thoughtformed | The Mother of All Logs

It most likely found itself on the wrong-side of some grand battle.

[his flawless words are almost convincing. almost. even his hand gestures somehow aided his smooth execution, but that's all it was, a well-told lie.]

Someone's wrong, someone's right—and then both sides hit each other.

[Of course it was a lie. It was a rock. But she wonders why he's telling stories, if it's just Loki being Loki, or if he's not feeling ok.]

And which one were you in this scenario? Right or wrong?

[She lands carefully on the grass next to him, trying to keep pace.]

From my experience they call me the chaotic neutral. Perhaps chaotic good on a good day. I'm not very good at hitting people.

[and he smiles. he won't deny it had been rough. everything through the last couple of days had been, his odd run-in with his Other-Self, especially. there were still a lot of unanswered questions, there was still a kanima, and there was still Magneto. all problems yet to be solved.]

And you?

[She feels pity for him. Not that kind of pity, but sympathy, maybe; he's had it hard and she made it a bit harder, probably, being pushy. She can't fix his problems for him and wouldn't be so rude as to suggest he can't handle it- she has to trust him. But she wishes she could make it better.]

That's a good question. Chaotic good, maybe, but I think other people might think differently.

[Her shoulder bumps his, gently.]

You've been quiet lately.

[it was better now that Thor had arrived. at that time a relief washed over him in such a way that he had a full night's sleep that he hadn't had since his Evil-Self had arrived. he liked him better when he was a bird. he made a much better bird.]

Others' opinions have no say in the matter.

[he says, as if he's sure, until she's bumping him. he looks up, regards her, and then lets out a sigh.]

Many problems have resolutions, but some you must be patient for. Or so I've been told. I'm not very good at that, but this is an exercise where I'm not able to do much. At least, not yet. It's my problems. They have problems.

[and he wasn't used to it. there was always someone that he could manipulate, someone he could tell the truth to, something he could do with his wit that would bring about the ending so something awful. with his Evil-Self here, settling amount the residents of New Moore, he wasn't sure what he could do.

oh, he was also aware, in the back of his mind, of the weed that had been running rampant on the island. but for the moment, that concern was buried beneath another pile.]

Edited 2012-12-21 15:28 (UTC)

[She sympathizes. It's hard, feeling like you have no one to talk to. At least she'd had the various iterations of herself to talk to, even if they'd been just as pessimistic and cynical as she herself had been; and now she has Dave, who understands the difficulties they put themselves through for paradox space. But there's no past version of herself haunting her every step. No one has ever failed to trust her.]

You know asking for help hasn't ceased to be a possibility, in this timeline or any other. If you reach a point in your problems where that might be a solution.

[Aradia hasn't paid much mind to the mistletoe, herself; it seems fairly harmless, and congregated in populated areas, which the forest isn't.]

I'm unused to such kind words.

[and he nudges one of the stones with his toe, flipping it over casually, but looking to see if some great treasure were beneath it. there wasn't, so he turned back to her, softening somewhat.]

Sometimes I wonder if someone such as myself deserves such fine friends.

[She can't help looking surprised every time he says something like that. But she supposes, maybe if she had an Evil-Self running around, and the knowledge of horrible things in the past that she doesn't even remember, she might feel that way too.]

If you can't believe it for yourself, will you believe it if I say you do?

[that was ... not something he had expected. it caught him off-guard. it seemed that she was very good at that. demanding the truth out of him, protecting him, trusting him through it, somehow. she used many of the same tactics that he was used to using, himself, though he seemed to fall for them so easily.

there's a faint look of surprise that crosses his expression, but it softens.]

I may need to be further convinced.

[and even with the influence of the kissing weed, he hesitates. his fingers twitch at his side, but their arms are so close, and it's easy just to ... twist his arm into hers, and to brush a thumb against her thumb shyly. perhaps the time wasn't right. this wasn't an easy experience for him, even touching someone other than Thor or Leah is odd, but not unpleasant. no, definitely not unpleasant. it's warmer than he remembers, even though they've touched before.]

