| Wouldn't It Be Nice (tag: Loki) |
[31 Dec 2007|02:11am] |
Sigyn fingered the edge of her silk shawl, glancing up at the clock on the large tower nearby. It was her own fault, she supposed, for being early so she really had no right to be so impatient. But she was most definitely looking forward to the evening, and finding out who her “mystery date” was going to be. Granted, she’d narrowed it down to only two possibilities, but still it was a fun game and the night should be quite entertaining either way.
When the unsigned invitation arrived, her immediate conclusion was that it was from Hedylogos. But he’d given no hint of what was to come, so either her dear friend was not responsible for the summons to the evening in Nice, or he was quite good at being sneaky. But who else did she know that would request her presence on New Years Eve at a celebration on the French Riviera? She then thought of Pothos, who must surely appreciate the Mediterranean climate and the fine beaches. Though why would he invite her on a date when she had already turned him down? Unless he meant it in a friendly way. It was a puzzle, and Sigyn had come up with a few other alternatives, but none of them made any sense. Especially not Frigg, for whom she could find absolutely no plausible motivation. No, she was fairly certain it was one of the erotes.
The disappointment that it couldn’t possibly be her husband was something she pushed aside. Loki had made his distaste for French food, French people, the French language, and France in general fairly plain during their lunch. Nor was he a particularly romantic person in the traditional sense. The flowers and chocolates he’d given her had been more than a little shocking, though a very pleasant surprise. But her husband tended to prefer more unique statements of affection and practical displays of devotion. A secret date for New Year’s Eve was simply not his style at all.
So it must be either Hedylogos or Pothos. Another glance at the clock had her wondering if the erote, either of them, was going to stand her up. Sigyn knew that part of her agitated eagerness was her own fault, as she’d deliberately arrived in Nice early. Taking the opportunity to see the sights, she’d strolled along the Promenade des Anglais enjoying the view before making her way to the rendezvous point at the fountain in the Place du Palais. But really, if someone didn’t show up soon, she was just going to assume that she was spending New Year’s Eve alone. Perhaps she would find a party of her own in one of the squares. She glanced around the courtyard again, looking for a familiar face.
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