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Clint guided the Quinjet down onto the landing pad with careful hands and an alert eye. The aircraft prototype handled like nothing else, a joint project with tech from Wakanda and Stark Industries and Clint was still a little overly cautious when he was flying it. When anything with Stark was involved, he was half tempted to expect it to turn into a giant robot or worse, drop out of the sky with warning. Still, he pulled the landing off without a hitch, coming to rest smoothly outside SHIELD HQ as he flipped off the controls and cleared the last of the landing procedures with the pleasant female voice over his headset, who had laughingly returned his flirting and had him grinning as he moved back into the main body of the jet.

It was a strange sight, the two gods and two young women in the back of the jet. Thor was sitting on one of the benches – the place he’d been most comfortable for the flight – while Sif sat across from him, having watched the entire flight from the window with avid interest. Both Asgardians had been understandably wary about being transported in the jet – or metal wingless beast, as it had been originally dubbed - and Clint had had his hands full with talking Thor out of flying the entire way. Lucky Doctor Foster had backed him on that, but it had taken a taunting jibe from Sif to finally get the scowling thunder god on board. Clint was pretty sure he was the only one who’d seen the female warrior flash him a sly wink before following him inside. Clint was fairly certain she was his favorite person at the moment. He had not been looking forward to Fury’s lectures if they’d gotten back to New York just in time to field all the reported sightings across the country of a flying man.

“Welcome to HQ, kids,” Clint retorted with a cheerful grin, his hands propped easily on his hips as he came back. “Safe and sound and all in one piece. I’m sure the welcome party’s out there for you, but I need to get you up to the Director’s office before we wander off for more sightseeing.”

Since that was Clint’s favorite part, no matter how many glowers he got from Fury for stealing SHIELD assets out into the city at large. It wasn’t like he was going to lose them. Although, granted, he suspected keeping a leash on the Asgardians, Doctor Foster, and Darcy was going to be considerably more of a challenge than showing Bucky the sights had been.

Still, the thought had him grinning in anticipation as he hit the hatch that opened the hatch and let the landing ramp lower into the secured courtyard he’d landed them in.
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There was a bit of a mix up with Puente Antiguo's single motel, not made any easier by the Asgardian's unfamiliarity with modern workings or Thor's accustomed attitude of "this is needed, make it happen." In fact, they all nearly got booted out of said motel before even securing additional rooms, but fortunately Clint stepped in and resolved everything before the crochety old man behind the desk decided to go fetch his shotgun or something.

Clint added one more line on his 'reasons I hate New Mexico' list.

In the end, they ended up securing a single room for Sif while he ended up agreeing to bunk down with Thor. It was only for a day or two and Clint had certainly had to hole up in worse places. How bad could sharing a room with a god possibly be?

....He really hoped he wasn't going to regret those words.

Still, afterwards the five of them had retreated to the lone bar the town boasted, which was actually fairly decent, and it was obvious Thor was already a regular. Here, at least, the Asgardian seemed to have little trouble adapting and the other locals eyed their table with a mix of confusion and indulgent bemusement as they had dinner and drinks and talked about whatever topic came up. Which was wide and varied and ended up being more fun than Clint had had in a while, if he were perfectly honest with himself. Things had been tense the past few weeks and everyone had been a little stressed when Fury had started moving things forward on the Initiative. Clint was still fairly certain the man was legitimately insane, but whatever came of this was sure to be entertaining - in a good or bad way, he hadn't decided yet - so Clint was in for the ride.

After dinner was done, Jane excused herself to finish some tests up at the lab and Darcy latched onto Sif's arm with a look in her eye that had Clint thanking all the gods that existed that it wasn't directed at him. The female warrior only looked mildly concerned as the petite brunette all but dragged her from the bar, claiming there was a tequila bottle back at the lab with their name on it.

Which left Clint and Thor at a table in the middle of a tiny bar with unlimited access to alcohol. Maybe New Mexico wasn't all that bad after all...

Stitches

Dec. 10th, 2011 09:56 pm
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[personal profile] complicatedliar
It had taken every trick in Loki's considerable repertoire to arrive in Asgard ahead of Brokk and Eitri. As he strode down the halls toward his Odin's throne room, he tucked his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. He fought to control his breathing, to appear calm and in control. The effect was ruined by the tattered state of his coattails, by the wildness of his hair, and the vivid streak of blood that had run from his forehead and past the corner of his eye.

He would explain it, all of it to Father. Well, all that he safely could. Thor's part in the escapade, he would leave out. As much as it gave him pleasure to tweak his brother whenever possible, he owed Thor this one and he would keep his peace. But Father would understand, would no doubt see the cleverness in the plan, would appreciate the gifts he had brought back in addition to the newly-rescued Mjolnir...

