Log: Fifth of Rebirth's Decline

[sorcerous]

Who: Loki-wolf and OPEN
What: A thousand years of experience, and Loki still can't figure out that the reason he can't change back from a wolf into a human is because he's scared to.
Where: Around Schwanheim, listening to rumors.
When: Today IC
Notes/Warnings: Loki is a warning in and of himself. He's also still a wolf until he figures out how not to be. Will update with anything important. UPDATE: Now contains NSFW sexual content between (human) Loki and Sif.

For the most part, the wolf wanders and listens. There are important rumors flitting through the city, a scattering of truth in all of them, and so he investigates. He is near invisible in this form; they ignore him, or they treat him like a dog, shooing him away.

Once or twice, he finds a child left out on a doorstep, catches a glimpse of eyes watching him from the windows. More of this then? Mothers who would rather have their children kidnapped by a wolf?

The first time, Loki passes by; the second, he pauses and licks the baby's face. A little girl. Her cries begin to fade, and he curls up around her, tense: not eager to be spotted by anyone who knows him, but cautiously savoring the sensation of a little thing dependent on him for safety. Once she is asleep, he gathers her swaddling in his teeth and scratches at the door until it is opened, at which time he sets her down and sinks his teeth into the mother's hand just enough to draw blood. Watch your offspring, sow.

And once he is tired, he drifts back to more familiar ground, absently following more familiar scents.

Comments

[brosif]

The memory of her dream has been slowing Sif’s hand in battle. Not enough that she has been put in danger, yet. Not even enough to be noticeable to any trained warrior unfamiliar with her usual movements. In battle, she is quick and strong. But before the blade connects with the target, there is a memory of blonde hair and red blood, mixing with the dirt.

Unacceptable. On the edge of the forest, she has found an unmanned clearing and set to practicing her forms on a dying tree. Even here, on a thing that cannot bleed, the memory chases her. Her form is nearly perfect, but her distraction is clear.

[sorcerous]

He does not disturb her, merely noses along her scent and lays himself down nearby. Well out of range, but close enough that her warrior's sense will find him, soon enough.

If she takes too long, he rolls onto his back, squirming against rough weeds. An attempt to rid himself of the dirt of accumulated days. He has never spent so long in one form not his own before.

[brosif]

Sif hears the rustling, and surmises quickly enough who it is. Any other animal would have attacked or fled, by now. But she is still cross with him, for a number of reasons, and finishes her set before she seeks him out.

The sight of him attempting to groom himself makes it difficult to stay cross. It’s so deeply Loki. Even on their shortest hunting trips, he was never above changing into an otter and finding the nearest lake to bathe in.

She approaches, crouching down. Wordlessly, because they have been having trouble with those of late, she holds out a hand.

[greatsquirrelhunter]

Faolan sees Loki going by and decides. Hot he wants to play too. Loki is a wolf now, and they can do wolf things and run and chase and roughhouse. And it wil be like the time that Loki was a fox, but not so strange because Loki won't be littler than him. He trots along behind Loki, waiting to be noticed, tail wagging hugely.

[sorcerous]

He stares at the hand, still flopped on his back. Considers his response. And then he squirms a little more, twists around so he's standing, ducks over and gives the hand a single lick. And then disdains it, trotting over to another patch of weed and using it to rub his muzzle.

Both accepting and rejecting. It's kinda Loki's thing.

[brosif]

Then here is Sif’s: anger. Disbelief contorts her features, and quickly turns into a rage that spurs her over towards the cat-like wolf.

She tugs him by the ear.

“I exist. Stop ignoring me.”

There is jealousy in her voice, if he knows to listen for it. He has reconciled with Sansa, he has fought with Thor. He has barely acknowledged her, and it cuts in a way she is not comfortable with.

[sorcerous]

He yelps, and bats at her hand, his paw without claws extended. Squirms out of her grip and barks at her, rough and angry. She is angry -- ! What right has she? Loki is the one abandoned, not her. He is alone, his speech muzzled, and he cannot turn back into a man.