[ And yet this time it's her who's caught off guard. Only an extreme force of will keeps Aradia from glancing at him in surprise herself, or from starting. Never would she have expected him to reach out to her, like that, she knew when she touched him on their date that he wasn't used to it and that was all right.

And she'd thought, maybe, that he'd still hold a grudge from the theater. ]

Ok, but you'd have to give me some time to think up an appropriately demonstrative gesture of deservedness.

[ She thinks- she does what she thinks he wants, and carefully threads her fingers through his, and takes his hand. Has she even held anybody's hand since before she died? Aradia can't remember, but it seems right to feel his skin so cold, compared to the lowblooded heat she churns out, her life burning up so quickly. At least before she became a god herself. ]

[he's a little unsure. and there's a moment where it's a bit awkward, and his fingers are moving along hers to find the appropriate way that they link. he notes the focus, brushes it aside, and uses the means in which he knows best to clear the air.]

If I wait too long I'll become an old man with a very long, ugly beard.

[the mistletoe had matched the foliage so well that he hardly knew it was there. instead he allowed himself to be carried with his feelings.]

And then you'll come to me in a grand demonstration, but I'll be too blind to see it. That's a story somewhere, isn't it? If it's not, perhaps I should write it and market it.

[quiet, dummy.]

[ The thought that it might be mistletoe driven doesn't occur to her. She would have squeezed his hand without it, and leaned into him just a little bit as she laughed, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth without doing anything to stifle her giggles.]

No no, see, that's the thing about being Maid of Time. When you're made of it, you're always on time for everything. You wouldn't have to wait until you're old, I'd be there just when the moment was right.

[whether it's manipulating affections or just making him bolder is something difficult to place. but this was much better than kicking stones. though he had never imagined himself where he was, he had always been caught up in what he was doing. Leah was never one for such open affection, and Thor was ... well. Thor was most certainly Thor.]

Ah, Miss Maid of Time, what keeps you on your toes? A watch Saturn itself would envy, simple yet explicitly effective? A very timely sundial? Or some kind of vast understanding of the workings of Timespace?

Well, it's some of the latter; you don't really understand until you can move backwards and forward as you please, and see how everything comes together or falls apart.

[She draws up short, her hand still in his as she looks at him around the falling mass of her hair, smiling with the secret.]

But there's something else, too. [Her free hand takes his, guides it to the wrist of the hand still linked with his, to wear her pulse beats. A gesture of deep trust, for a troll, to offer up such a weak spot; some part of her marvels that she does it at all, but she wants to share the secret with him, and mistletoe or no she's not ready to put his hand against her throat, or against her heart.] Try not to lose count. Starting in three...two...one...

[he follows her motions, at the mercy of her movements. he doesn't protest, and he's oddly quiet for someone who always has something to say. he presses his fingers against her wrist, trying not to work himself up into the idea of what he could do—what his Other-Self may do with the situation presented. but they were different. and this was a testament of how different they were.]

Two ... One ...

[he says with her.]

Edited 2012-12-23 22:41 (UTC)

[ She starts marking the time in her head, one second, one beat. A minute is a long time to stand together, silent and so close, a long time to notice things. Like how soft his skin is, against hers, how soft humans are in general. The rise and fall of his breath, and hers on the off beats, so loud she can't even hear the forest around it any more, and the thrumming of her pulse up against his fingers.

It's the longest minute she can remember in her entire life. ]

Time's up! [ Her voice sounds too loud, too cheerfully bright, in the wake of so much silence. But her hands still linger against his, and she doesn't pull away when she glances up at his face. ] What's the count?

[ As though there's some doubt that there will be anything other than 60, a perfect marker of the seconds. ]

[quiet and comfortable. quiet, idiot, quiet. and he lets his mind settle, focusing on the feeling of her pulse rather than the incessant thoughts that usually seemed to carry him away. with them always came the highs and lows of emotions, and moments he had to remind himself not to get carried away in its waves. it's easier now, when he has something to keep him in reality.]

