cunningas: (other: blood and gore)
His body is beautiful, shapely, and comely. Whether he takes on male or female form, the form he chooses is always handsome and pleasing. No scars mar his skin, no imperfections blemish it. He likes it this way. But this, however, is only the body the world sees, the body he chooses to allow us to view. It is not his true form any more than his mask is his true face. Indeed, his whole seeming is a mask, carefully constructed and maintained. Rarely does he drop it and even then it is in privacy. Were one to strip away this mask, to reveal his true form, the true body of Loki uncovered by guises or clothing, one would read the story of his life in the scars that cover him.

His backside -- shoulders, hips, behind his knees -- would be a mass of scar tissue from years upon years of being gouged out by bloodthirsty, rough rock. Encircling his wrists and ankles like some cruel mockery of jewelry would be the scars of tender skin rubbed raw from his bonds. Over his whole body one might see pale, white lines marking the places he was scratched by unfeeling trees and rocks when he was once dragged across the ground screaming for his life by one of the Jotnar. The bottom of his feet would be hard and callused from years of travel walking over and through earth, sky, and water. His hands would show the damage wrought by countless flames scarring his palms and fingertips. All of these are memories full of pain but one pangs him more than all the others. His smile is crooked and twisted, mutilated long ago by an angry dwarf with a needle and coarse thread.

The other scars and marks and old wounds, they represent harm to his body but the scars on his lips, those represent a blight on his power. For all that he is, Loki's power lies mainly in the words he speaks and to sew that up and lock it away is to lock away much of his dominion. That is the scar he hates the most. Not those from his time being bound. Not those inflicted on him by that Jotun, Thiazi. Not those self-inflicted. He will always despise a wound from a punishment meted out by a vindictive, idiot dwarf who'd lost a bet -- the dwarf's own fault, after all. A wound caused by an act that none around him had tried to prevent. In fact, not just a few had laughed to see it occur! The old anger was -- would always be -- still there.

And he would always have a scar to remember it by.
cunningas: (boys: best friends)
Depends on who you ask, doesn't it? And there might be a few several people who'll be sorely disappointed when I don't name them as that most honored of positions: my best friend. I know you're out there, all of you, coveting it as only the covetous can. And you're right, you all are my friends, inasmuch as I've ever got 'em, I suppose. And how nice is it to hear your supposed friend say that? Makes me sound a bit of a bastar-....

Oh yeah. Right. I am. Moving right along....

There are quite a few candidates, I must admit, it's rather flattering. The old stories would probably make you think Thor or Odin are up in the running and...we'll just leave that at that, won't we? I mean, for fuck's sake, Odin's a smarmy old bastard who'd sacrifice his, self his own self for his own gain and Thor? Do you realize how many times he either did or threatened to beat the shit out me? That old cliched saying applies here: With friends like these.... I think you know the rest.

So who else might possibly be thought of by someone (or myself, since we're really talking all about me here) as my best friend? My wife comes to mind. She bakes for me. Puts up with me. Is a hellcat in the sack. Holds bowls over my head for umpteen million years. Et cetera et cetera et cetera. There's also that whole "love" thing too, right? But it's cheezy to claim your wife as your best friend as everyone knows and so I suppose I can't rightfully claim her for this position anymore than I can Odin or Thor.

And I know some smartass out there is just thinking it, right on the tip of his tongue, to suggest Heimdall so I'll bring it out here right here and now and just say this: wipe that filthy thought out of your head. If you so much as breathe it, I will rip out your eyeballs, dip them in your own piss, and feed them to you. Got it? Good.

Anyway, there is also the lovely Anya, who will probably give me a severe tongue-lashing for listing her this late in the post and all. And, love? You are quite dear to me and all, but there's this whole weird dynamic going on with the belonging-to thing and it probably just wouldn't work, alas.

Who've we got left? Well, there's probably at least a few dozen more, but I'll try to only leave in the ones who are actually important.

There's Methos, I suppose, but there's another weird dynamic going on with him that I'd rather not get into and let's just say that it wouldn't work either, shall we?