[brosif]

Good. She would rather this than how he has been behaving. The bark does not unnerve her – if anything, she is more apt to bark back.

“You have been avoiding me. You would even take a wolf’s form, now, than have this conversation with me as a man.”

[sorcerous]

If I could be a man, I would! He shouts it, near as he can, his voice turned to bark and howl. Mournful and desperate. Why does she assume the worst of him, so? Must everyone turn against him? Everyone he wishes to trust?

[sorcerous]

It does not take Loki long, and when he does, he whuffs in disapproval over Faolan's appearance. He drags him to the side of the road and licks him, one long lick after another, setting his fur in order and cleaning off bits of mud and twig.

[brosif]

The response shakes Sif. She doesn’t understand what she has said to cause such offense – he is the one who…

But then, a tracker’s eye: at the dirt built up around him, at the tension in his flanks.

Loki hates being dirty. Loki prefers to fight with words. Her eyes go wide and she crouches down, anger dissipated.

“You cannot change, can you?”

[sorcerous]

This inadequacy -- he could command changing spells when he was young, and now he cannot. He cannot, and he is helpless and without a voice and she and Thor turned him away.

He gives a sullen, slight shake of his head. No, he cannot.

[brosif]

Her first impulse is to ask him why he didn’t seek her our earlier, after their altercation at the forest. But she has her answer before she asks the question. Pride. They have enough to spare, between them. No, better to focus on things at hand.

“Loki, come here.” No anger – only concern. “Please. Let me take a closer look at you.”

[greatsquirrelhunter]

While happy at the attention, Faolan quickly starts squirming in protest. It's time to PLAY, Loki! Or hunt! This an come later! He leans forward, licking Loki's muzzle in return to try and convey this message.

[sorcerous]

He sidles closer, reluctantly, and sits within her arm's reach, hunched and small.

[brosif]

Honestly. She closes the distance between them, and is at his side. She places her hand on his back, tentatively.

“No derby hats, then.” Or any markings that she can see. “We need a system. Would you bark once for yes and twice for no?”

[sorcerous]

She will notice that his fur is soft. Not as a wolf of his age should be, but like a pup, instead.

As best he can, he rolls his wolf-eyes.

He shakes his head. A clear no. Why use some inane barking signal when he can convey himself perfectly well in a more dignified way?

[brosif]

“At least we know the core of you remains unchanged,” she snaps. Though even as she does, she is running her fingers through his fur, stopping at a piece of underbrush that has become tangled and knotted into the soft hair. She turns her ministrations to it.

“Have you been cursed, that you can remember?”

[sorcerous]

He edges closer, under her touch, relaxing to allow her easy access to the burr. It has been bothering him for miles; he is sure the skin below is worn sore.

He was certainly not himself when he was the wolf, most of the time. But he does not recall being cursed, either. After a long hesitation, he shakes his head.

[brosif]

She does her best to remove the burr with fingers alone, but it is too tangled in. The brush she has for her horse is far too soft to be effective. She reaches to her side and pulls out a small knife, holding it out in full view of him.

“Do you mind?”

[sorcerous]

Another headshake; in fact, he lowers himself to the ground and rolls onto his side, exposing his belly, giving her a better angle on it.

Oh, how he wishes for a bath.

[brosif]

“You would have been better trapped as an otter.”

She leans in and starts to work, pulling the hair out with one hand and cutting away bits of the brush with the knife.

“Perhaps the next time we meet,” she muses, “I will be stuck as an animal and you as a man. It seems to be the way of things."

[sorcerous]

He twitches when she tugs on a particularly sore patch. Just a little reflex of pain. He lets out a little huff.

[brosif]

She works a bit longer, and then cuts the most stubborn burr out, checking the skin below for cuts.

“There. Now, do you remember first changing into this form? Before the beast took hold of your mind?”

If there was a more delicate way to put it, Sif did not know one. He lost himself to the beast.

[sorcerous]

Loki huffs; stay still! If he can't get himself clean, he'll at least work out that desire by proxy on Faolan.

Though his fur seems designed to stick up at odd angles.