OPEN.

[selfimage]

CHARACTERS: Loki & open!
DATE: January catch-all, including the party.
WARNINGS: There's some dirty implications and a naked Loki, so tread carefully.
SUMMARY: Celebration, pranks, fireworks, devious planning, milkshakes, drama, fuzzy handcuffs and casual invasions of privacy. The usual.

Loki doesn't have a routine. In fact, he does his best to defy all possibility of routine. There are days that he sleeps late, other days that he doesn't sleep at all, mingling in the library as if somehow the deepest hour will reveal hidden texts to him. There are midnight snacks in the kitchen, mischief to be had for those lucky few who come across him in his more disobedient moods, and diving into the recesses of the photo app recently added to the jewelcomm.

The new year came like the one before it, the celebration welcome as Loki stretched himself in what felt like a new beginning. Everything had changed, but in name only. Lucky that's where it counted. A few years ago he had a party for the Young Avengers, an attempt at an apology for exploiting their trust after pulling the strings that lead to a very sore confession. If he had stayed, they would most likely trust him again, even now. He hadn't stayed; he had left in favor of a new start.

"Happy New Year, Loki," he says with a hint of a smile, a mutter into his glass beneath the loud shrieks and pops of fireworks.

NOTE | hey it's an open log, feel free to toss in a prompt. if you need a prompt, send me a PM or shoot me a msg on hadal!

Comments

[selfimage]

Hizdahr's the boring one, right?

[ he only says it to say it. the prospect of marriage is so far off that it couldn't be anything but a joke, but it was a silent jab at him; one enough to make Loki look somewhat smug.

after that it's dismissed. the towel he was using gets thrown over his shoulders, and he begins to use it to dry his damp hair with distracted carelessness. ]

Kinda. I didn't steal it this time, if that's what you're asking. [ emphasis on this time. ] It belonged to Sigurd, the first hero of Asgard, given to him by a crafter fueled with vengeance. It then fell into the hands of my father when he was newly crowned.

He created a box that held it, locked it with five keys, and scattered them across the universe. It was meant for me to unlock when I was worthy. So, I faked it and unlocked it, anyway.

[ by King Loki's hand and by Odin's—it was an elaborate trick to fill the gaps in a story that he had long erased. it was a good idea at the time, and now it seems like a victory for someone who had the right tools. ]

A god of lies with a sword of truth. [ he sounds amused. ] It makes for a good story.

[conqueress]

[ The slight earns him a swift, sharp look, but her mouth looks as though she might smile. Hizdahr is dull in matters of love, his kisses tepid, but he is clever and infuriating and scheming, too. She might have granted him that much, if she were feeling merciful. ]

A pretty story, [ she agrees, but then, Loki's always are at least prettily spoken, even if the content does not agree. Five keys across the universe. It sounds the sort of story she might have read in the book of tales Jorah had given her when first she'd wed. ]

If I wish to surprise you with a gift, I must be sure to make no mention of it, you mean. [ Though he had not stolen it, he had cheated his way to the sword, and it does not surprise her in the least. She turns toward him, moving her hands toward the hilt. From a queenly, knighting pose to a warrior's, or as closely as she can imitate it. ] How is it meant to work?

[ A sword that slays people and extracts the truth at once seems a poor design. ]

[selfimage]

[ it is a myth, or a story, not far from those that were told in her world. all stories got mixed together in the cosmic fray, bleeding out into different directions through the multiverse. it's no surprise that some of the same themes repeated in her world as they did in his own.

the towel falls to rest over his shoulder, and he takes an elegant step forward to catch the flat of blade between his thumb and forefinger. ]

The blade is sharp enough to shave with. A close shave. [ he runs a finger along the edge, until the blood wells up around it. ] It pierces the skin, and an old curse bleeds into the body, and forces out the truth. To suffer the blade is to suffer the truth. It's said that the even a non-fatal blow can become fatal, yet the victim doesn't die from a mortal wound, but from the truths they deny that the blade uncovers.

[conqueress]

I see. [ She seems satisfied. ] Then any cut may suffice.

[ And hence there is no need to drive it through someone, should she only want for the truth. Still, swords are scarce wielded delicately.

A thin, dark shadow blossoms on the edge of the blade where he bleeds, and she removes it from his grasp. It is a small gesture, and he will surely heal, but she does not love to see him hurt. ]

And cravens are doomed by its bite. [ She returns to slyness. ] I may wish to bring it to Meereen with me. There are many such liars in my court, slavers and poisoners chief amongst them. With so many trying to break the peace, I will have little time for trials.

[ The flaunting of justice is said half in jest, but there's an undercurrent of seriousness to it, a sentiment that he will doubtless detect. If she should find her third betrayer among them, would that forestall the rest of the prophecy? Loki has done wonders for her wandering thoughts on that, but they have not fled her entirely. ]

[selfimage]

Not just cravens. Everyone lies to themselves about something, and someone is lying if they call themselves entirely truthful.

