In general, viewing other people's memories via magic felt very different from perceiving Loki's memories in my own head. Maybe that's why he couldn't do anything about my arrival.
However, how that arrival happened remains a mystery to me. I didn't remember the circumstances of my "death" in my past life as a human, nor did I remember what the very last chronological memory was.
It was roughly the same with Loki, though to a lesser extent, I remembered the day before the insertion, but as for the God of Mischief entering his chambers and what he did there… blank.
On one hand, that sucked. On the other… ignorance is bliss. For some reason, I felt that in my situation, that was a very accurate sentiment.
In any case, after asking for help from a few "volunteers," I managed to piece together a rough picture of the world around me.
First, Tony Stark had indeed already been captured by terrorists, built his armor, and heroically returned, managing to announce to the whole world that he is Iron Man.
And, to be honest, on this side of the Canadian border, people generally didn't give a damn about those events.
For the local workers, the question of who would win the next football game on TV was far more pressing.
Stories about a rich psycho in a padded iron jacket were treated just like that, stories about a rich psycho. No one is surprised by their quirks anymore.
Second, the Hulk had already appeared, but also on the level of: "Some green man, maybe from Mars, maybe Venus, maybe a government lab, caused a riot somewhere, just like the brothers in Brooklyn." It was almost forgotten.
Nobody knew where he was or how he was doing, but he definitely hadn't been rampaging lately.
And finally, the mutant problem.
It was a trend right now, and all the media outlets were hyping it up, but nobody had really seen any mutants.
That is, they supposedly exist, "so the TV says", but they also kind of don't, because… well… a mere mortal couldn't just walk out and meet one on the street.
Nobody knew about the X-Men, Spider-Man, or the Fantastic Four yet.
I particularly regretted the last one, I always liked Julian McMahon's portrayal of Victor von Doom, but they hadn't heard of him here either.
In short, I spent a productive night, incidentally becoming five hundred bucks richer. People shouldn't invite the God of Mischief to play cards, even if he looks like a harmless dandy.
The hotel from yesterday greeted me with sleepy silence and the lethargic shuffling of staff sweeping up near the arena.
A mustachioed trucker was asleep on a large sofa near a side table; a couple of people were eating breakfast at another. The TV behind the bar was quietly playing pop music.
The bartender in a red plaid shirt was wiping a glass. And in front of him sat a lost, huddled figure in a hooded coat, with a large bag resting at her feet.
Crumpling the empty bag and flicking it halfway across the room into a bin where the cleaners dumped trash, I marched openly toward Rogue, hiding from no one.
"Got coffee?" I mimed a yawn for the bartender.
The girl, next to whom I sat, flinched and side-eyed me. The man clearly recognized me too; he nodded silently and flipped the switch on the electric kettle.
"And a couple of cheese sandwiches," I added to the order, placing a ten-dollar bill on the counter.
"Heated?" the bartender asked, nodding at the microwave.
"No need."
Asking nothing more, the man walked over to the kitchen window and relayed the order.
At that moment, Logan approached from the opposite side of the bar, dressed like a typical local regular.
He noticed us only after sitting on the furthest stool, and only because Rogue, agitated by my appearance, was looking at him like he was some kind of monster.
She was looking at me the same way, but I expected that. Wolverine, however, was drawn by that look from a random neighbor.
After that, his eyes shifted to me, reflecting mild bewilderment. It seemed my disguise could fool his animal senses too.
Actually, that wasn't surprising, "scent" is just as obvious a parameter as color or weight, and any invisible person should know how to hide those first.
Hiding magic and a spiritual imprint is much harder.
In response to the attention, I simply nodded in greeting, my entire demeanor showing that I didn't care about anything other than my order.
Logan was satisfied with this and, pulling out a cigar, tried to pretend my presence didn't concern him. Actually, he managed that quickly, since Rogue kept staring, and her expression naturally drew attention to herself.
"Gimme a beer," Wolverine asked, turning to the bartender who was just counting out my change, and slapped his own bill on the table.
He got his request faster than I did, but not by much, the kettle had just boiled, and they brewed me some local instant slop, not sparing the sugar bowl.
The slop turned out to be tolerable, and when the sandwiches arrived from the kitchen, life became quite good.
And by the way… Rogue obviously had no money.
At least, she was sitting with a glass of water and tracking the first sandwich I bit into with such a hungry look that I involuntarily paused mid-chew.
Realizing her interest had been noticed, the girl immediately became embarrassed and looked down.
Even though questions bubbled up inside me like, "How did she end up in Canada with no money?" and "How did she plan to survive?", that didn't stop me from silently sliding the plate with the remaining culinary "masterpiece" toward her.
"Huh?.." the mutant girl was confused. "What…"
"Believe me, I don't mind when girls look at me with longing," I said to this Miss Extreme Tourism, playing with my face in true Loki style, "but the gastronomic interest in your eyes is unnecessary. Go ahead, eat it. I'll order more."
I nodded to the bartender in a "repeat" gesture, luckily the change he'd given me was still on the table so I didn't have to reach far.
"Thank you," clearly feeling out of place, the girl nevertheless readily grabbed the sandwich and hurried to take a bite.