Who. Peyton Nichols & Logan Fox. What. Peyton confronts the asshole of mischief Logan. Where. Happy Endings. When. Post-closing time. Warnings. Language, some violence, and two really stubborn gods.
Loki was always quite the enigma to the Lady Sif. For all her wisdom, and all she seemed to know, it was Loki that often evaded her knowledge. Perhaps that was where he was destined to remain, trapped in the shadows in the guise of some unknown figure, destined to elude her understanding. And yet, Sif often thought destiny was, for lack of a better word, foolish. No one knew how to take matters into their own hands like she did. Someone had to, and if not her, who then? This evening, it was Peyton. Peyton Nichols, the only other person to properly wrap their mind around Sif's every reason for action. That, in truth, was the only fact Sif could not fight. The two were one in the same, and now here they were, on Midgard, cursed to keep a weathered eye on the cold god. For no one else could. No one except Thor himself dared even try. But Thor was not here, and Sif was, once again, left to question the God of Mischief on her own. How delightfully typical this was.
The place was cleared out, men already teetered out and crooning into the night. The rest of the girls had gone home, and there remained Logan and Peyton. She was standing in her dressing room when she knew what she had to do. Her reflection watched her, as if questioning her motives, but it was now, or it was never. She rarely doubted her next move, but when it came to Logan, the stubborn bastard king, she found herself becoming more and more infuriated with the method of trying. Peyton pulled her hair up into a ponytail, the resemblance between the present and the past always somewhat startling, and left the emptiness behind to head in the direction of the stage. The greens and the golds adorned the place, as per usual, but on the stage no longer danced her or her fellow performers. Instead, sat the false god, on his throne looking both pensive and pleased at whatever destruction he'd more than recently caused. She raised an eyebrow, the sight still sending her into a fit of nausea, and folded her arms across her chest.
In another life, she'd have knelt down on one knee, the respectful thing to do for her king. This, however, was not that life, and Logan Fox would never be Peyton's king. She looked at him sternly, swallowing back all the instant insults that wanted to desperately tumble out of her mouth. Sometimes she wondered if he only existed to bring pain and suffering. Why should something so unnecessary be reincarnated in such a way? Loki was bad enough, but once he inspired chaos in Logan, it was all over. Maybe Logan was a decent person once. She never cared to ask. Even if she had, what good would it do? What's past had already passed. More recently, the harmless widow. There was never any reason to destroy things so aimlessly, but Logan always knew what would hurt everyone else the most. Everyone but him.
So, without another thought in her head, she lifted her chin, looking the trickster square in the face from where she stood and said, "We need to talk."