I have to tell you something, it's to do with some of my old team-mates who are in the city. You won't like any of it, but now I've hashed out the personal particulars I feel it's time you were let in on the loop too.
[ Plus, everyone else might just blab it to her first and he really, really doesn't want that to happen. ]
[ A package arrives at the apartment, labelled for Verity Willis: a pair of black heels and elegant evening gown with a note attached in Asgardian hand-writing that reads DRESS FOR SEVEN ;)
Loki arrives at ten-to the hour that evening, waiting on the doorstep in a green velvet jacket and tuxedo. He wiggles his fingers Hello! at the peep-hole. Even his hair, usually fluffy and free, has been parted to one side and combed into submission. ]
[Loki always pulls out strange surprises but the whole here's-a-pre-picked-dress-for-you move is a new one, leaving her gawking at the box when she opens it earlier in the day. Hair in a frazzled mess and dressed in sweats, her original plans consisted of a night in, attempting to read a Sherlock novel (which would inevitably switched to watching bad documentaries when she gives up three paragraphs in). Instead she's sighing, throwing herself in the shower to to give her hair a wash before fixing herself up to match the elegance of what's been brought to her.
Opening the door, she's fully dressed with curled hair, snorting a bit when she catches him in his own clothes. Crossing her arms, she gestures at him with a nod, eyes peering over the attire.]
And what exactly is this all about? Pretty sure it's not my birthday.
[This is still weird. Very weird and Verity's been witness to a variety of things that categorize as strange considering she's best friends with a Norse god. Still, it's less freaky since this isn't another version of her, a girl with a similar face, yes, but not another Verity.]
[ After this, during a spare five minutes before going to meet the twins. ]
Verity, if I sound like I've tried to manipulate the young version of the Scarlet Witch on the network into doing anything relatively outlandish within the next couple of hours when I call you back after meeting up with her, phone Billy and ask him to punch me extremely hard.
[ Of the things that rank highly as Weird And Inexplicable, wondering what Verity is doing back at her apartment with her housemates shouldn't even qualify. Still, after having her over (at length) during the blizzard and, semi-regularly as and when he pleased, sharing his bed with her following that night in the bath, he finds "The Lair" is a lot more spacious and empty without her than how it was before. There are some things he isn't sorry to be doing without, such as extra hairs in his razor, but on the whole Loki finds himself slouching against counters, chinning a hand on his knee after video games, and eating alone in front of the television feeling the weight of his best friend's absence more keenly than ever.
It wasn't like this on Earth-616. There were far more things to do over there, unlike in Eudio where it usually feels like Loki is scratching at his skull for ways to keep his rampant curiosity satisfied, gleaning nothing from a stoic government and left with entirely too much time to fraternise with the (forgiving, you shouldn't let them) Young Avengers and his own ... person. It's not weird, now that they've slept together. There aren't fireworks blitzing around Verity's face whenever he looks at her, no astonishing revelations of belated Hollywood love tropes having been waiting in the eaves.
But he does miss the feel of her smile beneath his kiss; the ease of touch between them in the morning; the sound of her voice in lieu of a phantom's scream. Silly, sentimental things.
Friendship, he reasons, is inherently weird. ]
Ring, ring! Lair calling.
[ So when he calls her via video this time, reclined on the sofa in jeans and a couple of tees, he doesn't question why and just does it. That's a very Loki thing to do, after all. Why not? It's only half-past midnight. ]
[There hadn't been such a drastic change by the time Verity had returned to her own apartment. More than anything else, sleeping with Loki had probably returned things to being more normal between them, the awkward misunderstandings of physical attraction in the middle having been quite an unnecessary annoyance more than anything, and it was fairly nice.
But everything is as it is, everything except for the now seemingly permanent smell of apple that almost seems to follow her at a constant. Her missing of Loki while not having him around is old news, though it's met with a huffing smile and a nice memory this time instead of the usual depth of worry. She's more relaxed overall, managing to get through an extra page or two tonight in Pride and Prejudice, the nagging still in the back of her head but almost easier to ignore.
When she gets the call, it's hardly too late on her end, though she's hardly dressed up for a video conversation — sweats, t-shirt, messy braids, no bra, no makeup — but it's Loki, who knows her most from any angle and she can't even be annoyed.
Sitting up and pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, she answers with a raised brow.] I'm still not calling it that, you know.
[So-- this is sort of begrudging on his part. Not because he doesn't like Verity -- he does. A lot, actually. But Loki was a sore topic now more than ever. That didn't mean he wasn't entirely without concern. Loki had been-- miserable when they found him. He wanted to be sure he wasn't wasting away on a bench somewhere.
He didn't want to drag her into anything was between him and Loki though, so he asked as casual as possible--]
[Hearing from Billy is, well, surprising, though not entirely unexpected. She'd heard about what had happened, how things hadn't exactly gone pleasantly in his previous meeting with Loki. Chewing on her lip, she pauses for a brief moment before responding.]
Yeah, I've seen him. [Actually lingering in his apartment now, sitting in his kitchen eating a piece of leftover pie as the god sleeps soundly in the other room.] He's alright. For the most part.
( when verity returns home from her update there is a giant fruit basket waiting for her, some of the fruit is even carved into flowers. it's a fucking awesome fruit basket, okay? also, chocolates. )
Dear Ms. Willis,
Please accept my sincerest apologies for your recent unscheduled return home.
Thank you for rejoining us. We appreciate your patience and your presence. Please don't hesitate to call on me if you should require any assistance.
You probably won't get this unless you return to the Cuddle Dimension, so I'm going to take advantage of that to be brutally honest.