Oh yeah, and there's this other guy. He's Greek which makes it practically inconceivable he could possibly even be considered for my best friend -- you know what they say about those Greeks -- but there it is, he's there. Here. Whichever. You know him, you love him, his name is Hermes but you know what? Kinda hard to be best friends when you've killed the guy so no go there.

And since we've pretty much listed everybody worth mentioning. Ish. And shot them all down, I suppose that means that nobody's my best friend!

Say hi to nobody, everybody!
cunningas: (other: blood and gore)
It depends, he thinks, on what one considers his species. It depends on the tense of the question. Would he in all tenses? He already has, depending on that pesky definition of species. Would he in the future? Well, that depended on what happened in the future, didn't it? He had no current plans to do so, but should the opportunity arise and necessity dictate it? He could certainly do so with more or less no qualms to be had.

The definition of species, though, that was troublesome. Did it imply one of the Jotnar? If so, he couldn't say he'd killed any of his ancestral kindred by hand or direct design but his own actions had certainly led to the death of more than a few. He might have been born of them, but they were no more special in his eyes because of it. He cared no more for them than he did for...

The Aesir. And the Vanir, come to that, they might as well be lumped together at this point. Perhaps they were once separate entities, they had certainly fought enough for it but at this point in time in this day and age? Too much intermarriage. Inbreeding, perhaps? Either way, might as well count them the same and he was one of them two. One of them by virtue of a solemn oath and two bloody hands clasped together. And, perhaps, in a less symbolic and more practical way: they were all of them Nordic deities, nigh immortal -- after all, if they were fully immortal, this whole fucking question would be a moot one, wouldn't it? --, and had been or still were worshipped in various quarters. Would he kill them? He had. And he'd paid the price. Would he in the future? There were several of his adopted family that, given the chance? He wouldn't mind killing in the least.

And there was then always that pesky thought that species might include all near-immortal creature or at least all of the gods. Would he kill them? He'd have to laugh again. He'd done that, already, too. By his own hand, for once, not through someone else's. It had been like killing himself. A part of himself.

Would he do it again? He wouldn't rule out the possibility.

But that's what it all came down to, didn't it? Don't rule out the possibility. Not with him. Never with him.


Apr. 1st, 2007 06:03 pm
cunningas: (other: dominant)
The invitations were sent. The crowd gathered, jostling together packed in an auditorium for a reason they didn't fully understand. The invitation they'd each received hadn't been very long on the details beyond a place and time and yet each of them had felt compelled to be there anyway. The audience waited, more or less quiet if talking among themselves and comparing notes about why they might have been summoned here and whatever for.

Clocks all over town... )

Muse: Loki
Fandom: Norse Mythology
Wordcount: 505
cunningas: (adrien: don't you believe me?)
"My plan was perfect. Utterly complete. No hitches at all. If you asked me (and I told the truth) I would say that it had been a work of genius. My genius. And, after I had explained it (which I'm about to), you would nod and smile and agree with me.

"The idea for it had been born of a sort of necessity, that great mother of invention! I had only a limited time once I heard of the opportunity, to develop my pan and put it into place. Overnight, I made ready and as the new day dawned, I was waiting all prepared. Already, the line of others waiting to take advantage of the same opportunity I'd found was seemingly a mile long. I simply smiled at the sight and took my place at the end of the line. Smoothly, very smoothly and quickly, I began to make my way to the head of the line. All the while, I was utterly friendly and charming, chatting with people as I moved. All of them found my charisma mesmerizing and not a few didn't even realize I had just skipped them in line! A few were quite aware I had had but that was simply because they had offered to let me skip. I rewarded them with a dazzling smile that left them in something of a daze for several minutes afterward (no, seriously! Stop laughing!).

"Just as the window opened at the head of the line, I stepped into the first spot and flashed one of my dazzling smiles at the young woman on the other side of the counter. 'Two, please, luv,' I said.

"She smiled, blushed a little, and filled my request, saying, 'that'll be fifteen-fifty.'

"I nodded, held out my cash, and when she reached to take it from me, I closed my hand gently over hers. Later, I'm sure, she would say all she could remember was the warmth of my hand on hers and the invitation apparent in my smile. She'd nodded and giggled a bit in response and a moment later, I was inside the building but now no one was manning the window, much to the dismay and eventual rioting of those left outside.

