I believe in a thing called love
Just listen to the rhythm of my heart
The male of the species was not supposed to giggle. Male
Homo sapiens were big, tough, and strong, stoic and unemotional. They got excited over things like football and the Olympics, and that was it. (Robin never understood that. It reduced his gender to something terribly uninteresting, when in reality, men were
interesting.)
Which is why it was a good thing no one was around to hear Robin’s undignified giggles. He had been giddy for a week, ever since he ordered
it, and that giddiness had finally erupted into almost full hysterics. It was perfect, and
he would love it.
He would say yes. Nothing was going to go wrong, not right now, not even with unrest between the demigod camps.
He was lightly armed today, just a pair of ankle knives, a folding knife in his pocket, a dagger strapped to his hip, and short sword strapped to his thigh. His gigglefit made him banish himself into the forest around Camp Midgard, wandering aimlessly until finally he sank against a sequoia tree, one hand clamped over his mouth to stifle the noises. His other hand fumbled at his pocket, his opal catching at the material as he retrieved the tiny blue box.
He was an idiot. This could not possibly work, not between a son of the Norse and a son of Rome. (Not quite an idiot, Robin had seen John at Camp Jupiter – someone with his abilities to hide himself
obviously made a good spy. Since his stepbrother had introduced them, it was fair to say
he was Roman.) It was stupid, and it felt absolutely perfect. He was going to get heartbroken.
Later, he’d never be able to pinpoint what made him stand. It might have been a noise that he subconsciously registered, or a flash of a vision. Whatever it was, Robin was on his feet, box shoved into his pocket, and dagger drawn in a few seconds. He let his gaze drift for a moment, pulling his head together before leaning down. A fallen stick of yew turned into a passable copy of the Allfather’s staff, illusion creeping to disguise Loki’s child. It took more work than usual –
he had the effect of making Robin drop his illusions.
It didn’t take long to get wherever he was drawn, and he almost lost his balance coming to a halt. The figure not far in front of him was familiar, even though he could only see the back. His illusions melted, returning him to his usual appearance. He tossed the stick that had passed as the Allfather’s staff behind him, and sheathed his dagger.
“Mom,” he breathed. The individual in front of him was undeniably male, clad in all black with a sword at his hip. There was no way to mistake him for female, except. . .
Robin remembered days spent with his mother, less frequent after the age of six, but he could clearly call up the image of Loki’s female persona. His half-sister Rosalia presented herself mere moments later, and little Evan, Robin’s latest sword student, completed the group. Himself and Rosalia he could understand, they were Loki’s children. Evan, though, Evan was an anomaly.
”Could have done without the heart attack scare, myself,” Robin quipped, flashing a sunny, shallow smile. His heart was already less buoyant, and he had to remind himself not to hold the ring box, not call attention to it. Instead, he pulled his sunglasses off, and busied his hands wiping tear residue from the tinted lenses.
EnsembleWord Count - 587
