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[laevisilaufeyson]

Who: Loki Laufeyson and Clint Barton
Where: By the seashore. Possibly selling seashells. Stay tuned for updates.
When: The morning after this craziness.
What: That's a weird pile of seaweed.
Warnings: Uh... probably nothing significant.

Waves rush the shore, slow and steady, like breathing. The ocean is a thing of incessant churning, of constant flux, gnawing at its shores. Sand which once was stone. A reminder of the fragility and the impermanence of all things. A memento mori.

The waves take, a lesson in loss, dragging away sediment, sandcastles, swimmers.

The waves give, too. Driftwood. Seaweed. Strange creatures washed up on shore. A cycle. Take and give and take again.

Today what they took they now return, and here a third lesson: the lesson that that which would be avoided must sometimes be faced.

Facedown in the sand by the seashore lays the shape of a man, seemingly devoid of life. The waves wash over him again and again, wetting cracked lips with an urgent insistence.

Wake up, they say, drifting in.

Don't go, they pull, running out.

Or perhaps that's just delirium talking. Loki certainly doesn't know, in his place between places, the unconsciousness that isn't entirely. Perhaps it's all nonsense, the ravings of a madman, a lost seafarer who's drunk too much salt water yet is still, somehow, alive. Thriving, if anything.

It is all rather nice, though, nonsense or no. Peaceful. Perhaps he should just stay here, and drink some more.

Comments

[beenunmade]

Clint hadn't crashed back at the house, under the same roof as Phil. As Kenzi. He hadn't even fallen asleep just yet. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since they had opened the box and Loki was released. He had wanted to put an arrow through the man's eyes. Not just for taking control over him, but for a number of other things. But he hadn't done it. Maybe there had been a tinge of familiarity, maybe just piss poor judgement in this case. Either way it went, he didn't feel the need to go back to the two people he trusted and the two people he lied too. Not yet at least. Phil would know that he needed his time to gather his wits. He'd expect him to check in, but other than that he knew that he was okay with having this moment to...not think he was a basket case.

He shuffled his feet a bit as he walked along the beach, he'd abandoned his bow in the lighthouse where he found time to...make a perch and sit there for a couple hours in silence. Looking towards the town and just practically zoning out while he was up there until he decided to go for a run. He was trying anything and everything to clear his mind the same way he did back home. None of it was working, but he was making a solid attempt at this point. Clint would have kept moving, running around seaweed was nothing...just another obstacle. He would have just continued running, if he were anyone else. But he was Hawkeye. He noticed the small details, any details. Man laying on the beach?

Definitely something that turned on alarms in his brain. Clint slowed to a stop before moving to investigate, kneeling down beside the unconscious man. Even before he knelt down he knew something was amiss. When he grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and pulled his head back to get a good look at him. He really tried to just press Loki's face back against the continuous drifting in and running out of the ocean and see if the "god" could drown. Clint flexed his hands, moving and using a lot of his body strength to roll Loki over on his back before standing up and folding his arms in front of his chest as he looked in on him.

He could kill him now and save everyone the agony of having Loki turn on them at some point. He doubted there was any where in this place that was fortified enough to hold him. Allowing him to live was a far greater sin in his books than allowing him to die. If he killed him, Phil wouldn't die.

Clint stared blankly down at him for a moment before moving to crouch over him, smacking his cheeks a little. He paused for a moment before trying again, his skin felt cold. But he supposed that was an Asgardian (or whatever Loki was) sort of thing before moving to press the palm of his hand against his mouth. Checking if he was at least still breathing. Ah, there it was. Loki was still alive. Unconscious, seemingly helpless. He hadn't seen Loki as 'helpless' yet. He saw Loki as lost. Dickish. Pretending to be something he most definitely was not. He pursed his lips together before running his hand through his hair. He reasoned quietly with himself.

No enemy deserved to die while they were out like a light.

