please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste

[laevisilaufeyson]

Who: Anyone. Everyone.
When: Afternoon of Day 11.
What: Crashing the box opening party, and everything else.
Where: Anywhere. Everywhere.

((Note: Please read the related ooc post before responding.))

If all were right, if the scale were appropriate, the sound would be uproarious. The crack of stone would be deafening, so loud as to be tangible, a kick to the chest. If all were right... but when is it ever?

In the end the growing fissure makes hardly a sound at all. No breeze stirs, no sign at all is made of the immensity of what has just occurred, and if the observers standing about hold their breaths, it isn't because they know. It isn't because they've any idea of what they've done, of how they have so neatly severed the threads of fate, have broken, it seems, a universal constant.

Such an event deserves more than the faint clatter of stone chips on the ground, more than the low grind and scrape as the box begins to unfurl. It gets no more, however. No more than that, as the first rays of light begin to penetrate its inner gloom, falling upon a hand, palm-up, fingers lightly curled. A pale hand and bony, long-fingered, filthy, the nails grown long.

A wrist, smeared with something dark, something that has dried at the edges and begun to flake away, much, very much like dried blood. Blood, perhaps, from what twines sinuously about that wrist, binding it down to the stone upon which it rests: viscera, by the look, by the smell. Intestines, if they are as they appear, glistening faintly as they catch the light.

So on up a thin arm, slow, slow as a wet gasping becomes faintly audible and the fingers of the hand twitch. A figure comes into view, a bare torso, back bent, shoulders and hips tied with the same fleshy coils as the wrist. His head, too, is bound in place, face turned upwards towards a serpent carved from the same stone as the box, arching elegantly above him, fangs bared just inches above the bound man's face.

Man, yes, he clearly is, and for some in attendance he is no doubt familiar, even wasted as he is, even...

At the tips of the serpent's fangs two drops of liquid quiver, poised to fall into what once were eyes but now hardly resemble them. Indeed, most of the surrounding flesh is ruined, horribly burned in such a way as to make abundantly clear the nature of the liquid that grows slowly, slowly nearer to dripping down with each passing moment.

This is no gift. Not just yet. Not as things are now. This is a king brought low, a creature of the most dangerous sort: one who thinks he has lost all that there is to lose – save for his life.

Loki Laufeyson breaks out in gooseflesh as fresh air hits his skin, not from the chill, but from anticipation. So much floods in with that breath, with the light which he can barely perceive through blistered and milky corneas. So much, but it's all wrong.

Thin lips press thinner.

No ice. There should be ice. This is too warm, this is...

Enraging. The wait, the agony, it ought to have paid off, it ought to have brought him in the end to vengeance, to the severance of a lineage and a lifetime that dragged him ever lower, moment by moment. What if this is wrong? What if it's not the time? Too early? Too late?

Loki's hand clenches into a fist and he pulls, and finally, now that the seals have been broken his bonds give, tear with an awful, wet sound and he is free. Free, and he knows what he has to do. Whether or not this is the dawn of Ragnarök, he knows: his is only to destroy.

Bare feet find the ground, and a body which has lain prone for years beyond counting unfolds itself, rises. He's unsteady, soles rasping softly against the floor of the box as muscles remember how to move, how to walk. He can sense them moving, the little things outside his cell, matchsticks, light them up and they burn so quickly – human? Strange.

Some burn brighter than others, though. Some might stop him doing what he has to do. And so his arm shoots out for the nearest and he bares his teeth, a monster, a beast, nothing more than a conduit for the force that brings skull to meet stone.

Comments

[laevisilaufeyson]

((Beginning -- The Box))

[happytobleed]

Castiel doesn't have time to react. One moment, he's freezing water and climbing down from the giant box and the next this creature is climbing out of it.

He registers a great amount of power from this thing. It's no Leviathan, but it's no man, either. Castiel might be able to fight it, but he very much doubts that any of the humans can. Generally, most things covered in blood don't tend to be friendly and whatever this is, it doesn't seem particularly happy or grateful.

Before he can turn to Mina and tell her to get the humans away or even call his blade to his hand, there's a sharp, wet crack as the stone meets the side of his head and he crumples like a rag doll.

