[His steps lead him haphazardly, his head bent low and his hand in his hair at his temple: the body language of someone who does not want to be seen. Connor tries to think only of navigating the corridors to his room, of shutting the door and sinking down and ceasing to exist for a while, but instead Oliver's words ricochet through his head like shrapnel.
When he narrowly avoids crashing into Loki (by virtue of the trickster god's dexterity more than his own reflexes), he barely even looks up to see who it is. He only mutters an apology and makes as if to press on.]
'Scuse me--
[That brief glance Loki gleans tells a lot. His eyes are rimmed with red, his cheeks marked by damp streaks even after a quick swipe of his sleeve. Something is plainly very wrong.]
Loki's in mid-strut when he gets knocked in the side. to Connor's credit, Loki's dressed less ostentatiously (minus the horned diadem and flashy, fur-rimmed jacket) and more like a normal person living in Manhattan (a green hoodie and a pair of jeans). he's solid upon impact, even if he's sensitive enough to shrink back just a bit to catch a glimpse of his assailant. ]
...
[ don't say anything don't say anything don't ]
So, which Nicholas Sparks novel did you finish?
[ well, there goes trying not to care. instead he'll just pretend. ]
[The familiar voice pulls his eyes upward, and he wonders how he could have missed the golden horns. There is a gap in between the asking of the question and the answering of it, first due to Connor only half registering it as a question and then due to his hasty and ultimately futile attempts at disguising his distress. Being that anything resembling indifference is impossible to affect in this moment, the best he can do is mold the excess of emotions into a less shameful shape, and the easiest to grasp at is irritation. He furrows his brow so as to stopper up his tears, and he pushes a hand through his hair with a sharp scoff.]
Like I'd waste my time on that garbage.
[But Loki has succeeded in that Connor is now trapped in this interaction. Although his eyes dart down the hallway beyond Loki, he does not make to leave again.]
The garbage part is exactly what makes it a worthy time waste.
[ Loki makes it sound good, but that mouth of his makes most things sound good. if he catches that Connor's rearranged himself from sad to irritated, he doesn't make it obvious. ]
You are a mess. [ he's oh so observant. ] Are you sure you don't want to blame it on Nicholas Sparks? It's your last chance before I pry.
[ everything is taken in sway, a hint of curiosity curling at the edges of Loki's words. he's not invested, but that doesn't mean that he's against sticking his nose in, as much as the little voice—the one that he doesn't listen to—tells him not to. ]
[He sucks in his lips, making of his mouth a grim line, and then in a gust he exhales a breath. He avoids eye contact, his gaze circling up to the vaulted ceiling that covers the corridor. He half throws a hand up in an empty gesture.]
It's just stupid boyfriend drama.
[The usual domestic strife that comes from confessing that you've dabbled in murder a bit.]
I don't really want to talk about it.
[Already the irritated front he had mustered is buckling: his voice wobbles and he must swipe the heel of his hand across his cheeks again.]
[ hey, it happens to everyone, right? especially the murder part. ]
How about drowning your sorrows away, instead?
[ one good thing about having access to his father's booze cellar is that he can dip into it any time he feels the itch. that is, of course, if Thor doesn't get his hands on it before he does.
he silently hopes that Odin is beginning to notice that his prize mead is missing. ]
[He considers rejecting the offer, insisting falsely that he would rather just be alone right now. He considers too that this is the same man with whom he had shamelessly flirted while he and Oliver fought, and whom he had just as shamelessly ghosted as soon as Oliver took him back. But in the end, he follows his gut instinct, which in this moment craves company and the means for forgetfulness. Connor nods, falteringly at first but then firmly.]
[ if the circumstances had been different, he might've found reasons to be slighted. luckily for Connor, Loki's focus had been on other things, and he hadn't noticed the ghosting. (it would have bothered him especially, being one of Loki's poorer habits. he doesn't take seeing his flaws in others very well.)
what he understands is the need to forget; he doesn't mind being the bad influence. ]
Shall we? No invitation needed, purely informal attire.
[ he brushes past him and down the hallway, beckoning him with a long gesture of his long fingers and expecting him to follow. it's not far back to his apartments, where all of his divine spirits are stored. ]
[His thoughts of course turn back to Oliver, and his conscience murmurs a feeble protest - but immediately his sense of betrayal snaps back. I don't know what I'll do if I have to be alone, he had pleaded with Oliver, but Oliver hadn't cared. He had recoiled from him; he had sent him away.
Connor finds that he doesn't care what happens now.
With this mean thought germinated in his mind like a hard seed, the roots taking hold of his exhausted heart, he follows Loki's lead. Although his chest still heaves and shudders unevenly, his tears are drying.]
A guy like you has to be into the really good stuff, right?
[ the best way to deal with things you don't want to deal with is to a) ignore them or b) make self-deprecating jokes out of them. since b wasn't an option in this circumstance, Loki settles on a. Connor still looks like a hot mess, but he'll get to the bottom of it eventually. with booze.
like a snake, Loki slides through the door.
the room, sparse and just a little messy, has the remnants of more than one occupant. Loki's jacket and armor are hanging on a hook near the closet. they look like they belong in a museum rather than next to a wardrobe. their stay is brief, and Loki nabs a cloudy glass growler by the hook on the neck. it also looks like it belongs in a museum, but for a far different reason than the armor. ]
Well, I don't drink poorly, if that's what you're asking. [ and before long they're out the door and heading to the kitchen. ] Let's just say that ALASTAIR's uncanny ability to procure whatever prize my heart may desire in exchange for my services has gifted me with not only the good stuff, but the best stuff.
I don't even have to work my thieving little hands.
[Connor pays little attention to the details of the room, as he spends this brief visit steadying himself with a series of slow quiet breaths. He buzzes with the numbness that comes in the wake of an emotional cataclysm, and he thinks only of blunting himself further with a strong dose of alcohol. A good cry is supposed to purge one's emotions, but a good drink can purge a lot more.
Slow to quip in his current state, he manages a weak puff of laughter for Loki's words. His tint more darkly.]
You'd need an endless supply of it to keep up with all the trauma you must collect working for these guys.
[ for Loki, a good cry just makes you feel more vulnerable. he hates it. ]
I've done worse. [ it's offhand and so casual that he could be taking one long, facetious stride, but there's also some truth to it. ALASTAIR may have its set-backs, but Loki has done far worse in the realm of self-inflicted existential trauma. there's not much that's jarring, anymore. not when his future self is parading around the timeline trying to make him into something twisted and wicked. ] It's more like a vacation, really. These realms have their own supply of unwitting and witting traumatic-type circumstances. It's like a metaphorical nail to the head, depending on which you find yourself in.
[ down a twist of a hallway and through a few doors they go, Loki knows the way all too well. he knows most of Oska, by now. ]
A pair glasses, won't you? [ he sets the growler down on the counter. ]
[Connor too has done worse. The scale on which ALASTAIR can commit atrocities is far wider - they are engaged in a war, and their business comprises the entire universe - but he has played the observer more than the agent since his arrival. The atrocities he had committed back home cut more closely to his bones. If here he wallows by the banks of the river, watching the water slip by with or without his acting upon it, there he was dragged along by its unrelenting current.
He has had trauma enough to last a lifetime, without ALASTAIR's help. It is for the long shadows trauma casts that Loki found him a wreck in the hallway, and that Connor now hastily snatches up the glasses he finds in the perpetually stocked cupboards.
He sets the pair down on the counter with twin heavy thuds.]
[ it's a wonder that Loki as unbroken as he is. he had dragged himself through self-destruction of his own treachery, and though he had come close to shattering, he never had. in places where he would have been cracked he's dented and bruised, but it's a show of both cowardice and strength. the two had never come hand in hand for anyone but him.
the cups are swept up by his forearm with a flair of his wrist. about an ounce goes into Connor's glass before Loki's more liberal with his own.
the deep amber liquid that pours from the cask is foggy and dark, tinted red with the herbs of its ferment. it dances instead of swishes against the walls of the glass, with long legs of thick syrup streaking down the side as it retreats. Loki looks pleased, and he takes his own from the pair, holding it by the rim. ]
Don't take it in a shot, I don't know what will happen to you if you do.
