st_ratagem (
st_ratagem) wrote2018-11-29 07:13 pm
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Final steps
Loki had spent the last hour or two before sunset preparing, and the first hour afterward. He’d taken ruthless advantage of the fact that the Inn staff was desperate to give people towels and had carefully interwoven the. On the floor such that there was no chance of getting at the actual carpet below without effort. He’d selected a dagger from his collection - a very old one that he hadn’t actively used since childhood, one of a pair given to him by his mother - and sharpened it to an almost perfect edge. He’d opened up the balcony door to let the early-winter night chill in. He’d even out together a little aid kit (disinfectant, pads, bandages, needle and thread) for afterward.
In many ways, the hardest part was settling on the towels with the in-etched staff resting in front of him and forcing Odin’s enchantment away, knowing that he wouldn’t be allowing himself to go back to normal possibly for hours. And that, as soon as Thor arrived with a bowl and his hands, it would all have a witness.
In many ways, the hardest part was settling on the towels with the in-etched staff resting in front of him and forcing Odin’s enchantment away, knowing that he wouldn’t be allowing himself to go back to normal possibly for hours. And that, as soon as Thor arrived with a bowl and his hands, it would all have a witness.
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"I don't know," he says. "It's not as if there will be anything for me to use when I return, either."
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He flipped the knife in his hand and offered it hilt-first to Thor. "I know Stark won't care, likely you won't either, and the second one stays with me, but... here. Not ancestral, but old enough no Midgardian should care."
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Thor knows how close Loki was to their mother. For him to even give up one part of a gift his mother gave to him --
"Thank you," Thor says. "I'll use it."
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It was, after all, an ancient knife, and Stark seemed the type to be staggeringly unimpressed by anything not advanced tech. Something like Gosh, I always wanted a letter opener thirty times older than me would be the least of it.
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Time to change the subject before more of the possible horrible fates awaiting the dagger occurred to him. “Can you even still feel your fingers?”
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"Oh," Thor says, as if the lack of feeling in his fingers just now occurred to him. "No."
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Thor gestures at himself with the dagger in typical casual Thor recklessness. "I can still feel my heart beating if that's what you're worried about," he says, as if that's some assurance to Loki.
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At least the feet thing was still funny. “Because, you see, I’m perfectly comfortable. I can’t tell if your core temperature is dropping.” Which it probably was. Loki made a mental note to see if he could figure out a way around that little bump. It wouldn’t do to freeze people on accident, though freezing on purpose was fine. Fine-ish.
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"Dropping, but fine."
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Loki would have gone already, but he wanted to see what happened with his brother’s ice-sealed feet.
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-- except he can't seem to pull his feet up off the ground. Thor looks down. In his frozen state he hadn't noticed the ice growing on his feet and up his legs.
His eyes flash from his feet over to Loki. He frowns and attempts to dislodge one of his feet with more force. His leg doesn't immediately pull up, but the ice around it begins to shatter from the force.
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He pulls one of his legs at full force; more of the ice crumbles. It takes three attempts for him to pull his leg free and the leg of his slacks still has shards of ice stuck to it.
"That's not very nice of you," he says, attempting the same with the other leg.
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Thor shivers, then makes his way inside his brother's room. His shirt is wet and cold -- much like the rest of him, so he sets the dagger on the bed and pulls off his shirt. He drops it on the ground then sits down, next to it. Back hunched, arms folded in front of him, Thor sulks.
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Loki followed his brother into the room, no less wet but not suffering from cold at all. After Thor hunched to sulk, he collected a few of the not-bloodied towels from the ground and settled behind him. On knees rather than sitting so he was elevated enough to throw a towel over his head and start chafing him dry. Starting, of course, with his hair.
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Thor offers no protest as his brother begins to towel him off. He just sits there solid and sturdy like a brick. "When father told me you were Jotunn, I was shocked. I couldn't believe he kept that from us."
He could understand maybe keeping it when they were younger, but they had been adults. How many years had Thor gone on about slaughtering Ice Giants and his Odin watched while his brother stood nearby?
"I don't hate what you are," he says. "I don't hate Ice Giants, either."
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