Making Preparations
Loki waited a few moments as he watched Creed slip into heavy sleep. He paused there, reaching over to touch the feral's dog-tags, idly examining the bits of metal. It was amusing how such little things seemed to mean so much to Victor Creed. As ever, mortals were mired in a sentimentality that Loki rarely allowed himself. He frowned, mentally gathering himself. Mortals had taken him off his guard, weakened his resolve. He would not allow himself to be weakened by sentiment for his mortal allies. To allow sentiment would create feelings of which enemies such as Heimdall and Odin would readily take advantage. Heimdall would come soon, and he still was unable to shield himself from the Watcher's gaze. Odin's magic continued to pervert his own like venom seeping through his bones, corrupting the very core of his being. He'd been able to perform some magics in the last few hours since recovering but still found himself desperately hindered. He could not shapeshift. He could not open a portal unless it was following one of Clarice's recent doors or if it was to a close location. He knew if he entered into true battle with another mage it would take greater efforts than ever to triumph. All he had now were his words and his mind...and Creed's trust. It was a fragile thing, but something he must handle with care to achieve satisfactory results. After he was sure that Creed was well and truly unconscious he laid the dog-tags back to rest on the feral's muscled torso that was already growing healthy tissue where there had once been blackened necropsy.
Satisfied that his ally would recover with no further help from him, Loki stood and went toward Thor's closet, remembering the array of garments the thunder-god housed there. He found nothing worthy to wear while facing off with Asgard's sentinel and his frown darkened as he turned away from the closet, unsatisfied. Returning to the bathroom, Loki leaned down to retrieve the ruined length of leather that had once been a pair of trousers. He frowned, then used what little magic remained embedded in the leather to transfigure its shape and texture. The garment dissolved into mist, swirling in front of him and with another flick of magic and a clear image in his mind he altered it to his liking once again. He chose a familiar Midgardian garment that slid to cover his flesh in folds of black fabric. Now clothed in a crisp black three-piece suit, embellished with a green scarf that draped across the back of his neck somewhat lazily and gold cuff-links that glittered at his wrists, he felt a bit more like himself. The boots, like the trousers, were easily transfigured into sumptuous Italian leather Oxfords that completed the ensemble. It wasn't armor, but it would suffice. He didn't need to armor his body now...it was his willpower that needed strength. For this battle Loki's armor need not be of metal and leather.
He turned to the tub, waving his hand to dissipate the ice crystals still floating there, melting them down into steam that wafted behind the mage in a gentle cloud as he exited the bathroom. The tub itself seemed undamaged in the blizzard following Loki's Jotunn form and the water that had flooded the area was slowly evaporating away so that the area was no longer a disaster. He was dressed and Creed was resting. Loki felt his work in cleaning up his own mess complete. True, he was sure that Thor would not thank him for the presence of a naked Victor Creed in his bed, but he'd approach that issue when the need arose. He stepped toward the door into the hallway, closing his eyes and feeling for the unique aura that was Clarice within their "palace."
When he found her he didn't open a portal within her room, he chose to walk the halls. He used the short walk to cement plans and solidify his own resolve. Clarice, like her father, needed to be treated carefully...as the flood so evidenced. If she suspected that he had ill intentions toward her family the result would be messy and difficult to repair. As he considered all possible avenues and conversations he would have in the near future he paid little attention to the mortals he passed as he glided toward the warm presence of Clarice in his mind, stopping only when he reached her door. He took a deep steadying breath then raised a hand to knock upon the door. He knew that all he needed to do here was check on the girl and ready himself for Heimdall's arrival...somehow he thought it wouldn't be nearly so simple.
He'd learned long ago that nothing in the life of a god was simple.