Ꮭoƙɨ Ꮭα̶ʋ̶ϝ̶є̶ץ̶ʂ̶o̶ƞ̶ Ødíηsoη (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sundr) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2019-02-18 10:50 am
sundr) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2019-02-18 10:50 am
Entry tags:
Babe, there's something lonesome about you
WHO: Loki Odinson
WHERE: House 19
WHEN: Backdated to the night February 9th, after Loki's return to the village
OPEN TO: Zevran Arainai
WARNINGS: Drinking, marinating in their misery together, talk of character death - will update as needed~
Since his return to the village Loki had been doing his best to lick his wounds --physical and emotional both -- in peace. It had been a long journey back, hard and cold and full of enough snares that his mood sours every time he thinks about it. If being stolen to that damned shrine to have his private moments broadcasted to others without his consent couldn't be miserable and shameful enough, the foxes were more than enough to take what pitiful shreds of silver lining they had and destroying them.
He still wears some of the damage from their unwanted and unexpected trip-- scratches and scrapes along his palms and arms when he lost his footing coming out of that tree, bruises in more places than he can count from being used as a cushion for Foster and his brother when they'd been ripped into the snow, though those undoubtedly pale in comparison to what lies under the bandage wrapped neatly around his left forearm. Perhaps he should be grateful that a particularly nasty bite and a few stray claw marks round out the worst of his injuries, but all it does is stand as a glaring reminder of how much he's without. With his magic, his ability to heal the way he should, these injuries would already be fading. Without it--
Loki has always been poor company in the time it took for him to heal. Having the process delayed in a body that has been virtually reduced to useless for how human he suddenly is, and the thunderclouds of his bad temper hang about him like a shroud for it.
He's avoiding Thor. There's too much they need to talk about without having a place to begin, too much that Loki knows he ought to apologize for, that Thor deserves transparency from him for, and the sorrow etched into his brother's expression every time he thinks he's alone to his thoughts is too much for Loki to bear when the maelstrom of emotions churning about inside of him already feels enough to engulf him whole.
So Loki's avoiding him, avoiding their home, stealing in just long enough stuff the last of the wine he'd taken from Stark's party into the black bag he'd arrived with and gather a bundle of wood before he disappears into the dark. Solitude suits him often and, though some may say the worst time to be alone is when one is so close to being drowned by their grief and guilt, it's what Loki wishes for now as he heads back into the village, intent on keeping just to the outskirts until he can find the abandoned house he's decided to wine soak his emotions in until they're easier to ignore.
A fire, a few hours of still silence, a couple bottles of wine that he can indulge in without hesitation or care, and Loki is more than looking forward to it as he slips up the steps of house 19, letting himself in without pause--
Only to find it a little less unoccupied than he expected.
"Zevran."
WHERE: House 19
WHEN: Backdated to the night February 9th, after Loki's return to the village
OPEN TO: Zevran Arainai
WARNINGS: Drinking, marinating in their misery together, talk of character death - will update as needed~
Since his return to the village Loki had been doing his best to lick his wounds --physical and emotional both -- in peace. It had been a long journey back, hard and cold and full of enough snares that his mood sours every time he thinks about it. If being stolen to that damned shrine to have his private moments broadcasted to others without his consent couldn't be miserable and shameful enough, the foxes were more than enough to take what pitiful shreds of silver lining they had and destroying them.
He still wears some of the damage from their unwanted and unexpected trip-- scratches and scrapes along his palms and arms when he lost his footing coming out of that tree, bruises in more places than he can count from being used as a cushion for Foster and his brother when they'd been ripped into the snow, though those undoubtedly pale in comparison to what lies under the bandage wrapped neatly around his left forearm. Perhaps he should be grateful that a particularly nasty bite and a few stray claw marks round out the worst of his injuries, but all it does is stand as a glaring reminder of how much he's without. With his magic, his ability to heal the way he should, these injuries would already be fading. Without it--
Loki has always been poor company in the time it took for him to heal. Having the process delayed in a body that has been virtually reduced to useless for how human he suddenly is, and the thunderclouds of his bad temper hang about him like a shroud for it.
He's avoiding Thor. There's too much they need to talk about without having a place to begin, too much that Loki knows he ought to apologize for, that Thor deserves transparency from him for, and the sorrow etched into his brother's expression every time he thinks he's alone to his thoughts is too much for Loki to bear when the maelstrom of emotions churning about inside of him already feels enough to engulf him whole.
So Loki's avoiding him, avoiding their home, stealing in just long enough stuff the last of the wine he'd taken from Stark's party into the black bag he'd arrived with and gather a bundle of wood before he disappears into the dark. Solitude suits him often and, though some may say the worst time to be alone is when one is so close to being drowned by their grief and guilt, it's what Loki wishes for now as he heads back into the village, intent on keeping just to the outskirts until he can find the abandoned house he's decided to wine soak his emotions in until they're easier to ignore.
A fire, a few hours of still silence, a couple bottles of wine that he can indulge in without hesitation or care, and Loki is more than looking forward to it as he slips up the steps of house 19, letting himself in without pause--
Only to find it a little less unoccupied than he expected.
"Zevran."