cunningas: (i: are you shitting me?)
Loki's been around a while. On livejournal. Finally got around to importing that journal's content over here for posterity's sake. Mostly he'll just be bumming around [community profile] sixwordstories and possibly [community profile] bakerstreet. Not much else to see here, move along.
cunningas: (brooooood)
Ever since gaining his freedom -- and the less said about that, the better --, Loki had made a point to avoid his old stomping grounds. Though there really was something to be said about inciting Romans to go cause a ruckus on the old home place...and he had to hardly expend any extra effort on that count, himself!

Perhaps some time later it might occur to him that helping the Romans spread their empire across the known world (along with that new religion they were taking to) wasn't one of his better ideas. But for now he's just rather enjoying all the fighting that went along with it. Plus...well..change was change and he'd long ago learned how to roll with it.

Others of his kind might, perhaps, have a more difficult time adjusting.
cunningas: (ChrisFesHanKwanYulSoltivus!)

The images go out near and far to, pretty much, all and sundry. There is no postmark, for they didn't travel through something so mundane as a postal system. They're merely found: resting in mailboxes, on pillows, magneted to the refrigerator, tucked into door-cracks, slipped in the newspaper, under windshield wiper blades, and in one notable instance, sitting in a pantry where an entire, unopened, box of Twinkies used to be.

There is no address on the card, merely an image on one side and on the other...a note written in a finely flowing hand with ink that never seems to stay the same color as you read it though you couldn't say when the color actually changed.

Whatever you happen to celebrate, you've been invited! Don't celebrate anything? You're still invited! Don't want to be invited? Doesn't matter! Don't know who I am? Who cares! It's a party! So, happy whatever-you-want-it-to-be!

Now, for the particulars:

Dress code: Whatever you would like to wear (or not, as the case may be). Points for outlandishness!
Guests: The more, the merrier!
Gifts: I love a good gift! But don't feel obligated.
Duration: Until it ends!
Location: Well...that's tricky. I can't tell you. But I can tell you all you needs must do is be holding this invitation as you step through...anything. Doorway, under an arch, through a window, past a gate, into a cave, down a rabbit hole, or under a ladder if you're feeling lucky. Make sure as you do you shout the words, "Happy ChrisFesHanKwanYulSoltivus!" (okay, you don't have to shout it...and approximations of the words will probably suffice. Probably. You might end up somewhere you don't intend, I'm not entirely certain.)

That's all there is to it darling, I hope to see you there!

As to where the invitation takes you, well...

Partygoers will find themselves transported to a beautiful tropical beach, the ocean lapping softly on the shore not so very far away, and plenty of palm trees for shade. Not that it's needed, as the temperature is perfectly comfortable, no matter what one is (or isn't) wearing. The sand is as pure white and sparkles not unlike...snow. Or is it snow? But that's ridiculous, since it isn't cold...

...except that periodically, seemingly at a whim, snow does indeed fall (from the utterly clear night sky).

Centrally located, there is a rather large bonfire crackling merrily away, seemingly not at all dampened by the capricious snow flurries. Near that, is a large, long table loaded down with all manner of food and drink. Scattered everywhere it might be convenient are chairs and cushions and tucked away among a grove of palm trees are more secluded nooks curtained off for more private pursuits. Convenient to everyone as they arrive is a gaily decorated table just waiting for any gifts that might be deposited on it. Most of the lighting seems to come from a myriad of floating paper lanterns in all shapes, colors and sizes as well as a few tiki torches, just because.

There is also a wooden dance floor set down and a band playing music just right for dancing. And yes, they take requests.

And finally, there is Loki himself, standing amid the mayhem and smiling. Perched on his nose are glasses with the lenses tinted, one green and one red. His hair seems to be a particularly festive shade of red tonight with a twig of mistletoe peeking out of it and his clothes...

...well, see for yourself.

"Welcome!" he might say or, "happy whatever-it-is-we're-celebrating!" He'd invite you to enjoy the festivities, partake of the food and drink, mix and mingle, and certainly save him a dance or two. Swimming would be encouraged, the water's fine, and towels are available (as is almost any other item you might need, just flag down a passing server and she'll get it right out to you. There are, in fact, few restrictions. Loki won't be breaking up any fights or anything else typically unsuitable for mixed company except if you seem to be disrupting his party. Then, you'll likely find yourself suddenly in Siberia. And it will be cold.

[ooc: basically, slow-time is fine, tag as long as you want as much as you want. Mix, mingle, have fun! Loki's hardly one to stop a fight, but the warning is still there, disruptions don't get a warning, they just get removed. Kids aren't barred from the party (by Loki, anyway), but it's definitely not intended to be kid-friendly in the least. Multiple muses are fine, anyone and everyone is welcome, so far as Loki cares. Invitations are even extended to people who might've snubbed him in the past or otherwise did him wrong. You can also assume the invitation works as a magic timewarp thingy so even though the party is sort of starting on the late night of the 16th (or at least when it's being posted), your character can still jump in without being unfashionably late and whenever they leave, only a couple of hours will have passed from when they left, no matter if they're tagging in the party for weeks ;).]
cunningas: (anachronism)
....and I'm not really surprised by any of it.

LiveJournal Username
have you dirty thoughts??
wants to pound you till you break the headboardshaman_x
wants to tongue bathe youaoutlaw321
uses your picture as part of their masterbatory rituals...most_amazing
draws xxx rated pictures of you and them togetherciv_barbarian
wants to tie you down and have their way with youanya_c_jenkins
wants to do you in public :Omanwhores_r_us
This Fun Quiz created by Valerie at BlogQuiz.Net
Virgo Horoscope at DailyHoroscopes.Biz

cunningas: (smirky smirky smirky smirk)
He watched the day end with hooded eyes. Not so far away, lightning flashed in dark clouds and the grumbling of thunder reached his ears a moment later.

He smiled a scarred smile as he turned away from the storm.

"The gods must be angry."
cunningas: (other: i can kill you with my brain)
It's because no one likes you.
cunningas: (other: wide grin and a smile)
We all know how it works right? Pick a pairing, or name a character you want see or whatever. And I'll write a fic where they 'snuggle' and/or do whatever you request. And I make no promises on actually snuggling though? :D What? I'm just like that...

Thomas - [ profile] raith_wraith
Derek - [ profile] reluctant_ruler
Marek or Seteh - [ profile] vermiliondesert

And if you know one of my others and want to request, feel free, I just don't feel like listing them all. :)
cunningas: (kaya: mischievous)
The rules are: comment to this post and I will give you 5 subjects/things I associate you with. Then post this in your LJ and elaborate on the subjects given.

from [ profile] will_aurelius
Clever - According to what I'm told, I'm quite the clever trickster deity. And his mun just got deja vu. I mean, I suppose I've had my moments of idiocy but on the balance, the moments of cleverness totally outweigh them. I have, after all, managed certain feats that someone with lesser clevernessity wouldn't have ever thought of. And if you have to ask what those are you obviously don't know me very well.

devious - You have to admit that being devious goes along with the above, if only because deviousness is an offshoot of cleverness though I suppose there are clever people who aren't devious yet.

shape-shifting - It's sort of a thing with me. I don't see any point in staying in the same form all the time and would much prefer choosing the form suitable for the occasion. That said, I've been all sorts of things. Men. Women. A horse. Cats. Falcon. Fish. Even a fly! Good thing I didn't get squished, huh? (Or does that depend on one's point of view?)

booze - Oh, I love it. Can't have a good party without it. Vodka, scotch, rum, beer, and so on. Even fruity girly drinks from time to time. Just give me the booze and no one gets hurt. Except that's a total lie, isn't it? Anyway, I'm most likely to answer a summons if alcohol is involved, keep that in mind.

pissing off Thor - I rarely intend to do just happens! Plus he's rather easy to bait that sometimes I just can't quite resist.
cunningas: (other: cry)
The ship is crowded, crammed tight with people shoulder to shoulder and elbow to elbow. They haven't been all pressed in together long enough for too much body heat and too much body scent to become an issue. They only left atmo mere minutes ago, the sensed rather than felt shuddering of the ship against air suddenly ceasing and as that happens it seems the entire collection of humanity pressed together inside the hold lets out one collective breath. They made it out. Now they just have to get away.

Even for the sudden easing of tension, no one speaks. Even for the number of people, there is remarkably little noise. Not enough room to shuffle and move about and no one seems in the mood to talk, not even the children. More than one face holds a rather shell-shocked expression. More than one person is likely still seeing what they left in their mind's eye. Home.

Time to find a new one. )
cunningas: (other: flame in his hands)
"Don't you dare say a word," she warned. "Not in the mood for your bullshit." Not right now. Not for this.

He watched her for a moment and there were many things he could have said. Many things he had said in the past to others about loss and learning. But he kept his mouth shut and his arms open.

With a little, barely restrained sob, she ran into them.

Still, he kept his mouth shut as he rubbed a hand over her back. Even he was good for comfort, sometimes.

And for that? She was more than grateful.
cunningas: (other: flame in his hands)
"You," she sniffed and wiped ineffectually at her nose with a tissue, "are a pain in the ass."

He smiled, "you're only saying that because you're sick and hate it and need to take it out on someone."

She glared at him, "also 'cause it's true."

Likely he was just mollifying her but he did nod and repeat dutifully, "also because it's true."

Thus appeased, she turned her attention back to scowling and rubbing at the back of her neck, "feels like a damn rock," she muttered.

"I'm telling you, you could let me-"

She tossed one of her wadded up tissues at him, "fat lot of good you'd do."

A too-charming smile was her answer, "you never know till you do it."

"Don't you mean try?"

"Don't you think if I did I would have said so?"

"Mmmm," she went back to rubbing, this time on the other side of her neck. And apparently, he had no further comment, remaining silent. That should have been her first warning. But having a cold was hardly conducive to one's mental abilities so she let out a startled noise when a warm hand covered her own.

"I said," his voice sounded very close to her ear now, "let me do it." Maybe she tried to open her mouth to protest and maybe he put up a finger to forestall anything she might say. "Just let me do my work, dearling."

Slowly, she let her hand come down to her lap, he made a pleased sound and began massaging her neck and shoulders. His hands were strong and his fingers capable, he obviously knew exactly what he was doing as he carefully rubbed away tension. He didn't tell her to relax, knowing that to speak of the thing would merely draw her attention to how not-relaxed she was. She'd try too hard. She always did.

No, instead, he started telling her a story with no defineable beginning, middle, or end. It simply was as it meandered along, the sort of story that had lulled stronger souls than hers into rest. As he spun out the threads of the story, so to did the knots in her shoulders and neck unravel, so to did she slowly allow him to draw her down into sleep.

It was, he reflected, a good thing she'd been already sitting on the bed when he'd begun.
cunningas: (adrien: worn out)
The man who sits by the crossroads doesn't look particularly remarkable to any who pass him by. His clothing is, after all, rather shabby and held together by patches and prayer. He wears a wide-brimmed hat that looks like it may have once been a respectable shade of black but is now so faded and dust-covered that one would never guess. By his feet rests a travelsack, just as patched, faded, and dusty as the rest of his clothing and within it he carries all of his worldly possessions. Carefully, he keeps his foot over the bag's carrying strap so no enterprising thief might snatch it away easily. He wears no jewelry to flash and glitter though there is a twinkle of mischief in his eyes and when he smiles as he is prone to do, his teeth flash white on his face. Of everything that he wears, his boots are new, won the night before in a game of chance.

His chair is nothing more than an old crate, repurposed and he leans back on it, his shoulderblades against the wall behind him. All through the afternoon he sits, from noon until sundown and it is a rare moment indeed that doesn't see him with a small crowd arrayed about him. The man tells stories and often, as he does so, he performs tricks, small conjures, sleight of hand, minor miracles that awe and amaze his audience. For this entertainment, by the time the sun goes down, he has accumulated enough cash in dribs and drabs to get himself a decent bunk for the night.

Of course, not all of that cash was given to him by his adoring public but he'd never felt overly guilty about making use of his rather light fingers when the situation warrented it. And sometimes when it didn't.

The day being done and his money made, he picks up his travelsack and slings it over his shoulder. It should be galling, for him, living this life not out of choice but necessity. It certainly was, once, but he's grown accustomed. In some ways, it is that that galls, of all things. A rut he can't climb out of. Just another thing to ignore as he makes his way to the rooming-house that holds his bed for the night. He'll move on to another part of town the next day, wouldn't do to overstay his welcome.

Not unless he really felt like having an up close and personal chat with the Feds or something.

He pauses on the steps of the rooming house, mentally counting up his coin. He looks up at the building, then back down the street. He could stay in a cold, empty bed this night or...

...well, he's got enough for a girl, he might as well use it.

ooc: )


Jan. 8th, 2009 10:32 pm
cunningas: (Default)
The Potion Maker
trickster_lokillium is a translucent, crumbly mauve powder made from the liver of a murderer.
msg_ina_bottlemium is a cloudy, lumpy brown solid culled from the lungs of a vampire.
Mixing trickster_lokillium with msg_ina_bottlemium causes a violent chemical reaction, producing an opaque magenta potion which gives the user protection from angry glares.
Yet another fun meme brought to you by rfreebern


cunningas: (Default)

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