InsaneJournal

Who? Loki (Open to Frigga? Otherwise, narrative.)
What? Flipping his shit.
Where? His place, then the middle of an effing icy nowhere.
When? Tonight.
Rating: Not intense, unless feels and gratuitous mountain destruction scurr you.

It happened from one moment to the next.

There was something on television - some sort of talent competition, auditions for a singing contest (Darcy liked to watch the terrible ones, lost interest once they improved past the beginning stages, once it wasn’t funny anymore) - and Loki was half-watching, half-reading an old book spread on his lap. Darcy was curled against his side, making occasional comments and laughing.

One moment everything was normal...

...the next, Darcy was gone.

His initial thought was that he had skipped time. That he had lost seconds, maybe minutes, and she had wandered off. Darcy did that, sometimes - she would think of something, some insignificant thing that was suddenly more important than anything, and rushed off to go check and see if she had any “notes” on that “Tumblr” website she enjoyed, or if there was a certain sort of chocolate bar in the fridge, or if she’d remembered to turn off the oven, or sometimes even for longer term like a sudden need to bake something. So perhaps this was all that had happened. Perhaps…

...it was, very likely, odd that he was hoping that he had somehow lost time. That such a thing would be ideal… it made it very clear how terrible the alternative would be.

He glanced at the tv; the commercial that had been playing was still playing. Time... had not changed. It had not passed him by, and he had not missed her departure. Loki stood, book falling to the floor, forgotten. His senses were stretching out, his magic and his mind reaching for the pinpoint of power he had attached to her presence, usually bright, brilliant and something of a beacon so he could not misplace her in this world of ordinary mortals, so that he could find her from wherever she may go, wherever he may go - for emergencies, and for convenience, and for his own peace of mind.

Now, it was gone.

She was gone.

Had anyone been present to see it, the room would have seemed to shimmer, gold light bleeding out from and through everything… almost as if aflame without any real fire, disintegrating and turning to dust, to ash, fluttering and swirling through the air in the golden light, the magic-born glow itself holding it there in the absence of any wind. The destruction spread, first the furniture and smaller items, and then the walls, floors, ceilings…

...and then it all righted itself, particles returning to their places, light going out, and Loki was gone.

The snow-swept winds were sharp, would have felt like needles on the skin of a lesser being, or perhaps one less distracted by other sorts of pain. It was quiet, here; there was no one here he could hurt or distress with his own distress. He hoped the distance was enough. He barely had the presence of mind to wrap himself in dark nothingness - to hide himself away, to try to keep the damage he did to those who did not deserve it minimized, keep himself hidden so no one could be hurt. Tearing apart a mountainside in the middle of some frozen nowhere was not what he wanted to be doing - he wanted to tear apart something where someone would notice it, he wanted to tear apart whoever - or whatever - was responsible for the loss he was now left with, the void that tugged at his precarious balance, trying to drag him in, twist him into something else.

Loki did not feel the cold - and for once, it was not because of his icy heritage, but rather because right now, he was burning up.

The blood in his veins felt as though it had burst into flames, like he was slowly burning away like the stone and snow he fought, the poor substitute for a true enemy, but destroyed regardless of the usefulness of the attack. He didn’t breathe air, but power; there was nothing but white and green-gold light - nothing but pain and rage and despair.

When Loki came back to himself, it was dark - the sun had gone down, and the magical embodiment of Loki’s distress that had manifest as brilliant light had gone out. There was little left but rubble and ice, swirls of snow and Loki’s figure on the ground, half-buried in white flakes. He was shaking, but not shivering; his tears were frozen to his skin, though he wasn’t certain whether that was his doing, or simply the exposure to the elements. He didn’t care overly much, either way. He had exhausted himself rather thoroughly - even the energy to return home, or create a light, seemed like far, far to much effort. A distant idea.

With Darcy gone… what was to stop him from falling? He had seen at least one version of himself tear apart everything because he did not have her there to keep him sane. And clearly nothing else had worked in his original world; he didn’t think knowing it could happen was going to be sufficient to keep him stable… maybe, for the moment, the support he had here would suffice, but in the end, they would be gone, too - if they were not already - or he would slip anyway, tear them apart... He did not want that to happen - so he would have to find a way to bring her back. That was the only option there was, wasn’t it? He needed Darcy, so she had to return. He would ensure that she did.

But at the moment, he had drained himself far too much to begin. Rising to his feet, he managed a few steps before he lost the power to continue. He wanted to be getting started now - returning ...to Lawrence, at least, or perhaps Iceland, though he was not certain home was... he didn't think he could stand to be there, right now, halls and windows and floors there a constant and vivid reminder. But somewhere where his books were, somewhere he could sit and collect his thoughts into some semblance of the order they belonged in, some semblance of something other than a completely shattered room of glass. He would need more power, to find and tear open the Seal. More power meant a source...

It could be done, but he could not even begin to fathom more than that. Not yet.

Loki remained where he'd fallen, and she snow continued to fall around and over him, whipped around by the winds, burying him in white.