Loki glanced up from his book briefly, then paused,blinked,and lifted his head for a more thorough examination just in time to be struck with some force by the girlâs⌠was that an actual parasol?
 âYes, it was,â he offered curtly, all but scolding her with expression and tone. Heâd killed men for less, but this? This was a child. From his perspective,at least. Some of the hardness faded from his eyes, the set of his mouth softening as he folded the book across one knee. He had his own connections to make, but some time to spend before that, at least.
 âAnd why, pray tell, do you burden yourself with such a contraption? I understand theyâve been out of fashion here for a century or moreâŚâ Odd that he was curious, but there it was. Everything about her screamed ârebellionâ and âmisfitâ at high decibels; two things he could certainly identify with.
 Still, he sat unsmiling in his crisp black suit, touched only by the traces of green in his intricate (and no doubt expensive) scarf and the silken lining of his coat, which was unbuttoned. Apart from the long, dark hair pulled partially back in a rudimentary ponytail, he could easily have been a disapproving businessman.
Well that was just rude.  Sheâd apologized, after all.  He was supposed to accept the apology; tell her it wasnât a big deal.  Which it wasnât.  Her parasol was bamboo and fabric - nothing that would hurt someone.  He wasnât supposed to give her a look that said better-behaved people would control their parasols in the worst of winds.
Vivian was skilled by now in faking emotions, but far less so in keeping them off her face; her mixture of equal parts hurt and annoyance (he wasnât following the rules) was probably written clear upon her features.  The desire to end the conversation now warred with deeply-rooted politeness.  He had spoken to her, after all, and to just ignore him would be rude - and sheâd been raised to be polite.  In the end, she refrained from shifting her parasol to put it between the two of them, but kept her eyes on the phone in her lap.
The one earbud remained in her ear, a hint that she wasnât interested in talking to strangers. Â Or anyone, really.
His speech was interesting - it felt different, in a way she couldnât quite name.  Much in the way sheâd been able to say which phrases or patterns of speech were right the first time sheâd taken the SATs simply by how they felt when she read them, Vivian had a feel for speech and grammar that she couldnât explain.  And her companionâs speech didnât quite fit what felt normal.
Nor did his outfit, really, for someone sitting on a bench in the park. Â There were law firms nearby in town; maybe he belonged to one of them. Â
He was attractive, in a âheâs way too old for meâ way.
âThe sun and I are not on speaking terms,â she answered him, trying to fit as much of herself into the shadow of her parasol as possible, and still not looking up from her lap.  Her father wouldnât be there for at least another half an hour.  Vivian was facing the prospect of having to make conversation with a stranger.  âI burn easily,â she lied.  Well, partially lied.  It was true - but it wasnât why she carried the parasol.