The throne room was filled to the point of bursting, though that was not unusual for the day and time. The court turned to look at him, his footfalls loud and hollow, but he told himself that, too, was not unusual.

Then across the crowd of gathered Aesir, he spotted the dark, stumpy forms of the dwarven brothers. His breath caught in his throat with shock, and there was a slight stutter in his step, but otherwise his expression was well-schooled enough to not show his dismay.

Head high, he walked to the steps of the throne and dropped to one knee. "Father, I have won gifts for you, and for the Queen." With a clever movement of his hands he turned the armlet, the golden boar, from the pockets in space he'd used to hide them, and set them on the floor. Mjolnir, he still kept hidden, the titanic weight a strain on his magic that was beginning to make his head pound. He imagined that the dwarves had the common sense to not mention Mjolnir as part of the wager and spoils he had won; surely they must have kept that silent if they were playing for Odin's sympathy.

"Loki." Odin's voice rolled like thunder. It was not the tone that Loki had hoped to hear his name spoken in. "I have been told that you won these gifts dishonorably."

Loki looked up, meeting his father's eye. He saw nothing there but a mirror, that showed a pale but resolute image. "I would beg to differ. I promised them my head, but gave them no leave to touch my neck. It is no fault of mine if the good dwarves did not fully consider the terms."

Brokk cursed him; Eitri grabbed his brother's arm. "We no longer desire his head. We accept your judgment on this matter," the dwarf said.

Loki's eyebrows went up. "Judgment?"

Odin stood. "You have treated friends of Asgard falsely, Loki. It is luck for all of us that they have accepted this, and ask but a pittance in return. The people of other realms might not be so kind." Odin's voice became cold. "Words have as much power as actions, Prince. And you must consider your words, and your wagers more carefully for what they could cause."

Loki bowed his head. "Of course. I understand."

"I don't think that you do." Odin said. Loki looked up sharply to see him wave a guard over. The man held a tray, with a spool of coarse black twine and a needle. "Brokk and Eitri have proposed a punishment I find most fitting. Your words have caused much trouble, Loki. It would be best if you take time to think before speaking so glibly again." The court dissolved in an uproar.

It didn't have to be spelled out any further than that. Loki swallowed hard, but he could also see no path of escape in his father's face. And he refused to beg shamefully in front of the entire court. His head felt strange, light and far away. "I understand."

It was only then that he realized that the noise of the court was not disagreement or protest.

They were laughing.

Flashbacks

Dec. 4th, 2011 12:46 am
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Sif slammed the lid of her small jewelry box shut with a decisive click, a scowl crossing her reddened lips as she started sorting through the mess cluttering the surface of her vanity, looking for her favorite pair of hairpins. She’d been certain she’d left them in her small box before heading out to her morning training, but now they were nowhere to be found and it was one more annoyance to add to her lengthening list of the day.

“Blast,” she hissed out, slamming a fist against the surface of her vanity as she sank down on the bench, frustration welling up within her with a suddenness and a force that for a moment, she couldn’t think. It was such a little thing, but the little things had been adding up over the past few days and this was almost the straw that was her breaking. Struggling with her emotions, she gritted her teeth, rubbing angrily at her eyes before she caught sight of the door across the room in her mirror’s reflection. It was cracked open, just as it had been when she’d returned to her room after training, something she’d taken no notice of at the time but now made her suspicious.

Her gaze narrowed as it turned on her jewel box once more, her lips twisting downwards for a moment in speculation. “Dammit, Loki,” she hissed after a moment, pushing herself to her feet and stalking out of her room once more. She knew she’d put those pins in her box, she could remember it clearly. If they were not there now, it was through no fault of her own.

Her strides were determined, almost angry as she left her own home and crossed the square, returning to the palace she’d left a short time before. She was still dressed in her training gear – a simple bound corset adorned with bronzed mail and soft leather breeches with a belted sash of deep scarlet, the colors of her father’s house. Her pale blond hair was drawn back in a braid to keep it out of her face while she practiced. She’d had no more plans for the rest of the morning beyond taking a long soak to ease her sore muscles – training had been especially brutal this morning. It always was when she was partnered against Brull. The older boy was a brute, and a strong one. What he lacked in wits and speed, he made up for in sheer strength and he’d managed to get the best of her today. She’d been distracted and slower than her usual self and she was going to sport several vibrant bruises on her ribs and arms before the day was out.

The fact that she had to postpone her bath to search out her own missing possessions was not improving her mood any.

No one was foolish enough to interrupt her – Sif within the palace walls was as common a sight as one of the royal family. Not to mention that most people were wise enough to get out of her way when they caught sight of the expression on her face. She stalked through familiar halls with a purpose, only pausing when she came to the entrance of the library that the younger son of Odin had been haunting recently. The doors banged against the walls when she stormed in, but she didn’t care as she started off down the shelves, searching for the source of her ire.
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