Frost and fire ((For Reynard))

[coldsong]

It is nigh-impossible to track a Spirit, even for a being like Loki, who is in some ways related. Until the storm ended, he had little hope of catching up to Reynard, unless Winter Itself wanted him to. And frankly, Loki didn't want to work at it too hard.

Wanting something too much leaves you at a disadvantage when it appears before you.

He's been waiting, thus, with the trophy the Eliksni gave him to carry, fully prepared to carry out his task but maybe taking a bit longer with it than they expected. Blaze's friends won't thank him for that, either, probably, but for his own sake he needs to know more. There are loose threads to be pulled together here. This crisis was not, he thinks, merely Reynard flexing his might. Nor was it a simple invasion by an alien force. How they were related to one another remains a mystery, and Loki has a gnawing feeling there's something more at play he is missing.

For one thing, it doesn't make much sense for another Nexusite to have shot Blaze in the back of the head in the midst of a battle.

His is the kind of madness that demands a full explanation for everything, inasmuch as one can be gleaned.

(No. You took me for a purpose. What was it?... TELL ME!)

And so, as soon as success seems like a possibility, he searches for Reynard. Outside the season, he won't be, Loki assumes, quite so evasive. At least not physically evasive. Chances are he'll still have the power to talk in circles in much the way Loki does.

But maybe he'll be gratified to see the god wearing his Jotun skin, still, even though the season has shifted.

Comments

[shardofwinter]

Those who know the Winter spirit know what Spring does to him. Vaguely, at least. He is, at least at first, even more elusive than during Winter. First he needed to be able to keep his consciousness, and then gain his strength. If not for the stable home awaiting him this year he might not have recovered so decently so quickly. Unfortunately, that stable home is now shared. With at least one persistently loud occupant. Which is why he finds it best, when he is able, to spend some time alone.

The Nexus is not safe for him now. Not in any real, full way. But then, nowhere is truly safe. It's a strange sort of normality. Maybe that's why he's not all that concerned about being in the Nexus. He's taken precautions, of course. He walks through the streets with a hood, ducking his head and adjusting his gait to that of an ailed recluse (not a difficult act in Spring). Even then, he only ventures in to gather up an acceptable amount of alcohol and bring it out into the Wilds. Despite the stench of Spring, it's quieter, safer. Private.

Reynard sits among the roots of a large tree with his haul beside him, mostly hidden from view. He looks as good as those who struggled through his Season, pale, haggard, a light sweat on his brow. When he sees the tall, blue figure approach, the bottle at his lip pauses thoughtfully before being offered to the god. Hopefully Loki likes rum.

[coldsong]

Loki is still learning about the Spirits of the seasons, but he remembers distinctly how unnerved Autumn was upon her channeling of Frigga's spirit. The line between Season and vessel seems blurry, but he thinks it must exist, based on that. They may not be human (were they ever mortal beings? he's not sure yet) but at least some of the time they have bodies.

He hasn't forgotten Reynard's comment, either, about walking out into a howling mob in the Spring. It wouldn't be worth considering, Loki assumes, were a mob screaming for his blood not something the man was vulnerable to, between Winters.

It's in no way Loki's place to worry about him, or to protect him, should he even need it, but he's...interested. To see what happens. And besides, he did him a good turn, in his way. Whether he meant to enlighten Loki or just confuse him, it's brought him to a point he was unable to reach before on his own.

And so, when he finally spies him sprawled against the tree, pale and sickly and diminished, Loki smiles in greeting.

He won't be able to wear this form much longer without discomfort. Right now, it's only bearable in Jotun-style dress, barefoot and bare-chested, and he's bound his hair up off his neck in a style that someone might call a man-bun if they wanted to get punched very hard.

"Cheers," he says, and sits by Reynard, accepting the bottle and taking a sip without hesitation. That's as good as a promise that he comes in peace. "You've looked better."

[shardofwinter]

The greeting gets a snort. "It's not fair on everyone else to be a handsome devil all the time."