One a second, in time.

[to the time. exactly that far apart. he doesn't move back when she speaks, instead he stays close, his fingers still on her wrist.]

Are all of you like this? Or just you?

[ She doesn't make any attempt to pull her hands away, either, or let go of his. And her eyes are still fixed on his face. ]

I don't know, to be honest. I have never asked Dave about it, it could be different for him. When I was a robot it was more like a clock, a tick in the mechanisms of my body, er, because I ripped out the heart. But I don't think I want to talk about that, right now.

There are more pleasant things to discuss. Like why hot dogs come in packs of eight and buns packs of six. Perhaps someone's assuming that two won't want a bun, or someone will have two hot dogs on one bun. A thought. We could talk about how dinosaurs have feathers.

[how did this go again? last time he had been distracted—and it had been a moment where he believed that there was nothing else, and that at the end he would die. this was much different, and much more drawing. there was a funny feeling in his stomach that he conveniently ignored.]

Or other things ...

[ There's a certain fatality to it, when she finally lets go of his hand and settles her hand at the curve of his shoulder. Some things are meant to happen, and wouldn't she know that better than anyone? ]

Do I have to guess what those other things might be?

You could think about it.

[he says, and without the filter in his brain moving to think of something clever, that's all that comes out. there was no over thinking, just closing the space between them. there's a moment that their lips brush, and he pauses in hesitation.]

[ Her hand slides to the back of his neck, and leans up to close that last small gap without hesitation or reservation. It's the first time she's kissed someone and been alive, really alive to feel her lips give when they press against his, just a bit, or exhale gently, or hear the rhythm of her pulse kick into doubletime as she leans into him.

He's warm, and her stomach feels so light, and it's- it's really nice. ]

[and then it seems somewhat easier, despite all of his inexperience. it hadn't been until recently that he had kissed someone, and most of them had been brushes in passing under the influence of the plant. the whole idea of being close to someone was terrifying and thrilling. and it's not until the space between them is gone and their lips are meeting that he realizes how vast all the possibilities are.

and he's drawing forward to kiss the corner of her lips, and then her bottom one, and he's kind of sloppy, even when he tries to find her mouth again. it was nice and ah, different.]

[ When she kissed Equius, it had been violent. She'd pinned him there with her mind and a strength that didn't belong to her, not really, and ripped his mouth to shreds with fangs she'd never had before. And without her memory to aid her, without any sort of real feeling, it hadn't meant anything like this. To want to kiss someone, and awkward as it might be, uncertain, and to feel nothing but the urge to do it again, just as soft-

She's surprised to find that her breath catches when he kisses her again, and again, and her hands finally breath away to come up and cradle his face gently, guide him back down to her mouth, because she promised to help him, didn't she? In this as in everything else. And so she kisses him again, trying to teach him how to fit his mouth against hers, to let him learn how with all the patience and the time in the world. ]

[and when one ends another one starts, each different and thrilling in its own little way. there were many times that he had cursed under his breath because he knew that people, in the end, had shaped Loki's bitterness. there were many things that he caused by his own hand, but his insanity was driven further by the constant verbal abuse and unreal expectations of Odin All-Father, and the citizens of Asgard. they could be cruel and cutting, and their little barbs drove one to madness. and in those moments when he was judged and told how his intentions were evil, he could not help but understand his Evil-Self and why he had walked the path he did.

yet moments like these, as their lips meet and part playfully, as there's short breaths and quiet laughter when he misses, and she guides him back, the world is wonderful. and he realizes, as much as there were moments that he understood, that this kept him grounded. there were things in the world that were wonderful, and his Evil-Self, in his resignation to believe that he was the victim of the world's woes, missed details like this. and he wouldn't let them bring him back.

and when it seems that they're finished and he draws back finally, there's a look of amusement on his face. there's a bit of laughter in his throat as he leans forward again, but doesn't kiss her again, instead he asks, playfully, overwhelmed in giddiness that anyone would want to kiss him at all.]

One more?

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