The Fool's Con

Loki sneered around the large, crowded room with a mixture of amusement and a hint of pride. Where once fools were less than popular is the stories of man, many of their more charming characteristics now allured modern society. Suddenly prominent tricksters and mischief-makers were all the rage, an exclusive club that every side character, anti-hero, and walk-the-line rogue wanted to be a part of.

He remembered back to the days when only select few were drawn to mischief. Most archaic mortals had quite enough going on in their brief lives without courting more trouble. Instead, they only looked to creators of chaos, such as Loki, to pray for him to stay away. But no longer. They had all benefited from the modern explosion storytelling and the subsequent appreciation for trouble-makers. Enough so that this little annual gathering had grown from a small gripe-session comprised of the oldest tricksters, mostly fellow deities, to an internationally popular convention.

As perhaps not the oldest god of mischief, but one of the most dedicated to the craft, Loki never could resist the opportunity to take control. He therefore organized the con every year, nurturing it as it grew and expanded through the centuries, adapting as society changed.

Already the secluded convention center was filled with familiar faces, and hosts of new ones. The originals, like himself, were a bit world-weary, but that spark of cleverness and trouble still gleamed in any an eye. And the young ones, well they were practically salivating at the opportunity to meet their heroes and icons.

An entire corner of the main room featured several scantily clad, bronze-skinned men and women laughing riotously, all clustered around a man sporting a pale blue toga and winged headband. Ah, the Greeks. While many tricksters, trouble-makers, and deceivers wrought havoc on the Hellenic world, Hermes was the current deity holding court. Still, several of his peers managed their own little cliques, glancing over occasionally at the God of thieves and messengers to see if he was saying anything interesting. Loki thought he spotted Prometheus and Sisyphus among them. He’d always admired those two for their masterful deceptions. If only they’d been clever enough to avoid getting caught. Then again, he himself could hardly brag on that front either. He brushed a hand over his lips, once marred by scars, a reminder of his punishment at the hands of Odin, king of the Norse Gods and of spoiling Loki’s fun.

That reminded him – he needed to check with security to make sure a certain mercenary wasn’t trying once again to gain entry to this year’s convention. Deadpool, another trouble-maker who’d once inexplicably had his mouth sewn shut, attempted to join the con every few years. But while the mutant was adept at chaos and mischief, Loki was trying to be more exclusive these days, stick to the classics as it were. Deadpool had other things going for him besides causing trouble, a whole hero-shtick that Loki just couldn’t quite abide by. And even on his less moral days, Mr. Wilson was just so irritating. Besides, didn’t he have a chimichanga truck somewhere he could frequent instead?

On his way toward the front entrance, Loki spotted another eternally annoying guest and spun on his heel to head in the opposite direction. But it was too late.

“Loki! Great to see you, old friend.” Lucifer strolled up, trailing various minor demons and other biblical nuisances. “How’s Asgard these days? Or wait, where are you actually from? I can never remember.” As if anyone would dare forget the Devil’s place of residence.

Loki couldn’t stand Lucifer. The Christian whelp was always stealing his style. Oh look, I’m a snake. Ooh wait, now I’m a sexy, dark-haired British man. It was infuriating, especially because until recently, Lucifer had been much more well-known in most parts of the world, believing himself his father’s gift to the morally deviant. But in the last few decades, they both had received a comic book glow up, and Loki wore pop-culture so much better.

“A pleasure, as always, Lucifer,” Loki said through a grimace, relying on his famed silver tongue. It wouldn’t do to smite one of the convention’s oldest patrons, no matter how much he was asking for it. “I actually hail from Jotunheim,” he explained with the strained patience of an often-repeated clarification, letting his currently pale skin fade to an icy blue. While Loki didn’t often reveal his ice-giant heritage, having multiple forms was sort of a bragging right among these people and he couldn’t help but show off just a bit. Before Lucifer could continue the conversation, or worse, morph into one of his own more grotesque shapes, Loki nodded politely. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a convention to run.”