It suits him to be in no rush to speak or move. He'd happily sit and drink and pass witty remarks back and forth. Slow and quiet. That's not why Loki is here, though. Whatever they are, they aren't friends. They are a question and a reply. A reply and a question. A god and a spirit. What passes between them aren't the games of mortal men.

His voice grumbles and wheezes with each word, but there's a familiar sense of amusement when he says, "You look like you've thrived."

[coldsong]

"How generous of you to sacrifice for the rest of us," Loki tells him with mock sobriety, and hands the bottle back.

Something in his gaze softens though, a little wistful, remembering the dark-eyed ice-fractal visage he caught glimpses of, midwinter. That was beautiful. Probably Loki has some bias toward it based in his own heredity. "But I'm sure it's exhausting upholding such standards of beauty year-round, as well. By all means, take a holiday."

Hands free of the bottle, he picks up a twig on the ground beside him and rolls it between his fingers idly. "Oh, I was hungry here and there, but nothing that truly wore on me. It's been a novel experience, so long a time in this skin."

It'll take many more winters to truly love his Jotun self, but he's starting to make peace with it. "I do wish I had the height to go with it naturally. I have to force it. But I suppose I wouldn't want to have to duck through doorways all the time."

He turns to give Reynard a more pointed look. "I've spoken to Baroness Pelsor. Her answers have raised so many more questions in my mind, and I must ask you them, whether I'm likely to get a straight response or not."

"Did they come to you, or did you find them?"

[shardofwinter]

New roles, new skins, take time to become comfortable with. Reynard has gone through so many he'd have surely forgotten about them if Winter allowed him to. That Loki seems to be embracing it, even wishing for more of it, is interesting in itself. It's new, by Loki's own admission. Normally 'new' isn't Reynard's forté, but this has always been a part of Loki. Novelty in recognising what has always been and always will be is a special kind of progress that even Reynard finds himself pleased by.

Ah, and the question. The first of many. Reynard takes another sip of his drink and lifts his head to the branches overhead with a deep breath.

"We found each other." He shrugs. "If you want to be specific, I found them. They could hardly come to me in Winter. Nobody knows where to find me." His eyes slide to Loki. "But you should really be asking me about what you hope to find with this question."

"How we met? Why we found an affinity with each other? Why they could live outside the boundaries? Why did I set them on the humans? Why, why why...?" He heaves a weary sigh and brings the bottle to his lips once again.

[coldsong]

The newness comes in part from the shock of realizing he's been half of himself for his entire life thus far. Ignorance of his heritage did not make him less Jotun, nor did denying it, but living it has taught him it need not be the whole and sum of him. Winter gave him the impetus to try. He owes him for that, if nothing else.

He's not likely to say so. That would be a display of vulnerability he's not quite prepared for, but he imagines the fact that he's wearing this shape rather than sneering at it or writhing uncomfortably beneath it says a great deal.

"You're getting ahead of me," he tells him with a little shake of his head. "I was going to begin with 'did you set them on the humans?' because from the sound of it, they do not require any encouragement. Humans seem to be their mortal enemies. Did you encourage them, or did you hold them back?"

[shardofwinter]

That gives him pause. With the fever still in his veins it's difficult not to be grouchy and irritable, even to someone who is listening to what he has to say. He'll need to watch himself. His hesitation and the twitch of his lips is the only sign of his regret, though. Perhaps it's best to practice more listening of his own.

"I did nothing on that front. Winter doesn't meddle in politics." Another shrug and he waves his hand from side to side. "The skirmishes between human and Fallen were none of my concern. Other than for curiosity's sake."

[coldsong]

"Would that I could maintain such neutrality," he says wryly. "I did try, but I have exceptional skill at getting caught up in my own entanglements, and my curiosity rather got the best of me."

He sinks onto his back lazily and folds his arms behind his head, blinking up at the tree limbs above him. "You have done nothing that was not in your providence to do, I suspect. And I guess that any 'why' I have to ask could most likely be answered by 'because it was Winter' But that does not satisfy my curiosity, and I have put myself in the position of messenger between the Eliksni and whoever of the rest of the Nexus will listen."

"So before I go into the Plaza carrying Blaze's head, I was looking for a bit more clarity than I have thus far."