[ as the god of lies he knows the grey area to walk when it comes to lies. not just outright falsehoods, but exaggerations and omissions, lies told to keep someone together, ones that became the truth after long. ]

And sometimes it's the lies that save us.

[ he turns his finger as she removes the blade, the bright blood dripping across the blade. where the razor thin cut was, there is now nothing. he barely flinches.

with a long, exaggerated step back, he considers her. ]

Would you stab all of them? Erm—I take that back: Poke them a little.

it is a """"""joke""""""

[conqueress]

Poke them, to start.

[ It is said sweetly. He knows what that means. ]

I may change my mind. The slavers have grown brazen within sight of my walls, and young girls have been known to be fickle.

[ It is said with all the hypothetical viciousness of a young queen who has tried for too long to achieve what was thought impossible, and is slowly, tragically becoming convinced that none of it was worth the trouble. I should never have chained my children in the darkness. Silently, she examines the blade's gleam. Groleo had the right of it. One taste of dragonfire, and the fleet would have broken away and fled.

Thankfully, she still retains enough presence of mind to remember where she is. She pushes the thoughts away, and returns Gram to the wall, hilt first. ]

[selfimage]

[ well, she's certainly terrifying with something sharp in her hands; Loki appreciates it. Asgardians were gods that always had weapons in their hands, and while Loki made the most of weapons that weren't forged so literally, he was still an Asgardian. there was much to admire in cold steel.

for a moment, despite all of his resentment, he thinks that his mother would like her. ]

You do look good with it. [ the compliment comes out smoothly, like well-rehearsed poetry. the towel around his shoulders gets its use, and Loki begins to dry his wet hair with it. ] Politics would be easier if there was more stabbing and less game playing. Given, I'm more of the game player, myself, there's always room for a good stab to the gut.

[conqueress]

[ I show him my teeth, and he admires them. What have I done? She knows she should not love such a response, god or human. Hizdahr, for all she half despises him, is a match befitting her temperament: allowing her rage to wash over him as water, stopping her fire before it spreads. Loki watches, and Loki approves.

She steps to close the distance between them, her hands coming to rest over his own in the towel. He smells of soap, and she intends to do the rest. ]

Come back with me, [ she invites. It is a good dream. ] To Meereen. Help me to settle my quarrels, that no more need die. Help me distinguish friend from foe, secure trade, and ... and I shall have the time and men to put an end to slavery, as I wished to do.

[ Help me leave without burning away all that I have done. That would resolve some things, but not all. Strict agreements must be forged to find new means of earning coin, given time. There is still the matter of the pale mare to confront. But it is a fine thing, to imagine all her troubles vanishing with the aid of a deft hand. It is finer still to imagine him finding her in another world. ]

[selfimage]

[ there's no compliment to Loki. he's chaotic, fiery and mercurial. for all of his passions, he'd burn down empires for the sake of revolution, and while the urge to rule still takes him sometimes and makes him breathless, he finds that he's more comfortable in the niche between revolt and new starts.

he releases the towel as she takes it, letting her take charge of his damp hair. it falls with perfect ease no matter which way she seems to push it, as if it were meant to be artfully disheveled. with an easy lean, he sinks his rear into the bed, making his hair more accessible. ]

Admittedly ... as much as I find myself manipulating such circumstances, they usually turn out badly. [ there's a wistful, self-depreciating sort of smile. ] I'm better at tearing things down than I am at keeping them up.

But you never know—perhaps I'm there, already.

[conqueress]

[ As am I. Her fingers massage with the towel, the dampness from his hair beginning to cool through the cloth and kissing at her fingertips. There is something deeply affectionate about the gesture, something laden with care and deliberate thought, though it is not particularly effortful. ]

Perhaps it is you who is to blame for my troubles. [ The towel is released, his hair thoroughly rubbed, and still infuriating. ] I should have been searching for a god, not men in masks. Is that what you are saying?

[ It's a tease. Her troubles are many and more, though, and the knot she has found herself at the center of had only just begun to unwind. It is fiendishly worthy of him.

He's sitting, though, and perhaps it is the way he smells of soap, or the way his hair hangs just so, or even the easy way that they banter that tempts her to consider pushing him back onto the bed. Her hands settle onto his shoulders, but she makes no moves, yet. ]

[selfimage]

[ where he's generally either long and languid, strutting in his seat with pride, or anxious and unable to sit still, he settles for her, allowing his shoulders to roll back as her fingers endeavor to dry the rest of his hair. there are few things that he'll still himself for, or rather, few things that he finds himself stilled for. perhaps she's become too familiar in that way, but he knows that there's only steps forward, and no steps back.

he's not the sort of person to go back.

there's a low little hah that comes from his chest as she teasingly accuses him of plaguing her. the irony isn't lost upon him. ]

Certainly so. Perhaps you should seek that god and charm them as you have me. You have a knack for it.

[ he's not one to be teased and not give a small jab back.

the scent is fragrant, Loki isn't one to cherish the traditionally-produced masculine scents. they're fresher, like something from his world, but clean with a little woodsy undertone. ]

Though your life may not be any easier for it.