Sorcerers couldn't scry as easily and unwillingly as Sorceresses, they needed a bit of help. Ritualistic help, in other words asking the ancestors to provide a vision. Of course Loki didn't actually have Asgardian ancestors but they'd been happy enough to help before so, surely, they would now ? He continued his chant, kneeling in the runic circle to lift an ancient bone bowl, filled with fresh mountain lion blood and a paper bearing Thor's name in Ancient Asgardian, toward Valhalla. It burst into comforting emerald flame, but the comfort didn't last. A fleeting image appeared in the flame's center before it guttered out, tears formed in his eyes. Thor was dead, decapitated by Hela and Bifrost. Shoving back the horror, the grief, he thanked the ancestors then laid down the bowl. Unlike the runes painted on his upper body, the circle, which lasted only as long as the ritual needed, vanished.
"Pretty !" The Grandmaster exclaimed, suddenly hanging off his shoulders. "I want."
"Does that mean me or the body paint ?" Why was the man purring and digging fingers into his obliques ? The one time where punching would solve the problem, