Mal leaned against the railing and looked out over the plaza. It was a large-ish square, filled to the brim with little stalls. There were people everywhere. High above them was the oppressive weight of the next floor, a mess of concrete and steel, kept in place by… what? Magic? Some advanced science? Both? He looked up and felt dwarfed by the infinite sky of floating skyscrapers and city blocks. Grounding him was the smell coming from the plaza, all kinds of smells and foods he’d never heard of or encountered. It would probably be more overwhelming if his senses weren’t still kind of figuring themselves out. At least his eyesight seemed to be doing better. Somewhere down there, someone was playing an instrument and singing with what sounded like two or three throats. 

“Wow,” he said softly to himself.

“How are you doing?” Tore came up behind him, having found a place to put the kitten. She was no longer wearing her armor, or her hammer. She’d taken those off when they’d arrived at her house. It wasn’t particularly large, but it was, apparently, very secure, and the view was pretty good. She was wearing a tight-fitting sweater that seemed to be part poncho. It made his head hurt, trying to figure out how someone would even get in or out of it, but she rocked it like nobody’s business. Everything about Tore shone with confidence, deliberacy. The grace of a dancer with the power of a rocket-powered hammer. He was intimidated by her, even if he was as tall as she was now. He got the feeling she could wrestle him to the ground without much effort. He tried not to stare as his brain conjured up images of the older woman doing exactly that. She’d saved him; thoughts like that were more than a little improper. 

“How’s the cat?”

“It is fine. Fat, happy, asleep. Please do not deflect.”

Mal sighed. “I’m okay,” he said, and once again his voice was alien to him. He hadn’t used it much yet. It was a little high, a little hoarse, and he wondered if that was just what he was going to sound like now, or if it was a side-effect of the cloning process. “Confused, mostly.”

Tore nodded and stood next to him, looking out over the city. “If what you have told me is true, confusion would probably be the appropriate response, yes,” she said with a little smile. Mal couldn’t help but look at her. When she smiled, her face cracked like glass, faint lines exaggerating her already striking facial features. Her green eyes scanned the crowd in what Mal assumed was professional habit. “But I get the feeling you are not talking about the city,” Tore added, and smiled up at him. Her piercing gaze met his own, and he couldn’t look away. She was intimidating, sure, but she had a kindness to her. 

“Yeah,” he finally said, and looked down. He was wearing a shirt and a leather jacket. He hadn’t figured out how to keep the shoulders from lighting up when he moved. The pants were a bit loose, but it wasn’t like he was swinging free. Which brought his mind to that specific point. “It’s… strange, Tore.” He tried to put his thoughts to words, which was really hard because he had no idea what he was thinking or how he was feeling. “It’s all alien. This world, sure. But I can kind of guess some of the trappings by looking at it. But the body. Fuck.” He sighed and turned around, leaning his arms against the railing and looking up. He tried to process the changes. Breasts were new, but he definitely didn’t hate them. Earlier, he’d tried squeezing one, which had reminded him of squeezing a stress-ball. The hips were something to get used to, he’d bumped into three tables and more doorframes than he could count. There was also the matter of… well, the lack of matter. That part was making his head spin in confusion. “It’s taller,” he finally said, and glanced at Tore. She smirked at him. 

“Yes, I am sure that is the only difference.” She looked down at his chest suggestively, and he felt an unfamiliar feeling of bashfulness. He was fully clothed and he still managed to feel like he was mostly naked under her gaze. She knows what that body looks like under your clothes, an unhelpful little voice in his head said. She’s probably seen it naked more than you! All of that was spectacularly difficult to process while she finished her suggestive look up and down. When he looked her in the eyes again, she raised her eyebrows suggestively, then burst out laughing. 

“Calm down, little pup,” Tore said. “You seem to be doing quite well in one of my replacements. You will get the hang of it. All of it,” she added with a wink, and again, Mal felt embarrassment trying to physically murder him where he stood. Instead of just standing there, waiting for sheer mortification to overcome him, he changed the subject.

“One of?” he asked, a little nonchalantly. Tore hadn’t actually mentioned what this new body had cost. If it was that easy to get a new one, did everyone just constantly resurrect? He had a lot of questions, and all of them were better than being bashful around a woman who was easily twenty years older than him. Tore nodded. 

“The Resurrector's guild charges very high fees. At a bronze subscription, you are given three bodies to fall back on,” she said. “You can always renew your subscription, or upgrade, but I can not afford that. Not anymore.” Tore smiled. “Do not worry, I still have a spare.” That was reassuring, at least. He was scared he’d cost her a chance at, well, rebirth. “And once I have made enough for a renewal, I am going to retire and grow old and fat.” She grinned. “As it should be.”

“Amen to that,” Mal said with a nod. He paused for a moment. “Any way I can help with that? I owe you for, you know, not letting me die.” Tore stepped closer and bumped his shoulder with hers.

