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chipper9906 · 3 years ago

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Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 7: Slip Of The Silver Tongue

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WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 8,223

Overall Word Count: 65,405

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (7/?)

Chapter Preview:

Loki grunts — a terribly well-thought-out argument — taking a moment at the top of the stairs to wait for his vision to stop swimming. “Didn’t I ask you to stop me from pouring any more drinks?” “You did,” Sylvie agrees. “You also then proceeded to tell me that ‘one more drink couldn’t hurt’, called the waitress over for the last of their wine stores, and then nearly stabbed that wannabe knight who started getting grabby with me.”

“He deserved worse,” Loki mumbled darkly, letting Sylvie guide him towards the room she had booked for them. “Not that I had to do anything, of course. By the time I had gotten my daggers out, you had already dented his cranium with your tankard.”

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* * *

This wasn’t the first time Sylvie had seen someone fall victim to shock.

It usually happened when there was a specific sweet spot in the time it takes for an Apocalyptic event to occur. If it happens quickly, then most people don’t have time to actually react to it. That was probably the better option, where they didn’t know what was coming. The slower Apocalypses, like Lamentis or Miiphus, were some of the worst. The people of those Apocalypses were often unable to accept their fate. There was always that little stubborn bit of hope they clung onto, trying everything in their power to change their fate. Of course, they never could change it, because the Apocalypse of their world was written in stone. It had to happen, in accordance with His timeline.

But then there were some in the middle… the ones where the people could see the end coming. They knew there was nothing they could do to stop it, and He Who Remains was cruel enough to give them just enough time where all they could do was stand there and realize this before everything they ever knew and loved was destroyed.

That’s the times she saw people in a state of being… shell-shocked. Not all, of course. Most screamed, most ran, some… showed the crueler side of their nature in the face of the end. But a few people did nothing. She supposed they could be feeling despair in that moment, more than likely some terror, but… they don’t show it on their face. Their expressions are often next to impossible to read, like their mind had just… shut off.

She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that that was what was happening to Loki.

She didn’t like it. Not one bit. Loki wasn’t like this. Loki was sharp and attentive, his razor-sharp wit and equally sharp tongue one of many traits that helped keep him alive. That Loki? He was gone, buried deep somewhere inside this empty shell of a man that weakly clung to her hand, pushing through the snow gathered around their feet like he hadn’t even registered it was there.

Sylvie’s head snaps to the right, to where she heard the sound of pounding hooves barely muted by the thick blanket of snow. She just about gets a glimpse of a band of riders galloping down the path towards them before she jumps behind a tree, dragging Loki with her. Thankfully, he still seems to have some sense of self-preservation left in him, willingly letting her pull him towards her until they were both pressed against each other, flattening themselves against the tree.

Sylvie winces at the rough bark pressing against her back, the thin and flimsy material of the TVA shirt and blazer providing little to no protection. Loki’s breathing is loud and shallow right next to her ear, the two of them pressed so tightly together that she can feel the rise and fall of his chest. The booming sound of the horses gallops slowly fades away as the riders pass them by, and it’s only then that Sylvie changes her clothes with a shrug of her shoulders and a burst of magic, re-materializing her usual clothing and ridding herself of a uniform she hopes she never has to wear again.

“Where… where are we?” Loki asks, and Sylvie had never been so glad to hear his voice. He slowly pushes away from her, scanning their surroundings with wide eyes like he couldn’t figure out how they had got here.

“Earth,” Sylvie brings his attention back to her, not bothering to hide the worry on her face.

“Those riders…” Loki looks to where the riders had disappeared between the thick thatches of trees, white puffs of condensation materializing from his mouth as he spoke. “Last I remember of my time on Earth, not many people carried swords... What year did you take us to?”

“Eighth century,” answered Sylvie, giving Loki’s hand a gentle squeeze to bring his attention back to her when he continued to stare out into the distance. “I know a place that's not too far. Are you… are you okay to walk?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Loki shoots Sylvie a strained smile that knocks away some of the reassurance she felt that he was starting to come back to himself, wishing that far-away look in his eyes would be gone. Loki weakly gestures with a wave of his hand in the direction they had been walking in. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Not once during their trek does Sylvie let go of his hand. Sometimes it felt like the only thing anchoring Loki to reality was her, and that if she let go, he would simply cease to exist.

Loki doesn’t hound her with his usual questions or provide insightful commentary on their surroundings. She… missed it, actually. Not just because their absence further proves that something with Loki isn’t quite right, but also because… to put it bluntly, she missed him. She missed hearing his voice, and missed feeling annoyed at hearing his voice.

...What was she talking about? She was thinking like Loki was dead, with his hand wrapped around hers, and his stumbling footsteps just behind her. He was still there, she knew that, he just… needed some time, is all. It wasn’t like he was going to quickly bounce back from…

Gods, had that really happened? Mobius was… he was…

Why did this hurt? Mobius was a man who had chased her across branches, hunting her down like it was for sport. She had only known him briefly, and this Mobius wasn’t even the one they knew. And yet… his death left an oddly hollow feeling in her chest that she knows must be immense and suffocating inside of Loki’s.

That was why, she supposed. It just seemed to be the way it worked with them. Mobius’s death was clearly wreaking havoc on Loki’s emotions, overwhelming him with levels of guilt and pain that he was struggling to handle. Loki was hurting, and just from that, she was hurting too. Loki was mourning the loss of his friend, and so she was mourning, too.

But she couldn’t let herself fall into it like Loki was. If she’s the only one of them that can tread on the surface of despair Loki was sinking into and keep the both of them afloat? Then that’s just what she’ll have to do.

The sight of the little building nestled within the forest brings with it a much-needed air of relief. The columns of smoke billowing from the inn’s chimney gave promises of alluring warmth and shelter from the cold — not that it bothered them all that much — and more importantly, the drunken patrons stumbling out of the front door that struggled to climb atop their horses gave promises of a much-needed drink.

“Hang on.” Sylvie comes to a stop, holding out a hand to stop Loki from walking any further forward. There was still enough distance and cover provided by the forest that no one would be able to spot them just yet. “It’s probably best that you change out of your clothes, too. We’re probably going to get a decent amount of stares with me wearing armor. I can’t imagine these people will react too well to seeing someone in an office get up.”

“Right…” Loki nods his head, peering at the handful of people of this time that stood around the entrance to the Inn, friendly smiles on their faces as they conversed whilst simultaneously keeping one hand placed atop the hilt of their swords. His eyes scan meticulously over their clothing, taking note of every small detail he can see that may be of use.

Loki moves closer towards the cover of a nearby tree, blocking out most of the light from his magic as he changes his wardrobe. What he wore was quite similar to his usual Asgardian armor, being mostly comprised of leather as most other pieces of armor from this time period on Earth seemed to be. Thankfully, the dark colors of his clothing seemed to be a common theme amongst others he had seen so far, so it wasn’t like they would have to worry over this Earth’s people scrutinizing their coloring choice.

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at the addition of some sort of fur wrap that ran along the collar and flowed down his back like… well, like a cape, it looked like. The fur was as dark in color, as was the rest of his outfit, the muted light from the cloud-covered sun barely able to show whether it was a very dark brown, or was simply black.

“People might look at us strangely if we’re walking around in freezing temperatures without a coat,” Loki says when he catches sight of her questioning look.

