Setting the Trap [Iris/Loki log]
Iris had never met Loki before. She was sure she'd seen him in passing at one event or another and just didn't know it. There were rumors, of course, that he'd been to the Greek Gala and things of that sort, but she'd never formally met him. That meant she was going into this mostly blind, armed only with his infamous reputation and the words of his nature from what conversations Sif and she had had on the matter in years past.
She knew even less of the wife of this Trickster. Very little in terms of history to speak of, and a little more from what Hera had given her to work with. Still, not much. She knew less even still, of how Loki and his wife interacted and now she was expected to play the role of Sigyn in a very real, very dangerous situation. She wasn't sure what to do, and the sickness in the pit of her stomach wasn't just for what she was doing, it was for the fear that Sigyn might already be home.
Her instinct was to knock, but even as the hand was raised, she lowered it. No, the Trickster's wife would not knock at the door of her own Alaskan home. That was ridiculous. Before opening the door, Iris pulled a compact out of the pocket of her jacket and flipped it open to look in the mirror. Low key. Everyone used the term 'mousey' to describe Loki's wife. At least that she heard. But if she was truly friends with Hedylogos, she must at least have some style, even if only a little.
So the clothes were french made, that way, should anyone notice, it would look like she'd simply bought it in Paris. Hair was left loose and tucked lightly behind her ears, and makeup was minimal. Iris hadn't shape shifted in such a long time that she was unaccustomed to looking in a mirror and not seeing her own face staring back at her. It was... surreal. And even then, when she had shape changed as another deity, it had always been someone of her pantheon, someone she was familiar with.
After tucking the compact back into into her pocket, she stepped up the stoop and opened the door to find an ash blond head peeking around the side of an overstuffed recliner. “I'm home,” she said, forcing a smile. That part of it wasn't difficult. Not only was Iris practiced at hiding her true feelings on a situation, Loki was smiling at her. He had a kind, welcoming look on his face, an attractive face at that, and she felt a pang of guilt at knowing what was coming later that day.
“Babe,” he said, turning the volume down on the television, “Where've you been?” Then his eyes darted to the bag tucked under her arm. “What's in the bag?”
Iris shut the door behind her, smiled as best she thought Sigyn might and tried to stick to non-committal answers. “With Hedylogos,” she lied and shuffled the bag out from under her arm and set it on the nearest table. “And I got you something.” Looking down she pulled a bottle of finely aged whiskey out of the bag. “It comes highly recommended.”
Loki raised an eyebrow, got up from his seat and moved over toward his wife. He was suspicious and it showed on his face. Loki knew what Sigyn thought of his drinking. She tended to think he did it too much and too liberally. That it tended to get him into trouble, about which she would be right. So for her to enable him like this was strange. Then again, she was incredibly thoughtful and caring, so he put his paranoia away momentarially. “Oh? By who?”
Crap. Not, non-committal enough. She had to remember one key thing that Sif had told her: he had a brilliant mind when he used it. If she appeared even slightly off, it might blow her cover. Instead of answering him outright, she tiled her head to the side as if to say, “honestly, Loki, don't you trust me?”
He popped the bottle open and took a long, pleased whiff of the aroma of the whiskey. Oh, it was definitely of a quality higher than what he normally sampled. Setting the bottle down, he smirked up at his wife, and closed the distance between them to embrace her.
She felt absolutely wretched. Not about the kiss, that had been expected. But his kiss wasn't just a welcome home kiss. It was a welcome you, I missed you and I love you kiss... all in one. She was condemning a man that cared very much for his wife and wasn't really, as far as she knew, hurting anyone. It was just the threat he posed and this wasn't sitting well with her. “Try it,” she insisted.
Loki didn't need to be told twice. A glass appeared in his had and he was pouring the whiskey in the glass. Then he took a sip, closed his eyes and smiled deeply. This was just one of the reasons he loved her. She knew how to take care of him. She was thoughtful and wonderful and far more than he deserved.
Sliding her jacket off and setting it over the back of a chair, since that seemed like the quaint sort of thing they would do in this quaint little house in this quaint little town, Iris the moved into the kitchen and prayed that Sigyn had kept some wine in the house. This entire job was doing nothing for the Rainbow’s nerves. She opened the fridge and saw a re-corked bottle sitting in the door and that was equally as unsettling.
She turned the bottle so she could read it, it was a french wine. Decent french wine. Opened creation knew when. There were two options, open a new bottle and risk suspicion from Loki or risk offending her palate if the wine had soured. She went with option two. It smelled alright and after a few glasses she'd be fine.
Back in the living room, Loki had returned to his chair with both the bottle and the glass, drinking occasionally from the glass. Iris joined him and sat on the edge of the couch closest to him and watched whatever it was he was watching on television. Iris knew that she would probably recognize it, if she were into pop culture at all, but all she knew was that it was a movie and that one of the actors was Harrison Ford. But that was it.
They sat in relative silence, watching the movie and letting Loki enjoy his whiskey. Iris knew this would be easier the more he imbibed and so as he drank, she let him ask questions and talk to her – she only offering the simplest of responses.
After about an hour Iris stood and went to the window. It was a common enough movement. She felt so incredibly horrid. Nothing about the man made her want to lure him into this trap, but she knew she must. The content look on her face faded as she faced outward into the night, peeking through the open blinds and wondering where those who were going to spring the trap were. She was suppose to signal somehow. Something those outside in wait would see, something that wouldn't tip Loki off that there was a trap being laid.
She heard a glass hit one of the tables, followed by the sound of a recliner becoming upright, and finally followed by the feeling of arms wrapping around her waist. Iris thought she saw movement in the bushes outside and so quickly shut the blinds. Then opened them up again, as if she had spun them the wrong way, and closed them again.
She'd done it. Now it was up to those she knew were watching to interpret it that way. Iris closed her eyes and just felt his warmth against her. Gods above he was warm. She found herself wondering if he was always that warm, or if it was just when he was drinking. She wanted to cry, which was not a common or welcome feeling at all. Iris didn't want to do this, but it was too late. She'd already agreed to it, was already here, already signaled and already could feel some very familiar energies encroaching on the front door. They'd seen her signal. They were coming.
“Loki,” she said suddenly and spun around in his arms. “Let's go somewhere.”
Sigyn didn't look happy. Something was wrong. “Babe,” he asked, noticing the lack of contentment on her face. “What's wrong?” He leaned forward and kissed her.
This was not right. He was kind, he cared, and he was trying to make her feel better. He tasted like whiskey. Breaking the embraced, she repeated herself, “Let's go. Now. Somewhere, anywhere. It's just a trip in Concept away.” Loki embraced her again, drawing her tight to him. Iris put her hands on his face, pleading. “Please, Loki.”
He cocked his head slightly. “What's the matter, Sig?”
Her eyes darted to the doorknob, which was slowly turning. Silently. Carefully. “I'm sorry.”
Loki was confused. He didn't understand. “What do you have to be sorry fo...”
Chaos hit. Suddenly there were other gods in the house and they were cornered. “I'm sorry,” Iris mouthed to him as the other Norse captured him. “I'm sorry,” she mouthed again when their eyes met and he was hauled away, leaving Iris standing in the living room in her Sigyn guise, feeling absolutely wretched.