“If you had not intervened, we would have both been corpsed,” she said, “and I do not think the Heptapod would have been so kind as to contact the guild. As far as I am concerned, you do not owe me. A life for a life.”

Mal shrugged, trying not to be too aware of the fact that he was now standing shoulder to shoulder with Tore. They were the same height, sure, but she had an imposing presence. Besides, she was very warm. “I still want to help. Until I figure out where I am or what to do, I could use something productive to do.” He glanced at her sideways. “I have friends to find, and I can’t do that if I can’t pay for myself. This is a big world, and I can’t even defend myself against the least of it.” 

“Oh? You are going to help me make money?” she asked, and raised her eyebrows and laughed, a hearty rumble that seemed to come from deep. “And how do you intend to do that, pup? Are you going to become a supermodel? Or is your ‘degree’ in the arts worth so much money? Because from what I could see, you are no trained fighter.”

“I’ll have you know I take pretty good pictures. Wait, a model?” Mal raised his eyebrows in response.

“Once upon a time,” Tore said. “In a different life.” She shrugged. “It is good money for good work, but I prefer the hunting.” 

“Huh.”

“So what will it be? What do you have to offer?” She put her hands on her hips and he felt so looked at, so exposed when she grinned like that. She had a cocky grin that was made only worse by the equally cocky gaze, cocky eyebrows and cocky stance. He thought about what she’d said for a moment, and then looked down, gesturing at himself.

“This,” he said, and mirrored her pose.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been doing this whole mercenary thing for a while, right?” 

“Right,” she nodded. 

“If I got it correctly, this is you in your heyday. So why not teach me? That body got you that far, so having two of them would earn you your money twice as fast.”

“Me.”

“You.”

“Teach you.”

“Yup.”

“Hum,” she said, and rubbed her chin. “There are conditions.” Mal nodded. He could use the help of someone who could teach him how to navigate this world, how to survive in it. Looking out over the city again, the small part of it he could see, there was a strange sense of freedom here he’d never felt before. Like he’d been trapped, once upon a time, a prisoner of everything, the systems, sometimes even his own skin. Here, he could be anything. Including, it seemed, a tall Scandinavian woman with long blonde hair that needed to be braided in order for it to be manageable. Was it really Scandinavian if Scandinavia didn’t exist here? He ran his hand over the long hair, currently in a massive ponytail. It was so soft.

“Name it,” he said.

“You get a job and pay for rent when you can. And you train. Every day. You slack off, you find your own shit to do. I am not here to babysit.”

“Works for me,” Mal said with a smile.

“Good, then we have an agreement.” She stuck out her hand, and Mal shook it after a moment. He wasn’t sure if this world knew handshakes but apparently it did. Tore pulled him a little closer when their hands clasped together. “I am, of course, only doing this because you are so very pretty,” she said with a grin, and then winked. “I don’t want you to ruin that body. It was mine, you know.”

“Well, you did give it to me,” Mal said. “That makes it mine to do with what I want, doesn’t it?” He tried to look cocky but he found himself floundering under Tore’s gaze. 

“Do you think I could not take it back from you if I wanted to, pup?” Her grin, previously playful and kind, turned a little wolfish, and Mal felt his breath catch in his throat. 

“I -- Wh-- But --” He took a deep breath while Tore was visibly grinning at his bashfulness. “Listen,” he said. 

“I am listening.” 

“Wh-what makes you think I don’t want you to try?” he finally managed. Tore’s expression went from that intimidating, confident smirk to one of happy surprise, her eyes wide and her smile wider. 

“Well, well,” she said, “it looks like the pup has teeth!” 

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Mal asked her, curiosity having gotten the better of him. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I’m not sure I get it.” Tore took a step toward him and put her hand on his arm. 

“Because I was not sure that you wished to still be called Malcolm when you look like this, pup. Because you are not reacting the way most people do when they are in a body that is not their own?”

“Oh? What’s the normal reaction?” Tore looked him in the eyes, dead serious.

“Fear. Panic. They are curled up in a ball, crying, unable to care for themselves, sometimes. The shock is too great. Many die.”

“Then why not me?” Mal asked.

“Why indeed?” Tore asked and looked at him again, cocking her head. “I think you would not mind wearing this body a bit longer. And I think, if that is true, it deserves its own name. I think.” Mal mulled this over in his head. He didn’t disagree, not really. He’d always hated Malcolm, which is why he preferred Tee and Ellis call him Mal. But if he was really going to fit in here, and try being, well, this… a new name was appropriate. 

“Well, I mean, I already look like you, so…” he thought for a moment. He wanted a name that felt like it honored Tore, but also one that sounded cool, made him feel like the badass mercenary he was now wearing the body of. And he found one that also made a lot of sense when it came to his… unique body situation. A little derivative, perhaps, but it worked. And it made him smile, even if nobody else would get the joke. “If you’re Tore, then I think I will be Loki.”