"They spoke of you as an ally, but they also mentioned your Season coming to an end, and the rules you had established with them becoming void. The portals unfreezing to permit more ghouls and aliens and beasts. I think that you gave them respite, but whether that was your intent or not, I do not know."

[shardofwinter]

Whoever in the Nexus will listen. Reynard has to resist laughing. Few, he suspects, will listen to what they don't want to hear. Those grim and bitter thoughts of his are swiftly distracted, however.

"Blaze's head?" In a sudden show of energy, he turns around, eyebrow raised, voice light. "You have that? Can I see?"

[coldsong]

Well, Loki wouldn't have said it that way if he hadn't known it was an awkward position he's put himself in, and potentially doomed to disastrous failure. Someone will hear him, he's sure, even if it's only Harley and Cricket and his alternate, but it may not be anyone in a position to do anything useful on a large scale.

"I do have that!" he purrs, as he is wont to do, though it's somewhat sarcastic. "It's the gift I never asked for! You can look, but do not touch."

He's been keeping the head in hammerspace, and he holds up both hands now, catching a bundle of fabric as it drops out of the air above him. Sitting up again, he undoes the tangle of cloth gently until the face and the hole through the dome of the head are both exposed. "I'm very curious who shot her."

[shardofwinter]

Reynard watches eagerly once Loki agrees to show him his prize, and a delighted smile eases his weary face when the head appears out of nowhere. What a treat!

Still, he can't help but push for a little bit more. With pleading eyes he sets down the bottle and opens his hands. "Can I just have a quick look? Can I just hold it for a moment?"

[coldsong]

Loki isn't sure whether to be amused or unnerved. Such glee! Short of the Black Order, he's trying to think whose decapitated head might afford him such pleasure. There's probably someone, but he can't call any names to mind.

Then again, the Black Order is a fairly large group in itself.

"You may, if you explain why you want to so badly, first. I take it there's no love lost here?"

[shardofwinter]

"Ha!" The laugh cuts through the air. "That's a polite way of putting it."

Reynard's eyes are fixed on the robotic head, scanning every detail from afar in case Loki decides to renege on his deal. "When someone has punched me as hard as she has, and argued so fiercely against me, there's a special joy to be found in their defeat."

[coldsong]

This may or may not be valuable information, but it's certainly intriguing. "I suppose I'm shocked," Loki says, "because she struck me as being relatively inoffensive, in spite of all her power. But then, I only met her twice, and both times were at parties."

He grins. "And she did not even ask who I was until after she had requested my help with a project. If I had only known you had a special vendetta with her!"

Well, he's never been interested in actually harming Blaze, but freaking her out a bit might have been funny. "Here, you may hold this, but do not tamper with it, and don't run off. I will find you."

He hands the head over to Reynard rather gently. "When I show that in the Nexus, I expect the effect will be much like kicking a nest of hornets. She was, I think, close with Rogers or Romanoff or both. I'm sure their first instinct will be to blame me somehow."

Of course, he's not aware yet of the part Natasha played in that hole in Blaze's dome.

[shardofwinter]

Blaze's head is taken by somewhat rougher hands. His lack of dexterity is more due to the copious amounts of alcohol he's been consuming than because of any hatred he has of the Exo. Loki's words get little reaction from him while his attention is taken up entirely by the cool metal in his hands. He touches the twisted metal of the killing blow experimentally, peering curiously into the wound to see what lies inside. How could anything that is so obviously a machine be alive?

"Oh don't fret," he says, mouth curling in a grin once more though his focus is still on Blaze. "You have the blame firmly on my shoulders and the Baroness'. For their first instinct, anyway."

Once he's satisfied with his examination, he holds the Exo's head in one hand, looking in squarely in its dark sockets. "Not quite so strong now, are you? I wonder if you know your recklessness makes you dependent on those around you. Putting your life in the hands of casual acquaintances."

His smirk twitches wider for a second and he offers it back to Loki. "If you need help burying a grave, I'm good at that."

[coldsong]

How does one define 'life' in a place like the Nexus, where so many residents have perished one or more times before their arrival? All Loki knows is extrapolated from Pelsor's own words, and the anxious gleam of Ghost within his prison. The "Light-Thief" can be repaired, or resurrected, or some blend of the two, but not without Ghost.

