I will not deny the truth in his words. I was a monster — and that monster still lurks beneath the surface. It will remain no matter how desperately I try to temper it.
I wasn't with him when he was hit, but I was with him while...
[ She doesn't want to say it, not even through text. ]
But I saw him go down. He was flying, then it looked like something slammed into him, sent him reeling off course and down to the ground. It was...brutal.
We came to the conclusion it might be another Visitor. Since he was clear of enemies and had no idea what hit him. All I could think of was a cannonball.
I doubt it was friendly fire, considering he was in the air and not down with the rest of us. So maybe someone with a grudge who wanted to use the battle as a cover to take a shot at him? Or someone doing it just for sport, in a twisted sense?
The night of the Solstice, a little box wrapped in green and gold paper arrives on Imogen's doorstep. There's a black silk ribbon tied around it and the tag reads: God Yule in elaborate calligraphy. No other signature on the tag, but when she opens the present, there's a pair of matte black daggers inside, with sheaths that can be strapped to the thighs. She may or may not be able to feel the spells cast on them, but they're enchanted to go unnoticed in shadow, secret weapons of last resort.
There's also a bottle of top shelf whiskey, and finally a note:
Happy holidays. Let's get drunk and stab people who deserve it!
Imogen doesn't know why she is surprised by the gift, but she is. She is also incredibly moved when she opens the box to find the most stunning pair of matte black daggers inside, perfectly balanced and combined with some sheaths that are stunning in their own right. She can feel the hum of magic as she touches them. Not that she knows what the magic is, but she can assume that it is useful.
The note makes her laugh, and it will be kept with the whiskey as she doesn't want to lose it either.
At some time before dawn, a package will be left for him, wrapped prettily in green wrapping paper and adorned with a black satin bow. Inside is a sleek, full-length black cloak lined with dark green silk on the inside. Along the inside of the lapels, there are hand-stitched Norse runes, some of which he might recognize as having been asked about in the last month or two when she had apparently needed to brush up on some old knowledge. There is also a soft hum of magic woven into the fabric, one that might help someone slip through the shadows with a touch of extra stealth. Not that Loki needs the help, she knows, but it's what she can offer.
There are also two delicate wine glasses and a bottle of red wine, along with a note.
Thank you for being you and for being my friend. Happy Holidays. Now let's find those people who deserve to be stabbed.
Oh, but this is elegant! Loki was half expecting a return-volley, perhaps in the form of wine or candy. He doesn't really need much. Caldera provides nearly everything he could ask. There was a time the holidays came with ridiculous princely tributes from Alfheim, Vanaheim, Nidavellir, all shared with the royal family or put to use in the Palace. Honestly, fancy things bore him these days.
But the cloak is simple, for all that it's well-made of fine fabric. No heavy brocade, no excessive ornamentation. Just the runes: his name, and some of his favored symbols, and he remembers her asking about them. Her touch and her affection linger in the embroidery, and while he doesn't feel the cold, he'll be wearing this often in the weeks to come.
He has no words for how wonderful it is to have the love of friends surrounding him, and so he'll have to save his gratitude for when they meet next, and offer it in the form of a tight embrace.
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I do not think he is concerned with that at all.
( wait. )
You.
What?
hahaha poor Dimitri
What?
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...Thank you
( really fucking killing it, Dimitri. She must be so wooed.)
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You're welcome.
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So he says nothing. Sorry. )
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Is that okay, Dimitri?
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He said that you have bloodlust under the surface and that there is a side to you that is completely feral.
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I wouldn’t sleep across the hall from you if I was scared at all.
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I would never hurt you. Not intentionally. And if I did, I would not forgive myself.
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I wouldn’t let you do that to yourself.
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Thank you.
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@ogreslayer
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[ She doesn't want to say it, not even through text. ]
But I saw him go down. He was flying, then it looked like something slammed into him, sent him reeling off course and down to the ground. It was...brutal.
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I doubt it was friendly fire, considering he was in the air and not down with the rest of us. So maybe someone with a grudge who wanted to use the battle as a cover to take a shot at him? Or someone doing it just for sport, in a twisted sense?
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Viktor says he thinks it was a gun. And he knows who it probably is.
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Who does he think it is?
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I'm going to go find him.
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Let me know if he's the one who shot Skan down when you find out?
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I'm also going to punch him in the mouth.
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action
There's also a bottle of top shelf whiskey, and finally a note:
Happy holidays. Let's get drunk and stab people who deserve it!
Love, Loki
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The note makes her laugh, and it will be kept with the whiskey as she doesn't want to lose it either.
At some time before dawn, a package will be left for him, wrapped prettily in green wrapping paper and adorned with a black satin bow. Inside is a sleek, full-length black cloak lined with dark green silk on the inside. Along the inside of the lapels, there are hand-stitched Norse runes, some of which he might recognize as having been asked about in the last month or two when she had apparently needed to brush up on some old knowledge. There is also a soft hum of magic woven into the fabric, one that might help someone slip through the shadows with a touch of extra stealth. Not that Loki needs the help, she knows, but it's what she can offer.
There are also two delicate wine glasses and a bottle of red wine, along with a note.
Thank you for being you and for being my friend. Happy Holidays.
Now let's find those people who deserve to be stabbed.
Love, Imogen
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But the cloak is simple, for all that it's well-made of fine fabric. No heavy brocade, no excessive ornamentation. Just the runes: his name, and some of his favored symbols, and he remembers her asking about them. Her touch and her affection linger in the embroidery, and while he doesn't feel the cold, he'll be wearing this often in the weeks to come.
He has no words for how wonderful it is to have the love of friends surrounding him, and so he'll have to save his gratitude for when they meet next, and offer it in the form of a tight embrace.