[ yr | in a dark forest ]
[They were here. They were all here. Not just Thor, but Odin. Freyr. Tyr. Vali. Heimdall. Skadi. Vidar. Njord. Forseti. Frigg and Freyja. All of them but Baldr, but that was a given. Baldr was dead. That was why they were hunting him. He saw them everywhere -- every passerby was a familiar face. Mayfield, for Loki, was suddenly filled with gods.
Loki did the only thing he could do: run for his life. He ran and he ran, stopping to hide when he could. Except they found him. They always found him, and he had to run again.
They caught up with him in the center of the town. They caught up with him, surrounding him in a circle, staring down at him and suddenly Loki was naked, on his back, wrapped in cooling guts as the blood of one of his sons dripped from the wolfish mouth of his other son. Suddenly, the intestines were cold: cold and hard and unyielding, the strongest iron, and he struggled, but couldn't move, and above his head Skadi -- curse her -- wound a snake with a wide open mouth, dripping poison from its fangs, into his eyes, and he struggled harder. Sigyn, he thought wildly, where is Sigyn? The useless woman, why wasn't she here, where was the bowl--
And suddenly he knew. He couldn't see, but he could hear her voice. Her laughter, mingled with the laughter of the rest of the Aesir.
The laughter continues but the scene changes -- clothed now, Loki is in Asgard, in Gladsheim. Brightly burns the fire, illuminating the whole hall. He is still unable to move, though, and a moment later, understands why: two dwarves hold him down while a third -- Brokk, his terrified mind supplies -- brings a long, cruel awl toward his mouth...
...piercing the skin...
...stitch by agonizing stitch, his lips are sewn together, and all the while in his ears rings the laughter of the Aesir, to whom it is nothing more than a well-played game. Why do they laugh? he wonders, silent and wide-eyed. Why will none of them help me? They would come to the aid of one of their sons, had he been in my place. I am a blood-brother to Odin. Why do they allow this?
"That will hold your lying tongue!" "Perhaps we'll finally have some quiet for a while."
The moment the dwarves release him, his hands fly to his mouth, scrabbling wetly at the bloody skin. A muffled wail escapes his throat, no more. He can't cut the dwarf-made leather string, nor find the cleverly-tied knot. The Aesir only laugh the harder. No. He won't endure this humiliation. He can't. With grim determination, Loki's fingers wrap around the loops of leather, cutting still deeper into the skin of his mouth, and with a quick, sharp yank, out come the stitches...
...and he could talk again. Later, Loki would not be able to tell you exactly which memories he relived and which stayed buried in his memories. He relives enough.]]
((Action, the streets of Mayfield))
[There's a woman with long, red hair in the street. She might be sitting down, clutching at her mouth, or she might be lying on her back, convulsing. She may be crawling away on all fours as fast as she can scrabble, shoes catching on her dirtied skirts, or she could even be curled tightly in a fetal position, hands wrapped around her lower stomach.
However, there's also a chance you catch Loki in a moment of relative lucidity. He is at least aware of his surroundings, altered as they are, not trapped in a full hallucination, aware that his body is currently female rather than fully immersed in a hallucinogenic memory of the past. However, he will not recognize you. When he looks at you, his eyes are wild with a combination of fear and hatred, calculating whether he should bolt or kill you with his bare hands. If he doesn't run, he will growl something to the effect of, "Stop laughing!" at you.
Near him, but not too near, is a tall, gangly young man. When Loki moves, Jormungandr follows at a safe distance, a silent shadow ensuring that Loki does not hurt himself or anyone else. Of the pair, Jormungandr may be the better person to talk to.]
((ooc: This is a joint post! The first thread is locked to Jormungandr, but any subsequent replies will be responded to by both him and Loki. Totaly willing to address any questions/confusion ooc, so don't hesitate to ask. Thanks!))
Loki did the only thing he could do: run for his life. He ran and he ran, stopping to hide when he could. Except they found him. They always found him, and he had to run again.
They caught up with him in the center of the town. They caught up with him, surrounding him in a circle, staring down at him and suddenly Loki was naked, on his back, wrapped in cooling guts as the blood of one of his sons dripped from the wolfish mouth of his other son. Suddenly, the intestines were cold: cold and hard and unyielding, the strongest iron, and he struggled, but couldn't move, and above his head Skadi -- curse her -- wound a snake with a wide open mouth, dripping poison from its fangs, into his eyes, and he struggled harder. Sigyn, he thought wildly, where is Sigyn? The useless woman, why wasn't she here, where was the bowl--
And suddenly he knew. He couldn't see, but he could hear her voice. Her laughter, mingled with the laughter of the rest of the Aesir.
The laughter continues but the scene changes -- clothed now, Loki is in Asgard, in Gladsheim. Brightly burns the fire, illuminating the whole hall. He is still unable to move, though, and a moment later, understands why: two dwarves hold him down while a third -- Brokk, his terrified mind supplies -- brings a long, cruel awl toward his mouth...
...piercing the skin...
...stitch by agonizing stitch, his lips are sewn together, and all the while in his ears rings the laughter of the Aesir, to whom it is nothing more than a well-played game. Why do they laugh? he wonders, silent and wide-eyed. Why will none of them help me? They would come to the aid of one of their sons, had he been in my place. I am a blood-brother to Odin. Why do they allow this?
"That will hold your lying tongue!" "Perhaps we'll finally have some quiet for a while."
The moment the dwarves release him, his hands fly to his mouth, scrabbling wetly at the bloody skin. A muffled wail escapes his throat, no more. He can't cut the dwarf-made leather string, nor find the cleverly-tied knot. The Aesir only laugh the harder. No. He won't endure this humiliation. He can't. With grim determination, Loki's fingers wrap around the loops of leather, cutting still deeper into the skin of his mouth, and with a quick, sharp yank, out come the stitches...
...and he could talk again. Later, Loki would not be able to tell you exactly which memories he relived and which stayed buried in his memories. He relives enough.]]
((Action, the streets of Mayfield))
[There's a woman with long, red hair in the street. She might be sitting down, clutching at her mouth, or she might be lying on her back, convulsing. She may be crawling away on all fours as fast as she can scrabble, shoes catching on her dirtied skirts, or she could even be curled tightly in a fetal position, hands wrapped around her lower stomach.
However, there's also a chance you catch Loki in a moment of relative lucidity. He is at least aware of his surroundings, altered as they are, not trapped in a full hallucination, aware that his body is currently female rather than fully immersed in a hallucinogenic memory of the past. However, he will not recognize you. When he looks at you, his eyes are wild with a combination of fear and hatred, calculating whether he should bolt or kill you with his bare hands. If he doesn't run, he will growl something to the effect of, "Stop laughing!" at you.
Near him, but not too near, is a tall, gangly young man. When Loki moves, Jormungandr follows at a safe distance, a silent shadow ensuring that Loki does not hurt himself or anyone else. Of the pair, Jormungandr may be the better person to talk to.]
((ooc: This is a joint post! The first thread is locked to Jormungandr, but any subsequent replies will be responded to by both him and Loki. Totaly willing to address any questions/confusion ooc, so don't hesitate to ask. Thanks!))