Sylvie had to admit that he had a point there. Before she can say anything or do anything in response, Loki had manifested a similar fur-lined coat in his hands. Sylvie raises a hand up, intending to take it from him, but of course Loki instead chooses to reach across her and drape it around her shoulders. He tucks the lapels of the coat together, waiting for Sylvie to reach out and grab hold of the lapels to keep it tightly wrapped around herself before letting go.

“There -- now we match,” Loki says with a soft smile that struggles to reach his eyes. “Also should help to reduce some of the stares at seeing a woman in armor…”

Loki and Sylvie continue towards the beckoning light spilling out from the Inn, the layer of snow under their feet steadily shifting to well-worn paths of mud and compacted snow. Only once do Loki’s feet nearly slide out from under him, but it takes everything in Sylvie not to crackup into laughter as she catches his arm to steady him.

The group of people milling about the door don’t even bat an eyelid at them as they squeeze by, evidently too invested in whatever conversations they were having to pay attention to the passing strangers. Even as Frost Giants, the blast of warmth that hits them as they push open the heavy wooden door is nothing less than a blessing. They both kick away the stubborn bits of mud and snow that clung to their boots, thankful to see only a few curious pub-goers had turned to see the newcomers. They apparently decided they weren’t of much interest, turning their attention back to their company and whatever alcoholic beverage was contained within the mugs in their hands.

Sylvie catches sight of a small table that is blessedly empty, tucked away within the corner of the room and away from the line of sight of eyes that might be a little too curious. Loki trails behind as Sylvie leads them to it, waiting for her to slide into place on one of the rickety-looking wooden benches before taking a seat for himself opposite.

The Inn was lit only by the fireplace that sat within the middle of the back wall, which also provided the old building with the much-needed heat against the bitter cold of the winter they had stepped into. Usually, Loki would be doing the same as Sylvie is right now: taking note of every exit, every potentially unsavory individual; preparing for the possibility of things going south, and figuring out whether running or fighting would be the best option depending on what went down.

But right now… he was tired. Drained. A part of him wanted to… to slip back into that uncaring facade. It had been his best line of defense, and now, the mask no longer seemed to fit.

“Be back in a minute,” Sylvie tells him in passing as she springs up from the table. She squeezes his shoulder as she passes, which he’s nearly unable to feel through the thick layer of fur that covered it.

She comes back moments later with two shoddily crafted metal cups in hand, one being more like a goblet in shape, and the other more like a tankard of some sort. She places the silver goblet on the table in front of him, before dropping back down onto the bench and claiming the tankard for herself.

“Kinda just guessed you’d want wine,” Sylvie tells him as he pulls the goblet towards him and peers down into its contents. “I’d ask for something stronger, but uh… we’re sort of limited to a few options here.”

“How did you pay for these?” Loki asks, the first genuine hint of amusement she’s heard from him laced into his question.

Sylvie wiggles her eyebrows at him in response, whilst also raising her hand into the air and wiggling her fingers with a burst of lime-green light. It manages to pull the tiniest of smiles from Loki, looking down to his drink with a huffed breath of laughter.

“Probably should have guessed that, shouldn’t I?”

“Probably,” Sylvie agrees with a smile, raising the tankard to her lips and taking a sip of the dark ale within.

Loki mirrors her actions, although where she had taken a single sip, his ‘sip’ didn’t stop until every last drop was sucked down. Sylvie was a little impressed as she watched him chuck his head back and down the entire thing in what seemed like one swallow, but mostly… she was just worried.

“Did... did you even taste that?”

The goblet clangs loudly as Loki returns it to the table, chuckling low, deep, and slow in a way that, if it had been anyone else, probably would have made her skin crawl. “I’m not exactly drinking it for the taste.”

'Fair point,' Sylvie thought. Not one to be outdone (and because, quite frankly, she needed it), Sylvie brought her metal tankard up to her mouth, draining the entire mug in only a few swallows. Loki shot her an equally impressed look once she dropped the tankard back down to the table, which she returned with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You know, sometimes I’m jealous of the humans,” Loki says almost a little too loudly. He raises the now empty goblet in his hands up in the air, cocking his head to the side as he inspects the blacksmith’s handiwork. “Their bodies are weaker than ours… and so it’s so much easier for them to get drunk… and for longer.”

“Well, the drinks on Lamentis certainly seemed to be effective on you.” Sylvie slides the goblet out of his hands, catching the eye of a nearby waitress and summoning her over with a curl of her finger. “I would say that I’m starting to feel you have a drinking problem but…” Sylvie trails off for a moment, her mouth softly closing with a sympathetic grimace. “But… I think I need a drink about as much as you do.”

Right on cue, the waitress appears by their table, carrying two large jugs of the drinks they had previously offered. She puts one down on the table, preparing to pour the other into Loki’s goblet first to top it up, but Loki places his hand over the top of the goblet to stop her.

“You might be better off leaving them both here,” Loki not so non-nonchalantly suggests to her with a charming smile. “Would probably save you the trips back and forth to our table.”

“I’m not sure that’s—” The woman starts to say, and it’s enough for Loki to realize it was another way of saying ‘no.’ He moves his hand from his goblet to the woman’s hand atop the handle of the jug, his smile not once wavering. No one, apart from him and Sylvie, see the green glow emitting from underneath his hands.

“I’m just trying to make your job easier for you.”

“Yes… yes, you’re right,” The waitress agrees, looking a little dazed as she slides her hands away from Loki and the jugs. “Let me know if you need any more, and I’ll bring them right over.”

“Lovely, thank you.” The smile on Loki’s face only drops away once the waitress has turned her back to them, and it’s a harsh reminder to them both of just how good of an actor he is.

How good of a liar he is.

"You're getting better," Sylvie notes once the waitress is out of earshot. "Won't be long before enchantment feels like second nature."

“Like you said — easier on those with simple minds. For a change of subject—" Loki picks up the jug of dark ale first, refilling Sylvie’s tankard for her before she can even ask — or say that she even wanted another one. She takes the cup once he offers it to her anyway, settling back against the uncomfortably hard wooden panels behind her. Loki doesn’t continue the rest of his sentence before he's poured himself another drink, hunched over the table as he holds onto his goblet of wine like it was a lifeline. “—What brings the end to this picturesque little location? Seems a little… small, to be classed as an Apocalypse.”

“There’s a village a few miles to the West from here.” Sylvie gestures with a flick of her head in the direction of the village. “Not a particularly large population, but… large by the standards of this time period.”

“Ah… so what brings about their end?” Loki asks like they were discussing the weather, perhaps the most emotionless smile on his face that she’s seen from him as he takes another long drink from his goblet.

Sylvie doesn’t answer his question. Loki raises his brows when she just stares at him instead of speaking, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she leans forward against the table. “Loki… I know what you’re doing.”

Loki’s eyebrows somehow raise even higher, shooting Sylvie a bemused frown. “What… I’m doing?”

“I saw you on Miiphus. You can’t pretend like seeing all these worlds coming to an end doesn’t bother you. And now, you’re… you’re trying to pretend like you don’t care.”

“Because I don’t—”

“You do, though,” Sylvie cuts off another lie. “And I know you do, because I do. Even after all these years, even when I think I’m desensitized to it… I still care. I care that all these apocalypses happen because He decided they do. So don’t give me that. Don’t give me this… this regressed form of yourself. You know as well as I do that you’re pretending you don’t care so that it’s easier to talk about -- because you’re looking for a distraction.”

