piers; though I don’t remember seeing anyone particularly interesting ever before, I wondered what someone completely out of place would be like in that setting. Collision Course in my opinion is my best piece of poetry compared to my other three and in it we were asked to find poetry in the creation of the Moon. However, this piece mostly focuses on the Earth and the planet Thea’s relation, as told from the Earth’s point of view. My final piece of poetry, House Plans , was inspired by two lines of conversation I overheard: “My friend has a canopy bed.” “We should get one when we move in together.” Prose I personally found to be harder than poetry to work with, despite having written more prose before this. I find it much harder to convey emotions felt by the characters across to the reader in prose than it is to convey those same emotions through poetry. An Impromptu Rendezvous was the first piece of prose I wrote for the program and had difficulty coming up with an idea, until I had remembered a very short dream I had about these two men sneaking into an older man’s home both with the intention of disguising themselves as the man despite having never met before; their goal was changed here to murder, but still remains similar. Diner Nights is a circular story simply about one woman wanting to talk and have something with her waitress; the diner here is actually based strongly on one in my town, but mixed with a few others I’ve been in. Wannabe is a point of view exercise where we try to create sympathy by writing from the point of view of someone we hated and personally I believe I had the most trouble with this piece. This is about someone who works at SeaWorld, because if I had written about anyone I actually knew and did hate, I would be consumed with anger and nothing else. Lastly, Fate of the Liesmith is a retelling of Loki’s fate from the Norse myths in which he is imprisoned underground until Ragnarok with a snake dripping venom above him that his wife, Sigyn, catches in a bowl so that he does not get hurt.

Final Drafts

Morning of the Bichara Theater

Sea Captain

Collision Course

House Plans

An Impromptu Rendezvous “Who are you?” “Who are you ?” The two men met each other in the darkness of the master bedroom, both on opposite sides of the extravagant canopy bed. They held their flashlights up, lighting up each other’s faces and the dust that floated about. The moon, only a sliver rising in the night sky, barely illuminated the leaves of trees just outside the window and the room itself. In the darkness, everything seemed to have turned black and white like a photo lost in time. Terence grimaced, “Why the hell should I tell you?” “If you’re here for the reason I think you are, then...” the intruder grinned, exposing straight white teeth not unlike a fence, “we’re here for the exact same thing I believe.” He cast his flashlight down on the sleeping man and chuckled softly. “Hey, now I know where the moon goes when it’s like this it’s this guy’s face, for god’s sake!” Terence flicked his gaze down to the old man. He had seen the face countless of times before during the short month he had been acting as a children’s tutor for the family. (And only now did he particularly regret not considering arsenic poisoning). But, he had to admit, the other guy did have a point, the master’s cheeks were bulbous and pocked; he looked even pastier than usual under the cold light from the bulb. The only difference was his mouth was open wide, snoring up a storm that could shake even the heavens itself. Terence chuckled, “I don’t think the moon has a black hole in front of it, do you? Wonder how many flies have been sucked in by it.” “I’d bet at least between fifty to seventyfive flies and thirty dollars. How much do you wanna put on the table?” “Honestly, I’d say one hundred for the flies. But like you said, if we’re here for the same thing, I don’t think we’d be able to find out anytime soon.” Terence’s gaze shifted once again to the intruder. He could tell that he was older, but only by a few years. He wore a simple cap that concealed closely cut hair and a dark coat hung off his shoulders, engulfing his form and making him one with the shadows. From the sounds he made when he moved, Terence guessed it was a raincoat and took mental note that would be useful in the future; blood would wash off easier wearing that. Meanwhile, Terence himself was dressed simply. An undershirt and a spare dark pair of pants. He wore one of the chef’s aprons over himself for a dual purpose: a way to frame the crime on another and to ensure he wouldn’t get blood on his own clothing. “So,” the man started, “Would you like to sit down? We’ve still got the whole night, and I doubt that guy’s going to wake up any time soon.” He already flicked his light off and moved towards the tufted chairs in front of the window. “I’d prefer to get this sort of thing over with quickly. Don't you agree?” And turned his back towards the man once more before being interrupted by the intruders words once again. "Hey, hey, why don't we flip a coin for it? I don't even know your name yet." "You don't have to."

