It was Saturday, not Friday when Joy finally got the chance to speak with Carter. Her fingers tap on the light gray table that has a glass frame being hard and sturdy. A sun hat prevented anyone from getting a good look at her weird glasses. Carter sat down in the chair across from her apparently relaxed and casual with a glass in his hand.
“So Lil’ sis.” Carter said, putting the glass on the table. “What do you wanna hear?”
“The name of my mother.” Joy said.
The look on Carter’s face changed.
“The name is a bit fuzzy.” Carter said, his attention fixated on the glass while turning it around in a complete circle. He looks up to Joy. “But I can try.”
“Carter, this is not a game.” Joy said, impatient with Carter. “If this is not a game, then take off the ugly hat.” Carter said. Joy takes off the hat then puts it on the table. “Sis, it’s been years since Mum spoke her name.”
“Thirty Three years, for you.” Joy said.
“So long ago.” Carter said, titling his head down to the rounded flat bottom of the glass.
“You don’t forget the name of your ‘adopted’ sister.” Joy said.
“Georgie.” Carter said, and then drinks a bit from the glass.He puts it down on the table. “Her name was George Joanna.” Joy’s mouth gapes open to a perfect ‘o’. “She was a wealthy woman with beauty and intellect,” Carter looks down to his right. “Even a grace you can say to bring hopes up.”
“My mother was not an angel.” Joy remarks.
“The way Mum had told me sounded just like it.” Carter said. “Georgie fell in love with this really formal man.” He points to the sky. “Who referred to Georgie as ‘Milady’.” He softly laughs. “Man, mum talked about their love story as a bed time story one night.”
Joy raises an eyebrow.
“No, she didn’t.” Joy said.
Carter looks down to his hands with a little smile.
“She did for me.” Carter said, turning his gaze up towards Joy. “Georgie and your father bumped into each other.” Carter taps on the table. “But not the way you expect. Georgie was from a rich Russian family who had ties to some Russian Mob.”
“Russian?” Joy repeats.
“That’s what I said.” Carter said. “I told mum you can speak Icelandic easily. It was our in-joke punchline you were Scandavian.” Carter briefly smiles at the memory. “I forgot to mention; don’t you remember about the fog you made?”
“I have one power, dofus.” Joy said, calling her brother by a childish name.
“Dweeb, you have two.” Carter said, holding up two fingers.
“One.” Joy argues back.
“Two.” Carter insists. “We kept it as a secret.”
“Then why do I not remember it?” Joy asks.
Carter picks up the glass.
“You never used it again after . .Mr Odd. “Carter said as he leans back against the chair. “Try to remember.” Carter turns his hand right which made the content inside the glass wobbly. “I know you can.”
Joy closes her eyes as Carter takes a sip from the glass. The faint memory of hearing items flying around began to come clear; the memory that Loki had sealed for her as a child.All she could see was a light gray color that seemed to move up and down with faint darker outlines.She squeezes her eyes. Must remember, Joy coaches herself, You’re not a child anymore.
Surprisingly these outlines were clearing up not remaining as a blur that usually is what she saw among the colors. Then another part of her memory returns; hearing what could have been people knocked against a wall and falling with a thud. Then other memories came to her from before Mr Odd had ever walked in. Joy remembered instances where the clouds had some power to lure her and the two brothers to sleep at night. Other moments came to light. And some of them involved using the clouds as protection from people finding her.
“I remember.” Joy said, as her eyes open.
“I believe someone owes me an apology.” Carter said, holding a voice recorder. He has one thumb pressing down on the big circuler power button.
“Sorry.” Joy apologized.
Carter stops the voice recorder.
“Now I get to visit Bichard’s grave and play your apology.” Carter said, with a snicker.
“Oh pa-lease.” Joy said. “Bichard was a kid when he died, what kind of interest would his ghost have in hearing me say ‘no’ repeatedly?”
“You never apologized to him for stealing his toys.” Carter reminds Joy.
“He never asked for an apology.” Joy said.
“So, dweeb, why did you stop saying ‘I am sorry’ with your heart?” Carter asks. Joy went silent, a bit secretive. “Remember why we didn’t tell pops about this cloud thing?”
“I remember.” Joy said.
“We didn’t want Pops to spoil in our fun.” Carter recalls, putting down the glass. “I once remember you used the fog to save a kitten.” He smiles quite fondly at it. “Heck it was a cloud that Mary Poppins could have applied her make-up on.”
Our scene transfers to a woman with a black veil over her face. It would be hard for a man to get a response from this woman why she is wearing a veil that usually is seen at funerals. This is Margret of Asgard. We can see her white boots were custom made because the claw tips seem intentional. Margret opens the door, goes inside, and heads down the hallway paying no attention to the open door.
“Hey, watch where you’re going!” A rude tenant said, after Margret’s shoulder bumped into them.
Margret silently went by while not making a word. The rude tenant shook their head and she goes up the stairs while trailing her hands covered in lizard scales on the wooden rail. An average individual would not have known this woman might be followed due to her careless attitude. The black dress with lace long sleeves compliment the stockings that match its color.
Margret walks down a hallway with a slow pace.But she stops midway when something seemed out of the ordinary. The door to her apartment is ajar. She takes out an electrifying light blue dagger out of her purse. The hair on her neck went up just as fear that some fool had entered her apartment by using a hair pin. Margret walks towards the door with dagger close in hand. She presses her left hand on the door making it slide forwards smoothly.
There stood a dark man with white gloves and a face that most Asgardians would share; a perfect face.
“Who are you?” Margret asks with a hiss.
“Everyone calls me, Mr Odd.” Mr Odd said, cleaning off his white gloves that had dirt from touching a remote. He wore this unusual hat which seemed to block the view of his eyes. “But you can call me ‘Farrold’.” Margret’s lizard eyes narrow at him. “We never met until today.”
“Pharold.” Margret repeats Mr Odd’s little nickname. “Far-er-Old, Phar-uh-cold, Fair cold.”
“It is Fair Rolled.” Mr Odd said. “This should be easy for an Asgardian mutant to pronounce.”
“Farrold,” Margret begins to warn him. “Leave my place of peace if you prefer not to be killed by your greed.”
“Oh.” Mr Odd said with a snicker. “I have an offer.”
Margret holds her Asgardian dagger.
“That would leave you dead!” Margret charges at him.
Mr Odd takes a step to the side which lets Margret land on the couch.
“I am eager to tell you my offer.” Mr Odd said, rubbing his hands together. “Do you seek vengeance against the man who gave you this impairment?”
“Prefer you call it as a curse.” Margret said, getting up from the couch with the dagger in hand. Her eyes seem unnatural. “Not an impairment.”
“So is this a ‘Yes’ from you?” Mr Odd said.
“But I’m curious as to why you ask.” Margret said. “Usually I do not get visitors.”
“I met Loki in Winsconsin.” Mr Odd said. “He did not recognize me at all. And I’ve learned he is banished from Asgard until he learns what love is.” A vengeful look spreads on Margret’s face. “And if we want to give him hell; we should design our plan. Not surprise each other.”
Margret folds her arms.
“What do you get out of this?” Margret asks.
“I have my sights on someone else.” Mr Odd said. “It would seem best in my interest to make sure no one is aware of what I am doing.”