WHO: Thor, Loki, and open WHAT: Funeral proceedings WHEN: Backdated to shortly after returning to Kirkwall WHERE: House Asgard, Wounded Coast NOTES: Grief and loss
"As we will ever be," Loki replies to Thor. His tone is cold but not combative, his own participation in the evening had been lacking. Limited to drink and scowling and, as he moves past the last elven servant in the room, he abandons both by shoving his empty wineglass into her hands and freeing up his own.
By mutual agreement this is to be Loki's task. It was not discussed but, between the both of them, one of them was clearly more gifted in this arena. Loki moves to the dais but his purposeful, sharp steps slow as he approaches. When he arrives at her side he is almost hesitant. He has not been this close to her since they returned.
He stares down at his mother and his expression falls; for the moment his sorrow is palpable. It shifts, quickly enough, and he swallows it back.
"Girl," he snaps at Fifi from his place at Frigga's side. "I require the tools."
His gesture is offhanded and the table he motions at only has a silvered tray covered over with a cloth. One of the items on it is clearly a cup, but there is no telling what the folds of the fabric hide.
A squeak of surprise is Fifi's response to the wine glass, and she stands there holding it like a fool for several long moments until Loki calls for something else. Knowing that to hesitate would be unwise, she goes to the indicated table, sets the glass down, and picks up the tools instead, eyeing them briefly and casting an uncertain glance to Thor before bringing them to Loki. It's fine that he doesn't remember name. Probably better that way, actually.
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By mutual agreement this is to be Loki's task. It was not discussed but, between the both of them, one of them was clearly more gifted in this arena. Loki moves to the dais but his purposeful, sharp steps slow as he approaches. When he arrives at her side he is almost hesitant. He has not been this close to her since they returned.
He stares down at his mother and his expression falls; for the moment his sorrow is palpable. It shifts, quickly enough, and he swallows it back.
"Girl," he snaps at Fifi from his place at Frigga's side. "I require the tools."
His gesture is offhanded and the table he motions at only has a silvered tray covered over with a cloth. One of the items on it is clearly a cup, but there is no telling what the folds of the fabric hide.
no subject
It's fine that he doesn't remember name. Probably better that way, actually.