"I'm Daniel, been an assassin for about ten years so far I think. Got a wife at home too, she’s a real charmer. Six months pregnant too! It’s a pretty cozy life I’ve got, sure helps the job is awfully...dynamic, if you wanna say.” He scratched at his chin and looked up at the ceiling in thought, “What else, what else... Oh! And I was hired by the guy's grandson. Something about inheriting the fortune, you know how it goes with these people." “What the hell? His granddaughter hired me !” “Well this is an awkward situation, how much are you getting for it?” “About thirty five thousand?” “Why are you getting more than me? I’m only getting thirty thousand!” “So sorry to be you.” Terence dismissed, “I’m going to go ahead and do my work.” He took out the knife from the apron pocket and gently pulled the sheets off of the old man’s chest. “Aw, c’mon.” Daniel picked himself up off the chair and moved briskly to Terence’s side, grabbing his wrist, “You’re using a knife? Are you serious?” Terence looked inquisitively at the older man, “Yes? And?” “You aren’t even using gloves! What are you going to do about the handprints and the blood? Are you just going to dispose of the knife? Where to? What the hell are you thinking?” “I’ll wash them off, wouldn’t that work? And I was thinking I could frame it on one of the chefs here, why else would I be wearing an apron?” “You chose an apron, but not the gloves. Good god, you’re new to the business, I can tell. Don’t you know that even if you stab him in the heart it’ll take at least” Terence stopped him, “I don’t need this from someone like you.” In one swift movement, he turned around and plunged the knife into the sleeping man’s chest. But he awoke with a start, clutching the blade that had been pushed into him and gazed up in terror at the two men. Terence was shocked and frozen in place, shouldn’t he have died instantly? Daniel, however calmly grabbed the pillow out from under the man and pushed it down on him, holding it firmly in place until he finally stopped moving. Only then did Terence find the ability to breathe once more. His very first job, and he wasn’t even the one to commit the murder. Despite the disappointment he felt with himself, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him. Would he have actually been able to kill the man by himself after he woke up from the stabbing? Terence slowly came to realize his mouth was dry as parchment and his hands were shaking like leaves; he had even fooled himself to think he was calm and collected up until now. A thought entered his mind as he gulped, I have a long way to go. “See, usually when you stab someone awake in the chest it takes around maybe four or five minutes until they die.” Daniel explained simply, “Well, I mean, course they’re incapacitated and basically are dead meat, but you get my point.” “II see.” “What?” He removed dark gloved hands from the pillow, “Never seen a guy suffocate someone before?” “No.” “Well, it’s my preferred method for stuff like this. I’ve got other ways too.” Terence could see the gears of thought turn in the older man’s head, “Hey, how ‘bout this. We pool the money, split the cash, half and half, become partners and I’ll teach you the ropes. What do you say?”

Terence wanted nothing more to leave that room, he didn’t think he’d be able to stand being in it for any longer, “I’ll sleep on it I suppose. As long as I still get my share, I need to make my own ends meet. Now please, I have to prepare myself for the theatrics tomorrow morning... Do you mind if you take that knife away for me though?” “No problem, partner.” Daniel grinned. “...Thank you.” Terence turned away, exiting the lavish black and white room and crept to his own quarters in the silence of the mansion. He clicked the door shut in the darkness, and the only thing that still gleamed in his mind was the cheshire cat smile of that intruder, Daniel, and the flash of the steel knife plunged into a body.

