Who: Fandral and Loki. What: Loki is a bit different. When: January 16 / Morning AU plot starts. Where: Their home. Rating: PG. Status: Complete.
Well. This is interesting. Loki's eyes blink open and he peers around, and then he sits up cautiously. Sure, they've totally destroyed all the inter-dimensional threats and everything, but he's learned that his mind can be more powerful than he suspected, and so he could easily be somewhere just as nasty. He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so his boots land with a soft thud. A home, it looks like. Not Asgardian, and yet he can feel … Something. Something lingers here, how curious. Loki stands and removes the diadem from his head.
That's when he realizes that he's not exactly alone. Turning around, Loki's eyes fall on the sleeping man in the bed, and his eyebrows raise. Even without the facial hair, he is completely recognizable. "Fandral?" Loki asks, because now he's certain he's fallen into some bizarre universe once more.
"Hmm?" Fandral tosses and turns a lot in his sleep, so while he starts off curled up next to or around Loki, he ends up rolled around by the morning. So he's curled up with his back to Loki, half awake as Loki sits up. "Morning."
"Fandral!" Loki says again. Oh, honestly, how did he end up having to deal with this of all things? He picks up a pillow and tosses it at the man. "You must wake up and tell me where we are, and why we're here."
He makes a very grumpy, very sleepy sort of noise and bats at the pillow, curling up tighter. "We're at home, in our bed. Because that's where we sleep."
"What in Odin's withered face are you on about?" Clearly, whatever realm Loki is in, he's come here alone. And he's been tossed into odd circumstances. "I can see you are ever useful, oh dashing one." He huffs and throws up his hands in the air, heading out of the room and wandering down the stairs. Why is it that if you want something done, you must do it yourself?
Ugh. Loki's grumpy, clearly, and that means Fandral has to go placate him. He throws his pyjama pants on and follows Loki -- only to stop short at the top of the stairs. "Loki?" he squeaks, confused and disturbed.
Some books on Norse mythology have caught his eye, and he's absently flicking through them when he hears Fandral's voice. He glances up and rolls his eyes, then sighs, exasperated. "Well done, Fandral, as ever you continue to astonish me with your wits. I see that even in this world you have no sense of the word modesty. That's relieving, really. The last world I went to with Asgardians found you all dead and decaying. This is much more pleasant. Though, admittedly, no less strange."
"You're -- " He wanders down a few stairs, gesturing vaguely towards Loki's youthful form. "Very small." How did this happen. Why did this happen? God, Fandral's woken up in bed with a child. He's most certainly going to jail.
"Yes, but thankfully not nearly as small as I used to be. It turns out that even Avengers can be useful for some things." He tosses the book aside and shrugs off his coat, while his brain works out what might be happening. "Judging by your reactions, I would say that there's, predictably, a Loki in this world as well. I wonder where that one's gotten off to."
"Yes. One that's quite a bit taller, shockingly enough. One closer ot my age?" He finishes descending the stair and decides to put some coffee on. Coffee will help things make more sense. "Oh -- do you -- do you drink coffee?"
Loki has to laugh. He can't help it. He's decided that there is nothing at all Asgardian about this Fandral. "How quaint. You do realize that I've several centuries on you, strange Midgardian Fandral. And as it happens, I love coffee. It's a shame it didn't seem to take well on New Asgard. Going to Broxton daily for it was such a hardship."
"Well you look about twelve." He suddenly feels quite naked in front of this not-really-his Loki and shuffles his feet awkwardly. "I should put something on. I'll be back shortly."
He looks offended. He'd just finished looking twelve. By Midgardian standards, surely he was at least around the age of eighteen? "I do not look twelve!" he yells back, huffing a bit. Honestly. Twelve.
Once Fandral has a shirt on, at least, he returns to serve them both coffee, glancing over at Loki a few times. "No, not twelve, I suppose. But younger than I'm used to. How on earth did this happen?"
Loki's already in the kitchen, snooping around. "Oh, I don't know. I suspect the cracks made by the demiurge in the whole universe thing probably have played a part, but I've done the strange journey thing on my own before. It could also be my fault. At this point, it's difficult to tell."
"Forgive me, I've only recently started getting used to you being what you are, I'm a little behind on my cracks and demiurges." He starts making eggs for them, because it's easier than trying to think too much.
"What I am?" He turns around and hoists himself up on the counter, watching Fandral with keen interest. "And what am I?"
Oh -- goodness, there's quite suddenly a Loki perching next to him on the counter, and he blinks a few times, trying to sort it out in his brain. "As far as I can follow, some sort of Norse god. Or a frosty something or other. Or likely both."
Oh. Oh. Loki knew there was something not quite right in the air. "So you," he says, nudging Fandral with the toe of his boot, "are Midgardian. But this Loki of yours, he's of Asgard?" Curious, and very interesting. "And tell me, is he a good Loki or a bad Loki?"
"Well that's a bit tricky, really. I haven't had any of these dreams that Loki or Thor have had yet, so I'm just -- me. Fandral, of London. Not of Asgard, certainly. Not as far as I know. Though I am, in Loki's dreams." He serves up eggs for Loki and leans against the counter.
"As to good or bad, that depends on who you ask, exactly. To me, he's good. He's -- wonderful, really." There's a soft smile on his face as he says this, poking at his eggs. "But some others, the ones that have those dreams, think he's bad. I don't think he is, though."
