07: Friendless

"You are going out, young man." Said Frigga, barging into Loki's room without warning. She tightly gripped his hands, pulling him away.

"Where?" asked Loki, curious about where she was dragging him. A feeling of dread rising in him. The last time his mother dragged him away, it did not go well.

"To make friends," responded his mother with a slightly frightening smile playing on her lips. Loki raised an eyebrow. He wasn't good at making friends.

"Whom are we meeting?" he asked, intrigued despite his reservations.

"Come with me," she said, without any room for negotiation.

"Can't refuse anyway, I am already being dragged," said Loki with a small, ignored voice.

They then arrived at a vast room with a rectangular table in the center. Behind it were two old chairs. They sat on them, face to face.

"Those are your targets," announced Frigga, placing two folios, each around ten pages long, on the table.

"Mom, we aren't planning an assassination!" Loki didn't like how serious his mother seemed.

"We are assassinating your friendless self," she responded, punching the table.

"ouch," murmured Loki, wincing, faking the death of his pride.

"Now, let's start," said Frigga, flipping open one of the folios and pointing at a photo.

"This is Osi Sigelagson, 15 years old. A determined child with aspirations to become the leader of our armies. He is strong-willed and passes, since the beginning of the year, his time, training swordsmanship."

"Only problem being that he has no one to train him for now, as soldier lessons start earliest at 20 years old."

"Every morning he spends one hour swinging his sword, alone. He has no met much improvement, but his will has grown and it has been determined that he has talent."

"He is the only son of a relatively normal family. His father is one of our guards while his mother sells weapons."

"His parents don't train him for now as they don't want him to become arrogant by being stronger than all at such a young age"

"They, however, instruct him as to how to develop his swordsmanship. They also want him to bloom his own techniques through pure talent, believing that someone capable of improvising much better chances had than someone who would learn already perfected techniques."

"He is a serious child, preferring to train than play hide and seek. He has, however, still that childish wonder about creatures."

"He respects strength but also intellect and magic. He doesn't like Hypocrites, but respects all forms of battle be it mind battles or assassins hiding in the shadows."

"I think you would go well together, and he could become your right-hand man in the future"

"Now, the second one is Bjalfi Asjbornson, a dwarf aiming to forge the weapon of a king."

"He has an outstanding talent in forging. He is more oriented on the molding part than the enchanting part"

"He has already created two knifes capable of cutting through iron like butter even with minimal strength."

"He is currently 16 years old, so three years older than you and Thor. He is also an only son, but his mother, however, died a few years ago."

"He seems intelligent and understanding. He has high empathy, but is also capable of putting that aside if needed."

She took a deep breath and looked intensively into his eyes.

"So those are my future friends," whispered Loki, his mind imagining countless plans to approach them—many of them ending in defeat.

"If you can become friends with them, yes, but I believe in you." She said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"And how am I supposed to become friends with them?" asked Loki, a small sense of hopelessness in his heart. He wasn't the most social one. There was a reason he thought he was a sociopath in his past life.

"Loki, you are good at redirecting a conversation about what you want. You should be able to make friends. " Her eyes looked straight at his with a reassuring glint—which did not help at all.

"But how?" he asked again, his words stuck in his throat.

"What do you mean, how?" Frigga questioned him, concerned.

"I mean, yes, I know how to make a conversation go where I want. But how does one start a conversation?" he clarified, hiding his inner turmoil.

"You just go to the person," she simply said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And?" He titled his head. This did not help him one bit!

"And… talk with them!" she looked at him with a frozen smile,

"About what?" he placed his elbows on the table, holding his head.

"Everything and nothing," she answered in a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Raising kids was hard.

"Doesn't help me," said Loki in a monotone voice. This discussion was going nowhere, almost taking the reality's stone away.

"Just talk with them!" she stretched her palms sideways, her patience wearing thin.

"About what?! The weather?" Loki exclaimed, extremely frustrated by his introvertness.

"No! About whatever comes to your mind," she facepalmed. Her son was really a lost cause.

"… Those thoughts aren't things to talk about." Remarked Loki.

"Then about whatever there is at the moment." She told him, her serious expression breaking down.

"Where will I meet them?" He asked to at least prepare a plan of attack.

"A party organized for children between 5 and 20 years old." She responded, her finger massaging her temples.

"5 and 20, isn't that too much of a gap?" remarked Loki, surprised that 20 years olds would participate in a party with 5 years olds.

"No, it's a small one. If it were me, I would have made it for children between 5 and 30." She said, murmuring the last part.

'Dayum! I forgot that Asgardian grow up slowly.' He thought, embarrassed at having forgotten this fact.

"Is there a theme to the party?" he asked curiously.

"A theme? No, why would there be one?" She shook her head and looked at him a bit funnily.

'So, Asgardians don't do theme parties.' He remarked in his head.

"Now Loki, Let's do a small test. Approach me as if I was one of the children at the party," she told him, standing up.

"Hello, I am Loki." He said, walking toward her, a warm smile on his face.

"Hello, Loki. I'm Frigga. Nice to meet you." She extended her arm for a handshake, which they did.

"…"

"…"

"Come on! Say something!" she told him desperately.

"You are supposed to say more than just "nice to meet you"!" he yelled in response.

"Well, there are some asocial people like you who wouldn't say anything. Besides, you are the one who is exercising! Not me!" she remarked.

"What the fuck am I supposed to say?!" he exclaimed, his frustration boiling.

"Language, young man!" she scolded him, her eyebrows furrowing.