Something on Loki’s face shifts. A slip, a give to the illusion. Sylvie didn’t say what it was that he was trying to distract himself from, but it’s not like she needs to. She pushes her tankard to the side, reaching out for Loki like it was second nature. His jaw shifts by just the slightest as her hand rests atop of his, his eyes never once leaving hers.

“If you want to talk to me… just talk to me,” Sylvie offers earnestly. “And if you can’t talk to me about… about that… then you don’t have to. I’m more than happy to act as a distraction if you want me to, just… don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. And hey -- I booked us a room upstairs in case all you want to do is drink until you pass out, and I’ll haul your drunken arse up the stairs.”

For the first time since they’ve gotten here, the half-a-smile that pulls at Loki’s lips is one she knows comes from her Loki.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, soft and quiet, and the illusion is broken. “It’s just… easier that way… Not to think about it.”

“Believe me, I know.” Sylvie lifts her hand from Loki’s, wrapping it back around her tankard and taking a sip. “And that’s something I’m working on, too. I… I want to open up to you more, even when everything inside me is screaming at me not to. So… I understand if… if you can’t talk about it.”

Loki closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He opens them back up again, glancing over to the nearly full jug of wine next to him, feeling very grateful for its presence. “First… you answer my previous question, about what happens here.”

“Snowstorm,” Sylvie answers, keeping her voice low as she turns her gaze towards the frost-covered windows of the Inn. “Still a few days out -- but then again, since we don’t know what timeline this is, it could be sooner… or later… or not at all.”

“At least we don’t have to worry about this one,” Loki points out, one of the only times he’s thankful for his true heritage. “Were they… not prepared for it?”

“Not really something they can predict. They prepare for winter, sure, but this…? It’s just… too much for them to handle. This apocalypse, it’s…” Sylvie shivers, not from the cold but more of a sympathetic reaction. “It’s… slow. The ones that freeze to death are the lucky ones. Others… fight a losing battle. Food runs out pretty quickly, and once their storages are gone… the fighting starts. No one makes it through to the spring.”

Loki hums sadly, dropping his gaze down to his goblet as he taps his fingers along its surface. “Did you see that often…?”

“What -- people panicking in the face of death?” Sylvie’s voice is twinged with amusement, amazed that Loki would ask a question with such an obvious answer.

“No, that’s a given,” Loki dismisses with a wave of his hand. “More… people being reduced to their animalistic tendencies. Civilizations that took centuries to develop, reduced to bare instincts in such little time.”

Sylvie sighs heavily through her nose, taking another drink of ale before she answers. “It’s… it’s not easy to predict how we’d react in the face of death. Having been there to watch it unfold countless times… I sometimes wondered what I would do in their place. There were many times where that was almost the case. There was never a guarantee I’d make it through to the next apocalypse. Never a guarantee that the TVA wouldn’t figure out my hiding spaces before I could make my move.”

Loki drops his gaze, shoulders hunched over as the guilt forces his eyes away from hers. Like usual, Sylvie seemed to be able to read his mind, reaching out a hand to wrap around his wrist. “I know I like to tease you about it sometimes, but I don’t blame you. I know you were doing what you needed to do to survive, same as I was. And at the end of it all… you were there with me.”

“Sometimes wish it could have played out differently,” Loki mumbles, head still bowed towards his goblet of wine. “That we could have met under better circumstances.”

“How?” Sylvie asks with a chuckle. “Not many people get to meet a variant of themselves unless under very particular TVA-related circumstances -- and that’s in the off-chance they do something wrong.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Loki finally lifts his gaze back up, even if it’s only to pull the jug of wine closer and refill his goblet. He turns his attention back to Sylvie, a lazy smile stretching across his face as he lifts his goblet into the air. “And now here we are: having massively cocked up the timeline by doing what we thought was right, leading to us hunting down infinite amounts of the same dangerous, potentially — more than likely — genocidal man, who may or may not be aware of our presence, and is hunting us down in return.”

Sylvie returns his smile with one of her own, lifting up her own tankard and clinking it against Loki’s. “I’m leaning more towards the ‘may be aware’ than ‘may not’ side of him hunting us down.”

Loki agrees with a mixture of a hum and a groan as he drains yet another cup of wine, wiping away any remnants that clung to his upper lip as he lowers the cup from his mouth. “Could always use a challenge.”

“And what -- trying to kill every version of one man isn’t enough of a challenge for you?”

Loki shrugs. “Sounds like an average day to me.”

Sylvie chuckles lightly, shaking her head at him. “Keep up that confidence, and we’ll be done with this whole mess in no time.”

“And then we’ll be right back to where we were,” Loki says, the easy-going smile on his face slipping slightly. “With either one of us knowing what to do next…”

“One step at a time,” Sylvie utters softly, ducking her head to catch Loki’s eye. “It’s difficult to focus on what’s next when what’s ahead is as big as it is.”

Loki nods at her answer, dragging his goblet across the table to take another drink. Sylvie reaches out a hand to stop him before he can lift it, forcing his eyes up to meet hers.

“But… I’d like to accept your offer, from before.”

That rouses Loki’s interest, the dreary fog that had been hanging over his head since they arrived lifting by just the slightest as his curiosity wins over. “My offer…?”

“Back in the Void, you asked me what I was going to do next.” Sylvie lowers her hand from the goblet onto Loki’s, his fingers tightening instinctively around the stem of the goblet. “I said I didn’t know.”

Loki knew all of this, of course. This very conversation, everything he had said, everything she had answered with, had been seared into his memory. But, in what was an unusual move for him, he chose to remain silent, letting Sylvie speak.

“You asked, if…” Sylvie pauses for just a moment, darting out the tip of her tongue to wet her lips — more of a nervous gesture than anything. “…If maybe we could figure that out together.”

Loki swallows harshly — his own nervous gesture — remaining remarkably patient and quiet as he waits for Sylvie to continue.

“And I answered with ‘maybe,’” Sylvie continues, looking as lost to the memory of that day as he was. “If the offer still stands… I’d like to change my answer to yes.”

Loki laughs which, in most cases, isn’t the most ideal of responses to such a statement. But even through the nerves that Sylvie doesn’t know how to handle does she hear the clear relief in his laughter, the warm smile on his face helping to squash down those nerves better than any spoken words ever could.

“The offer still, as it always will do, stands.”

…But then again, she supposed those words helped, too.

* * *

A few hours later, with no TVA in sight, no snowstorm in sight, and too many drinks for them to count, it was fair enough to say that they were tip-toeing the line between ‘pleasantly tipsy’ and… downright hammered.

“I thought you were the one that was supposed to be dragging me up the stairs.” Loki’s words come out a little more slurred than they sounded in his head, the both of them hanging onto each other for support as they climb the old wooden stairs that looked a lot more slanted than they did earlier. In fact, they seemed to be doing a remarkable job of disobeying the laws of physics and jumping away from where he intended to place his foot.

“Says the guy leaning half of his weight on me,” Sylvie huffs, her free hand pressed against the wall for support. And… to stop them from tumbling down the stairs.