He rather suspects, based on Ghost's reaction, that the head is essential to the process, too. Which means he holds something of great value to the Exo's friends.

"Possibly," he says with a shrug. "We'll see how much of a taste for vengeance the Avengers retain." He won't mind but so much, either way, as long as Thor doesn't turn on him.

He takes the head back and wraps fabric around it once more. "If I find I need a grave, I'll certainly let you know. But I notice you do not answer implied questions; they must be asked directly. Did you offer the Baroness and her people sanctuary, as you did to me?"

[shardofwinter]

How very careful Loki is with Pelsor's trophy. As much as Reynard wishes he had the heart the draw monocles and moustaches on Blaze's head, he can't quite bring himself to desecrate the dead. Not even when it's Blaze.

"Sanctuary." He picks up the bottle once more, staring into the distance as he takes a thoughtful sip. "You could say so." His lips pinch and his eyes squint. "I told them who I was, and warned them of what was to come. They simply had no issue weathering it, and no desire to be contained within the torches with neighbours they despise."

His brow lifts. "If you're asking if I carved out a special space of the Nexus and guarded them during my Season? Taking them under my wing and sheltering them? Then no." It's with a half-smile that he looks back at Loki. "Believe it or not, they had the same offers and chances as everyone else - more or less. Their choices were different, and their Winter was different because of those choices."

[coldsong]

Loki is not clear, at this point, on whether Reynard realizes there is potential for Blaze to return from this death. It would make sense for him to know, based on lengthy, if bitter, acquaintance with her, but then how often does a being like Blaze die and return in front of the Nexus at large?

It's not Loki's place to point it out, either way. The message he bears is from the Eliksni to the mortal population of the Nexus. If Reynard wanted to be an active part of it, he could have snooped easily enough. He still could.

Loki's not going to breathe a word, either way.

"So," he says mildly, "their rules were roughly the same as everyone else's. But now your Season is over for a time and those rules no longer apply, and no one but they themselves can say what they will do from here."

This is what he will have to impress upon the people of the Nexus. Reynard is not pulling the strings of these beings to torment them. He never was. They cannot be ignored or waited out now. A proper truce must be established, or there will be constant battle in the Nexus until one side is wiped out or leaves for good.

And a precedent must be set, because other races like them, or intolerant and warlike bands of humans, may come. A realm with no ruler is a fragile, if beautiful, thing.

"Why did they retreat when they did, then, in that last battle?" One more detail he needs to know, before he presents his arguments.

[shardofwinter]

It's not really in Reynard's interest to be too open. Saying too much, even when it's thought to be the right thing, can be as good as carving your fate in stone. Thankfully for Loki, it's almost as much effort to fend off the questions than to answer them, and the alcohol has certainly helped loosen his lips. The fact that Loki makes an apparent attempt to understand his own perspective goes a long way too.

"What an odd thing to ask me. Weren't you speaking to the Baroness herself? I was not the one directing her people. My reason for being there was entirely unrelated to theirs. If you wanted to discuss strategies and the explanations for them, you should ask the Fallen commanders themselves."

[coldsong]

Loki is always reaching for strategy, constructing plans A to Z, preparing and bracing for eventualities that he envisions may come about. It's a blessing and a curse. He's not incapable of jumping to unwarranted conclusions, and he knows that about himself. Of late, he's been leaning the other way, hoarding information until he can build a picture that satisfies him.

This one doesn't, quite, although Reynard does help to clear up some of his questions.

"I will ask, sooner or later," he says with a sigh. "But demanding secrets when one is in preliminary diplomatic negotiations is poor form and likely to fail. Later, when there is less on the line, I will feel more free to satisfy my curiosity."

Ugh. Here he told the Fallen that he was no peacemaker, and yet what is he trying to do if not establish arguments for a truce? Maybe he should just stop wittering and deliver the message and watch whatever unfolds.

