st_ratagem | (no subject)

Entry tags:

loki,
thor

(no subject)

It had been a while since the brothers had spent time together; it was possible that Loki had been avoiding Thor somewhat since their message conversation about his... involvement with Valkyrie. Further conversation was something he both did and didn’t want to have, which was a good sign of an unintended fight ab It to happen. But things had been quiet enough for long enough that it didn’t seem like something worth worrying about.

So Loki sent a quick message to Thor, inviting him up to see the fish tank and mostly-Valkyrie’s collection of goldfish swimming around inside it.

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Thor had a few projects he was working to keep him preoccupied, but Loki's absence hadn't gone unnoticed; instead of interjecting himself where he might not be wanted as he used to, he waited for Loki to extend the invitation.

And when he did, Thor immediately dropped everything he was doing to see his brother. The fish were just an added bonus.

Thor raps on the door to Loki's room, then opens it (a change from his usual knock-and-wait) and immediately asks: "Where are the fish?"

Since Thor was invited, the knock was unnecessary, and it didn’t matter either that the man just walked in. Loki just gestured at the large tank against a wall, with the loveseat (‘borrowed’ from elsewhere in the Inn) nearby, positioned for fish-watching. “Just there.”

It was a nice tank, for all it had started existence as several sheets of ice and some whittled ash sticks. Transmutation was useful magic, at times. There were plants and rocks, and in lieu of an actual filter, one or two of said rocks filled that purpose, sending bubbles up as part of oxygenating the tank. And of course, there were a large number of variously sized and colored goldfish swimming around.

Thor rushes towards it and leans down to take a look, his fingertips pressed against the cool glass.

"What are their names?" he asks, watching as the fish meander slowly through the tank.

Loki moved toward the tank as well, at a more sedate pace. “They don’t have names, Thor. They’re fish.” Although there was one exception. He pointed. “Except that one, the big one with the clipped fin? She’s Clipped Fin.”

Thor looks at Loki, incredulous. "All creatures deserve names," he pronounces, and he looks back over at Clipped Fin, whose name seems appropriate.

"Who named Clipped Fin?" He doubted somehow that it was Loki.

“Valkyrie. Clipped Fin is her particular favorite.” Loki shifted his point to a red decorative rock with roughly half a dozen fish swimming in lazy orbit around it. “Collectively, they’re The Cult, if that helps. They don’t leave the rock, and chase off anyone who gets near it.”

Thor nods, humming to himself as he mentally inventories the fish and resolves to name them all later.

"I wonder what they've named us," Thor says, watching the fish circling the rock.

There as one fish, the little speckled one who hid in a porous rock all the time, that would remain in-named unless Thor was more observant or luckier than Loki though. Which was fine, the tiny hermit avoided most trouble that way. “I doubt they remember us from moment to moment. They have tiny brains, after all.”

"It's still fun to think about," Thor says, gently stroking a little patch of glass with his index finger to try and encourage a fish to approach. No fish approached it. "I'll get you a list of names for the other..." Thor mentally re-counts the fish. "...21." Yes, that includes the one that's hiding away.

Thor runs a hand through his hair, pushing the stray strands falling awkwardly in his face back. His hair is growing back -- slowly, yet surely -- but it's at an awkward length that makes it difficult for him to manage.

...damn. “Take the speckled one in the rock off your list, and if you have to make a lot, give it to the Valkyrie. She might not ignore it completely.” He tilted his head and took a stab at changing the subject. “You need a haircut, brother.”

Thor is about to open his mouth and ask why not include the speckled one? when the conversation seamlessly segues to the subject of his hair.

"I do not."

“You do.” Loki gestured. “As I believe I predicted, a ragged untidy mop.”

"Don't make fun of my hair."

“I’m not. If I were, I’d have found some doll’s name or other to call you or asked if you were going for the ‘failed barber with trembling hands’ look.” Yes, he had both of those ready to go. “You need a trim to even up the ends and possibly some clips to hold it until it’s long enough for you to pull it back.”

"It's almost there," Thor says, defensively, running his hand through his hair a second time to check the length. "If I trim it, it will prolong that date by another few weeks."

“It won’t,” Loki disagreed. “The shortest hair controls what you can do with it. You’re on it’s time, regardless of whether other bits are longer or not.”

"And if the shortest hair gets cut even shorter?"

“It won’t, that’s why it’s called a trim.” Loki mimed holding hair between two fingers and snipping with the other hand. “Even the ends to match. Have you honestly never paid attention before when your hair was cut? Mother used to trim your hair, I’m sure.” She’d certainly trimmed his, anyway.

Thor eyes Loki warily. True, when he was much younger, his mother did trim his hair and when he was older, he'd go in for the occasional trim, but he had considerably more hair then and parting with a little of it was far more easily done.

"Yes, but I have little enough hair as it is."

“Translation: ‘I’d rather keep an ugly mess than clean it up because I am a gigantic infant.’ Or possibly ‘quantity over quality, that’s what matters.’” Loki shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he wasn’t, he was just twisting his brother’s metaphorical arm a little harder, “both sentiments seem like you.”

"It's not ugly," Thor insists, sulking. He turns and looks back at the fish. They probably don't have little brothers that make fun of their fins.

“Give it your few weeks, and even you will see it.” Loki shrugged as if he was giving up. “Well, I’ll remind you of this next time you get insecure and try to get me to rate your attractiveness.”

Thor sullenly presses a finger against the cool glass of the aquarium and doesn't say anything.

That felt like progress, wearing the idiot down. “You’ll feel better when it’s fixed, brother. I swear.”

Thor strokes his finger against the glass. "You can't know that."