[greenisnteasy]

At first, Bruce is distracted by how repulsed he is, by the display, by the smell. He recognizes Loki but only after really trying to see who it is, and then his stomach turns even more. Because, see, Loki did terrible things, and he killed people, but he didn't deserve... this, this torture, whatever this is.

But he barely has time to think about any of that before he's up, and slamming Castiel's head against the rock, and Bruce's fight or flight kicks in with flight flashing in bold letters.

He snatches his arm free from Lydia so he can take her hand instead, and he reaches to grab Mina, intending to tug her along with them.

He could let the Hulk out. That is an option, but one he's barely had time to think about, and he's afraid if he does let him out now, when he's scared and hasn't had time to prep himself like he did in New York, that he'd lose control of him. So, running for now. His grip on Lydia's hand is iron-tight, and it would be on Mina's too.

[primogen_vampirate]

Mina wasn't a damsel. And so she rarely anticipated anyone going out of their way to try to rescue her. That Bruce was suddenly trying to pull her away was, in some respects, even more surprising than the creature crawling out of the box. Surprising enough that she found herself grab hold and run with him.

For a few yards, anyway.

But Mina was a soldier, first and foremost. And as off balance as she felt, her instincts snapped her back into form almost at once. They were leaving a man behind. You didn't leave a man behind. So she let go of Bruce's hand, turning around and pulling out her knife.

With a flash of silver, she slashed the inside of her palm. A line of blood pooled up onto the surface of her skin. She hissed the words to the incantation in ancient Norse, dabbing her fingers into the blood and drawing out a dagaz on her arm. Rigor mortis was technically a Latin spell, but she'd adapted it into Norse as part of her work with the Valkyries. In theory, it was meant to paralyze the body of an enemy. Although whether or not it would work on this monster was debatable. She'd never seen the likes of it before.

And she had seen quite a lot.

[preytosociety]

Lydia most definitely was a damsel, but it didn't stop this situation from being more than a little surprising. Not so much the fact that something terrible had emerged from the box and she'd helped, really she'd been almost expecting that, it was Bruce's hand around hers that surprised her. Someone trying to save her before it was too late instead of after. It would have been a refreshing change if she wasn't currently stricken with terror.

The sickening sound of Castiel's head hitting stone had churned her stomach. If it weren't for Bruce tugging her along with him, she would have just stood there screaming. Running was better. Even when Mina let go and turned around. Lydia wouldn't stop moving unless Bruce did. She could only hope the other two would somehow be okay.

[laevisilaufeyson]

((Town Centre -- Town Hall, Diner, Bar))

[onteamdyson]

It was finally time. Something big and crazy was going down shit was apparently getting wrecked. This town needed a hero. Make that two heroes. And not those lame, by the books heroes that didn't even look totally awesome while saving the freakin' day!

Kenzi stands in front of the diner, peering through the devil mask on her face that was clearly swiped from some poor kid's Halloween costume. She got the cape from the same place. The hot pink underwear on the outside of her pants came from her drawer, but hey. Work with what you got.

As far as she was concerned, they had two missions. Protect the people and look awesome doing it. Bonus if Sharon saw how freakin' cool they looked! Dudes were less likely to panic if they had someone to watch their back.

She turns to Kobra Kid, loading her crossbow. "You ready for this, KK? Whatever the shit broke outta that box is probs way more intense than some puppies."

[goodluckkobra]

"Shit, yeah!" He swung his arms and did a karate kick.

Motherfuckers had better watch out when Kobra Kid was ready for action! They might get stung! Or bitten with venom. Whatever. The important thing was that Kobra had bright orange briefs outside of his skinny jeans, a towel-cape with a sloppily sharpied "KK" and the sparkliest mask he could find on such short notice. He was motherfucking born for this shit.

They would protect the people from the creepy dude in the box. It was their mission! Their calling.

He stands and projects his voice, yelling loudly. "Everyone stay inside. We are on this!"

[onteamdyson]

The sharpie was a nice touch. Anyone that says otherwise was getting a kick to the gender-specific junk. They looked amazing. That was half the battle right there!

"Oh good. You yelled loud enough that no one's gonna be like 'WHAT?' and come out of the buildings to find out what you said. Nice. We are freakin' pros at this shit. We should be getting paid!"