“You did,” Sylvie agrees. “You also then proceeded to tell me that ‘one more drink couldn’t hurt’, called the waitress over for the last of their wine stores, and then nearly stabbed that wannabe knight who started getting grabby with me.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Sylvie replies, which Loki doesn’t like the sound of at all. “Remember those ‘animalistic natures’ you talked about earlier? Well, let’s just say I’ve gotten used to dealing with people like that whilst on the run.”

Sylvie just barely manages to shove the steel key into the door’s lock, the scratch marks etched into the area of the handle around the hole itself indicating that most other drunk patrons of this Inn had dealt with the same problem. She all but leans her entire weight against the heavy door to push it open, nearly stumbling into the room and dragging Loki with her when the door finally gives way.

“Ah -- what a sight for sore eyes!” Loki crows in delight as he lays eyes on the king-sized bed pushed against the wall to the left of the doorway. The bed faced yet another fireplace — being the only room in the Inn for hire that included a fireplace, situated atop the fireplace downstairs in the pub and sharing its chimney. Renting such a room would usually cost a pretty penny… but having access to magic beyond most’s understanding made it much easier to get the five-finger discount.

“You know, I genuinely can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed,” Loki comments as he teeters towards the fireplace. He gracefully —by which he means he just let’s gravity do most of the work — drops down onto his knees in front of the fireplace, using a burst of his magic to turn the pile of freshly cut logs and tinder within into a roaring fire within seconds. “I’m guessing the same could be said for you?”

“Depends what you classify as a bed.” Sylvie finishes up locking the door to the room, tucking the key into her pocket as she turns towards the room. “Most times, I was lucky to be lying on something even somewhat soft. Other times… well, let’s just say that sleep was often a luxury I couldn’t afford.”

Loki grimaces as he pushes himself up until he was standing, walking over to the bed and collapsing down onto it with an exhausted sounding huff, letting his hands rest atop his stomach as his back hits the — mostly — clean sheets underneath him.

“Suppose I shouldn’t expect much craftsmanship from Earth’s eighty century,” Loki comments on the state of the bed. Sylvie walks over to the bed, entering Loki’s frame of vision as she stands over him.

“At least I have a nice view, though.” He accompanies the comment with a sly smile, which gets him a roll of the eyes and a less than vicious kick to his leg hanging off the edge of the bed in response.

“Come on, budge up,” Sylvie indicates to where he was situated directly in the middle of the bed, motioning for him to move with a flick of her wrist.

Loki grunts with the little effort it takes to move himself over to one side of the bed. He closes his eyes against the comforting yet too bright light of the fire, feeling the dip of the bed as Sylvie takes a seat on the edge of it.

“Hey,” she tries to get his attention, tapping at his thigh until he creaks an eye open to look at her. “You do still have the TemPad, right?”

Loki answers by digging into his oversized coat pocket, pulling out the TemPad and holding it out in the air for her to take. She takes it from his hands, running a thumb along the smoothed marble edge, watching as it lights up at her touch.

“I think it likes you more than me,” Loki mumbled from beside her.

“Mmm… not sure it has the capability to pick favorites.”

“If it’s smart enough to recognize us as its owners, then it might be able to differentiate between us and have a preference to which of us is wielding it.”

“Well… I have used it more than you,” Sylvie points out, and on cue, the surface of the TemPad lights up, as if it were agreeing with her words.

Loki pushes himself up from the bed, matching Sylvie as he sits at the edge of the bed. He runs a tired hand over equally tired eyes, glancing down to the TemPad in her hands. “Why’d you use Mo -- the other TemPad, instead of that one?”

If Sylvie noticed him tripping over his words, she didn’t mention it. “We said it’d be best to grab a backup, didn’t we? And… you seemed a little, uh… shaken at the time, to get the TemPad back off you.”

“Right…” Loki drops his gaze down to his lap, seemingly shrinking in on himself.

“Loki… I’m so sorry,” Sylvie says gently, trying to find the best way to approach the subject they had both seemingly been avoiding. “I know that Mobius, he was… he was a good friend.”

“No, not a good friend.” Loki shakes his head, glancing up at her. “He was… my only friend.”

The pain on his face briefly gives way to one of panic, quickly attempting to backtrack on what he had just said. “Oh, uh, that’s not to say that you’re not my friend, it’s just that -- I’ve always seen as you as something different than—”

Sylvie smiles at his awkward and bumbling words, reaching out to place her hand on his upper arm. “I know. I get what you’re trying to say.”

Loki relaxes at that, sighing quietly to himself in relief. “If it hadn’t been for Mobius, I would have been reset moments after my so-called ‘trial.’ He… broke me down and pulled me apart, forcing me to realize truths about myself that I had always tried to run from. Meeting him, just like meeting you, it… it changed me. Or… or more so it made me realize that I was capable of changing myself.”

Sylvie’s hand moves up and down his arm in soothing motions, the comforting touch forcing his eyes shut. “He’s still out there, Loki. We’ll find him again.”

“How am I supposed to face him again?” Loki asks desperately. “How can I look him in the eye, knowing what I’ve done to him?”

“You need to stop seeing that variant as him. Just like me and you, that Mobius and the one we know are nearly different people entirely. Different choices made, different lives lived. Who we are -- who we become -- is more than just what we are at birth. That Mobius made the choice to pick up the Pruning Stick. That Mobius made the choice to threaten us, not the Mobius you know. You didn’t kill Mobius; you killed a man that was holding a weapon to my neck, and I… I can’t even begin to thank you for that.”

Loki shoots her an incredulous look. “You can’t have really thought I would have let him��?”

“I thought it might have been a possibility.” Sylvie shrugs her shoulders, Loki’s baffled expression only growing stronger at her response.

“Mobius is… he’s the only — and the greatest — friend I’ve ever had,” Loki begins, placing a hand over hers on his shoulder. “But you? You’re…”

Loki wasn’t even sure he had a word to describe what Sylvie was to him. None that he knew quite seemed to fit, didn’t quite match the way he felt when he thought about her. She was… himself, both the good parts and the bad parts. She was… she was him, and yet she wasn’t. She was… a force of nature that came crashing into his life as much as he had been chasing it, stirring up trouble and chaos wherever she went, and yet, left behind the seeds of new life, of new beginnings once the destruction had cleared.

She was… the driving force that made him want to be someone different. She was the only person he wanted by his side as they took on this seemingly impossible task.

She was…

“...My Glorious Purpose.”

There was a split second where Loki wondered if perhaps those words weren’t the best to use. Sure, he had mentioned his ‘Glorious Purpose’ before, and since the future version of himself had brought it up, he… kind of just assumed that the idea of a ‘Glorious Purpose’ was something that was sort of built into every Loki. Now though, when he thought about it from an outside perspective, the use of ‘my’ seemed to suggest a claim of ownership over Sylvie, which was certainly not the impression he wanted to give off.

He stops worrying about it when the concerned frown on her face slowly softens, changing to one of disbelief at his statement. He can’t help but give her a small smile at the sight of her shock, looking back down to his lap with that half-turned smile slipping away.

“I’m not too sure when it changed,” he admits to her. “I suppose that… most other versions of my ‘Glorious Purpose’ always involved me ruling over… something. Asgard… Midgard… The Nine Realms; then, when I discovered the power they held, The TVA. Same goal, just… different circumstances. And you know what the strange thing is?”

Sylvie was still a bit too dumbstruck from Loki’s previous admission, only able to stare avidly at him as he speaks.

