Loki wasn't quite asleep; he'd been napping off and on since leaving the feast, just laying on his bed with a cool cloth over his eyes. He'd intended to dress for bed, but had only gotten as far as taking off his boots and pulling off his tunic, and then the rest just seemed like far too much physical effort.
It was annoying, since he couldn't read without making the headache worse, though he could at least think about things. And he determinatedly thought about fields and calculations and other bits of magic technique and theory that would help him develop his mental muscles a bit better so he wouldn't get headaches quite so easily in the future. He was not thinking about Sif.
He refused to think about the pale skin of her neck, or the way the now black-hair framed her face, and how striking it was, and... damnit.
Magic. Fields. Calculations.
Except then there was Sif's voice, and he had to wonder if maybe he'd started hallucinating again. Though he'd only driven himself to that point once before, and he hadn't thought this time was even a tenth as bad.
He slipped the compress off his face with one hand and sat up in bed, looking toward his windows. And there stood Sif, now dressed much more normally. He hadn't thought she'd be quite angry enough to come murder him in his bed, but there was no telling some times.
He sighed quietly, though he did sit up a little straighter. "Yes? To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked, tone sardonic. Then he shifted effortlessly to something far more plaintive. "And could it possibly wait until the morning, when I will hopefully feel less foul?"
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It was annoying, since he couldn't read without making the headache worse, though he could at least think about things. And he determinatedly thought about fields and calculations and other bits of magic technique and theory that would help him develop his mental muscles a bit better so he wouldn't get headaches quite so easily in the future. He was not thinking about Sif.
He refused to think about the pale skin of her neck, or the way the now black-hair framed her face, and how striking it was, and... damnit.
Magic. Fields. Calculations.
Except then there was Sif's voice, and he had to wonder if maybe he'd started hallucinating again. Though he'd only driven himself to that point once before, and he hadn't thought this time was even a tenth as bad.
He slipped the compress off his face with one hand and sat up in bed, looking toward his windows. And there stood Sif, now dressed much more normally. He hadn't thought she'd be quite angry enough to come murder him in his bed, but there was no telling some times.
He sighed quietly, though he did sit up a little straighter. "Yes? To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked, tone sardonic. Then he shifted effortlessly to something far more plaintive. "And could it possibly wait until the morning, when I will hopefully feel less foul?"