[ Loki takes a sip and watches him with a curious pause. ]
[There are days when Connor feels like he is held together solely by the precarious ingenuity of duct tape, rubber bands, and a few paperclips. Today is one such day.
He takes the proffered glass and gives it a tentative whiff. The stuff inside is potent enough to send him reeling back as its sharp scent rushes into his nostrils.]
Damn, you aren't kidding.
[A tentative sip follows: the liquid scorches his throat on the way down, but the aftertaste is rich. His eyes squeeze shut and pop open again as the burn fades.]
Just what the doctor ordered. You could tranquilize a horse with a bottle of this stuff.
[ there's a reason that Odin keeps a stash in his cellars: the taste is layered and rich, apples and nutmeg. it's too thick to be liquid, too thin to be syrup. it feels like silk, and leaves the tingle numbness of pain before it goes. that's the part that makes it of Earth, the part that makes it of Asgard is the story woven within it. there's the tale of Idunn's apples that would not release from Yggdrasil without her beckoning, the casks made from old war ships touched with the frost of the nether realms, and the All-Father's monologues as he paced through his cellars as it matured. ]
I'd say eight ounces, give or take.
[ he's thinking of Hayame, and her inability to get drunk. well, "inability"—Odinson and Loki reconciled that one quickly. ]
It's not often that someone of Midgard gets a taste of the divine.
[ but he seems pleased to be the one to give it. ]
[It tastes like nothing he has ever drank before, so wildly strange that even he might believe gods could walk the earth. Already he feels the warm bloom of the alcohol unfurling in his gut, and he takes another sip to speed up the process by which he can be lifted out of himself.]
I, a puny mortal, am not worthy.
[His dry humor strengthens with the alcohol, although the mask is far from perfect. The traces of his distress remain evident on his features, like the rim of sediment left behind after floodwaters recede.]
So, "god of lies," right? [He doesn't know what to believe after a few months out here. He scoffs.] Honesty is overrated anyway.
[ there's a flash of amusement on his face from that as he fills up his glass again with the dark amber liquid.
in another life, he would've taken it as a slightly, but now he just appreciates the sass. he could see the appreciation that Thor had for Midgard. ]
Honesty is hard to come by and less welcome than most would like to admit. It's hard and merciless, and—let's be honest!—there's always a slant one way or another, no matter who claims to be unbiased. [ the sharp edge of the smile fades into something softer. ] It's not the truth that defines someone, it's the lies they tell themselves.
[Seeing that Loki is already starting his second drink, Connor makes the mistake of trying to catch up. The alcohol comes as a rush. His hand remains wrapped around the glass, playing with it; his eyes sink into it even as his tone remains deceptively light, if only due to the bone dryness of his words.]
Yeah, and I've been telling myself all kinds of garbage lately.
[Like I am a good person, and we're okay now, we can leave the past behind.]
[ there's a flick of one of Loki's dark finger nails in Connor's direction, and he leans up against the edge of the counter, drinking the mead like a pro. if it's affecting him in some way, he doesn't make a show of it. ]
[And he in answer turns away from Loki, leaning his back against the counter and balancing an elbow there as with his opposite hand he idly swirls the dark liquid.]
Well, you haven't exactly caught me in the greatest mood.
[Draining the shallow remainder of his drink, he winces for the burn that has yet to soften and melt away, even as he feels his own edges blur.]
[ it's borderline impressive the way that Connor tries to down that mead to keep up, but instead of pouring himself another drink, Loki seems sated with the ounce he has in the bottom of his cup. ]
[I need you to leave. A chasm tearing open between them as they lay side by side. The door swinging shut. I'm sorry. None of it is dulled yet even as the mead seizes hold of him. He shrugs and his shoulders are slow to sink back down.]
I don't know if I really wanna get into it. It's complicated.
[He sets down his drained glass, as his body struggles to catch up with the otherworldly alcohol coursing through it, and the room around him begins to swing.]
[Connor is beginning to regret finishing his drink so quickly - it's clearly meant to be nursed rather than chugged. Yet another part of him craves more, because for all its potency it isn't yet enough to remove him from his cares.]
