2/6/13 [Fandral, Thor, Raven]
Feb. 8th, 2013 04:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aa_fandralAs a boy, Fandral would say, "I hate this drink," or "I hate that swamp," so on, and Volstagg would admonish: "Hate is too strong a word." Fandral did not remember who or how, but he'd taken to heart a different warning. Not that he didn't say 'love,' but often falsely.
Less often, now. When Nina gasps it, he just laughs. She brains him with a pillow! They forget in the incoherent heat stoked afterward. He has no desire to stay long, get close, look closely. But her fingers are— flickery-boned, fidgety, articulate, and he has to tell himself: Enough.
When Loki was an infant, Frigga put him in this awful crib. It was a huge, hideous extravagance from Vanaheim. Loki had hated it too; he'd scream himself purple, thrash until Thor burgled him from his chamber. They scandalized the servants by napping in the bread racks, squashing fresh loaves for the delicious heat, or on the bridge, in sunshine.
Loki's room is cold. It takes Thor one thousand years to realize what he'd seen. Sitting on his brother's bed to think, he sees now that it is spacious, but Loki was given the one that sunlight never quite touches.
For two months, Raven kept the black box for Rhodey. It was small, heavily-encrypted, had neither Internet accessibility nor wireless capability, no external ports, two biometric scans, and voice-recognition. He updated it regularly, mostly privately. Raven locked it in the hotel safe, even though he pointed out no one could get into it and "Avengers stuff" inevitably went public anyway. He was half right, which showed what he knew.
Three hours after he leaves for some awful "rendezvous" at "Zulu-plus-eight," she gives in: just a peek. She thinks James is the only one with licit access. She's half right.
Less often, now. When Nina gasps it, he just laughs. She brains him with a pillow! They forget in the incoherent heat stoked afterward. He has no desire to stay long, get close, look closely. But her fingers are— flickery-boned, fidgety, articulate, and he has to tell himself: Enough.
When Loki was an infant, Frigga put him in this awful crib. It was a huge, hideous extravagance from Vanaheim. Loki had hated it too; he'd scream himself purple, thrash until Thor burgled him from his chamber. They scandalized the servants by napping in the bread racks, squashing fresh loaves for the delicious heat, or on the bridge, in sunshine.
Loki's room is cold. It takes Thor one thousand years to realize what he'd seen. Sitting on his brother's bed to think, he sees now that it is spacious, but Loki was given the one that sunlight never quite touches.
For two months, Raven kept the black box for Rhodey. It was small, heavily-encrypted, had neither Internet accessibility nor wireless capability, no external ports, two biometric scans, and voice-recognition. He updated it regularly, mostly privately. Raven locked it in the hotel safe, even though he pointed out no one could get into it and "Avengers stuff" inevitably went public anyway. He was half right, which showed what he knew.
Three hours after he leaves for some awful "rendezvous" at "Zulu-plus-eight," she gives in: just a peek. She thinks James is the only one with licit access. She's half right.