And they were clearly... well equipped to deal with some possibly cosmic evil. They had a crossbow and some kicks and punches a some knives. Yep. Evil doesn't stand a chance.

"... This is still a good idea, right?"

[goodluckkobra]

"Of course it is. I mean, it would be better with my laser gun, but I've got other tricks up my sleeve." Like a decent mastery of Aikido and a can-do attitude! What can't you do with a can-do attitude?!

He looks up as a streetlamp gets ripped out of the ground. This dude is surprisingly powerful for having been stuck inside a rock.

"So... what do we do?" Hey, he's just the sidekick!

[laevisilaufeyson]

((Residential Area -- Houses 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18))

[laevisilaufeyson]

((Park))

[laevisilaufeyson]

((Church/Cemetary, General Store, Library))

[theshield_agent]

Phil didn't blame Kenzi for letting Clint escape. He knew that she'd tried and Clint was a world-class spy. That didn't make him any less worried that something might happen, so he was running around the town, trying to find him. He was outside the church when he noticed a commotion in the center of town by the... the fucking box.

He squinted, taking a few steps closer and--Oh, Hell, no.

He pulled out his sidearm and started looking around for any backup he could find. Of course, he also took several steps back until he was against the stone wall of the church, because if it was Loki, Clint could be anywhere with his bow ready. Shit.

[agentx13.livejournal.com]

Sharon was taking a walk through the village, not for the first time since her talk with Logan. It vaguely occurred to her that she was almost like a tiger pacing along the edges of its cage, and the thought just made her pace all the more. It was almost a relief to hear shouting from the town center. Almost, but when was shouting ever a good thing?

She hurried to the town center, drawing her gun as she heard more sounds from around the fountain. Not shouting, but she'd heard several of those noises during attacks in the city. Streets and buildings being damaged, some things being ruined.

She's barely reached the square when she sees the box - or more precisely, what's left of it - and then sees Loki. She falls back, her brow furrowed as she tries to formulate a plan. Without the top-level Avengers, they don't stand much of a chance.

She spotted Coulson and crept along the perimeter toward him. "Coulson. If you don't have a plan yet, then let's do this. Give the evac order and get everyone to safety. Then we engage Loki and keep him occupied until he's spent. Unless you have a better idea."

While she spoke, she cued up her wristcomm. No matter what happened, they needed the Avengers. "Avengers assemble."

[theshield_agent]

There was a tiny moment of relief when he saw Sharon, but it was short-lived, because this was still too much for the two of them.

"No plan yet. Working on that. In the meantime, we might need to give Banner some cover getting out of the way if Loki tries to follow. The last thing we need is two problems." He watched as Banner tried to fall back. Good. At least he knew that he needed to get himself out of that situation.

"Now we know what was controlling Clint, who, by the way, is around somewhere potentially under Loki's control, so watch out for arrows." Phil wasn't really sure if there was a way out of this. Maybe the other Loki will show up, because as far as he knows, the rest of them are all pretty human in comparison to Loki and this is about to be a game of cat and mouse to rival all games.

[agentx13.livejournal.com]

He really wanted Banner to fall back? But they could use- Oh, right. This Banner has less experience than hers. And Clint might be mind-controlled. And there's no Steve, either. Thor would be ideal, but Sharon's luck lately had meant not getting anything she particularly wanted.

She nodded. "You know him better than I do. Can you get him on comms? Feel him out? I'll initiate the rest."

She glanced back toward the square and frowned. "What happened to him in the box? I'm not familiar with that from Norse mythology." Not that Sharon was a specialist in the field.

[beenunmade]

He hadn't been caught on the way out, so he granted that as a benefit. Clint really didn't want to deal with the look of disapproval on Phil's face as he slipped out of the house -- he'd just have to deal with it later. Much later, hopefully. He didn't want to deal with him when there were much more pressing things on the plate to deal with; say for insistence the fact that the box he had been obsessed with was holding the ma--go--thing that had taken away his willpower from him once. The same individual that was destined to kill his best friend and the one who had turned him away from those that he was aligned with. Clint Barton did not approve the sudden appearance of Loki in the town they were stuck in. It made sense in some matters; they should have gotten the hint when the box was riddled with Old Norse symbols and that stupid tree. It should have really been their first clue but it wasn't. He couldn't help but think he owed some people an apology but that was too far from his mind to even think of at the moment.