What, to help me spill all my sad, crappy feelings?
[He laughs sharply.]
And here I thought that if I was gonna be crying on your shoulder, it would be for a totally different reason.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action - before the final mission
When he narrowly avoids crashing into Loki (by virtue of the trickster god's dexterity more than his own reflexes), he barely even looks up to see who it is. He only mutters an apology and makes as if to press on.]
'Scuse me--
[That brief glance Loki gleans tells a lot. His eyes are rimmed with red, his cheeks marked by damp streaks even after a quick swipe of his sleeve. Something is plainly very wrong.]
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Loki's in mid-strut when he gets knocked in the side. to Connor's credit, Loki's dressed less ostentatiously (minus the horned diadem and flashy, fur-rimmed jacket) and more like a normal person living in Manhattan (a green hoodie and a pair of jeans). he's solid upon impact, even if he's sensitive enough to shrink back just a bit to catch a glimpse of his assailant. ]
...
[ don't say anything don't say anything don't ]
So, which Nicholas Sparks novel did you finish?
[ well, there goes trying not to care. instead he'll just pretend. ]
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Like I'd waste my time on that garbage.
[But Loki has succeeded in that Connor is now trapped in this interaction. Although his eyes dart down the hallway beyond Loki, he does not make to leave again.]
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[ Loki makes it sound good, but that mouth of his makes most things sound good. if he catches that Connor's rearranged himself from sad to irritated, he doesn't make it obvious. ]
You are a mess. [ he's oh so observant. ] Are you sure you don't want to blame it on Nicholas Sparks? It's your last chance before I pry.
[ everything is taken in sway, a hint of curiosity curling at the edges of Loki's words. he's not invested, but that doesn't mean that he's against sticking his nose in, as much as the little voice—the one that he doesn't listen to—tells him not to. ]
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It's just stupid boyfriend drama.
[The usual domestic strife that comes from confessing that you've dabbled in murder a bit.]
I don't really want to talk about it.
[Already the irritated front he had mustered is buckling: his voice wobbles and he must swipe the heel of his hand across his cheeks again.]
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[ hey, it happens to everyone, right? especially the murder part. ]
How about drowning your sorrows away, instead?
[ one good thing about having access to his father's booze cellar is that he can dip into it any time he feels the itch. that is, of course, if Thor doesn't get his hands on it before he does.
he silently hopes that Odin is beginning to notice that his prize mead is missing. ]
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Yeah...screw it. Let's get wasted.
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what he understands is the need to forget; he doesn't mind being the bad influence. ]
Shall we? No invitation needed, purely informal attire.
[ he brushes past him and down the hallway, beckoning him with a long gesture of his long fingers and expecting him to follow. it's not far back to his apartments, where all of his divine spirits are stored. ]
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Connor finds that he doesn't care what happens now.
With this mean thought germinated in his mind like a hard seed, the roots taking hold of his exhausted heart, he follows Loki's lead. Although his chest still heaves and shudders unevenly, his tears are drying.]
A guy like you has to be into the really good stuff, right?
no subject
like a snake, Loki slides through the door.
the room, sparse and just a little messy, has the remnants of more than one occupant. Loki's jacket and armor are hanging on a hook near the closet. they look like they belong in a museum rather than next to a wardrobe. their stay is brief, and Loki nabs a cloudy glass growler by the hook on the neck. it also looks like it belongs in a museum, but for a far different reason than the armor. ]
Well, I don't drink poorly, if that's what you're asking. [ and before long they're out the door and heading to the kitchen. ] Let's just say that ALASTAIR's uncanny ability to procure whatever prize my heart may desire in exchange for my services has gifted me with not only the good stuff, but the best stuff.
I don't even have to work my thieving little hands.
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Slow to quip in his current state, he manages a weak puff of laughter for Loki's words. His tint more darkly.]
You'd need an endless supply of it to keep up with all the trauma you must collect working for these guys.