Diner Nights 10:30 PM. The door to the entrance of the building was kept utterly spotless; its frosted glass and black painted metal looked so pristine there was a doubt that even bacteria lay on it. In fact, that door seemed to be the only constantly clean thing about this diner. Everything else held that sort of grimey look to it that stained the neon lights and the cement ground beneath Maria’s snow covered boots; the dirty slosh on the sides of the parking lot didn’t help much either. In the street beyond the lot, cars zoomed past on quiet town streets without caution nor a single care in the world. Maria took a final breath of the crisp winter air before she pushed past the door and into a bustling diner. It was terribly warm and a sharp change from the outside temperatures. Everything in the diner boggled Maria’s mind, dizzying her to the point of her doubting if she could even stay inside any longer. The scent of citrus cleaning products and fresh food crashed against each other and pervaded throughout every corner of the restaurant. Voices of chatting customers fill the air as waiters and waitresses hurried around and around tables in a distinct order. Dropping off menus, taking orders, delivering food, asking “How is everything doing here?” as they fill up mugs and glasses, leaving receipts, swiping cards, grabbing tips, and cleaning up tables. It was a schedule Maria was all too familiar with. Without a second glance nor chance to run away, she was moved along to her usual table booth nestled in between a silent man reading the newspaper and a crowd of close knit rowdy teenagers. Sometimes their tables were switched around, but always it was the same mixture. She, the newspaper, and the friends. Then the waitress arrived at long last. With a bright voice she asks, “Hi, my name is Beth, and I’ll be your server tonight!” Her cheeriness betrays the sleepiness in her big brown doe eyes. “Can I start you off with anything to drink?” “A hot chocolate would be fine, thank you.” Maria replies, looking down at the laminated menu that slides onto her table and watching the waitress go. Momentarily, she feels like reaching her arm out to her, but instead she stays still as untouched snow. She already knows her order as well as she already knows the topics the teenagers will talk about: the school musical, the school play, talent show, fashion show, chorus, and band. Didn’t Maria used to be like that in her high school before dropping all her communications with them? Beth reminds her of those times gone by, moreover she seems like the kind of person that would willingly speak to her. If only Maria had the confidence to speak to her. The man in the booth behind her flips the page of his newspaper. One of the girls gets riled up about something another brought up and the boy on her side tries to calm her down. Beth returns, holding a mug of hot chocolate. She places it down on the table and takes her notepad out of her apron, “Have you made up your mind on what you’d like to order?” “Yeah, I’ll just have the grilled chicken sandwich with fries.” And Maria hands off the menu to Beth without a second glance, staring holes into the linoleum table. The man in the booth behind her turns his paper. The kids’ food all arrives and it takes two waiters to get the plates out. Beth is speaking to another customer, an aging woman who

wears pink sunglasses indoors and doesn’t wear a ring on her left hand. Her lipstick is a bright orange and her laugh is practically a cackle. Beth disappears into the kitchen. Maria’s sandwich is placed in front of her, with little more than a fake work smile and Beth’s bright voice saying, “Enjoy.” before she walks off, heels clicking against black and white tiles, until it fades into the sounds of late night conversations. Her confidence had been blotted out, and her script for the night had been burnt away to ashes. Once again, she let the chance to speak to Beth slip away from her. She picks at her fries, regretting her inability to just have a conversation with the waitress. The man in the booth behinds her turns his paper. The kids are chowing down, grumbling at each other, “Stop stealing my fries, you have your own.” She already knows Beth won’t be the one to drop off her receipt, instead it’s that waiter that always tries to get her number every night. So she’ll just ask for a box and return tomorrow. 10:30 PM, in front of a pristine door.

Wannabe I just need the money, you know. Even with three other roommates, it’s still a bit hard to pay off the rent and bills; I probably do the most work here honestly, I have the biggest paycheck after all. Those guys practically do nothing! And they always end up spending their money on their own stuff, then barely save the minimum they should keep to pay the rent. Having those three bozos ride on my coattails to live in this place is honestly such a chore, I’m just glad I don’t have to keep track of their own personal finances. God, that reminds me, I’m not even figuring in food and the cost of gas. Driving all the way from here to SeaWorld is such a hassle, I feel like I have to fill the tank up every other day just to get there and back. I guess on the bright side, I get to do what I’ve dreamt of. Or at least something along the lines of it, aquatic life is my passion. Not like I went to college all the way down in Florida to study it and ended up in tremendous amounts of student debt my parents insist on making me pay off myself, no sir, not me. Unfortunately, all I really get to do is just feed the animals. Those trainers are lucky; I keep hearing them complain after shows about how tiring it is and all I want to do is just throw the buckets of frozen fish and the crabs and shrimp to deshell at them. Then I march up there, take the microphone, and put on my own show. Of course that’s a pretty far flung fantasy. God, the closest I’ve ever been to a working on a show is just passing along the buckets of fish over to the trainers. It’d be my dream to be able to put on a show and work up close to the animals especially the orcas. SeaWorld after all is known for its orca shows. I don’t think many other places around here actually have them, and isn’t that something strange? They’re such graceful animals too and I find it wonderful that SeaWorld is showing everyone just how majestic they are.