I miss you. I wait for people to look at me the way you did, or come to me as you would with your arms open, and they don't. I wasn't going to splash out on my new apartment when I moved — the other place was too big without you there to fill it — but I saw a painting in all the hues of your hair. You know how you would dye yours a darker shade but you'd miss a bit and it would come through as a rosy marbling effect, red and pink and purple? It does that. I rested my forehead against it for a while yesterday and tried to talk to you, but nothing came out.
I'm helping name a pizzeria after you. It's such a morbid idea, as if you've died, but whatever. I wanted to call it "In Vino Veritas", heh, but I ... don't think it'll stick.
... I am sorry for leaving you at home, if that's what happens. I didn't mean to upset you while you were here, I was just scared. That's a really weak excuse from a god, right? Maybe I want to fool myself into believing you're listening, the thought itself is a comfort. You know how selfish I am.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
realistics) wrote2015-03-17 02:45 pm
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[ Plus, everyone else might just blab it to her first and he really, really doesn't want that to happen. ]
May I come over?
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Yeah, I'll be here.
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Something like:
~(V)~ !!
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roomie mass text.
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Would you mind that my moustache might tickle your thighs?
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Why is your mustache anywhere near my thighs in the first place?
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( post-heist by a couple of days )
Loki arrives at ten-to the hour that evening, waiting on the doorstep in a green velvet jacket and tuxedo. He wiggles his fingers Hello! at the peep-hole. Even his hair, usually fluffy and free, has been parted to one side and combed into submission. ]
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Opening the door, she's fully dressed with curled hair, snorting a bit when she catches him in his own clothes. Crossing her arms, she gestures at him with a nod, eyes peering over the attire.]
And what exactly is this all about? Pretty sure it's not my birthday.
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I can't see my floor.
I won a crate of 5,000 condoms at a poker game, can I send you some?
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You sure you're not gonna use those up on your own?
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video.
( A little cagey. ) We could be from other worlds, but I still have a question for you: do the names Bertinelli or Cassamento mean anything to you?
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Uh, not particularly. Was is that? Italian?
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Verity, if I sound like I've tried to manipulate the young version of the Scarlet Witch on the network into doing anything relatively outlandish within the next couple of hours when I call you back after meeting up with her, phone Billy and ask him to punch me extremely hard.
Thanks.
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Loki, what exactly is going on? Who is this girl?
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It wasn't like this on Earth-616. There were far more things to do over there, unlike in Eudio where it usually feels like Loki is scratching at his skull for ways to keep his rampant curiosity satisfied, gleaning nothing from a stoic government and left with entirely too much time to fraternise with the (forgiving, you shouldn't let them) Young Avengers and his own ... person. It's not weird, now that they've slept together. There aren't fireworks blitzing around Verity's face whenever he looks at her, no astonishing revelations of belated Hollywood love tropes having been waiting in the eaves.
But he does miss the feel of her smile beneath his kiss; the ease of touch between them in the morning; the sound of her voice in lieu of a phantom's scream. Silly, sentimental things.
Friendship, he reasons, is inherently weird. ]
Ring, ring! Lair calling.
[ So when he calls her via video this time, reclined on the sofa in jeans and a couple of tees, he doesn't question why and just does it. That's a very Loki thing to do, after all. Why not? It's only half-past midnight. ]
video »
But everything is as it is, everything except for the now seemingly permanent smell of apple that almost seems to follow her at a constant. Her missing of Loki while not having him around is old news, though it's met with a huffing smile and a nice memory this time instead of the usual depth of worry. She's more relaxed overall, managing to get through an extra page or two tonight in Pride and Prejudice, the nagging still in the back of her head but almost easier to ignore.
When she gets the call, it's hardly too late on her end, though she's hardly dressed up for a video conversation — sweats, t-shirt, messy braids, no bra, no makeup — but it's Loki, who knows her most from any angle and she can't even be annoyed.
Sitting up and pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, she answers with a raised brow.] I'm still not calling it that, you know.
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He didn't want to drag her into anything was between him and Loki though, so he asked as casual as possible--]
Any chance you've seen Loki?
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Yeah, I've seen him. [Actually lingering in his apartment now, sitting in his kitchen eating a piece of leftover pie as the god sleeps soundly in the other room.] He's alright. For the most part.
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A LETTER AND A FRUIT BASKET.
Dear Ms. Willis,
Please accept my sincerest apologies for your recent unscheduled return home.
Thank you for rejoining us. We appreciate your patience and your presence. Please don't hesitate to call on me if you should require any assistance.
Warmest regards,
Martin Ward
Mayor
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[ In other words: SAVE ME PLS ]
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i almost wrote loki instead of lucky SIGHS
osdiuhfoidsfj; one track mind
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is it monday yet
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national holiday
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how'd that come up?
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( voicemail unreceived )
You probably won't get this unless you return to the Cuddle Dimension, so I'm going to take advantage of that to be brutally honest.
I miss you. I wait for people to look at me the way you did, or come to me as you would with your arms open, and they don't. I wasn't going to splash out on my new apartment when I moved — the other place was too big without you there to fill it — but I saw a painting in all the hues of your hair. You know how you would dye yours a darker shade but you'd miss a bit and it would come through as a rosy marbling effect, red and pink and purple? It does that. I rested my forehead against it for a while yesterday and tried to talk to you, but nothing came out.
I'm helping name a pizzeria after you. It's such a morbid idea, as if you've died, but whatever. I wanted to call it "In Vino Veritas", heh, but I ... don't think it'll stick.
... I am sorry for leaving you at home, if that's what happens. I didn't mean to upset you while you were here, I was just scared. That's a really weak excuse from a god, right? Maybe I want to fool myself into believing you're listening, the thought itself is a comfort. You know how selfish I am.
See you later, BFF.