“I didn’t even want them. Not really,” Loki says, and then he laughs, the reality of his entire life now just seeming so incredibly absurd as he says it out loud.

What had his obsession over ruling truly been about? Did he think it would guide him towards happiness? Would he felt like he had achieved something he had earned through blood, sweat, and tears? That he took what should have been his, not something he had to take?

No… no, it wasn’t any of that. It was…

It was from feeling out of place.

He always had, right from the beginning. Always this feeling of… something not right. He had been the, quite literal, black sheep in the family. Watching his father sat atop the throne, witnessing the grandeur that came with his father’s title, hearing of the stories that led to his place on the throne… and then seeing the way his brother was co closely following in the footsteps of their father.

Thor was the oldest. He might have been a prince, just as Thor was, but he always knew that Thor was the one who would step up to the throne when the time came. He was… a backup, it sometimes felt like. The only time he truly felt wanted, and like he was right where he was meant to be, was whenever he was learning magic, paying rapt attention to his mother as she showed him all she knew.

Then, to find out who he truly was… What little claim he had to the title, what little claim he had to being an Asgardian, of being Son of Odin and Frigga was… gone. He was nothing more than a little ice runt, saved from abandonment to act as a token of peace in the hopes of ending both his father’s wars.

What if he had known? What if, like Sylvie, he had been told of who he really was? Would events still transpire as they had? Would Sylvie had done the same as him, if she had never been taken from her timeline? It seemed unlikely. For one, she seemed — at least on the outside — remarkably unphased about being adopted when he had brought it up back on Lamentis. And for another... she had spent her entire life running away from an organization that ruled over��everything that has existed, or ever will exist; it wasn’t all too surprising that the thought of ruling over anything didn’t really appeal to her.

And that was what it boiled down to. Him, desperately trying to grab hold of power in a bid for control, to prove to others and to himself that he deserved to be something -- someone -- other than a pawn in his father’s wars. And Sylvie… she had run, stolen, and killed her way through universe after universe, all to send a message to the TVA that she was more than just a pawn in their game that had made her own move, not theirs.

They both felt the need to prove that they belonged. Just... In different ways.

“How…” Sylvie tries to start speaking, clearing her throat with a shake of her head. “How am I your Glorious Purpose? Why am I…?”

“Not really something I can control,” Loki gestures to himself with a strained smile. “One moment, all I care about is finding my way back to the TVA, getting in front of the Time Keepers, and taking their place on the throne. Then… there you were. You were… persistent, and determined, and… me, yet… not. You were trying to destroy the TVA — the very thing I was trying to rule — and… I only had to know you for a day for everything to change. For me to change. I didn’t care about having a throne. I didn’t care about being in control. For once, I felt like I truly belonged — and that was whenever I was with you. I knew that… I could let myself be happy, so long as you’re happy.”

Sylvie has to look away from the intensity of his gaze, trying to wrap her head around everything he had just said. “I, um… I’m starting to think this is the wine talking.”

Loki chuckled lazily at that, dropping gracefully back down to the bed. “Hmm… wine does usually make me talk a lot.”

“You always talk a lot.”

“More so than usual,” Loki grumbles. “My point still stands; just because it’s the wine talking doesn’t mean it isn’t the truth.”

Sylvie glances back to him over her shoulder, drinking in the peaceful look on his face as he lies there with his eyes closed, looking about ready to drop off. She sighs quietly, looking back to the TemPad in her hands with a thoughtful frown.

“I wish I knew how to tell you the way I feel for you,” she admits to the quiet of the room. Loki’s eyes pop open, looking up to her in surprise.

“It seems like you’re better at all this than I am,” Sylvie continues, shuffling around on the bed so she could face him better. “Feels like… I have some catching up to do.”

“We both do,” Loki reassures her, pushing himself up onto his arms. “But that’s okay. We’ll figure things out at our own pace.”

“But what if I…” Sylvie trails off, face twisting in frustration. “…What if I never get there?”

“You will—”

“But you don’t know that,” Sylvie stresses, cutting him off. “And it’s... it’s not fair to you, for me to be stuck the way I am…”

“Sylvie, a few days before I met you, I was using a device to carve out and copy the information of a man’s eye.” Sylvie reels back slightly at this tidbit of information, but —thankfully— doesn’t ask about it any further. “And, you know… a friend once told me I could be whoever, or whatever, I wanted to be. We are capable of change, Sylvie -- especially when it’s a change we’re striving to achieve. And if you never get there?” Loki shrugs his shoulders. “That’s okay, too. I know you’ll find your own way to express how you feel.”

Sylvie shakes her head at the assurance in his voice. She wasn’t sure what it was she had done that had made Loki so… devoted to her. “Sometimes I’ll look at you, and I’ll think of something, and… and I just can’t say those thoughts out loud. And I should. If I can think them, why can’t I say them?”

“Sylvie… there’s a hell of a difference between thinking something, and acting on it. The way that I feel for you, it’s… it’s not easy for me to admit, either. It doesn’t feel all that long ago that I mocked people for being in love. And now, in their shoes, I know it’s more complicated then—”

Loki stopped himself when he caught sight of the wide-eyed look on Sylvie’s face, his mouth frozen partway open in mid-sentence. Loki might not have picked up on the significance of what he had just said out loud, but for Sylvie, those few words were echoing around in her head. It was almost funny that, seconds after saying he too struggled to admit how he feels, he had just dropped the biggest admission possible on her without even realizing it.

“What did you just say?” Sylvie whispers, eyes still wide as saucers.

Loki frowned, ready to ask which part of what he had just said, when the realization clobbers him around the head. He… he had never said that out loud, had he? But… but she knew, didn’t she? She had to — especially after sharing their emotions with each other as they delved into their memories, re-watching their moment on Lamentis through the power of enchantment.

“Ah…” Loki got out, trying not to let the panic take over. “That… that probably wasn’t the best time to say that, was it?”

Sylvie’s continuous silence and lack of a reaction other than just staring at him wasn’t doing much to calm his nerves. “Okay, I know I said it’s fine if you can’t express how you feel, but I’d really appreciate it if you said something right about now.”

“Did you mean it?” Sylvie asks, the vulnerability in her voice giving Loki pause. “Are you… are you really…?”

“In love with you?” Loki fills in the words Sylvie couldn’t seem to get out. Sylvie sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth at the words, slowly nodding her head. A small smile flickers at the corner of Loki’s lips, looking away sheepishly. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Loki glances up at her from his ducked gaze, watching as she takes this in. She teeters back on the bed, eyes darting around the room in what Loki hoped was closer to something like shock than just downright panic.

“Please, don’t -- don’t freak out.” Loki wanted to reach out to her, but wasn’t sure how well-received his touch would be right now. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you—”

“Say it again.”

Loki blinked at her in surprise, the response not what he was expecting. “I… excuse me?”

“Say it again,” Sylvie repeats firmly, looking him straight in the eye.

Loki schools his confused expression, meeting her searching gaze as he repeats the one thing he never thought he’d get to say. “I’m in love with you.”

Sylvie’s eyes narrow for a moment, her eyes scanning across his face for some kind of tell that he was lying — some form of manipulation, one which would be the cruelest kind. “Again,” She repeats, unable to keep the shakiness out of her voice.