[shardofwinter]

Reynard eyes the god while he takes a swig from his bottle. Trying to figure out someone else is an exceptionally good distraction, and he is all about distraction right now. He savours his thoughts as they guess at Loki's, until finally his hands lower and he sets his curiosity firmly on his companion.

"Are you anxious?"

[coldsong]

"I am concerned," he admits, though not without a baleful look. "And I cannot articulate the why."

It may be the lack of information. Lack of information is lack of control more often than not. "I do not fear change," he says. "Actually, it rather excites me. And to be vilified by the population here...well, I weary of it, but it's hardly a new experience, and probably not unwarranted to some degree."

He'd hate to lose the ground he's recovering with Thor, but that doesn't seem likely. He takes in a sudden breath and lets it out in a long irritable sigh.

"I've become paranoid. Having been used twice as a tool has left a mark. I do not know enough." Hence his brain working overtime trying to outmaneuver something that may not even need to be outmaneuvered.

[shardofwinter]

The puzzled crease in Reynard's brow holds through all of Loki's spoken musings, right up until the last. That is where it smooths while he ducks his head and fails to wipe away his smile, which only ends up sputtering into a laugh.

He just about manages to calm himself down by focusing on the trees, and sighs with drawn out amusement. "Oh what a life a prince leads... What a lucky life. To be used twice? Only? And be paranoid for it."

That stirs up a chuckle from him and he shakes his head to quieten himself again. "I don't mean to disparage your experiences, but you do give them all so much weight. So much command and control over your life." He takes a swig of rum. "I couldn't even begin to count how often I've been used, for terrible or petty things. Or how often I've used others."

He looks to Loki again. "There comes a point where you have to take ownership of yourself again, instead of giving it to those who've wronged you."

CW: gore/heat injury

[coldsong]

The quiet after Reynard laughs is strange. Like something around them holds its breath. Even the wind pauses, not a hair stirring on either of their heads.

Loki just looks at him, red eyes opaque, the set expression on his face makes him look like he could have been carved out of slate and stone.

"No." He says at last, softly, and looks up at the branches over their heads. "No, of course you do not. You cannot disparage that which you know nothing about save a few words from my lips. And yet you are as quick to laugh and shrug it off as anyone I've ever spoken with, human or no."

"Would you like to hear? Or see? Perhaps that is where I go wrong when I attempt to explain myself. Perhaps instead of saying 'here is where I was injured' I should show the scars, or the images of the injuries being inflicted, moment by excruciating moment. Would you like to hear my screams as my bones were literally burning beneath my skin? Smell the steam as it emerges from the wounds? I could show you."

"I could show the Nexus at large. And then it would be their trauma, and no longer my own. But until then, no one will tell me how to feel again, nor belittle my words, nor suggest I should be over it already, less than a decade later with my torturers still at large in the universe."

"No. Not even you. Reconsider your words."

[shardofwinter]

Stone doesn't scare Reynard. Partly because stone doesn't try to scare anyone. Mountains and caverns and rock, molten or tumbling, impress upon others what has been impressed upon them. That's why he likes mountains. They stand, unabashed and unwavering in what they are and what they've been through, and refuse to pity the fool who doesn't respect that.

The face of blue stone staring at Reynard now incites a bit of strange fondness. Those words still feel young, but not irritatingly so.

"They wouldn't care," he half-whispers, half-croaks. "They would pity it and their mouths would dance with pretty platitudes like water dancing on hot coals, to say whatever they think is 'good'. Not honest. Not heartfelt. Just parroted niceties that are as unsatisfying as the deaths of your torturers will be."

Another swig, another sigh, but his smile is softer now. Bittersweet. "You are a god, Loki. Whatever you experienced will have befitted a god. I am as good as a man. My pains were not dramatic scenes suited to legends and myths. Mine were slow, and numerous, and relentless, and deep. Shared by millions upon millions of people, so they were insignificant in the grand scheme of things. There is nothing special about rotting with corpses, or starving, or bleeding, or having every part of you broken in every conceivable way like every other poor sod in line. I could show you, too, but it would be dull. A hundred million people could show you the same things. The same pain. The same suffering. The same few ways of dealing with it."