After leaving his home, he had made a beeline for the box that was already open. He had slid to a stop next to the man who had been left unconscious by the god, checking his pulse as he knelt down beside him but remained silent. Eyes never falling to Castiel as much as he was taking in his surroundings. This was a small town, no one could have gotten too far especially with what happened when they left the town's surroundings to the area of woods. Clint tightened his grip on his bow as he took to just...following the noise. He had moved to the roof of the church to get a better view -- his gaze not really faltering when he finally got Loki in sight before nocking an arrow and taking aim. It was an explosive tip, given the state the god was in he doubted it would make a dent.

But it would give him some manner of satisfaction to know he got him before letting the arrow loose and drawing up another two arrows, letting them follow the other quickly.

[laevisilaufeyson]

Loki hears. So long blind, so long in the dark with only the sound of his own breathing, his own screaming, to sustain him.

At first he'd spoken to himself. The first decade, perhaps two. Difficult to tell. When words came he spoke them, exercised a tongue that once was clever but now had no meaning there, alone, in the dark. That had dwindled away to nothingness, to silence, nothing until the droplets fell and set him shrieking again.

Now what he hears confuses him. Voices, yes, sounds, words that take time to process, so long ago did he last hear them. Other familiar sounds, Earth sounds, the more he listens the more confident he is of that, but it all takes time to call up memories, to make sense.

All except for one sound. One particular sound, which rips through him like a jolt of electricity, faint though it is: the twang of a bowstring and the hiss of an arrow through the air.

He can't see, but he didn't need to see the last time, either. One. One he catches and instinct makes him throw it aside. Two. But the third, the third was covered by the sound of his own movements, of the other arrows, and it catches him in the shoulder as he turns.

The arrowhead doesn't penetrate far, but it does penetrate, bringing a well of fresh blood to the surface, blood to run down Loki's arm and mingle with what has already dried on his skin. The same blood, in some senses. Father and son.

Loki snarls and turns, fingers sparking with magic he doesn't know where to direct. A step forward has him stumbling over something, he doesn't know what and he doesn't care. His bluff hasn't been called because he hasn't been bluffing – he's nearly completely blind, and his magic hasn't fully returned to him. All the more obvious when the exploding arrowhead goes off behind him and tosses him forward onto the pavement.

What bothers him most, though, isn't being attacked. That's to be expected. It's how, the method, the tool, the familiarity of it. Only he can't place why it's familiar; it's too long ago, too unexpected, too far removed from his current experience for him to be able to bring it up now.

And so Loki turns blind eyes upward, pushing himself shakily back to his feet.

Who is this, this human – must be – he's likely not even looking at? Why does he remember, when it's been far too long for any human he know before he was put in that cell to be alive anymore?

[beenunmade]

From what Clint had heard, from what little he had heard of the events after the fight with the Chitauri and Phil dying. He wouldn't get the chance to enact the revenge he wanted to. It wasn't enough for him to allow Loki to go to Asgard to be set to trial to whatever things they could dish out. He wanted him to suffer. Suffer for the loss of self, suffer for the loss of friends. He didn't think Loki had any friends, but that was beside the point. There was nothing in him that didn't want his revenge for what happened. He deserved it. Just like anyone else would in his position. Just like Coulson deserved a punch, any of the members of SHIELD who had to put up with this guy. His lips twitched into a smirk as he watched Loki start to push himself to his feet before loosing another arrow into an adjacent building before repelling in the god's direction.

He didn't care if he nocked another arrow and accidentally blew up a building at this point. He wanted to see Loki dead. He didn't give a damn what happened in the long run; if he died, if some innocent bystander got injured. All he wanted was to see Loki bleed. His feet made contact with Loki's chest, Clint moving to crouch in front of him as he flipped out his knife. "'d say it's good to see you, but then 'd be lyin'." Clint moved to attack him again, close range yes. But it didn't really have the same effect if he used a gun at this point.

[laevisilaufeyson]

Loki grunts and falls back, but here, here, something solid, something real, something he can feel there, close to him. Something entirely familiar... and impossible. No, not impossible, but improbable enough as to be classified as such.