“I’m in love with you.” It was almost scary how easy it was coming to him, now. It was like stating the weather, or what he had eaten for dinner. Just… a matter of fact. An absolute truth — and he was finding he enjoyed saying it as much as he enjoyed knowing she had now heard those words fall from his lips.

Loki wasn’t sure what about him saying it for the third time made Sylvie believe it, but she seemed to find whatever it was she was looking for from him. Sylvie rushes towards him, grabbing hold of the lapels of his coat and pulling him towards her until their lips met. It was already much too warm in the room from the heat radiating from the fireplace, so Loki was all too eager to assist Sylvie as she begins yanking his coat off.

They break apart for the briefest of moments to pull his arms out from the sleeves of the coat, balling it up and throwing it carelessly to the side, nearly setting it alight as it lands near the fire. Loki happily follows the directions of her push, falling back onto the bed and savoring the feeling of her body pressed against his as her weight falls onto him.

“You’re right -- I can find another way to express the way I feel,” Sylvie pants a few tantalizing inches from his mouth. It takes all of Loki’s focus to listen to what she’s saying and not just surge up and reclaim her lips like his body was screaming at him to do. “And I’ve always been more a woman of actions than words, anyway.”

Next Chapter - - - >

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki/sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

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believermag · 8 years ago

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Something Happened on the Day He Died

Jordan A. Rothacker on David Bowie

On Friday, January 8th 2016, David Bowie turned sixty-nine and his final album Blackstar, was released. I purchased it that morning, having waited for months. On the following day I sat for a black star tattoo straight from the album cover; a recent writing project was lousy with black stars and I felt more than ever that Bowie and I were on the same wave. After a weekend of listening to the album I was awoken Monday morning, January 11th 2016 by my wife, “before you look at your phone, Bowie passed away yesterday.” She was right, my text messages were as full as my Facebook feed with tearful and shocked notifications from friends, but I was glad I heard it from her first.

It took until December of 2016 for me to finally read Simon Critchley’s little book, Bowie (OR Books/Counterpoint, 2016). I’ve wanted this book since it came out in 2014 and I remember reacting, “a book by one of my favorite living philosophers on one of my favorite living everythings? Yes, please.” Luckily I put it off until this 2016 re-issue with extra chapters treating Bowie’s death and final album. Although most of the book was written more than two years ago it is hard not to read the whole thing eulogistically. His spirit goes on though, now more than ever, as the last dreadful year has come to a close. I lost of close friends and faith in my country, but now my thoughts turn back to Bowie with hope his art can carry me forward.

What have I lost in Bowie? For the most part, the same things we all have: the chance for more music, more movie appearances, and just the knowledge that he is out there being brilliant and dashing, making art, and giving a wry smile to a paparazzo. What have I lost personally? True confession time. I have always dreamed of knowing Bowie (I’ve never even seen him perform live), but more so, and more embarrassingly, I’ve always wanted him to know me. I’d hoped one day he would read one of my books and like it. That moment of mutual respect between artists, that bump to my sense of worth from an artist who has helped shape my understanding of the world, art, and myself.

This is why sometimes Critchley’s book feels like it’s talking to me or for me. I haven’t read much about Bowie. He is mine and my feelings for him and about him need not be mediated. Critchley’s book however is now added to a small list of my favorite Bowie books which also includes Hugo Wilcken’s Low and Steve Erickson’s These Dreams of You.

Critchley’s book praises Wilcken’s so I’ll start there and circle around back. Wilcken’s Low (Continuum, 2010) doesn’t need a book review; it’s kinda perfect (I say kinda since perfect is such a strong word). It’s one of the best 33 1/3s I’ve read, and I’ve read a lot. I’m a sucker for this series of tiny books on albums of music as I have always suffered from that most Cartesian of obsessions in regards to my most beloved art works, the need to know how he, she, or they did it. The reverse engineering of a work gives me faith that maybe I could also do or make something comparable. Wilcken’s Low is like the sweetest of candies; I wanted to devour and savor all at once, which is difficult with such a short book. Wilcken chose Low because it was a definitive turning point in Bowie’s body of work and during maybe the most beloved period in the myth of the artist. In 136 pages the reader experiences a thorough historical context for the album and detailed production notes for each song as well as each song. The most important moments I savor from this book are descriptions of his work ethic and the well-researched information about his time in Berlin.

After a teenage obsession with Ziggy Stardust, the Berlin years have always been my favorite period and that’s where Erickson’s These Dreams of You (Europa Editions, 2012) comes in, illustrating the Berlin years in the subplot of a larger novel. The book is about a white novelist, Alexander “Zan” Nordhoc, and his family. The narrative opens with the election of Barack Obama not long after their adoption of a little Ethiopian girl with gray eyes named, Zema (mostly called, Sheba). The structure involves small paragraph vignettes familiar from Erickson’s last Europa novel, Zeroville, but otherwise from the start of my first read I wondered, “is Steve Erickson actually writing a domestic family novel? Where is the trademarked weirdness I love so much?” My worries were for naught, for after about fifty pages it started getting weird, and oh so wonderfully weird. Ultimately it is a novel about race in America and therefore about America itself. On the second page, watching the first black president’s victory, Zan wonders, “Do I have the right… as a middle-aged white man, to hold my face in my hands? and then thinks, No. And holds his face in his hands anyway, silently mortified that he might do something so trite as sob.”

It is the only book by a white guy that I included in my African Diaspora Literature course, and only in a summer section to follow complementarily Obama’s memoir, Dreams From My Father. The book captures the spirit of Obama’s election, his place in history, but never directly names him. This is Erickson’s way of writing historical fiction since Zeroville, never naming names. But what does this have to do with David Bowie? We can only assume that he is the “British extraterrestrial in a dress” or “the man who sings the hero song [with] red hair” whom four year old Sheba/Zema is obsessed with. These Dreams of You is a complicated work that shows all of Erickson’s narrative deftness, the twisting, ellipsing Mobius strip orchestration of strands and timelines that all interweave and make total sense by the end. One of those twists that proves essential to the whole follows a black woman named Jasmine, who while working in the music business is assigned to assist a rocker who seems a lot like David Bowie. She accompanies him and his friend Jim (Iggy Pop?) to Berlin where they record music with a man called The Professor (Brian Eno?). In his not so covert way, Erickson depicts the recording of the albums Low and “Heroes” and all of the escapades of that period: the lingering Crowley occultism, the conviction to kick cocaine through copious amounts of alcohol, the transvestite clubs, the obsession with kraut-rock like Can, Neu!, and Kraftwerk. Moreover, Erickson captures what drew Bowie to Berlin, what first enticed him through the writing of Christopher Isherwood. Berlin was not just the City of Ghosts, it was the City of the Wall, both East and West, Old World and New, Weimar burlesque and pulsing kraut-rock. It was a time and place that inspired Bowie to create two of his greatest albums (and eventually Lodger, which is still pretty good) that both helped take “pop” music to a whole new place, along with great solo work from Iggy Pop (The Idiot and Lust For Life, both produced and co-written with Bowie). In the almost caricatured portraits by Erickson are a stylized ideal of the artists at work, inspired by this liminal space, the guards posted on the Wall just outside the Hansa studio windows. It is a space where maybe the most emblematic theme in Bowie’s work comes out: love as defiance. “I can remember/Standing, by the wall/And the guns, shot above our heads/And we kissed, as though nothing could fall/And the shame, was on the other side/Oh, we can beat them, forever and ever/Then we could be heroes, just for one day,” as he says in the song “Heroes.”