Fate of the Liesmith Far beneath sunlit green pastures speckled with wildflowers, the Earth is a terrible place to be. Though some may admire caves, to be trapped in one is near insanity inducing, and Loki was to be trapped until the very end of the world. All sounds reverberated off the walls, no matter how little or insignificant they were. His heartbeat, his ragged breathing, the gentle clinking of the chains that bound him to rocks, the dripping water from somewhere far off, and the dripping snake venom being caught in a bowl his wife held above him. Sigyn however wasn’t trapped to the same fate he had been condemned to, she could have been free to continue living her life aboveground. Yet she still assigned herself to his side in this cave. Loki couldn’t make any sense of the goddess’ choice to protect he, the liesmith. Though he burned with curiosity and truthfully, appreciation, he remained silent and listened to the drip, drip, drip, of venom collecting in the bowl. Sound was all Loki had down here after all, for needless to say, the tender touch of light did not reach the caves below; just as on the day Baldur had been killed, the pure god’s light had faded out of this world. Perhaps he shouldn’t have created that spear of mistletoe and perhaps he shouldn’t have disagreed to mourn for the other god. But perhaps he should have pierced that spear into Baldur himself rather than giving it to the blind god, Hodr, and perhaps he shouldn’t have disguised himself as the giantess, Tokk, when he refused. Perhaps he should have displayed his hatred for all realms to see. Drip, drip, drop . The change in sound interrupts his thoughts. He had been through this countless of times before; Sigyn’s bowl of venom had been filled to the brim once again and she’d have to leave to empty it out. He’d be left defenseless against his punishment. In the darkness and silence, she turned away and Loki could feel the warmth of her body retreating. All he could feel now against his skin was the hard surface of rocks and the cold metal of the chains made out of his own son’s intestines. And here he found himself thinking once again. Perhaps if there had been light, he would still be able to see stains of blood on the steel that no spell could ever hope to remove. Perhaps he would be able to see the welling of venom collect from the snake’s fang. It was only mere seconds until the first drop would fall to his skin and send electric waves of agony throughout his body and he would shake the very Earth with the pain he felt. But after all this time, did he feel any guilt for the things he had done? No. Perhaps there was a lesson he should have taken.

Rough Drafts

Awakening

Sea Captain On a creaking wood pier that stabs out into the horizon where the sky and the sea kiss, the steps he takes are calculated and precise. No sound reaches out from underneath the soles of his rubber boots. Each step he takes carries a certain magnitude, a silent leadership. Amidst the crowds of talking people, he keeps to himself and himself only, his thoughts his only company. He squints up at the sun that gleams down upon all of them and takes refuge under the safety of a burning red umbrella sticking out from a plastic white table. His eyes dart to the side, watching the waves break and roll into each other, fish jumping out of the water though they know the air will kill them. Even from under the shadows, the sun still shines just barely down on him and his eyes gleam harshly. The glimmer of reflection alights in dark eyes that carry the destruction of an ocean storm. If you look hard enough at the light caught in his eye, you can see a sailor, dropped to his knees and praying.

House Plans

Collision Course

An Impromptu Rendezvous “Who are you?” “Who are you ?” The two men met each other in the darkness of the master bedroom, both on opposite sides of the extravagant canopy bed. They held their flashlights up, lighting up each other’s faces and the dust that floated about. The moon, only a sliver rising in the night sky, barely illuminated the leaves of trees just outside the window and the room itself. In the darkness, everything seemed to have turned black and white like a photo lost in time. Terence grimaced, “Why the hell should I tell you?” “If you’re here for the reason I think you are, then...” the intruder grinned, exposing straight white teeth not unlike a fence, “we’re here for the exact same thing I believe.” He cast his flashlight down on the sleeping man and chuckled softly. “Now I know where the moon goes when it’s like this it’s this guy’s face, for god’s sake!” Terence flicked his gaze down to the old man. He had seen the face countless of times before during the short month he had been acting as a children’s tutor for the family. (And only now did he particularly regret not considering arsenic poisoning). But, he had to admit, the other guy did have a point, the master’s cheeks were bulbous and pocked; he looked even pastier than usual under the cold light from the bulb. The only difference was his mouth was open wide, snoring up a storm that could shake even the heavens itself. Terence chuckled, “I don’t think the moon has a black hole in front of it, do you? Wonder how many flies have been sucked in by it.” “I’d bet at least between fifty to seventyfive flies and thirty dollars. How much do you wanna put on the table?” “I’d say at most one hundred for the flies. And like you said, if we’re here for the same thing, I don’t think we’d be able to find out anytime soon.” Terence’s gaze shifted once again to the intruder. He could tell that he was older, but only by a few years. He wore a simple cap that concealed closely cut hair and a dark coat hung off his shoulders, engulfing his form and making him one with the shadows. From the sounds made, Terence guessed it was a raincoat and took mental note that should the blood get on him, it’d wash off easier wearing that. Meanwhile, Terence himself was dressed simply. An undershirt and a spare dark pair of pants. He wore one of the chef’s aprons over himself for a dual purpose: a way to frame the crime on another and to ensure he wouldn’t get blood on his own clothing. “So,” the man started, “Would you like to sit down? We’ve still got the whole night, and I doubt that guy’s going to wake up any time soon.” He already flicked his light off and moved towards the tufted chairs in front of the window. “I’d prefer to get this sort of thing over with quickly. Don't you agree?” And turned his back towards the man once more before being interrupted by the intruders words once again. "Hey, hey, why don't we flip a coin for it? I don't even know your name yet." "You don't have to." "I'm Daniel, I was hired by the guy's grandson. Something about inheriting the fortune, you know how it goes with these people."

