Chapter - 2

(The present)

The moment the door of the limo opened, the circus started. An explosion of shouting, screaming, whooping, a lightning storm of flashes, Thor's name called out from every direction, everybody trying to tear a piece of him. The crowd amassed behind the security fences, holding up signs and photos for the stars to autograph. The noise was deafening, the buzz electrifying. Would he ever get used to it? Did he want to? Half blinded, he waved and smiled at the beast.

Amora's legs appeared from the car, and for a while they kept on appearing, they were that long. Thor gentlemanly helped her out and up, virtually disabled as she was by those heels. She clasped a possessive hand around the crook of Thor's elbow and flashed him a grin. The photographers went nuclear. She was very beautiful, not cultured but not dumb, an OK fuck, and liked to laugh. They had been together for four months. The journalists had started to ask if they were getting serious. Thor could hardly answer that he was already looking for his next.

Through the white dots in his retinas, he spied Loki climbing down out of the other side of the limo. He unfolded to his full height, tugged at his suit to tidy it up, and made his way around the limo, stopping a couple of steps away from where Thor and Amora were posing for the photographers.

The publicist nudged Thor along. He turned to make sure Loki was following. His brother flickered his green eyes to him, piercing and sharp, and winked. He cut quite a striking figure, so tall and sleek, strolling down the red carpet with his hands in his pockets as if he was having a stroll in the park, not a care in the world. Such a fine actor he was. Loki hated these things. They terrified him. But nobody, and he meant nobody, would thank Thor if he tried to lend a hand somehow, so he turned his mind to the task at hand.

It came so easy. Thor inhabited this world like a second skin. His smile was made to dazzle the cameras, his swag to burn red carpets with a 6-feet-tall model by his side. And on he went, led by Coulson's nudges and whispers, on to charm the interviewers, sign across countless images of himself, pose for dozens of selfies that would be on Twitter within the minute, and almost, almost managed to shut down his father's voice in his head, with that sarcastic lilt, "of course, son, you must do whatever makes you happy."

"What are you wearing, Amora? Amora!" shouted the photographers. She disengaged to pose on her own in front of a black board covered in luxury brand logos.

"Thor! Thor!" One of the reporters stationed along the fence was waving at him. His camera turned to aim at Thor like one of those machine-gun posts in a World War 2 movie.

"MTV," whispered Coulson in his ear, as he led him towards the reporter. "Michael."

"We're here with Thor Odinson, hot rising star of The Vikings," introduced Michael, bubbly, full of enthusiasm, mouth full of teeth. "You're up for the Best Hero award. How lucky are you feeling tonight?"

Thor gave him his stock answer about the tough competition and the honour that blah blah blah blah, lines he knew by heart and would probably be able to repeat verbatim in fifty years time. Of course, he always managed to make it sound as if these words had never been spoken before, because that was what he excelled at: appearing spontaneous and fresh even after a dozen takes. He breezed through the interview without a glitch, coming across as enthusiastic, self-assured, and appropriately humble. Neither did he fail to drop in a few jokes and a few names. Such a consummate professional already.

"You're here with your brother Loki," said the interviewer. That took Thor by surprise. "Loki, please! Can we talk to you?"

Loki approached with the elegant weightlessness of his many years of ballet. His hands were still in his pockets, his stance nonchalant, his naturally aristocratic posture relaxed into something a bit more informal, a bit more 'Hollywood.' It was an act, of course, designed to help him blend in. All those run-ins at school had finally taught him that it was hard, and a hell of a lot of a bother, to live in this world without filtering and subduing somewhat his princely ways.

"Loki, you've just finished your run in England playing Hamlet. You've received rave reviews, and you're up for an Odin Borson European Theatrical Award. It must be strange to be nominated for an award that bears your father's name. How do you feel about that?"

Loki's big green eyes looked perfectly innocent when he deadpanned,

"Incestuous."

Thor went blank. MTV Michael went white. Could you even say that on TV?

Coulson cleared his throat —the man was unflappable— and he subtly tapped his watch. MTV Michael finally snapped out of it.

"So, Loki, you have your own movie coming in Spring. Are you excited? How was it to work with Tim Burton?"

"Which question would you like me to answer first?" said Loki, politely, exquisitely offensive. "It was a delight," he cut with a honeyed tone, just when MTV was getting his voice back, "and I am very excited."

Poor Michael had lost his bearings. Thor saw the camera guy looking away from the eyepiece with a raised eyebrow. Mr. MTV scrambled for something to fill the silence.

"You've said before that you prefer to work in the theatre, but is this the beginning of a big Hollywood adventure? Are you going to be up for the Best Hero award next year?"

"God forbid," smiled Loki. "Best Villain, maybe."

MTV Michael waited in vain for the rest of the usual waffling that never came. He looked like an idiot.

"You guys come from a family of great actors." This time he addressed Thor. Much safer. "Your mother was a great muse of European cinema in the seventies, won two Oscars for her acting, and has been the queen of the London stage for thirty years. Your father directed the Royal Shakespeare Company for two decades, received several Oscars for acting and directing, ran national company theatres in Russia, Norway, and Sweden, and is still one of the most respected figures in the industry today. How do you cope with the pressure of expectations when it comes to your own career?"

Before Loki opened his mouth, Thor stepped in.

"We try to make our own way. We're very proud of our parents, and we're lucky and grateful to have grown up in a very creative environment. They have always been sincere and open about both the ups and downs of the profession, and they have always been supportive. We've always been told that the only people we have something to prove to is ourselves."

Good answer, thought Thor to himself. Loki turned his face away with a quick, minute eye-roll which hopefully the camera didn't catch.

There were a couple more questions before they let Thor go, about his co-stars, the other nominees, that sort of thing. Thor would be asked to repeat a slightly different variation of the same babble to a dozen more interviewers before he even made it through the door. He was well on his way to the A-list now, and if he won tonight, he was as good as in.

Loki, meanwhile, on this side of the Atlantic was still lurking in the shadows. The buzz around him was not inconsiderable within the industry —his Hamlet was really that special—, but at the moment he was a name only familiar to the initiated, so to speak, while the public at large still didn't know who he was. With luck, they would let him walk the rest of the red carpet without asking him any more questions.

Thor feared the day when Loki would have to run this treadmill of inane interviews and autographs. If tonight was an indication of Loki's future attitude, he had every reason to be concerned. While his brother could be charming and perfectly diplomatic if he put his mind to it, he was not generous with his time, and had a very limited tolerance for shallowness and stupidity. And there was just so much of it in this business. And big bro wouldn't always be there to rescue the poor interviewers from Loki's playful paws, ease their hurt prides, and protect Loki from the revenge of the press. The whole thing was a disaster waiting to happen.

When he caught up with his brother inside the hall, he grabbed his arm. With a fake smile for the cameras plastered over his face, he hissed,

"Incestuous?"

Loki smirked, mischievous. He shrugged.

"Just a bit of fun."