"No," he whispers. Clearing his throat, he continues, "I can't tell you how to feel. But I've treated you the same as everyone else. Passed down what I was told that I found to be truth."

"You're right, I don't know what happened to you." His face pinches, grimacing in preparation for his own words. "But I know suffering. I know it well. Time, Death, Suffering. My three age old companions. I have watched, given, taken and experienced them all. And what use is experience if you can't share what you've learned?"

[coldsong]

"I know they wouldn't," he says, and some of the tension leaches out of his frame, like a silent sigh. "But they would suffer, and bear the scars. And perhaps they would remember me, then. A divine wound that bleeds through every attempt to bandage it."

"I do not need pity, or compassion, but I will have respect for my pain." Somehow. He's not sure how.

The mask of stone dissolves, and the Jotun features look softer again. His eyes are hungry, hurt, but wary. "Beautiful pain is no more enjoyable to suffer, I think."

But this is real, this conversation. It feels like the realest one that has passed between them. If the currents of reality were spinning around them for the duration of their talk in the ice cave, the same are still now. There is no grandeur here, but there are two people trying to understand one another across a gulf of disparate experience, and for a moment Loki feels like the veil has been torn. Just a little.

He didn't expect an apology, anyway. This is better.

"I respect your suffering," he says quietly. "No less so because it is common to many. No less so because it is uncommon to me."

He looks down. "I held the candle to billions of deaths. My moral compass may not point to the same north as others' do, but that sits ill with me. And when I failed to deliver still more to my unasked-for master's feet, I was told...I was threatened. And I believe the threat. How am I to take ownership of myself when part of me expects at any moment to see him coming for me once again?"

"You would be heard. So would I. I am afraid, and tired of it, and sick of having my sins benevolently forgiven when what I ask is that they be understood."

Speak of me as I am, nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice.

"But I will try to hear you, if you will speak with me."

[shardofwinter]

One of the cruellest truths is that revenge smells sweet but tastes of ash in every way but to speak of it. To tease it provides some small relief. Reynard won't begrudge Loki that, but watches the god with the quiet watchfulness of one waiting to see if Loki really believes what he's saying.

Somewhere, between the hurt and bitterness, there's a hope in what the trickster says. A hope that he can get what he seeks. Reynard's not sure he has that anymore.

Something Loki says tugs his mouth back into a smile. "Some sins, when they're forgiven, just show how little they're understood. A forgiveness from someone who doesn't understand, really understand, means nothing."

His head falls to look at the bottle rolling between his hands. "What can I say? Would I tell you of my many sins, my miracles? My lifetimes? A hundred hundred Reynards by a hundred names?" He shakes his head and sighs. "There's too much of my life to share it all, and too raw a painful beginning to start at the start."

"I would say, though, that I've been free and captive, and freedom comes with enemies. Whether you make them or meet them." He eyes Loki and offers him the bottle again. "You know who yours are. You might assume he's always coming for you. But that doesn't stop you from taking ownership of yourself. No one else controls that. Believe that much, at least."

[coldsong]

Somewhere deep down where even Loki himself is not ready to acknowledge, is this: it is not only revenge against Thanos that drives him. His moral compass, as he says, points only to where it will, but even in his worst rage he would never have sought the death of half the universe. He...thinks. He hopes. Dear, Norns, he hopes.

His memories have holes. They swim up through murky waters and flash in and out of his consciousness like sharks in a stormy sea. He remembers torture. He remembers resisting. He is not sure whether he resisted before the first Cull he witnessed, or after. And he is not sure enough of himself at that time in his life to trust that he would have tried to say no, or stand apart from the Order, rather than bargain for his own interests and watch as millions burned.

He doesn't know. He doesn't remember. He only remembers the disruptor fire and the screams. How reliable even is that? There was a time he swore Thor had thrown him from the broken Bifrost and laughed as he fell into darkness.

Vengeance, he will swear, is his right and his motivation, but there is guilt, also, and if a Trickster has any sworn enemy, guilt is it.

He claims he needs someone else to understand. Possibly he needs to understand, himself, as well. He is forever an existential disaster. He may not be without hope after all, though. He has yet to declare defeat.