But now, what does this have to do with a book about race in America? The Bowie character in the book tries to explain to Jasmine why he’s in Berlin and what this new work is all about. “Look, the whole century has been about black and white fucking… New York Jews like Gershwin, Kern, Arlen cumming southern Negro music while Duke Ellington ravishes Nineteenth Century Europeans like Debussy,” he says. Erickson’s use of “Bowie” gets at the heart of another central theme in Bowie’s oeuvre, the embracing and merging of binaries.

This is why I chose the book for my class and why I believe the students responded so well to it. The narrator explains, “Zan began pondering race when he was younger only because he began pondering his country, and knew that it wasn’t possible to understand his country without pondering slavery and it wasn’t possible to understand slavery without pondering race. He considered how his countrymen from Africa were the only ones who didn’t choose to be there; Africans were compelled to come and only once they were made to come did they choose to stay. Did that make them, then, the true owners of the country’s great idea, by virtue of having accepted the country in the face of so many reasons not to? If the country is more an idea than a place then are those who were so compelled its true occupants, given how the country’s promise to them was broken before it was offered?”. This is to support a conversation Zan has about race in America a little earlier where he says, “what the zealot or the ideologue really believes in is the zealous nature itself, the devout embrace of hard distinctions—the crusade against gray.”

As this book illustrates, grayness is what Bowie was all about. This AND that. Andro and gyne. Like how gray is both black and white, Bowie was masculine and feminine, straight and gay, artist and pop star (one could be critical and declare that all of this grayness is aspirational and point out that Bowie never escaped being a white, straight male whose aesthetic endeavors were all rooted in privilege and appropriation, but right now I am most certainly here to praise Caesar). Bowie helped destroy binaries by embracing them. His place in Erickson’s wonderful novel helps express this. If you think Erickson might be alone in this sentiment some tangential support might be found in the Acknowledgements of the 2016 novel, Underground Railroad, where Colson Whitehead says, “David Bowie is in every book [of mine].”

It is especially the last duality, Artist and Pop Star, which always excited me most about Bowie. He was legit and fun. Dissertation-worthy and danceable. He was the first side of Low and the second. He was references to Greta Garbo and the Golden Dawn all in one song. Maybe this is what makes David Bowie the quintessential Pop Star to many people. In Low, Wilcken explains how “popular music as it developed in the fifties and sixties turns the cultural paradigm on its head. With pop, postmodernism always came before modernism. Pop culture didn’t actually need any Andy Warhol to make it postmodern. Rock ‘n’ roll was never anything but a faked-up blues—something that the glam-era Bowie had understood perfectly,” and then quoting Brian Eno: “Some people say Bowie is all surface style and second-hand ideas, but that sounds like the definition of pop to me.”

This now brings me back to Critchley’s book in which early on he describes the “inauthenticity” of Bowie. “The ironic self-awareness of the artist and their audience can only be that of their inauthenticity, repeated at increasingly conscious levels.” Bowie clearly understands this as is evidenced in his song “Andy Warhol” off Hunky Dory (1971) in which we find the line, “Andy Warhol, silver screen/Can’t tell them apart at all.” On this topic Critchley continues, “Art’s filthy lesson is inauthenticity all the way down, a series of repetitions and reenactments: fakes that strip away the illusion of reality in which we live and confront us with the reality of illusion;” and, “Bowie’s genius allows us to break the superficial link that seems to connect authenticity to truth.” Finally, after more Heideggerian digressions, he brings it all home with: “In my humble opinion, authenticity is the curse of music from which we need to cure ourselves. Bowie can help. His art is a radically contrived and reflexively away confection of illusion whose fakery is not false, but at the service of a felt corporeal truth.”

I might not have been able to express this better myself and that is why I’m so grateful Critchely did. He and I are of the same world, a world he describes “of people for whom Bowie was the being who permitted a powerful emotional connection and freed them to become some other kind of self, something freer, more queer, more honest, more open, and more exciting.” Critchley also helped me understand that what makes Bowie’s music so successful in reaching people is that what is at its core is a yearning for connection. For all of Bowie’s lyrics about tragic characters, dystopian settings, solitude, and loneliness, there is a romantic notion about the ability of love to triumph in some small way, to make us heroes even, just for one day. The song that ends the album Ziggy Stardust (1972), that ends the eponymous tragic character’s narrative, is called “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” and it sure hit a nerve with me as an angsty teenager. It can still bring a tear to my eye as the pleading bombast of final lyrics (which Critchley writes about in a short chapter titled, “Wonderful”):

Oh no love! You’re not alone No matter what or who you’ve been No matter when or where you’ve seen All the knives seem to lacerate your brain I’ve had my share I’ll help you with the pain You’re not alone Just turn on with me and you’re not alone Let’s turn on with me and you’re not alone (wonderful) Let’s turn on and be not alone (wonderful) Gimme your hands ’cause you’re wonderful (wonderful) Gimme your hands ’cause you’re wonderful (wonderful) Oh gimme your hands.

Critchley’s little book is heartfelt and thoughtful. I’ve read it twice now—almost as many times as the other two books—and it is another element in my connection to a great artist that I will never know but always love. What these three books reinforce to me about David Bowie, the thing I take the most away from him after sheer aesthetic pleasure, is a deeply committed artistic discipline. Critchley dwells on the fakeness and inauthenticity of Bowie’s artistry, and while I like what he makes of that philosophically, I’ve always understood this about Bowie to just be professionalism. Bowie wasn’t some bright shooting star of a rocker, burning himself out and dying young, although he did get to experience that with his Ziggy Stardust personae. David Bowie was a consummate artist who mostly worked in the medium of popular music and created great work until the end of his life, a year ago today.

Jordan A. Rothacker is the author of the novella, The Pit, and No Other Stories (Black Hill Press, 2015), and the novel, And Wind Will Wash Away (Deeds, 2016). He holds a PhD in Comparative Literature and a MA in Religion from the University of Georgia. He lives in Athens, Georgia.

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josephborrello · 5 years ago

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Magnitude and Direction, Issue #41 | 6 Sep 2019

Hardware, Prototyping, and Fabrication

The Mobius Flex is both an elegantly simple work of electronics art, as well as an ingenious use of a flexible PCB. 🛸 The Curiosity rover's wheel's have taken quite a beating in the time it's been driving around the Martian surface. Take your files LITERALLY everywhere you go, with this implantable mesh network device. I appreciate how open-sourced this is, but I think I'll pass on implanting this in my forearm.

Software and Programming

From the MIT Tech Review: You can now practice firing someone in virtual reality. Well, isn't that lovely? How do you turn your macbook (or any laptop, for that matter) into a touchscreen for about $1? I'll give you a hint, computer vision is involved. This video of Bill Hader turning into the people he's impersonating is one of the most jarring things I've ever seen, and also the scariest deepfake-produced video I've ever encountered. Perhaps you've heard me say this here before (you have), but AI-driven fake news articles are getting uncannily good at writing to any prompt and we're going to start to have a really hard time identifying fake news, videos, etc. unless we're really paying close attention. Still don't believe me? Try making a fake article yourself.