“What the hell! His granddaughter hired me !” “How much are you getting for it?” “‘Bout thirty five thousand?” “Why are you getting more than me? I’m only getting thirty thousand!” “So sorry to be you.” Terence dismissed, “I’m going to go ahead and do my work.” He took out the knife from the apron pocket and gently pulled the sheets off of the old man’s chest. “Aw, c’mon.” Daniel picked himself up off the chair and moved briskly to Terence’s side, grabbing his wrist, “You’re using a knife? Are you serious?” Terence looked inquisitively at the older man, “Yes? And?” “You aren’t even using gloves! What are you going to do about the handprints and the blood? Are you just going to dispose of the knife? Where to? What the hell are you thinking?” “I’ll wash them off, wouldn’t that work? And I was thinking I could frame it on one of the chefs here, why else would I be wearing an apron?” “You chose an apron, but not the gloves. Good god, you’re new to the business, I can tell. Don’t you know that even if you stab him in the heart it’ll take at least” Terence stopped him, “I don’t need this from someone like you.” In one swift movement, he turned around and plunged the knife into the sleeping man’s chest. But he awoke with a start, clutching the blade that had been pushed into him and gazed up in terror at the two men. Terence was shocked and frozen in place, shouldn’t he have died instantly? Daniel, however calmly grabbed the pillow out from under the man and pushed it down on him, holding it in place until he finally stopped moving. Only then did Terence find the ability to breathe once more. “See, usually when you stab someone awake in the chest it takes around maybe four or five minutes until they die. Well, I mean, course they’re incapacitated and basically are dead meat, but you get my point.” “II see.” “What?” He removed dark gloved hands from the pillow, “Never seen a guy suffocate someone before?” “No.” “Well, it’s my preferred method for stuff like this. I’ve got other ways too.” The gears of thought turned in his head, “Hey, how ‘bout this. We split the cash, half and half, become partners and I’ll teach you the ropes. What do you say?” “I’ll sleep on it. Now please, I have to prepare myself for the theatrics tomorrow morning... Do you mind if you take that knife away for me though?” “No problem, partner.” Daniel grinned. “...Thank you.” Terence turned away, exiting the lavish black and white room and crept to his own quarters in the silence of the mansion. He clicked the door shut in the darkness, and the only thing that still gleamed in his mind was the cheshire cat smile of that intruder, Daniel, and the flash of the steel knife plunged into a body.