"Ah," he says quietly, and without the sly amusement that often colors his voice. "But I have more time than most to listen."

He doesn't believe that Reynard will take him up on it, but it's worth pointing out. He takes the bottle when it's offered to him and looks it over dully, a bit worn out by the conversation. "And I am still working out what 'self' to own. You present me with another conundrum, friend. Both past and future are uncertain, to me."

This time he takes a longer drink from the bottle before handing it back. "Remind me to bring you an Asgardian ale some time."

[shardofwinter]

Reynard remembers everything... Or so he thought. There are some very specific gaps in his memory. Things to ask Winter to reveal, one by one. Each time wondering whether he wants to know, since each thing revealed is a torturous affair. Sometimes forgetfulness is a blessing.

But Reynard doesn't want to know because he's afraid of not knowing. He's afraid of why he doesn't know. Why does his perfect memory fail him on such particular occasions. He has a suspicion, and that's perhaps worse again. Does he find out? Confirm his theory despite the painful struggle involved? Or does he leave well enough alone? After all, what does it matter, in the end?

"I always chose to confess to criminals over priests. Men who understood over those who preached." With a smirk, he asks, "What would confessing to a god mean? Would I be breaking my habit or continuing it?"

"I'm afraid I go for quantity over quality during Spring." He manages a wry smile. "But I give the confusion is all year round."

[coldsong]

Loki knows what put holes in his brain, and why, and resents it bitterly. He was not aware when the Scepter was given to him that the Mind Stone would affect him as well--that it had, in fact, already begun to affect him--but at that point his resistance had been ground down by torture anyway. He remembers the feeling of something nipping away at his mind, the whole time he held the staff. Remembers craving contact with the scepter, wanting to be touching it constantly, needing the closeness even when it sat in the lab aboard the helicarrier. An addiction that was forced upon him.

He knows full well what the Mind Stone can do now, and what it did to him, but not where exactly it did it. That's maddening.

Perhaps that's another thing they have in common, though.

Loki blinks at the comment about confession, and the morose look falls away into a real smile. "I would say that depends upon the god. In my case, probably continuing it."

It's absurd, and probably risky, that he covets this individual's attention. He cannot trust Reynard, and yet he knows at this point he will continue to seek him out and pick at that distrust to see what's underneath.

"If your metabolism is roughly human at this time of the year, a few sips ought to give you eight or ten hours of blissful oblivion and a hangover that will make you think you've died and gone to Hel. Otherwise, it's quite nice."

He's quiet a moment, then says, "I do not know if you require it. I assume a being so ancient and canny has his own means of avoiding trouble, but should you find you need sanctuary in the warm seasons, from the wrath of the Nexus at large, I will provide it. As repayment for your hospitality to me this last Winter."

[shardofwinter]

That gets a snort. "I thought as much."

Loki isn't a god of judgement and wrath like so many. There is a grit and dirt to his myths that shows even through the princely shine of this incarnation. God of outcasts indeed. If there is to be a bridge between Reynard's world and that of the divine, a liar and an outcast is surely it.

"It won't be worse than the hangover I get in Spring. It might be a comparatively pleasant distraction," he grumbles. Oblivion certainly sounds good right about now.

He eyes Loki with a gaze that would be suspicious if he had the energy to so much as pretend at wariness. "Careful now. Offers like that to me will get you enemies here."

[coldsong]

Grit and dirt and some rather scatological humor. Some of which he cannot deny or squirm away from the punchline of. His wrath is not unheard of, perhaps, but generally speaking he does try to avoid judgment. It only ends, in his case, with hypocrisy and finger-pointing. Best to just...accept. Retaliate if it's warranted, harass or tease if it's entertaining, but accept.

"Well, don't tell Thor when I bring you a bottle, and plan for the hangover."

He raises an eyebrow at the uncertainty and gives him a wry smile, shaking his head. "Different from the enemies I would earn on my own? At the risk of sounding sentimental, it feels right to make the offer. Not in the sense that it is good or kind, but in the sense that it is fitting."

