thoughtformed | [LOG] 'Til all my sleeves are stained red

Entry tags:

[LOG] 'Til all my sleeves are stained red

Who: Kid!Loki and Aradia
When: The night of the Kanima instagram?
Where: Aradia's room, in East 102
What: Secrets. Lots and lots of secrets, and irons in the fire, and how much work it takes to be Loki's confidante.

She wasn't worried. Was she? Sort of, possibly, in an abstract way. Just because he'd called on her aid once didn't mean that he needed her to bail him out of every single piece of trouble he got himself into, and she wouldn't insult him by acting as though it did. Realistically, it didn't look large enough to pose too much trouble; on Alternia, that would have been moderately dangerous at best, being as how it looked person-size. He should be all right. She skimmed ahead, briefly, saw no deaths. He didn't need her to bail him out.

And maybe he'd only stumbled on it by accident. That could have happened. But somehow Aradia didn't think with Loki that anything just happened. Somehow, somewhere along the way, he'd have had a hand in it. Even then, she didn't have to know. He'd promised honesty, not absolute disclosure, and she didn't have the right to ask for it.

And yet she was irritated, to not have known. Just a bit, enough for her to notice the edge on her mood. Aradia didn't want to dwell on what that meant, because the possibilities of poor repercussions, according to this timeline, didn't exist; everything turned out fine. There was no room for but what if it hadn't.

He didn't have to tell her anything! Just, she sort of wished he had.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Even with her abilities she makes an easy target. She's all bundled up, and he's on his feet, skidding across the snow easily in his tunic. He knows, even though it doesn't necessarily matter that he's Jotun, that he has the upperhand in this situation in every way.

"The alternative is not pleasant. Pummeled with snow is a very unfortunate way to go out."

And he's tossing a few snowballs from hand to hand.

She is far out of her element, but it's not as though she doesn't have a reckless streak of her own to try and defy the odds. Her defeat might be inevitable, but her concentration focuses on a point behind him, starts building something while trying to pretend it's all busy in front of him instead.

Aradia takes the bet that, since he's not currently at this moment pummeling her with snowballs, she can probably arrest his attention by starting to undo her overcoat, shoving it off her shoulders and dropping it down into the snow in defiance.

"Yes I'm sure it isn't." She sounds breathless. The cold is like a fucking knife straight in her chest, but now it's so much easier to move. Or show off; he's not the only one who thinks they're hot shit, and it's too cold for teasing attempts at the first steps of seduction. "Neither was exploding! But you can't scare me with that."

Okay, well, that isn't exactly ... what he expects ...

So as good as he is at playing with words, spinning pleasing little white lies, and mapping out reckless plots, he's incredibly gullible in some circumstances.

And this was one of those circumstances.

Though "what is she planning" should be the first thing that goes through his head, it's not.

"You'll catch cold," though the "old" at the end of "cold" sounds rather unsure—because he realizes that he doesn't know if trolls catch cold at all. But it can't be too comfortable, "and implode." He adds, as if it may matter.

It's a good thing that he doesn't ask, because Aradia is really just stalling for time by being as baffling as she can. She has zero plan, really, she's making this up as she goes along. The plan is to be distracting, while she builds snowball after snowball behind him, holding her steadily growing army in ready. Even though she immediately regrets that move because now she has to think of another, and there is absolutely no way she is taking off her sweater too.

"No to both those things," she says, unwinding her scarf, tugging loose her hair again. "I will just have more incentive to beat you as quickly as possible before I freeze!" Which is crazy. She might be crazy. Aradia feels pretty crazy right about now, because if this doesn't work out, and she can't get him with a big deluge she is going to be in so much trouble.

There's a moment where he's not entirely sure what to do, because he's rather unsure as to what she's doing. The snowballs he was so smugly juggling moments before are now piles of slush in front of him.

"I would much rather not have to defrost you. That requires skills with tinder that I simply do not have. Nor can I command the flame, and nor will I spontaneously combust.

"It's either Aradia the popsicle or Aradia the ice sculpture that will come as consequence."

This worked even better than she thought it would. Aradia almost feels a little guilty for what she's about to do, with ten snowballs packed and at the ready now, because it's sweet that he seems so distracted and kind of distressed about what she's doing to herself.

"I'd revive without your help. Death by freezing wouldn't be permanent, I'm pretty sure."

And she grins, suddenly, and raises a hand to seize complete control, yanking all the snowballs forward all at once.

It's right as he sees everything coming that he realizes that he's been very ungracefully defeated.

"Ah, Odin's balls."

He manages to say, just as he's struck with more snowballs then he imagined (though in all honesty, he wasn't exactly sure what he expected). The whole thing is overly dramatic, and he stumbles backward into the snow, laying there on his back with his arms spread wide.

