deemed | IC inbox

[ Well, it's not Mjolnir. But, just before the team is set to depart for Leramzen, Koltira leaves a wrapped package by Thor's room in the castle. When opened, the peeled away paper reveals a tremendous warhammer, carved of an obsidian, darkly gleaming alloy and inscribed with delicate golden filigree. The pattern is jagged and branching, evocative both of trees and the fork of a lightning strike.

An attached note: ]

May it serve.

K.D.

[ A few nights into Odinson's stay in solitary... ]

Shut up.

[ Then, as if an afterthought: ] Please.

[ hello, surprise, someone is in your inbox. it's a place he hasn't ventured due to his own bitterness, but there are greater things at work here. ]

Thor. [ he says, as if in greeting. ] Don't get angry. I've made a promise in your stead.

Edited 2017-08-28 00:04 (UTC)

Up for arm-wrestling sometime? 😄

[ Clark's very refreshed after their first session. He's had a nice long shower and poked worriedly at his bruises, but overall, it was good.

He's feeling playful. ]

[She has traded her grown familiar stable for a cold, metal room aboard another gods be damned spaceship. Traded the comfort that had come from having a lord she respected and served for the life of a warrior without order. All because this "Hathaway" had promised her the one thing she could not do on her own, that even if she gave up her life she did not have the confidence she could see through.

So she trades her service like a common sellsword for the lives of the jinba in the village she herself had once betrayed. But while it soothes her guilt, it doesn't make it easier to sleep in this place that still unnerves her. Doesn't make her less lonely.

Maybe that's why she's at Odinson's door at this late hour. But it doesn't explain why she's two-legged, her long hair in a loose braid over her shoulder, barefoot in a simple robe with a cloth package in her arms.]

Odinson? Are you within?

[Awkwardly... she knocks.]

[Hayame's embarrassed concerns about the thinness of the walls at the hotel in Drakstaden had mysteriously disappeared once they returned to those rooms with the city on lockdown and instructions to lay low for the time being. One of the things she had never had in her own world that she had grown to love in Oska, (even Headquarters), was brief time spent alone, away from the crowds of "team" and the bustle of strangers, and their days in the prison had afforded nothing like privacy. Or dignity.

There's comfort to be had. Autonomy to be reasserted. A certain heaviness to her sleep that could be found in the circle of his arms that she doesn't get anywhere else. There are still fading bruises on her skin, she had not let the healer invade her body that far, but most pressingly her hand is made new again- all the better to slide along Odinson's shoulder, once broken fingers delicately tracing the lines muscle down to where it near seamlessly became a false limb, and not stopping until she reaches his hand, the false fingers.

It was easier to forget the discomfort of the human body she has been stuck in for so long when she was... putting it through its paces, so to speak, but now in the aftermath she begins to shift with discomfort beside him, longing to take the ring from her finger yet not wanting to feel as if she'd need to leave that bed.]

... can you feel that?

[She'd never asked how it was that he had lost his arm. How the replacement worked. She'd assume he could not, if it were anything like the crude false limbs her own world was capable of, but his... it looked so perfectly formed. Moved as if it were his own flesh... and so she asks, speaking in a half whisper against his skin as her fingers tangled with his.]

backdated to before leaving oska: a delivery

text; un: beloved

AUDIO. UN: LOKI

@kansas [ text ]

post ALASTAIR, pre Hathaway mission surprise action

post prison break // "laying low"