[shardofwinter]

These kindnesses... Offers of ale and sanctuary. It sits uncomfortably with Reynard. This isn't a woman he's seduced, or a person he's charmed. Loki knows him, as much of him as anyone else knows, except for Hazel. Yet still he offers.

Because it's fitting, though... Perhaps that's the only reason he could understand. Something being done because it is Proper in a Natural way. Yes, that he can accept, and he finds an unnoticed tension slipping from his shoulders.

"Thank you." Despite his resolve to accept it, there's still hesitance in his voice.

He looks to his hands and the near-empty bottle in them. "In all my time walking my world, and the Nexus, I've seen a great many people with a great many talents and skills. From what I can tell, the only task I am not easily ousted from is in bearing witness. If you want to share your story to someone who won't forgive, because I have no right to, then I will listen. I don't promise I can understand, but I can listen, and remember."

[coldsong]

Loki offers, and he offers with eyes open. Winter doesn't play favorites, he's been told, and he may well find sorrow and destruction next time it rolls around. And in the meantime, Reynard himself is unabashedly difficult and contrarian. He may well regret leaving himself open to some unpleasant turn later on, but he was just advised to take ownership of himself rather than giving it to those who have mistreated him--or might mistreat him in the future.

He smiles at the thanks and gives a somber nod. That costs a person like him, like Reynard. He will not push his luck with a 'you're welcome'.

He'd take his leave now, in fact, except then the Spirit makes his own counteroffer, and his breath catches in his throat. His eyes closer briefly, and he swallows, and then nods. "Yes."

"Please." Perhaps not now, while he's still recovering and also heading toward drunk, but Loki would like nothing more than for someone to just listen.

[shardofwinter]

Gods, men, beasts, plant and stone... They're all just husks for different spirits. For all that Loki is a powerful being, a prince, a warrior, a sorcerer, a schemer with the power to inflict all manner of terrifying realities, he's also still a spirit curled inside a body. Just as Reynard is now. Though the Winter spirit fears for his body, his mortality, it affords him the unique opportunity to go beyond his bounds. He can help Winter souls, and Winter's lessons, outside of Winter.

Besides, he's always been at a disadvantage outside Winter. Always a poor man, a weak man, a hunted man. How is involving himself with gods any different?

So Reynard nods and takes a swig of his drink. The deal is made. Partly for himself. It feels infinitely better to make an exchange of offers than to owe anyone anything.

"I know you can't tell when the air is thick with Spring, but give it some time before you make good on that. For both our sakes."

[coldsong]

"I can tell when the air is thick with pollen," he says dryly, opening his eyes. "I suppose that's not quite the same."

The hint of stone is long gone from his face, replaced with a hint of wary brightness. They've made a deal, for no reason so simple or pure as kindness or friendship. But their backs are occasionally to the same wall, and in the end perhaps there is something of kinship between them whether Loki likes it or not. "Yes, I was getting the impression you're suffering the aftereffects of the change of seasons. On a bender to compensate?"

Honestly, he can't disapprove. "I will seek you out again in a few weeks, then, assuming I don't land in worse trouble than I anticipate. And if possible, I'll bring you an Asgardian mead."

[shardofwinter]

'Aftereffects'. Reynard closes his eyes and breathes slow and steady for a moment. There's no way for anyone, even Loki, to understand. The meagre explanations he can offer barely come close, but trying and failing to get across such a wretched state of being is too close to home to try attempting right now. He'd only struggle and fail, and be frustrated at his own inability to share something so tangible.

"Sedation is the only way to get through this." He opens his eyes and finishes the bottle, scowling as he realises the last drop has gone down his throat. Onto the next, then. "Try not to get lynched. I'd like that mead."

[coldsong]

"My apologies," Loki tells him, mild but sincere. He's not sure quite what's going on in the man's head, but clearly coming from Winter to Spring is more difficult than a mere hangover.

There's no point in elaborating on the sudden flicker of compassion he feels, though, and so he merely sits back and watches the last drop of rum vanish, then gives Reynard a wry nod. "Best of luck, then."

He gives a brief, lazy stretch like a cat's, and then levers himself to his feet. "As long as the antiviolence field holds I'll be fine. Be as well as you can be, then, until we meet again."