Diner Nights 10:30 PM. The door to the entrance of the building was kept utterly spotless; its frosted glass and black painted metal kept so pristine there was a doubt that even bacteria could be touching it. In fact that door seemed to be the only constantly clean thing about this diner. Everything else held that sort of grimey look to it that stained the neon lights and the ground beneath Maria’s boots. The dirty snow on the sides of the parking lot didn’t help much either. She took a final breath of crisp winter air before pushing past the door and into a bustling diner. Voices filled the citrus and food scented restaurant as waiters and waitresses hurried around and around tables in a distinct order. Dropping menus, taking orders, delivering food, asking “How is everything doing here?” as they fill up mugs and glasses, leaving receipts, swiping cards, grabbing tips, and cleaning up tables. It was a schedule Maria was all too familiar with. Her usual table booth nestled in between a silent man reading the newspaper and a crowd of close knit rowdy teenagers was waiting for her, always the same mixture of people. Then the waitress comes and with a bright voice asks, “Hi, I’m Beth, and I’ll be your server tonight!” her voice betrays the sleepiness in her brown eyes. “Can I start you off with anything to drink?” “A hot chocolate would be fine, thank you.” Maria replies, looking down at the laminated menu that slides onto her table and watching the waitress go. She already knows the topics the teenagers will talk about: the school musical and play, talent and fashion show, chorus, band. Didn’t Maria used to be like that in her high school before dropping all her communications with them? The man in the booth behind her flips the page of his newspaper. One of the girls gets riled up about something and the boy on her side tries to calm her down. Beth returns, holding a mug of hot chocolate. She places it down on the table and takes her notepad out of her apron, “Have you made up your mind on what you’d like to order?” “Yeah, I’ll just have the grilled chicken sandwich with fries.” And Maria hands off the menu to Beth without a second glance. The man in the booth behind her turns his paper. The kids’ food all arrives and it takes two waiters to get the plates out. Beth is speaking to another customer, an aging woman who wears pink sunglasses indoors and doesn’t wear a ring on her left hand. Her lipstick is a bright orange and her laugh is practically a cackle. Beth disappears into the kitchen. Maria’s sandwich is placed in front of her, with little more than a fake work smile and Beth’s bright voice saying, “Enjoy.” before she walks off, heels clicking against black and white tiles, until it fades into the sounds of late night conversations. Once again, Maria’s confidence had been blotted out, and her script for the night had been burnt away to ashes. She picks at her fries, regretting her inability to just have a conversation with the waitress. The man in the booth behinds her turns his paper. The kids are chowing down, grumbling at each other, “Stop stealing my fries, you have your own.” She already knows Beth won’t be the one to drop off her receipt, instead it’s that waiter that always tries to get her number every night. So she’ll just ask for a box and return tomorrow. 10:30 PM, in front of a pristine door.

Fate of the Liesmith Far beneath sunlit green pastures speckled with wildflowers, the Earth is a terrible place to be in. Though some may admire caves, to be trapped in one is near insanity inducing, and Loki was to be trapped until the very end of the world. All sounds reverberated off the walls, no matter how little or insignificant they were. His heartbeat, his ragged breathing, the gentle clinking of the chains that bound him to rocks, the dripping water from somewhere far off, and the dripping snake venom being caught in a bowl his wife held above him. Sigyn however wasn’t trapped to the same fate he had been condemned to, she could have been free to continue living her life aboveground. Yet she still assigned herself to his side in this cave. Loki couldn’t make any sense of the goddess’ choice to protect he, the liesmith. Though he burned with curiosity and truthfully, appreciation, he remained silent and listened to the drip, drip, drip, of venom collecting in the bowl. Sound was all Loki had down here after all, for needless to say, the tender touch of light did not reach the caves below; just as on the day Baldur had been killed, the pure god’s light had faded out of this world. Perhaps he shouldn’t have created that spear of mistletoe and perhaps he shouldn’t have disagreed to mourn for the other god. But perhaps he should have pierced that spear into Baldur himself rather than giving it to the blind god, Hodr, and perhaps he shouldn’t have disguised himself as the giantess, Tokk, when he refused. Perhaps he should have displayed his hatred for all realms to see. Drip, drip, drop . The change in sound interrupts his thoughts. He had been through this countless of times before; Sigyn’s bowl of venom had been filled to the brim once again and she’d have to leave to empty it out. He’d be left defenseless against his punishment. In the darkness and silence, she turned away and Loki could feel the warmth of her body retreating. All he could feel now against his skin was the hard surface of rocks and the cold metal of the chains made out of his own son’s intestines. And here he found himself thinking once again. Perhaps if there had been light, he would still be able to see stains of blood on the steel that no spell could ever hope to remove. Perhaps he would be able to see the welling of venom collect from the snake’s fang. It was only mere seconds until the first drop would fall to his skin and send electric waves of agony throughout his body and he would shake the very Earth with the pain he felt. Perhaps there was a lesson he should have taken.