driftfleet | (no subject)

Who: Loki and... whoever wants to join in!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Down on the planet, drunken shenanigans
When: December 22

[Video]

[Loki is down on the planet already, at one of the more rustic settlements where there are glacial ridges and tall moraines. He... doesn't look like he's dressed sufficiently for the cold but, you know. Better not to ask sometimes.]

Whether 'tis true or not here, where I come from, it is the Solstice and I shall celebrate it.

Anyone who wishes may join me. Do not forget your sacrifice to honor the old year.

I shall provide fortified wine.

[A brief, very promising grin.]

Those who fall shall be left to sleep where they lie.

[Video ends with a coordinate tag for the location.]

[Action]

[He's paid for a small cabin for the night that's been mostly emptied of furniture, and there's a big bonfire outside for more party purposes. Barrels of wine that have been magically fortified--drink with caution--are there for anyone's use. There's also a bit of the local food, though nothing that exciting; the alcohol is really the main show here.

Near the bonfire, there's a pole set up with paper and tacks, where people can write down wishes and confessions to be taken away by the wind. Loki starts off the party by throwing the horns of one of the game animals into the fire as a sacrifice.

There's music, traditional stuff of Asgard, provided by Loki via magic. Dancing is definitely a thing that happens if Loki is around. He never gets tired of that and never seems to get all that drunk.

As the night progresses, depending on how readily the alcohol flows, there might be a "raid" into the town, which mostly means singing extremely dirty songs while running through the streets, with a potential for some serious nudity. If things get even sillier than that (vandalism is always fun), trust that Loki will be egging you on.

At dawn, those still standing will be dragged up to the top of one of the ridges, where a large wheel (~20ft diameter) made of combustible local materials has been set up. To welcome the sun back, the wheel gets set on fire and rolled down the ridge until it explodes in a shower of sparks and debris.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Eugene's had time to think - not to mention time to half-remember dreams and snippets of voices and then intentionally not think. The fact that he's apparently known by a god in some alternate universe is weird enough.

It's interesting too, though. A little exciting. Something in the back of his mind as he browses the markets of the planet, putting together a little bundle that he hashes together from his vague cobbled-together knowledge of mythology and his slightly better knowledge of world cuisine. There are symbols that always seem to come up with deities, he finally decides. Flesh, spirits, fire - things that speak of passion one way or another. So in his bundle is a jar of the local fermented, salted fish (near enough to Scandinavian, from what he can tell), a tin of pungent smoked salt, and a strong berry-infused liquor. He's put together a twisted loaf of sweet, faintly spiced bread as well. Even if Loki isn't a hearth god, it never hurts to include some baked goods.

He's weight-bearing on the leg by now - which would be great, except that the entire thing being metal means that wearing it planetside freezes his stump in about five seconds. So he crutches up to him through the snow instead, back slung over his shoulder and crooked smirk in place.]

Now my etiquette is shaky here. Do I have to prostrate myself, or is the offering enough?

[Now that is an odd thing indeed. The voice, he knows. The face... is not the same one that his perfect memory says should go with the voice, which is the same. Even more damning, the scent of him is the same.

Oh, and that is not fair. But, he reminds himself, this Eugene does not know him.

That question, though. Well. How can he say now to that sort of offer.]

A quality offering deserves at least a graceful curtsey, don't you think?Or would you sell yourself cheaply?

Hey now, I'm not desperate enough for a ratings bump to go around selling anything.

[A curtsey is a little more counterbalancing than he knows how to handle, but he's at least had some opportunity to figure out something approximating a bow that doesn't look too clunky when he pushes himself back up on the crutch. There's a half-second memory of Jack laughing at him practising and calling him a peacock, but it's while his face is pointed down to the snow, and by the time he lifts it again he's moulded it back into dry not-quite-bemusement. He shoulders off the rough cloth bag, holding it out for Loki to take.]

[Well, it'll do. This is so much easier, not seeing the Eugene he knows, even if it leaves him feeling a bit dizzy when his ears and nose disagree with his eyes.]

You'd probably receive more attention for giving it away.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Sex sells. Double for cheating.

[It's a dry, throwaway observation, but the minute he realizes what he's said, he's keyed in on Loki's expression, watching for any sign of recognition. Because if Loki does know him, he must know Jack. Right?

It's ridiculous, probably, with the fantastically improbable twist of fate that brought them together in the first place. For for a thoughtless moment he wants to believe that he's an outlier - that there aren't so many more Eugenes out there just like him, alone. That there aren't even more who will live and die never even knowing Jack Holden existed.]

[He does know Jack, incredibly well. He also knows how to control his facial expression, so there's not a flicker of anything but mild interest there. Come now, Eugene. He's been at this game for centuries.]

Oh dear, missing a certain someone? If he's not here, is it cheating? Philosophical question, really.

[Well. That was fun, a little voice in the back of his head contributes flatly, followed by an insubstantial but appealing-sounding suggestion that his warm, almost-soft bunk is waiting for him back on the ship. It's a really good idea, he thinks. Homage out of the way, small talk out of the way with a god or whatever who knows some other version of him-

-and still genders his pronoun that exactly.

Slowly, the fallen-flat hardness of his expression twists enough for a suspicious little smile.]

You seem pretty sure they're a guy.

[He taps his finger lightly on the side of his nose.] I can smell it.

[Go ahead, Eugene. Tell an alien god his nose isn't that good.]

[Well, the good part of it is that at least Eugene isn't quite as pissy with that revelation. Nothing switches all that dull energy into muddled confusion faster than being told-]

-you're saying. That I smell gay.

[Uh huh.]

Just a bit. [This Eugene is just as fun to mess with as the old Eugene. Though it is making him miss Jack rather terribly. He'd had such a wage of spit and fire.] I doubt anyone else has noticed.

[He scents the air lightly.]Though not entirely gay, I ought to note. In the interest of being fair.

Gee, thanks. I'd hate to think my smell was misrepresenting me.

[Sure, why not. He's a god, and heck, dogs can tell a lot about things just by smelling them. Why shouldn't a deity?]

Do you get any other useful tidbits from that, or mostly just who's going to try to hook up with who at a party?

Smell is the sort of thing that doesn't tend to lie.

[A brief flash of a green.]

What you've eaten recently. Some of your vices, perhaps. If you were afraid, you'd have a particular stench to you.

Even with the fire and the cold air, huh? Impressive.

[He glances to the fire as he mentions it - where he notices something he hadn't at his first cursory glance, when he was more focused on Loki and making his way through the snow without stumbling.]

- so what's the pole for?

Why ought those things interfere over much? Humans do have a terrible sense of smell.

Ah, that. There wasn't a decent tree, I'm afraid. That's for the placement of wishes.