Was that a cough?

Oh, shit, that didn't hurt, did it? She's running towards him before she can even think about it, nearly tripping in the snow. Maybe he's just being ridiculous and dramatic, or maybe she actually did it harder than she thought she did, she tried not to throw them too hard, she didn't think he'd fall over...

"Loki?" Aradia drops to her knees next to him in the snow, forgetting for a moment that she's freezing cold and shivering.

In response he opens an eye, looking her over briefly before letting out a huff and somehow sinking further into the snow. It's rather obvious now that he's a big fat faker covered in snow.

"Do not weep for me."

He begins, his voice hitting some pretty impressive theatrical tones.

Big fat faker or not, Aradia gives a huge sigh of relief to find out that he's not actually hurt. But if he wants to play that game!

It's as much theatrics as her shivering that gets her leaning over him, one hand touching his cheek lightly, the very picture of concern with big dark sad eyes and a quaver in her voice that is more from trying not to laugh than anything else. Though it probably sounds suitably torn up.

"But how will I go on without you?"

Well, even if he doesn't think she'll play back, he's already quite into it.

"You must, for the good of New Moore, and for the stake of the shaken milk," and then he breaks character to look thoughtful, "and perhaps the Punch of Hawaii." But then he ruins the whole thing by coughing the most fakely.

He's getting more and more used to her coming close, and he finds himself unflinching at the touch of her hand.

"But mostly for the shaken milk. So, do not mourn me and all that jazz. Instead rejoice in the glory of your victory. Valhalla will see me soon."

It feels natural to her to take initiative and touch him; it had always been that way before. Her only concern is that she's not sure whether or not he's ok with it, or if he's just more comfortable letting her start, or if he's getting used to it. Communication, it should probably be key, but for now it's more fun to lean over him in the snow, forgetting the cold for once to get caught up in the game.

"Surely there must be a way to save you." She's working up her best crocodile tears, the ones her lusus never actually fell for, but they're there nonetheless big and red and welling up in the corners even though she's still trying really hard not to laugh and break the scene. All that jazz. Really, Loki? "I never wanted this to happen! Tell me what I have to do to keep you here."

It's comfortable when it happens, but there's always that initial moment when skin meets skin that always surprises him. It's as if he forgets what it's like, and forgets that someone wants to make a connection with him, and then it happens and it leaves him confused as to why. He probably couldn't explain it if he tried, the same with many things that go through his head, or that are so intricately tied to his emotions.

"I am a goner, sweet lady! Carry on, fight the good fight! ...And all that jazz."

There was jazz to go there, he just couldn't remember any of his movies verbatim with a girl leaning over him as he sunk further into the snow.

"Yes I got that there would be jazz," she says, breaking character for just a moment of sharp, vaguely sarcastic amusement. He really was milking this for all it was worth, wasn't he?

"Do you have any last requests before you pass on?" She thought that was right, not that she had ever had any time to learn how to ease someone's passing. It sounded vaguely theatrical enough. "Anything to ease our parting? Before I freeze to death here."

"Much jazz," he adds, as if it means anything by now, half muffled by his own intention. Though the thought never passes him of this being a true passing--and he had witnessed passings before. Some by his own hand, some that left him a mess of a person, and others that were necessary to further diplomacy between him and Hel, and in the end, further another plan. He never really liked it, despite understanding its necessity.

He opens an eye to look at her again, ruffled in his hood and robes, with patches of snow over him, fluffy enough not to melt, even when they touched his skin. There's no flush in his face, though is breath comes out as puffs of fog in the air.

"Perhaps a reminder of warmth before my inevitable, yet heroic, downfall."

For a second she's tempted to get up and retrieve her coat and throw it over him, and that would show him warmth. But there's also the curious question of why the snow doesn't melt when it touches him- Frost Giant thing? -which is far more intriguing than cracking a wiseass joke.

She brushes at it with her fingers, stroking it off his face curiously. What is she supposed to do now? What is the response he wants, exactly?

Oh well. Can't ruin the moment by asking. She won't waste time with worrying about whether or not she's got the wrong impression.

"You know," she says, leaning back to quickly tug off her gloves, then applying her warm hands to his face as she leans back in. "You can just ask."

But when she bends over him, hair falling around them both into the snow, she hesitates that last small space between her mouth and his, her nose brushing his, breath warm on his lips as she lingers there.

"Warm enough yet?" Because she can't help teasing him, a little bit.

There's that funny feeling in his stomach again.

"Warmer."

He's overly conscious of the lump in his throat. He had thought when this moment would come again, that he would manage to control himself a little better—but he's still oddly nervous. Loki, Son of Odin, nervous about a possible kiss.

