Who? Loki (Open to Darcy? Otherwise, narrative!) What? Magics & naptime. Where? Roof, then his/Darcy's apartment. When? This afternoon, 3pm - 4pm. Ish. Why? Because Loki is a weirdo who likes writing narrativey posts about magic when I'm not expecting it. Warnings? Not really any. Feelings, briefly, maybe.
The first spell was simple. He had put it in place in Iceland, on the house there, and thus far had only had one problem, which had easily been fixed (evidently his original spell had confused the parameters of ‘hostile’ with ‘angry’, and the rather cranky bird that had been flying overhead had unwittingly tripped the spell, sending it into the dark void until he arrived to investigate. It had been a bit of a surprise for both parties involved, and he had since tightened up the definition of ‘hostile’ and since then there had been no further incidents with displeased animals).
He was also able to circumvent the original theoretical issue he’d had when planning the earliest stages of this spell - the other magic in place on the complex - by putting it outside the complex, on the grounds at the perimeter. It made things both safer and easier, at the same time.
That was a simple spell.
The more difficult one was the one he was doing, now - the building had been cleared, a quick check had proven... he was ready to begin.
The first stage involved identifying the materials used in the construction of the structure. He needed to know what he was enchanting, before he could actually do so. One material took different focus than another. He was crouched on the roof, his hands pressed against the rough surface, his eyes closed. He rarely allowed moments of such vulnerability, but he was already aware that the first spell had taken its hold - why, then, should he be concerned?
From his palms, a green-gold light began to spread, into concrete and metal and wood and fiber, until the entire building was lit. In the daylight, it was barely noticeable, from a distance. Up close, one could see that it was not just a light, but a web, and once it had encompassed the entire building it sank in, melting into every solid object, melting into the other magics already in place, sinking and settling in just below the surface. A layer of protection, stability. Strength.
Strength was something Loki suddenly found himself lacking, as his knees shook and he ended up abruptly seated, slightly undignified, and trembling more than he had anticipated. He had not taken the magics into consideration, for this - while he had thought of them long enough to realize he would need to account for them in terms of strengthening and avoiding conflicts, he had not realized that doing so would drain him so much.
It reminds him, perhaps slightly irrationally (perhaps not at all), of a time in his childhood, when he had first been learning magic. He had spent some time watching his mother weave, and had thought to try to make one of her tapestries come to life, briefly, to amuse her. The scene on the carefully - elaborately - woven fabric was simple enough, in theory, but he had tried to make it special... even the leaves on the trees were shaking with a breeze, and the blades of grass swayed softly as the children in the scene ran and played. The world had started to dim at the edges, dark creeping in - and then Loki had awoken in Frigga’s arms, confused and sluggish. He had overtaxed himself. She had scolded him, then.
She would have scolded him now, as well, he was fairly certain. If she were here...
Loki swiped a nearly-gray hand over his face, wiping sweat from his brow, out of his eyes, and pushed himself to his feet. It had seemed to be only moments he had been here, since the start of this spell, but judging from the position of the sun, it had, indeed, been nearly an hour. His knees were sore, his body stiff, as he walked towards the door that led downstairs, inside. He did not feel as though he had sufficient energy to attempt to transport himself directly to his room. Walking, while still taking more energy than he had any desire to expend, was a far better option. Less risky.
He would be fine, he knew. He simply needed to rest, time to recover. He hoped Darcy would not be alarmed, when she returned, to see him this way - hair and skin damp with sweat, face pale; the loose-limbed way he was just sort of draped across the nearest viable item of furniture, which had happened to be the sofa - but there was little else he could do, at the moment. Not without some rest.