POV of Loki Laufeyson (who should really not have a mortal form again, but does)
The streets of New York are bustling even around midnight. It’s almost like “busy” is a constant around here, the concept forcing everyone into useless tasks that create the illusion of hard work.
Countless vendors like the sidewalks, selling magazines or food of some sorts, and people from all over stop to buy or just chat for a minute or two. The smell of hotdogs and cinnamon soft pretzels catches the attention of any hungry traveler, such as myself. I almost stop, but I momentarily forget that Earthly payment is needed. I would steal if I wasn’t here with Leah, but I don’t want to do anything that will mess this night up. Petty theft might do that.
A little bit of snow covers the cold pavement, and some flakes even drift from hidden clouds. Glancing up at the sky, I nudge Leah, hoping to entice her with the few stars visible in the city. She doesn’t look impressed, and instead turns to me with a blank stare.
“All I see is darkness.” She kicks a rock onto the street.
“Yeah, but look at the skyscrapers.” I point at a familiar one, named after its billionaire philanthropist owner. “They're bright, are they not?”
Leah scowls and hugs her arms to her chest, the chill in the air getting to her. “Harsh reminder of consumerism, as are these stands.”
“And Verity said I was pessimistic,” I mutter to myself, jumping out of the way of a careless New Yorker.
Oh well. This capitalistic world doesn’t have to impress her; the tree does, and it’s already in our view.
In front of a large, sky reaching building is a slightly smaller Christmas tree. Its branches are decorated with tinsel and lights, and a bright star is positioned on the very top. The lights act as a beacon for us, entrancing us with their rare beauty. With a delighted grin, I take Leah’s hand and begin to rush towards the Rockefeller Center. Chilled snowflakes land on my sleeves and hands.
“Hey, watch it, kid!” Some guy shouts, jumping out of our way.
“These people are so angry,” Leah says, a rare smile crossing her pale face.
“That’s because of their capitalistic society,” I return with an even bigger grin as the two of us cross the intersection. A car swerves out of the way as to avoid hitting us, and the driver shouts something about being colorblind. Well, that’s unfortunate. Isn't it not safe to drive that way?
Below the tree is a stone wall and small ice skating rink, though the section appears to be off limits right now. It also doesn’t have a very good view of the tree with its fountains and statues. Plastic borders line the road up top, blocking it from both cars and civilians. Not us, though. I hop over the border to get a closer look at the tree.
“Loki.” Leah lifts her dress to follow, then slowly walks over to meet me at the base of the large tree. She stops right as she comes to my side, her gaze focused on the twinkling lights and shining star. A few snowflakes land on her eyelashes.
“Still think this was a dumb idea?” I ask her coyly.
I’m swatted in response. “Shh! Listen.”
We both fall silent, reflecting on the hustle and bustle of the New York streets. Cars beep and honk at each other, speeding down the road only to get stuck in traffic on the next block.
Leah threads her fingers through my own. “Listen more closely.”
Mentally, I block out the sounds of vehicles and yelling. Instead, I find myself enchanted by a quiet song of sorts. I don’t know by who it’s being sung, but its angelic harmonies attract even Leah’s attention. Voices ring out, their rendition growing louder.
“ Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more… ”
“I adore this celebration.” Leah turns to me, green eyes wild with amusement. The lights seem to reflect in her irises. “What is its name again?”
“I think it’s called ‘Christmas’,” I return. Snow begins to fall at a faster, more plentiful rate. I stick out my tongue, catching a few of them and intriguing Leah with the custom.
“Is this… tradition?” she asks curiously, sticking out her own tongue for a snowflake to land on. When one does, she draws back, probably appalled by the blandness.
I snicker. “You could say that.”
“Well, it is a foolish tradition.” Still, Leah has a smile on her face, which is an accomplishment. “I will admit, I have enjoyed this.”
“Thank the gods. I was worried you’d hate it.” I glance up at the tree again, an idea brewing. “We should come back here for New Year’s Eve.”
“New Years… what?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her simply.
Then the two of us embrace the silence again, listening for the sweet sound of the city’s ghost choir. Leah’s head falls on my shoulder, and I breathe in, suddenly anxious and aware of everything around me. The gentle hum of the city serenades us, and I take solace in this picture perfect scene.