Well, if there was anything that he was sure of, was the funny feeling that he couldn't place. It had come a few times when he was in Asgard, with Leah, but they always managed to be cut short by some dire event or another. There were no interruptions here. Just the two of them and the snow.

More than a possible kiss. Aradia means to do it, she wants to do it, and that gives her enough of a reassurance that he wants her to do it too. She knows why her chest feels strangely warm and knows that her knees would feel a little weak if she were standing up.

"Oh, ok. I can fix that."

When he'd kissed her under the mistletoe he was gentle, and she didn't ask for any more than that now. She covers his mouth with her own, soft and careful and lingering there, not demanding any more than that he accept it if he didn't want to give anything.

He had imagined kissing a lot and what it would possibly be like, but it was different each time, yet still familiar. Instead of being lost in the overwhelming idea that anyone would want to kiss him, this time he's more aware of what's happening. There are details that he can focus on this time, like the feeling of her stray hairs against his face. And there's the warmth between them.

It wasn't something he pictured for himself at all.

But the thoughts are wiped away when it happens, and the nervousness melts away. It's nice, and it's something that he could see himself getting used to.

"... That was a very quick fix on your behalf." He says with half-lidded eyes, still half-buried in snow. "I shall never doubt you! I feel renewed."

She hasn't pulled back from him just yet, still lingering there just a few inches away. For a moment she's forgotten about the cold or the fact that she's still shivering terribly, even so close to him; a confounding factor in why she hasn't moved away- that was warm, and the air around them is freezing cold.

"Do you?" She smiles, looking down at him from under her eyelashes, charmed in spite of herself. "It's funny, now I'm starting to feel rather faint and cold myself."

He's sitting up slowly, the snow falling from his hood. The drift around them is thicker now, full of large, fluffy snowflakes that begin to pile on one another. There's the spot in the snow that they disturbed, a mark on the now-white terrain. He reaches forward to cover both of her ungloved hands with his. It's easier this time to make that connection.

Before he realizes what he's doing he's leaning forward to meet her lips. He's still testing himself, and he pauses and breathes before he makes contact, as if he has to think about it once again before he follows through. It's light and gentle, and not with the same confidence as he had beneath the mistletoe.

Some part of Aradia hadn't thought he'd do it at all. Her fingers flex inside of his, for that bit of contact, but she stays still otherwise, letting him close the distance, letting him touch her first. It's funny, how that all of a sudden becomes a big deal, that small shift of air and that moment before the plunge.

But the lightness in her stomach doesn't go away with a second time either. It's funny, actually, in all her worrying about the past and the future and the present and the timing of everything just right, she never considered the possibility of having someone somewhere to do something like this with. It never came up at all. And now she's leaning into him, trying to convey somehow that yes it's ok, it's really ok, she's not going to pull away.

And his mind relaxes, eased by its constant string of thoughts. There's nothing else he can focus on but the contact, and later he will wonder if that's the key to it. If simple things like touching and kissing are all that's needed. They're young, but it feels like the whole world, and maybe he'll look back at it differently when he's older (a possibility that he had never considered).

"I had always wondered if that were true. Have I chased the chill from you?"

He looks oddly innocent when he asks that. He doesn't mean it in anymore depth then his tone implies. There's a shift in his footwork and he's standing, helping her to her feet.

Aradia doesn't have time or the inclination to read anything into it; as soon as they're not kissing, and higher brain functions come back online, she remembers that she is standing around in the snow without a coat, and she should probably put it back on really really soon instead of standing around flirting with him. Even if the flirting is nice, and the kissing, and letting him help her back up out of the snow. She'd lean into him again, but it's not enough.

"You did, for a little while." She squeezes his hands, smiling brightly at him, her cheeks just a little red. "But I think not even you can prevent hypothermia, so if you'll excuse me-"

She takes off to retrieve her coat, already starting to get covered in snow, shaking it clean as quickly as possible to bundle back into it, wet spots or no. Of course she'd left her gloves behind, by their spot in the snow, which necessitated blowing on her hands a couple of times to get her fingers to warm up, once they were out of his grip. And of course the shivering didn't stop immediately either. But it was a start.

"If what were true?" Her mind catches up, finally, and she looks at him curiously.

And he watches her retrieve her coat, and it's not until he realizes that he might be staring that he jogs toward her, swinging by to pick up her gloves on the way. He shoves them sloppily into a crevice of his tunic. He arranges himself appropriately, innocently reaching for her hand.

"If kissing kept you warm," he says, as if there's an 'of course' following the words, "I may challenge you in my anti-hypothermia ability." With the last words, he looks a little smug. He leads her away back toward the trolly, looking a little giddily pleased with himself. He's smiling like a big dope, and he can't seem to stop smiling like a big dope.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 5 of 6

[LOG] 'Til all my sleeves are stained red

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject