driftfleet | (no subject)

Who: Loki
Broadcast: Yes
Action: On the Vanquish
When: Current

[Action]
[As getting unceremoniously deposited in another realm goes, this doesn't even make Loki's top ten. No one's shooting at him. He didn't get sucked through a black hole. He's not even anywhere close in space, if the stars are any judge. And so the stay on the Marsiva is downright... relaxing once he breathes through his moment of oh Hell at thinking he's been dragged onto the ship he and Thor had just seen.

(And where is Thor, by the way? Well, they tend to run across each other eventually, despite either of their best efforts.)

And then he gets dumped onto yet another, much smaller ship. With confetti.

He's really tired of getting thrown around. He'd like to stab someone over it, really. But it's the same game as Sakaar: Get the lay of the land. Play it externally nice. Figure out how to claw to the top and stick a sharp dagger into the right person's back. And so on.

And in the meantime... guided by an urge he doesn't quite understand, he finds himself in the ship's kitchen, still having avoided the occupants--he knows there are some, since he can smell them--and confronted with the primitive setup. And ingredients. And an itch in his fingers and the back of his brain. And... well.

Two hours later, he's staring broodily at a very fine Smörgåstårta and wondering just what is even going on.]

This has got to be one of the odder things that's ever happened to me.

[He's bemused. He didn't even do anything this time.

And Smörgåstårta is a good listener. Apparently.]

[Network]
[He might as well make the most of this bizarre situation, Loki decides. Start the ingratiating and figuring out the social dynamics of this spatial armpit, all that. He takes a very nice picture of the Smörgåstårta and deposits it onto the network, with a message:]

Dinner is served.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Challenge accepted, I like lemons.

[wait who are you again

hang on this guy looks familiar...]

Your opponent awaits you then, brave warrior. You're first in line.

[oh lord, no backing out now.]

location? I'll be right over.

[he'll even take a shuttle like a normal person instead of just zapping himself there.]

I do believe the ship is called the Vanquish.

you got it

[and off he goes! and it does not even occur to him to check the name of the person making this offer, or put a name to the face, mostly because this face isn't all that familiar on this little screen. It's only when he flies a shuttle over and goes looking for the kitchen that it really clicks.]

--Whoa! Wait, wait- Loki? Are you Loki?

Never heard of the fellow.

[Completely straight-faced. Mostly he wants a better idea of where this human thinks he knows him from. Since they do get touchy about cities being destroyed and the like...]

[After living with Loki (well, a Loki) for like, a year or so, that is an astonishingly familiar expression. So either it's an uncanny resemblance in both face and expression or he's doing the very Loki thing and lying about it.

Honestly around here it could go either way, so he hums thoughtfully.]

Mmmm, well, it's amazing. You're a dead ringer for the guy. Too bad- I feel like he'd appreciate the, um. Norse food shenanigans.

[he gestures vaguely at the... cake... salad. Thing.]

I get that all the time. I've the sort of face that can resemble nearly anyone who is sufficiently handsome. [Well... the boy doesn't sound like he wants to stab the Loki he knows. But let's not trust that yet.]

Everyone appreciates Smörgåstårta. [The implication in his tone being: unless there's something seriously wrong with you.

He offers over a plate and a fork.]