It didn't take long for Clint to notice the bracelet that everyone in this place had slapped onto their wrists. Odd. When Loki had disappeared, he figured he was laying in wait. The thought that he might have been captured never crossed his mind. It didn't bode well in the questions of who or what may have taken them. If they were able to overpower Loki, Clint didn't know what to do. If he was going to report it to anyone, it would've been Phil. Urgent message, we're fucked.

But he'd wait until he had Loki at least a little bit secure as he hovered over him a little. "Guess it's your lucky day, asshole." He patted his cheek again, moving to get up before pausing in his movement as he reached into his pocket and pulling out his purple sharpie. Eh. You only live once. Clint wrote on the god's forehead in messy writing 'dicks' before drawing an arrow to his mouth from his cheek. Allowing a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. There were other ideas. They would be played upon once he got him...OFF the beach and at least somewhat tied up. Pulling him through town was too risky. Too many heads would turn towards him as he pushed himself to his feet before moving to grab his arms and trying to pull him.

He nearly toppled over, nearly fell on his face like some fool. He set him down before, back tracking in his mind. He didn't know what he could use to pull Loki away. Waiting around for him to wake up was too stupid. Clint ran his hand down his face for a brief moment as he paced for a moment, there had been sturdy enough looking chains back at the lighthouse where he had made his makeshift base. Using that to pull him along would have been much more efficient than just trying to drag him a couple inches and failing horribly at it.

Just wandering around aimlessly as he had been for hours was now pushed off for running as much as he could push himself back to the lighthouse before dragging the chain behind him back to where Loki had been. Hoping the state he had been in was still the state he was in when he returned to the site and wrapping the chains around the god's upper body before starting to pull him along with him. Slowly. But he was managing better than he would've without the chain. By the time he had reached the lighthouse his arms and legs were shaking, if he thought he needed a workout. Then he'd gotten about a month's worth just now and was still not done as he started to push on. Pulling Loki further into the lighthouse and starting to move upstairs.

A regret a couple steps up. The muscles in his legs started quivering from the strain as he continued moving. Listening to the echo of Loki's head against each step. He wasn't exactly...gentle. He didn't have a need to be. He hated him. But he wasn't a monster. Not like Loki as he finally got to the top, sliding Loki along to the railing and starting to wrap the chains around him. He plopped down on the ground in front of him, taking in a deep breath. Trying to catch his breath as he wiped the sweat from his face. He wasn't even sure he would be able to get back to his feet as he rolled down onto his back and stared up at the ceiling for a brief moment, allowing his mind to try to come back to his body.

Clint sat up after a couple minutes before...just watching Loki. He could always try to wake him up some more. The archer had taken to wandering around the once lived-in lighthouse before discovering the next step in a slow-moving payback that he was working on. Not as bloody as he would've wanted. But Loki might be a key witness. Might as well keep him alive until then as he moved to crouch next to Loki, starting to cut at his hair. A bored look on his face as he did.

[laevisilaufeyson]

The sound is soft at first, a hum, almost... contented, which is likely a bit bizarre, under the circumstances. After a few false starts it becomes something else, though. Words, almost sighed: “Make sure you get it even.”

Loki rests still, eyes still closed, apparently unbothered by the chains or the tugging at his hair. Even if it does end up rather awful, he's no significant complaints. Better than leaving it as long as it was. Not many opportunities to stop in for a trim when one is stuck in a box.

“I'd rather look passingly decent when you try futilely to kill me, which I assume is what you brought me here to do. Unless...” He trails off, tongue darting out and to the side to brush at the corner of his mouth. Salt, yes, but also ink. Chemical. Faint, but there. He thought he'd remembered that.

“Unless you're just planning on scribbling on me some more.” Neither the most original nor the most worrisome of punishments, Loki feels, but he's not going to say as much. Let Clint gloat over the apparent likelihood of his future mortification; it hardly matters. He sighs and opens his eyes, though, trying to catch a look at himself in the nearest reflective surface.

Ah. Well. Not terribly original, that.

“Jæja, hegri, it's not complete but it's not entirely inaccurate. A good guess. Is that what you've fished me out of the sea for?” His gaze turns to Clint, his eyes almost entirely back to normal, though they still look strangely glossy, the sockets dark.

[beenunmade]

He did register Loki stirring a bit, possibly because he was actually making noise. The archer was almost ready to pause what he was doing and just slam the god's head back against the railing to keep him unconscious. But he decided against it. It might've failed and just made him that much more angrier than Clint would assume anyone would be as he smirked a bit. "Dude, you're lucky it's not a military-standard buzz cut." It would have been easier than going after his hair with a pair of scissors and hoping for the best. Clint thought he was nearly finished, it was a far different look for the Loki that he remembered. Maybe the standard less than villain-y hair cut might have done him wonders in making him a much more approachable foe. Ever think of that Loki?

"I'm not a hairdresser. I could just accidentally slip and jab out an eyeball." He didn't hide the smile that crossed his lips at the idea as he shrugged a bit. "Not futilely...'m gonna kill you. You can count on it." He just didn't the first couple of times because...of reasons. Reasons being Clint still felt a quiet pull not to allow harm to come to Loki. He hated it. Considering everything that he knew now. He just wanted to go to Phil and tell him to lock him up again, throw away the key and make sure he never gets out until whatever was wrong with him fixed itself. But he doubted it would and he doubted that going now was going to mend any broken bridges. He done goofed. He had to live with the repercussions of betraying Phil's trust as he had.

But to be honest, Phil should have known he couldn't last two days strapped to the chair. Clint leaned back on his heels from where he was crouched next to the god. "Worried about how people are gonna think of you? I can promise you, with your grand entrance everyone here is going to want to shoot you in the face." Even though Clint had done some damage. He was shit up after all. Clint rubbed his chin when Loki said something about drawing on him some more. "Nah, 'm not much of an artist. 'm more of a...guy that's bored as fuck." He moved back in to continue cutting the trickster's hair. "You know, man, you gotta lose some damn weight or somethin'. Or is that an alien thing?"

He didn't know nor did he try to apply logic to it as his brow arched. First with Natasha calling him nicknames in Russian now with Loki calling him...whatever. "I don't know what the fuck you just called me, but 'll take offense to it and call you a jackass." He felt finally finished with the task he had given to himself before sitting back and picking up a water bottle. "Yeah, totally. I don't kill people who are unconscious." He scoffed a bit before motioning to Loki's arm, towards the bracelet that was now attached to him. "It seems like you're stuck...just so you know. That thing is a communicator for everyone in this place to remain connected. Guess whoever got us here can knock you on your pansy ass and possibly live to tell the tale." He glanced down at his water bottle for a moment, before back up at Loki.

[laevisilaufeyson]

“I called you the name of a bird; last I checked you took no offense at that,” Loki replies dismissively, ignoring the comment about his apparent captivity. He doesn't need to say that it was unwise, trying to swim out blind, but he'd been drawn to the sea. Even then it shouldn't have done what it did. His strength shouldn't have flagged so.

Yes. Something more is going on here. Whether or not it's truly stronger than he would be at his best remains to be seen, however.

“A fisher-bird. Long, sharp beak. Always looks angry,” he murmurs, eyes falling shut again. Well, it sounds about right. More so as the net of associations he weaves around it grows.

Loki lets his head fall back against the railing behind him with a soft clunk. “The gravity on Jǫtunheimr is higher than on your planet,” he continues after a few moments' silence. “Our bone and muscle density are greater than yours to account for this. Thence comes the added weight. Strength, too. Resilience. Asgard is similar.”

And so they're stronger only because they need to be, but still, they are stronger. Ask the Allfather and he might tell you, with words twisted to magnify his own righteousness, that it is this which gives them right to rule. This, and their promise to protect, which they fail to recognise stems also from that strength, from an accident of chance.

Loki knows better. He simply doesn't care about the righteousness of any of it.

“If you mean to kill me, kráka, I am no longer unconscious. Curious, how you speak as though you mean for me to stick around.” The advice about the new bracelet. The haircut, too; what's that about?

“Curious, what you're doing. Very familiar, how you behave. Some gods might take offense at that.” Loki? Loki's mostly just amused. “Dragged me out of the sea, trimmed my hair; what's next, a bath? Were it not for the chains I should think you were doing your level best to serve me, not torment me.”

[beenunmade]

Clint blinked for a moment, shrugging as he did. "Well, how the hell am I supposed to know that when you're sproutin' it off in some language I don't even know." Did you honestly expect him to know what you were saying, Loki? Clint didn't even know what Natasha called him half the time but he was under the impression all of it was good and none of it was as bad as he would think it could be as he took a long drink from his water bottle. An annoyed expression crossing his features when Loki spoke again, going into detail about the 'bird' that he had mentioned. It made some sense, but he didn't really read into it. The last person he wanted to give him a nickname of any sort was this guy. The second to the last person was Logan. It had been Logan until the box was opened.

He wished it could have remained so. Clint pulled up his leg, propping his head up onto his knee as he listened to Loki speak of how different his world was compared to Earth. "If you're stronger, why haven't you broken out of your chains yet?" He motioned to the shoddy display of tying a person up. Especially someone who was as strong as Loki, as quick as he was. Clint knew in a heart beat he could be overpowered and killed before anyone got any idea that Loki was still there rather than living alone in the forest or along the ocean. They would always have to live in fear of another threat out there instead of the one that had taken them.

He was actually pretty happy he'd found him laying on the beach. Peace of mind and everything like that. "The ego part of it too?" He pointed out with a pointed expression on his face. "Seems like it a little. Didn't really get a chance to talk to Thor that much, but he looks like a guy that could go on an ego-trip every now 'n then." And Loki was just a giant ego trip dressed in armor and leather.

Clint was a wee bit loss for words when it came to just not killing him now. He was conscious after all. The hindrance of killing a man when he was at his weakest was gone, but he still didn't have the heart. His heart, in fact, was warring with itself. The part that wanted him to kill and just go back to sulking in isolation was loud and clear. The small sliver of a part that was still infected with blue, with Loki and the Tesseract's magic because he didn't get the chance to properly shake him out completely -- was still there as well. Clint had jumped from one trauma to another; he didn't have time to sweat it out. Natasha hadn't even stuck around long enough; the one who knew better than anyone what it was like to be made into the enemy. To be unmade from the person they once were.

"Excuse me?" Clint looked a little angry and it was true. He was. "I dragged you out of the sea...cos dying via drowning would suck ass for anyone. You're welcome, by the way." He scoffed and rolled his eyes a bit. "Well, I would. But yanno...on account of the fact that I kinda hate you a little. Prolly not so much." He shrugged before pulling himself up to his feet to stand before Loki, folding his arms in front of his chest. "The last thing I would ever do in this lifetime, is serve you again."

[laevisilaufeyson]

"Well, you needn't worry; I no longer have the Tesseract," Loki responds breezily. "Everything you're doing now is entirely your own choice. That's why it's so interesting."

One eye opens, and he looks up at Clint slyly. "Which is, incidentally, why I've not broken free yet."

They couldn't keep him in a secure cage, they certainly can't keep him like this, with only chains to bind him. No magics deep and old. Just links of metal. He could be gone as soon as he wanted. Truly gone, vanished into thin air -- if he felt like it. If he felt like letting on that he could.

"Would you like me to? Would that make it easier for you?" he asks, leaning his head back again as his eye closes.

"Conceptually, I mean. You'd still have quite a time of trying to kill me. You could have left me. I'd not have drowned. You could shoot me now, empty your quiver into me and I'd not die. I trust you'll work at it. Be creative." Keep Loki entertained. Even in his weakened state he doesn't seem particularly intimidated by Clint -- and why should he be? Perhaps once the threat of pain might have dissuaded him slightly, but now?

Now it's familiar. Now he doesn't know what to do without it. What is the purpose of a tormented man without agony?

"If you're particularly good I'll not even retaliate. On my word, and the word of a god is contract. Even mine." Sometimes.

[beenunmade]

Clint shrugged it off, beginning to pace in front of Loki before stopping and looking at him when he looked at him slyly. He fought back rolling his eyes with a scoff. He fought back...a lot of things right now. "Because you're entertained? Glad I could help." He dropped his arms to the sides before slipping back into that old skin that kept this shit bouncing off of him before tilting his head to the side. "You know, none of that was to serve you. It was pranks...things to do to pass the time." Without adding more red to his ledger. Without losing a possible key to getting out of this place for some of the people. Clint was more than happy to waste his life on this coast. With no one but Phil to grant him company.

Clint leaned in a bit, pulling out one of his concealed knives and resting the sharp edge against Loki's cheek. Eyes narrowed and steeled for what he wanted to do. "Emptying my quiver into you doesn't have any foreseeable consequences. Other than you laughing at me...'n me wastin' a lot of my trick arrows. Gotta look forward to the future whenever what got us here sends something bigger 'n badder than you, Jerki." He didn't press the blade tight against the god's skin...he didn't even use it as a particular threat. "I would kill you. I'd kill you for everyone who died on the helicarrier. I'd kill you for Phil. But I suppose that's exactly what you want isn't it?"

The knife disappeared, concealed again, and Clint backed away, stretching out his arms to his sides. "By the way, when I get my hands on something other than a pair of scissors, 'm buzzin' in 'jackass' on the back of your head. People make hair their statements nowadays." Clint didn't think killing him would solve anything right now. Nor did he think hurting him either. Loki being a god might have something to do with it. Him...just being a regular man had another thing to do with it as he moved to sit down on the table that was set up in the corner, folding his legs in front of him.

Brace for phone tag

[laevisilaufeyson]

"And you really think that might have any effect on me whatsoever? I have been called worse things by greater men than you." Loki can't say he was particularly bothered by most of that either. Not after he'd worked it out as an inevitability. Come to relish it, in fact, most days.

"Surely if it had any result at all it would be to make you look like an ass for stating the obvious." Yes, he's well aware of what people think of him and as he's deliberately precipitated the majority of it that happened after roughly year zero, he can't complain much.

He precipitated it much, in fact, via the same methods he's using now: simply being incredibly annoying. "You really must brush up on your pranking methods, though, elskan min. If this is an act of tribute I must say it's a disappointing one."

It isn't remotely an act of tribute, of course, but that's the wonderful thing about being the god of mischief: people everywhere, all around the universe, are engaged in little acts of worship, little emulations, at any given moment. It also permits one to reach new heights of dismissal, which frankly is the better part of that particular deal.

"I give you some credit for your choice of target, naturally, but for effort and creativity you get nothing, I'm afraid," he adds, fingers curling around the chains holding him in place. If he were Thor, if he were anything like that great brute and his nearly equally brutish friends, he'd simply tear them away. Stretch the links until they creak, his own muscles bunching, his heart beginning to pound, until -- snap! -- they part.

Loki is decidedly not Thor. He sees much beyond shows of strength. He knows that breaking a chain does not prevent it from being reforged, stronger than before. The material persists.

So Loki does not snap the chain, does not strain himself against it until it gives, as though this were the solution to all things. Instead he takes the chain in his hands and begins to change it, to send oxidation creeping along its length. Given time, he could turn it to nothing more than faintly metallic dust. Given the opportunity, he could demonstrate the utter futility of cages, of bindings, of trying to keep that which lives beyond even the resilience of forged metals.