"Somehow, I managed to convince everyone inside that I was a famous star with lots of money and a huge sense of entitlement. Within minutes, the entire building was shut down and locked up with everyone within serving at my beck and call. Shouts of anger and dismay could dimly be heard through the locked lobby doors but no one seemed to pay that much attention. Pleased with my success so far, I looked down at the window girl who was still on my arm and looking, starry-eyed, up at me. 'Well, luv, shall we go watch our movie?' I asked her this, but it was obvious to me by that point that she'd follow me anywhere so I didn't really bother to wait for a response and into the auditorium we went."

Loki paused to take a swallow of his beer. "All that to get a sneak peek of a new movie and hopefully cause a riot in the process and the movie sucked and y riot fizzled out, dammit."

The woman who'd listened to his story more or less patiently up until now shook her head, red hair swaying as she did so, "Loki I..." she paused, and he took the opportunity to look at her with his most pitiful hangdog expression. Unfortunately for him, now she laughed ruefully instead of the sort of reaction he'd been hoping for, "You're something," was all she said.

He leered at her, "want me to show you just how much I'm something?"

"Don't push it, buster."

The hangdog expression was back with extra lip quiver, "tease."

Once more, she shook her head, but she couldn't quite clear the smile curving her lips. "Goodnight, Loki."

He tried a different tack, quoting plaintively, "oh, wilt though leave me so unsatisfied?"

She nodded and patted him on the head as she stood to leave, "Yep."

And that's all she wrote.


Feb. 16th, 2007 10:35 am
cunningas: (other: looking into the abyss)
He'd always been meant more for the night than the day. Theft, deceit, murder, arson, and lies. These were all best done under the cover of darkness.

Sex, too. Usually happened at night.

It was with his fire that mankind had always tried to keep the Night at bay, warming themselves over it, creating little sparks of light in a sea of darkness. It was with his fire that mankind ripped through the quiet solitude of night, burning houses, villages, cities into ash.

He was both the quiet one, slipping through shadow on cat's feet, leaving not a trace behind and the loud one, exploding the darkness with a riot of sound and bloody-tinted light.

Nighttime is my time he might whisper and not wonder where he'd heard it before because he had said it first.

Leave the daylight to the pure and chaste, those too wholesome to see the darkness around them. He would rather have the night and its secrets than ever delude himself into pretending it didn't exist.
cunningas: (other: lying)
She was hesitating, and though it was probably the right thing to do...for her, anyway, it wsn't helping him any. She was always so trusting -- even of him! What was different this time? Perhaps his claim was too outlandish. Perhaps she was finally listening to those who told her she shouldn't believe everything he said. Perhaps she sensed his nervousness? Well, it was right he'd be nervous, he'd be killed by either Thiazi or the Aesir if this didn't work out right. It had to work out right. She had to come with him. He had to push her...just a little more. She'd fall in line. It's not like she'd be able to resist, anyway, would she? Of course she wouldn't. She was a sweet, innocent, trusting little goddess but she had a streak of pride that rivaled Odin's -- and never let it be said the All-father wasn't proud -- where her apples were concerned. She'd have to check. Certainly she would, she couldn't just take his word for it, could she?

He smiled. Gotcha.

Doing his best to keep the impatience from his voice, the need for her to go along, Loki turned back to face Idun, took her hands in his, forced her to look at him. "Idun, dear, what exactly are you waiting for? Don't you want to know if what I say is true? Of course, I hope it isn't, there should be no apples that even compare to yours, but..." he let the sentence hang, let her see doubt in his face, let her see that he thought there could indeed be apples that compared, nay surpassed her own and indeed, he'd found them.

And, true to form, the goddesses' spine stiffened, her grasp on her basket tightened and she smiled at Loki with the fire of determination in her eyes, "I am not waiting on anything, Loki, save for you to hurry up and show me these apples of yours."

Loki bowed, more to hide the pleased smile on his lips than for any reason of humility, "as you wish, my lady." Gotcha.

Muse: Loki
Fandom: Norse Mythology
Wordcount: 348


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