“Your name is Barton,” he says, head tilted to one side, listening for movement, waiting for the flash of nerve impulse, hands held up in front of him. Open. Ready. Empty.

“Clint Barton. I don't forget.” A lie. He's forgotten hundreds. Thousands. “I would say that it's good to see you, but I can't.”

His grin is as insolent as ever, as cracked, as confident and predatory, even now, at an apparent disadvantage.

“Surely you should be dead by now,” he adds, and here a hint of genuine confusion, an eloquent, a drawing of brows downwards towards burnt eye sockets. No lashes. Just destroyed eyes, blistered and milky-opaque, wide and staring sightlessly ahead.

[preytosociety]

Lydia hadn't looked back since they'd started running. Not even once. Looking back would only make it worse. She'd learned that lesson already.

She didn't start crying until the back door to the library was in sight. It was difficult to tell who was pulling who at this point, all she knew was that there was no way in hell she was letting go of Bruce's hand. Not even when she practically slammed into the door and fumbled to get it open single-handedly, urging Bruce inside before slipping into the building behind him and slamming the door shut.

"We ... we have to block the exits. We have to barricade the doors, and-- a-and the windows, and... oh god. Is he dead? Is that guy dead? There was blood and-- .... what was that? Who did we let out?" Bruce would know. Bruce had to know. He was smarter than her, so much smarter. He was bigger and stronger and she felt so small.

Tears streaked her face. She was having a hard time catching her breath. Panic barely covered it. The last time she'd been this scared-- ...

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce is terrified too, but not really for his own safety. Wordlessly, he pulls Lydia to him, hugging her tight against his chest. If anything had happened to her -- if anything does happen to her, he'll never forgive himself. The same is true for anyone else out there, like Castiel, that poor bastard, and Mina. Bruce doesn't believe in God, but he hopes something out in the universe is cheering for her, because she's going to need the help.

His heart is beating fast, too fast, and he really needs it to calm down, and he holds onto her until it starts to seem like that's possible. He feels guilty for that; maybe he should Hulk out, save everyone, but he's way too panicked. He'd lose control in a heartbeat.

Taking a shaky breath, he squeezes her one last time before he pulls away, and he starts to lead them deeper inside the library. Blocking the doors won't do much good.

"Loki. Remember when I said I'd met Norse gods?" He glances back at her and slips his arm around her shoulders, instead of leading her by her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. We never should have -- and I had a bad feeling. We should've thrown that thing in the ocean." Just like Phil had wanted.

[preytosociety]

The proximity helps. Her arms are around him almost automatically and she clings to the back of his shirt, resting her head against his chest. Having someone there... it always brings her back to herself. Back home, there's no one. Here, the fear never lasts very long.

She steadies her breathing and manages to quiet herself by the time Bruce pulls away. She nods as his arm settles around her shoulders and leans into him just slightly as the head past the shelves, towards the tables. "I remember." But she hadn't completely believed him. She sure as hell believes him now.

"Don't apologize. We all did it. We all wanted it open." She'd really though it could be a way out. Not for her, but for--

Her eyes widen and that frantic look is back for a brief moment. "What if she can't stop him? What if he goes after the others?" Specifically Kobra and Daneel. Why are they always separated when something terrible is going on? At least now she's moved on from terrified and settled on a moderate level of anxiety. "... What are we supposed to do?"

Lydia doesn't like not having the answers. She hates it. Despises it. It makes her look weak. She is weak.

[greenisnteasy]

He helps her sit down, then pulls up a seat next to her, still close because he's still afraid of himself here. He exhales slowly and glances down at his wrist; there's no stealthy way to check his heart rate, so he just does, and he can write it off as heart problems. Calming down now, but he'd feel a lot better if he got back down to a resting heart rate.

And he won't stop feeling responsible for this. Out of everyone, he should be able to recognize when it's just a bad idea to carry on with an experiment. He has a front row seat to what the consequences of that are like.

Lydia starts to freak out next to him, and he tries to shake himself out of his thoughts to deal with that. He takes one of her hands, holding it between his own, and he leans forward until she looks him in the eye.

"I don't know. I don't have any of the answers." He squeezes her hand. "We have these, at least," he nods at her wrist. "We're not totally cut off in here, but we're safe. We can call out, check on the others."