Science, Engineering, and Biomedicine

🥃 What do you do with an artificial tongue? Taste whiskey to make sure it's not counterfeit, of course. 🔴🔴 According to popular lore, you can predict the weather based on sky color. The saying typically goes, “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.” The saying has been around in various forms for a long time, and the reason it’s lasted so long is that it actually works (at least in certain parts of the world), as XKCD artist Randall Munroe explains with words (and cartoons) in the New York Times. ➕➕🧑➕🤴 It turns out that having a few extra husbands can be a good way to weather tough times. Apparently we've had the idea of a harem backwards this whole time.

Mapping, History, and Data Science

The Version Museum may be the easiest museum in the world to visit, seeing as you can get there right from the device you're reading this on right now. What does this Version Museum exhibit? The old versions of some of the world's most influential websites. (It really does feel like a "only 90s babies will remember..." article - crazy how much has changed in the just under a quarter century.) ‍ Here's a design guide for the flags of all the US states, which explains but doesn't quite justify why some of these designs were chosen. ⚰ Since it is my birthday today, I'll also continue a long-running social media tradition here and share my deathclock. Do you live in The Midwest?

Events and Opportunities

Maybe my channels to find out about upcoming events and opportunities have just increased, because we've got another jam-packed section in this edition of M&D:

Friday 9/6 I'd like to say Nanotech NYC scheduled their next nanonite happy hour in honor of my birthday, but I don't think Jacob or the other organizers know when my birthday is! (Although they do now.) At any rate, NYC's nanotech community (practitioners and enthusiasts alike) will be getting together at Clinton Hall in east Midtown.

Monday, 9/9 Small science gets a big showcase at Nano Day at the CUNY Advanced Science Research Center. Learn about some of the most exciting nanotechnology research and innovations coming from the NYC area and meet other technologists working in the field.

Monday, 9/9 Innovation Forum New York is co-hosting a workshop with NYU Biolabs on fundraising for biotech startups, a topic of utmost importance to entrepreneurs in the life sciences. The workshop will provide valuable insights for all interested in starting their own company or considering work at a startup.

Tuesday, 9/10 The NYC Emerging Healthcare Technology meetup is holding their next event for anyone interested in creating websites for Healthcare

Tuesday, 9/10 The Accelerating BioVenture Innovation 12-week entrepreneurship training program kicks off at Cornell Med. The program is focused on building teams and business plans around patented technologies from Weill Cornell Medicine, Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and Rockefeller University.

Wednesday, 9/11 Ingredient Intelligence startup (and M&D darling) See Thru is holding the first panel discussion in their Straight Talk series, aimed at unpacking emerging trends at the intersection of beauty, science, and technology. The first topic: what does it mean to be "transparent" in the digital age, where consumers are more educated on products than ever?

Wednesday, 9/11 Scientists, researchers, cartographers, artists, and everyone in between will be gathering together at Peculier Pub for the next SciArt mixer.

Friday, 9/13 The Nanotech NYC meetup hosts Kendra Krueger, the founder of 4LoveandScience, a research and education platform that inspires new modes of working and learning in a complex world. An electrical engineer with nanotech experience in academia and the photonics industry, Kendra is also a trained facilitator in mindfulness, sustainable design and social justice.

Some other upcoming events to keep on your radar...

Wednesday, 9/18 LiveIntent is hosting their first tech happy hour at their office in lower Manhattan. The event promises to be a great opportunity for New York tech professionals to network, share ideas, meet our team, and learn all about LiveIntent and how their re-imagining email. There will be food, beer and wine provided, along with video games and board games available!

Friday, 9/20 The Aspen Institute Science & Society Program and the Institute for Systems Genetics at NYU Langone Health are co-hosting InspireScience, a symposium inspiring scientists to create a more outward-looking culture through communication, engagement, and innovation. Scientists of all levels are welcome to this special event focused on community building through communication and outreach.

Tuesday, 9/24 Join NYDesigns for a tour of their 5,000 square foot fabrication facility and learn about how you can make use of all the impressive equipment there at their upcoming open house.

Tuesday, 9/24 Join GeoNYC and Doctors Without Borders for a special map-a-thon to fill in missing geospatial data for underserved regions in order to provide international and local NGOs and individuals with the data they need to better respond to crises.

Wednesday, 9/25 Coming off their 1st birthday party, the NYC JLABS crew is taking a short break for the summer but will be back in September for their next Innovators and Entrepreneurs mixer.

Wednesday, 9/25 The RobotLab meetup's September event focuses on the good, the bad, and the ugly of Industry 4.0 and autonomous manufacturing.

Thursday, 9/26 It's been touched on in previous Existential Medicine events, but the next science seminar collab between New Lab and JLABS dives deep into the revolutionary, and sometimes controversial technology of CRISPR. Use code "NewLab2019" to unlock the event registration.

Saturday, 9/28 Admission is just the swipe of a metro card for the Parade of Trains at the Brighton Beach station. Vintage train cars from all periods of the subway's history will be on display, as well as taking passengers on short trips around south Brooklyn.

Tuesday, 10/1 The next stop on Ogilvy's healthcare innovation pop-up series takes them to Hudson Yards, where they're teaming up with the HITLAB and SAP.iO Foundry for an event that will focus primarily on the female and underserved health innovators who are disrupting healthcare today.

October 11-16 Innovation Week at Mount Sinai. What started as just the SINAInnovations conference is now a week's worth of activities dedicated to bringing New York's biomedical innovation communities together. Here's the full lineup:

Friday-Sunday, 10/11-13 Mount Sinai Health Hackathon. The 4th annual Mount Sinai Health Hackathon will be an exciting 48-hour transdisciplinary competition focused on creating novel technology solutions for problems in healthcare. This year’s theme is Artificial Intelligence – Expanding the Limits of Human Performance.

Tuesday, 10/15 Careers & Connections 2019. October may feel far away, but I promise you it's not and you'll want to be sure to mark your calendars for GRO-Biotech's next big event, the Careers & Connections mini-conference and networking event, held concurrently with emerging healthcare technologies conference, SINAInnovations.

Tuesday & Wednesday, 10/15-16 SINAInnovations Conference. The Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai is hosting its eighth annual SINAInnovations conference around the theme of Artificial Intelligence. A range of talks and panels will focus on the explosive growth of AI in our society and in particular in medicine, featuring international thought leaders across the range of relevant domains.

Saturday, 10/26 The Future of Care conference is back at Rockefeller University featuring some of the latest breakthroughs in clinical care and the innovators helping shepherd them from bench to bedside. Apply to attend the conference by September 6th.

Tuesday, 10/29 Join Columbia Nano Labs for their annual Industry Day conference. Learn how you can use and leverage the Nano Labs facilities, hear from a panel of entrepreneurs who have done just that, and listen to faculty and technical experts discuss the way these sophisticated tools contribute to cutting-edge research. (Yes, this was rescheduled from the originally planed date of 9/5.)

Friday-Sunday, 11/8-10 For 36 hours on November 8-10, HackPrinceton will bring together 600 developers and designers from across the country to create incredible software and hardware projects. They'll have swag, workshops, mentors, prizes, games, free food, and more.

Map of the Month

When we hear about the 2-3 Celsius increase in temperature that's going to set us on path to irreversible environmental changes, it often sounds like it's still a ways off. As this map from the Washington Post shows, that future is already becoming a reality in some parts of the US.

Odds & Ends

"Jay Street and needless to say... ...Metrotech"

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