That does seem to perk up Loki. He hops off the counter and sits at the table, digging into his food. "Breakfast is my favourite, you know," he says, between bites of eggs. "Something about fried bacon speaks to my soul. Or whatever I have in place of one." On that note, he eats a piece of bacon.
"Dreams. What are these dreams?" Loki's not too torn about the mixed answer. That's sort of his thing, really. Is he good or isn't he? He's trying, of course, to be good, but the bad always seems to win out in the end. It's almost sweet of Fandral to say he's good.
“Your sister is here." You can practically hear the rolling of Fandral's eyes when he mentions Hela. "These dreams are very odd. They seem to be memories, of some sort. But memories of another life, in another universe. Loki dreams about Asgard, and his life there. And sometimes things leak over into this world."
Loki makes a face, frowning. "Sister. I haven't got a sister." Not that he knows of, in any case. But these dreams do sound interesting. "And ... These memories have bled into this Loki's life. How fascinating."
"They have indeed. It's been -- interesting, to say the least." A trial at times, but Fandral does the best he can.
He'll need to look into this. For now, though, Loki eats his eggs. "This Loki of yours. You and he, you're in something of a relationship?" An amused smile quirks up the corner of Loki's lips. He finds the idea hilarious, knowing Fandral as he does, but the thought also brings a slight blush to his cheeks.
"Something of one, indeed." That dreamy sort of smile creeps back over Fandral's face and he nods, toying with his fork. "I'm really very fond of him."
"Nobody's ever been really very fond of me." He finds himself almost jealous of this world's Loki. "The last person I thought I was fond of, I sent away to save her from myself, and then I ended up creating a monster of her that nearly destroyed the world." Loki shrugs a shoulder. Another day in the life. Fandral isn't quite certain what to say to that. What does one say to such things, really? Instead he reaches out to squeeze Loki's shoulder gently. "I promise that won't happen with me."
"Well, Fandral the ever dashingly handsome and swoon-worthy, I don't quite believe that. As it is, it's not my concern, is it? Eventually at some point I'll be back in my proper world and your own Loki can deal with such things. I believe you mentioned coffee earlier."
"Yes, it should be ready." He offers a cup with a smile. "The dashingly handsome and swoon-worthy, is that it?"
"I embellish." He waves a hand dismissively and takes a long drink of the coffee, not at all affected by how hot it is. "Frankly, I think your charms on Asgard were wearing thin. Even the Valkyries were set to hate you. Fortunately, New Asgard appears to be doing you well enough."
"Oh dear, well. I wouldn't want the Valkyries to hate me. Fortunately I'm popular enough here. I haven't even got slapped in ages."
"I am very sincerely impressed. I'm certain I've seen you get slapped at least once a day for as long as I've known you. Or, well, my Fandral. Asgardian Fandral, I mean. Not mine."
"Ah yes, well. That's not too far off I suppose," Fandral admits sheepishly. "I do have something of a reputation for being a playboy. But I've sworn to you -- or rather, to my Loki -- that those days are over. I'm all his."
"You'd best hold that oath." Loki finishes his coffee and fetches another cup. "If there's one thing I know, it's Loki, and even a good one won't take kindly to being slighted."
Fandral crosses his heart solemnly, "I promise. I've known him long enough not to make such promises lightly."
"Oh, good." He finishes this second cup in no time, then glances around. Abandoning the kitchen, Loki finds himself wandering down the stairs, to where the remains of broken picture frames and posters are in what used to be the proper Loki's practice space. Immediately he finds the gold helmet and lifts it in his hands. "Hmm."
Letting Loki explore the house a little, Fandral showers and dresses, trying to work out what exactly is going on with this -- transformation. Not thinking of anything productive, he wanders down to find Loki again.
And Loki is perched on the arm of a sofa, regarding the helmet with thought. "I don't know this one. It's not something I've ever worn." He puts it on, still looking contemplative. "I'm not sure it suits me." Loki takes it off and puts it back where he found it. A part of him feels he ought to tell Fandral of the ill feelings he gets from it, but the part of him that's trying to be good warns against it. "I'd like to see more of this place you live in. Does your Loki have anything that might even remotely fit me? I feel I mustn't wander around dressed as this."
"Er, no, likely not." Fandral frowns a little and Loki's smaller stature, holding him at arms' length and turning him this way and that. "You're shorter and slighter than he is. And you'd drown in anything that I own."
"Then you'll need to go get me something, won't you? Don't worry, I'll be fine on my own while you're gone."
Fandral squints uncertainly, wary of leaving Loki alone for any length of time. "You're not to leave the house without me, understood? I don't want you getting lost."
Loki rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. "I've survived Ragnarok and upsetting several different gods of the underworld to get my own way in my life. I suspect that I'll manage fine on my own without a man of Earth watching me. But clearly I've no reason to leave."
"While I'm certain that's true, prince of mine, I'd rather not have to go searching for you, if it's all the same." He presses a kiss to Loki's hair. "I'll be back as soon as possible."
The action flusters Loki a bit, catching him off-guard. While Fandral has technically always been the nicest to him, it's usually simply because Thor tells him to be. But, yes, he is a prince, so he holds his chin up and waves Fandral on his way. "I'll barely notice you're gone."