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I've done worse. [ it's offhand and so casual that he could be taking one long, facetious stride, but there's also some truth to it. ALASTAIR may have its set-backs, but Loki has done far worse in the realm of self-inflicted existential trauma. there's not much that's jarring, anymore. not when his future self is parading around the timeline trying to make him into something twisted and wicked. ] It's more like a vacation, really. These realms have their own supply of unwitting and witting traumatic-type circumstances. It's like a metaphorical nail to the head, depending on which you find yourself in.
[ down a twist of a hallway and through a few doors they go, Loki knows the way all too well. he knows most of Oska, by now. ]
A pair glasses, won't you? [ he sets the growler down on the counter. ]
no subject
He has had trauma enough to last a lifetime, without ALASTAIR's help. It is for the long shadows trauma casts that Loki found him a wreck in the hallway, and that Connor now hastily snatches up the glasses he finds in the perpetually stocked cupboards.
He sets the pair down on the counter with twin heavy thuds.]
Got it.
no subject
the cups are swept up by his forearm with a flair of his wrist. about an ounce goes into Connor's glass before Loki's more liberal with his own.
the deep amber liquid that pours from the cask is foggy and dark, tinted red with the herbs of its ferment. it dances instead of swishes against the walls of the glass, with long legs of thick syrup streaking down the side as it retreats. Loki looks pleased, and he takes his own from the pair, holding it by the rim. ]
Don't take it in a shot, I don't know what will happen to you if you do.
[ Loki takes a sip and watches him with a curious pause. ]
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He takes the proffered glass and gives it a tentative whiff. The stuff inside is potent enough to send him reeling back as its sharp scent rushes into his nostrils.]
Damn, you aren't kidding.
[A tentative sip follows: the liquid scorches his throat on the way down, but the aftertaste is rich. His eyes squeeze shut and pop open again as the burn fades.]
Just what the doctor ordered. You could tranquilize a horse with a bottle of this stuff.
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I'd say eight ounces, give or take.
[ he's thinking of Hayame, and her inability to get drunk. well, "inability"—Odinson and Loki reconciled that one quickly. ]
It's not often that someone of Midgard gets a taste of the divine.
[ but he seems pleased to be the one to give it. ]
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I, a puny mortal, am not worthy.
[His dry humor strengthens with the alcohol, although the mask is far from perfect. The traces of his distress remain evident on his features, like the rim of sediment left behind after floodwaters recede.]
So, "god of lies," right? [He doesn't know what to believe after a few months out here. He scoffs.] Honesty is overrated anyway.
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in another life, he would've taken it as a slightly, but now he just appreciates the sass. he could see the appreciation that Thor had for Midgard. ]
Honesty is hard to come by and less welcome than most would like to admit. It's hard and merciless, and—let's be honest!—there's always a slant one way or another, no matter who claims to be unbiased. [ the sharp edge of the smile fades into something softer. ] It's not the truth that defines someone, it's the lies they tell themselves.
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Yeah, and I've been telling myself all kinds of garbage lately.
[Like I am a good person, and we're okay now, we can leave the past behind.]
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That sounds astoundingly self-depreciating.
[ there's a flick of one of Loki's dark finger nails in Connor's direction, and he leans up against the edge of the counter, drinking the mead like a pro. if it's affecting him in some way, he doesn't make a show of it. ]
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Well, you haven't exactly caught me in the greatest mood.
[Draining the shallow remainder of his drink, he winces for the burn that has yet to soften and melt away, even as he feels his own edges blur.]
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[ it's borderline impressive the way that Connor tries to down that mead to keep up, but instead of pouring himself another drink, Loki seems sated with the ounce he has in the bottom of his cup. ]
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I don't know if I really wanna get into it. It's complicated.
[He sets down his drained glass, as his body struggles to catch up with the otherworldly alcohol coursing through it, and the room around him begins to swing.]
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he watches him out of the corner of his eye, then sets the glass with the amber liquid down beside him. ]
Well, that's what the booze is for, isn't it?
[ there' s a crack of a smile on his lips. ]
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What, to help me spill all my sad, crappy feelings?
[He laughs sharply.]
And here I thought that if I was gonna be crying on your shoulder, it would be for a totally different reason.
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