loki laufeyson (toberuled) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-04-18 11:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | door: marvel comics, loki |
Who: Loki/Louis
What: Narrative. Loki recovers, Louis freaks out.
Where: Jotunheim (Marvel Door)/Passages
When: Post the Times Square thing and meeting with Tony.
Warnings/Rating: None.
Loki did not leave his door by choice. He was forced out, after making some further preparations and returning to his makeshift home out in the wastes of Jotunheim. It was remote enough that even the world's denizens would not find him, and quiet enough that he could think, a cave dug deep into the side of one of the mountains.
He despised Jotunheim, and the people in it, but he wasn't well-established enough yet to move fully to Midgard. That would come soon, though. In a few days, he'd be back through to claim responsibility for lives lost and destruction caused, and they would know what it meant to refuse him fealty.
For now, he laid prone on a bed of furs on a ledge of cold stone. He didn't feel the icy wind, and there was no fire in the cave for warmth. He'd given up those pretenses. It helped, to be in a place like this, that reminded him what he was and what he was not. He could go bare-faced into the wind outside not feel a thing, a pale stone with Jotun blood and an Asgardian appearance he still clung to. No, he wasn't one of the crude, primitive monsters of this place. He never would be. He would never be an Asgardian, either, living for the thrill of battle and the light and the warmth of things, nor a Midgardian, nor a Svartalfheimer, nor a denizen of any other place.
Thor had wounded Loki more than he'd wanted to admit, and weaving a spell to mend cracked ribs took time and energy he barely had in him. The bruises weren't worth the effort, and he left them to heal on their own. They would serve as a reminder, too, for the man on the other side, were he to get any ideas about rebellion. They shared a fate, after all, and that ought to be underscored.
He was tired, and there would be long days ahead. For the first time in a very long time, exhaustion weighed him down. He blinked heavily in the lamplight. He thought of his false brother's face, his rage, and felt a pulse of satisfaction that washed out some of the bad taste he'd been left with after his encounter with Stark. Weariness from all his chaotic labors drowned him, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
Louis woke disoriented and sore, in his own body, leaning against the outside of the door in Passages. He groaned. His chest felt like one enormous bruise, even the act of sitting up like a tear.
His breathing sped slightly as the day before came back to him. He searched in his mind for Loki, and found him nowhere.
What had he done?
People were dead because of him. He had let Loki go through that door, thinking that it might calm some of his incessant battering if he was given time to himself, and now people were dead because he had been selfish and hadn't realized what Loki had planned. If Louis couldn't control him, why shouldn't he be locked up? What argument could he pose?
He felt numb. He'd told everyone they had nothing to worry about, that he wouldn't be swayed to Loki's line of thinking, but what did it matter, in the end, if he couldn't resist the onslaught of urges to go through the door?
And that thing. That monster, come from somewhere inside Loki that Louis had been forced to pull away from when it was summoned up, from the blackest of places, a thing seen between worlds, in that place he'd fallen through. The power Loki had wielded to create it, though, that had been electric, a flood of carefully constructed energy, a piece of living madness crafted from a billion perfectly constructed threads, thrumming with potential - but no, no, it had all been to ill ends. No art, just horror.
And the people, the people, going unconscious from fear, tearing through each other just to escape with their lives from something that didn't even exist.
Louis retched dry - there was nothing in him to lose. He leaned on his hands in front of the door, arms shaking with the effort.
Never again.