[closed]

[sorcerous]

Characters: Loki, Sif
Open?: No
Where: Drunk Duck Inn and Tavern
When:Rebirth Height 8, late
Warnings: Loki is a warning. A warning of angst and petty bitchery. Also probable mentions of genocide and arguments and identity crises. Will update if necessary.

He has taken a single room at the inn, pending time to find his own space. It is simple -- he has no need of ostentation. He has few possessions, too, though being poor in wealth bothers him little, knowing how poor he is in everything else. Power, companions... There is naught in his room but bed, ever-so-limited wardrobe -- and, of course, the mirror.

A hand-mirror. Silver, embossed and engraved, with a handle. It is face-down, on the bed, half-covered by the pillow as though the owner didn't quite know whether to hide it from sight or leave it in plain view.

The door is locked, but not warded by any noticeable means.

Comments

[sorcerous]

He takes the sash in his uninjured hand, and holds it, curling his fingers in its folds.

"Were I to do it over again," he tells her, "I would do the same. I would destroy the Jotunn, and prove myself worthy for Asgard's throne. I would not allow Thor to lay me low."

The lies spill from his tongue so easy -- they belie Loki's terrible confusion, his conflict, the emptiness within him. Sometimes he looks back on it and he thinks he always expected to lose. He expected Odin to let him go. He expected Thor to sour love to hate so quick, quick enough to overpower his brother.

Loki bows his head. Blood leaks from his palm, and he cries with silent, shivering tears.

[brosif]

She doesn't look behind her. For whose sake, she is not sure. Her own face, unguarded enough, is too expressive right now. Regret, sympathy, and anger all rolled into one. She clears her throat before she speaks.

"You can lie better than that, Loki. Though I hope you do not need to."

With that, she takes her leave. The ride home will feel much longer than the ride here did.