Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2022-06-16 08:07:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !log/thread/narrative, marvel (tv/movies): loki laufeyson, → week 039 (pilot - the green) |
THE GREEN | DAY 1
He stared up at the root-covered ceiling of the room he shared with Eliot. It was still night. His internal clock, which had long since regulated itself to Derleth’s odd passage of time, knew that the reset had just passed. Less than a minute since the clock in the old gym ticked over to 1:32 in the morning. It was dark. Shadows played off the creeping vines. Assuming this was a normal week, there would be at least five more hours of darkness. He could go back to sleep. But he’d been sleeping long enough.
Longer than a week, in fact.
His body was covered in greenery. An overgrowth of foliage had crept in through the window and the cracks beneath the door, shrouding the room like a long forgotten tomb. He had to snap some of the vines and pull back the brush in order to free himself from the fairy tale imagery. It seemed that Derleth had taken his Sleeping Beauty rest to the extreme.
Once he sat up, he took a deep breath. He was careful to exhale quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping figure in the bed on the other side of the room. He expected to smell the rancid odor of alcohol, but he didn’t. Was that a prejudicial thought? Probably. But it wasn’t as though it were untrue. The multiverse offered a vast variety of differences between variants. But certain qualities always lingered from one world to the next. They all had their patterns. Their vices. Their weaknesses. Some were just better at hiding them than others. Those who were smart, however, embraced them.
Loki was one of the smart ones.
It was nice to be in a real bed again. To sleep on a real mattress. Even if it wasn’t quite long enough for his body and the springs were cheaply made. Even if it was overrun by grass and unfamiliar plant life from the Green. It was still better than what he was used to. Granted, this antiquated style would have to be the first thing to go. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed it to last this many weeks.
Oh, wait. He hadn't.
He ran his fingers back through his hair, picking out a few weeds. The strands were familiar, yet foreign. Long. Too long. He touched his face, trailing over his nose and mouth. Tactile sensation was impeccable. It felt right. It felt perfect. Everything from the chin to the forehead to the ears to the—
He held out his right arm, bending it toward the thin glimmer of light from the window in order to get a better look at his hand. It was smooth. Clean. From his fingertips to his forearm. No tortured scars. No permanent contortion of skin and muscle from the gauntlet. No lingering sensation of the stones. That was something he’d never anticipated. The feeling of disconnection. Separation from power. Real power. True power. The kind of power that could tumble civilizations and reform worlds. It had left an ache in its wake. Like a phantom limb.
But that was gone now. Because this body was younger. This body was perfect.
This Loki hadn’t made the same mistakes he had.
The dim light caught the edge of the moss-covered book on the bedside table. He picked it up and placed it in his lap. A guestbook filled with pages upon pages of messages. Some sweet. Some rhetorical. Most of them ridiculous. And the gifts. The little trinkets meant to make him feel welcomed. Meant to make him feel loved.
Miss you.
Wake up, jerk.
I hope you’re alright.
Feel better soon.
Fucking drama queen.
So much care. So much sympathy. So much love. Loki had never seen anything more pathetic in his entire life. Was it supposed to make him feel wanted? Was it supposed to pierce his icy heart and warm his frozen sensibilities? Was it supposed to make him feel like he was one of them? A good guy. A hero. A savior. A friend.
Loki had to stifle an amused laugh at the thought. Then he dropped the guestbook on his pillow and stood up. He looked down at his attire. The Asgardian uniform his variant had died in. Poor baby. Poor sad little Loki with all the fake friends and the memories of Thanos choking the life out of him. Poor little god trying to make everybody like him.
Well, that would be the first thing he changed.
He shook his head. A green glow spread from the tip of his head to the toes of his boots. The changes in his appearance were subtle. Shorter hair. More of a side part. But the clothes? Well, he preferred a more regal presentation of the green and the gold. He enjoyed the more elaborate designs. And why shouldn’t he? He was a king, after all. And not just of Asgard and Jotunheim.
He was a king of space.
And, with a little work and careful manipulation, he'd be a king of Derleth.