The worst had happened, already.

Trutt had begun to take the attitude that he had already lost everything that mattered to heart. It was easier to get through his day to day if he considered everything already gone. Some people flourished with a sense of hope. Alvin knew he would just pine away to nothing if he relied on hope. So, he took it for granted that he had nothing, and worked his way up from there.

To be able to get on with it all, he decided that he would not be seeing his son ever again in this life. Not seeing his lovely wife, his parents, his cousins, or his home. Ever again.

All had been taken from him for someone else’s greedy ends. One that bore no fruit, and never could. The curse laid on him over a century ago was complete and insidious. He could return home only after he had found what Loki sought. And what Loki was seeking, had been seeking since the Crusades, no longer existed.

And the price Alvin was paying for having found out that it was impossible to do was for Loki to refuse to remove the curse from all to whom he had so bespelled. Some fifty of his people had been sieved from their homes, loves, lives for this madness. Trutt knew of at least six other H’Aghram who, like him, now could never return to the Deep Holds.

It was not fair.

It never would be, either. Some gods had fallen so low as to be nothing more than pushy wisps. Nobodies. They blended in with the human population, not dying, but never really doing anything more than any other schlub who muddled inexpertly through modern life. Mobile semi-immortal memories with some limited ability to act.

But Loki was not one of those weak ones. He still had power. And he still held a grudge against those who, as he saw it, had failed him. Fair had nothing to do with Loki’s, nor by extension of a curse, Mister Trutt’s world view.

Alvin knew he shouldn’t take his frustrations out on others around him. If for no other reason, then it made doing his job just that much more difficult.

But, some days, when he woke up from one of these terrible memories masquerading as a dream, he just wanted to bite and tear at the very world itself.

The terminal had an assortment of odd people waiting; most looked even more tired than Trutt now felt. At a bleary-eyed two o’clock in the morning as the large glowing clock on the wall measured time.

He started to grin as he was able to spot Mister Cole off to one side of the listless and generally aimless milling crowd in the concourse. Shorter than every man in the airport but Trout himself, Mister Cole slumped in a form of bad posture that would have made even the laziest of teens worried about damaging his spine. Even if he stood up straight, Alvin doubted he would be an inch over five feet tall. Just a bare few inches shy of “Banner’s” height…

Mousy brown hair cut poorly over a wide forehead put a top on an ordinary if unattractive face. Freckled skin, more gray than tan, much like the industrial tile of the airport’s walls and floors covered his face and hands, though Trutt knew that outdoors, on a sunny day, maybe in the local woods or at a park, the young man would look healthy and more tan, almost brown (if a little on the green side) than the pale slate color he showed now.

Thin eyebrows looked drawn on over droopy, down at the corner, hazel eyes, wide protruding cheekbones, and a crooked nose with a knob on the tip, thin lips on a wide mouth, and a wide cleft chin completed the package; he had a true lantern jaw, if ever there was one.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He’ll not win many dates in this life…Thin but wiry, not emaciated…Leaning against the one shaded spot on the wall…hmmmm…

Nice clothes, if cut a bit baggy, in shades of browns and grays, with a faded blue shirt practically made to go unnoticed, told Mister Trutt, as if he hadn’t already known, as loudly as a scream that this boy didn’t like to stand out. The young man was either a schemer, waiting to find his next mark, or he was just very shy. Trutt knew he was shy. By the kid’s very nature, he hated being out in public. Being “seen.”

Trutt knew his type, and could spot his kind in pitch black if need be. It could have been the smell of baked goods, or the look of concentrated starvation that made the young man’s eyes protrude slightly; not the look of someone who had no food, just the look of a person waiting anxiously for their next meal. Walking up to Mister Cole with hand extended, Trutt also held out his other hand, gesturing in introduction. “Well, everyone,” He glanced back at the two who were following him, “This is Mister Elijah Cole. Working this evening on behalf of your benefactor, Mr Stark.”

Trutt paused a moment, and realized what was wrong. “Is Mrs Stark waiting in the car?”

“Please, just call me Cole.” An obviously reluctant grin slid onto his face then. The man was so shy; he seemed to draw in at the mention of his own name. “Mister Stark has rooms for you all at one of the nicer places he owns downtown. It’s an old building on the old Commonwealth campus, over on Franklin, you’ll like it. During the day the street is just filled with art students, but the walls are all thick, and the house was made up so no sound from the street gets in. Ummm…You’re Mister Trout, right? Mister Stark gave me a promotion while you were away, I didn’t know you knew who I was. I’ve been doing the cooking and errands, and …” The young man named Cole had thrown words out so fast he knew he was sounding spastic, it showed on his face. Cole tried a new track,

In a halting accent that said he had never been out of Richmond in his young life, Cole stammered and stuttered out “Umm…So, uh…Mrs Stark decided to spend the evening out with some friends, and contacted me to fill in for her here. Uh, who do we have? I don’t know his kind, but she’s a human. I can see that she may look like a Wahruhme, but from what I can tell, is human… I, uhm, can see that from here.”

Mister Trout was taken aback. The boy was just talking openly about them all as if the room wasn’t full of travelers and family. “Voice a little lower, please. Let’s not let the general populace know us quite that well, yes? And, yes, she is; as to him…I’ll leave those bits to them, and to Stark. Nothing personal mind you, just not my story to go on about. So, no Ahoo?”

“No Ahoo.” the lad confirmed.

“Hrrm. Not a fan of changes in the plans. Does Stark know Ahoo took a powder?”

The boy looked confused. “...a powder?” he asked?

“A powder. Left. Went away. Went astray from the plans. Dropped us from her social calendar. Scooted off. We are truly Ahoo-free.”

“Uhm, yeah. No Ahoo.”

“So, no Ahoo.”

“Can we just stop saying Ahoo, sir? It’s starting to feel weird.”

A pause had too much fun and found itself pregnant. Squinting up at the boy he came to a decision about how best to rattle a shy young man.”Well, we’ll get on without her, then.”

Then, just to needle the kid, “Are there any good nudie bars that have opened in this town since I left?”

Trutt knew for a fact that there were none, but loved seeing what he guessed to be Stark’s idea of his new protege imitating a tomato by deeply reddening as he watched. “I’m feeling some needs coming on me after such a long trip.” The look on Trout’s face was enough to make Cole’s ears go even redder; and the blood rushed to his cheeks in a mad bid for freedom. So, I’m petty. But, then, most would say I’m a small man, anyway…

Cole did his best impression of a small animal caught in headlamps. “I’ll…umm…find out for you, sir. Umm…someone I work with would know that kind of thing.” Trutt knew he had a real, honest to gosh in-NO-cent on his hands now. “I think the city frowns on too much nudity, I’m not sure there are any strip clubs around here where they let them strip it ALL umm…off…, I’ll have to ask Kurt. He’s older than me anyway, and goes to all sorts of places...and…uh, stuff.”

“Older than you? My goodness! How old are you, boy?” Trout eyed him up and then further up, skeptically.

“Ummm, I’m only twenty. Sir.”

“Gracious, lad! How’d you get so ugly in only twenty years?” Trout’s tone was that of astonishment, but his expression held the joke in check.