As he left the Devil, Loki consoled himself with the knowledge that when he one day inevitably went to Helheim, it would at least be the damned afterlife of his Norse people, and not the Christian Hell Lucifer presided over. Eternal suffering would gain a whole new meaning if he had to share it with that overrated angel reject.

Taking a deep breath and returning his skin to its usual pale tone, Loki continued to survey his convention. Of course, the event center was descending into utter chaos by the minute, but that was only expected. Appreciated even. With the number of magical patrons in attendance, any damage done could usually be set to rights by the end, so the con was essentially a no-holds-barred prank fest, each joke and deception an attempt to outdo the last.

The classics, deities and tricksters so old they were analogous with the idea, controlled most of the space and attracted the largest crowds. Set stood on a table, animating ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics floating through the air to insult passers-by, a veritable river of wine flowing unending between his feet. Another section of the space glimmered with flashes of fairies, fey, and will-o-wisps, who claimed no definitive leader among them, but together created more trouble than Loki sometimes wondered they were worth. Somewhere among them was Puck, who’d risen to fame above his peers thanks to that one play he was in. Personally, Loki found the whole idea of making mortals fall in love with each other a bit juvenile, but he still watched warily for the small imp.

Spaced between the more consolidated cultures of trickery were the animals. Almost every vein of mischief included animal practitioners, most often foxes and rabbits, though there were several species among them today: birds, dragons, spiders and insects, snakes, wolves, and more. Loki had a certain fondness for animals, but he still watched his step as he strode across the room.  He also spotted, or at least assumed he spotted, various shape-shifters, from skin walkers to mutants. Another group he could appreciate above the average troublemaker, though he was glad his own powers gave him some ability to see through illusions.

Near the entrance clustered younger guests of the convention, watching the ages-old tricksters command their groupies, but also keeping somewhat to themselves. These were more individual than the archetypes on whose shoulders they stood. Among them sat figures like the gypsy Clopin, Tom Sawyer, the Joker, and Rumpelstiltskin. Tom’s pranks were subjectively harmless, at least compared to other attendees, but he eyed the security guards lingering near the Joker knowingly. Last year, the deranged clown had tried to blow up the stage at the convention. Right after Loki had stepped onto it. His penchant for chaos was delightful, but warranted watching, for Loki’s own sake at least, if the not the relative safety of the other guests. It wouldn’t do to advertise mass murder, not every year at least.

 A chorus of unexpected singing drew Loki to an interesting group. It was unexpected because the trio sang “Happy Birthday.” Ah yes, a true legendary pair of mischief-makers from the new age. The Weasley twins. Once Loki could not for the life of him tell the two wizards apart. But now, one was missing an ear and the other had faded translucent. Pity, that. But still, they brought the enchantment of causing trouble to a whole new generation of mortals, even if they did have a pesky association with heroism. However, as long as managing mischief remained their primary character trait, he’d welcome them to the convention with open arms. And apparently, birthday wishes, as the event occurred every year on April 1^st.

That reminded Loki of another pair of twins, dear to his heart if only because they were literally some of his only remaining worshipers. Similar to the Weasleys, they were slightly heroic, but also absurd to the point of idiocy. If he could choose, Loki would have loved devotees with more than a single brain cell between them, but in these two Vikings, it was possibly their stupidity with a side of insanity that made their trouble so worth watching.

All in all, it was shaping up to be another excellent convention. Loki straightened his long jacket, flipped back his dark hair, and took the stairs to the main stage, hesitating only for a moment as he recalled the landmines waiting for him last year. But a nod from his head of security ensured him he wouldn’t be embarrassed by the Joker’s TNT twice.  While he had several manipulations, tricks, and devious plots he thirsted to put into play before the convention was through, he did have to make his annual speech first. And making dramatic speeches was another thing he quite enjoyed.

“Welcome, welcome deviants, rogues, and utter mental cases,” he began, grinning.  “Through the years and centuries and millennia, many celebrations of our kind, of mischievous imps and trickster gods, have been held, but none so illustrious as this: The Fool’s Con.”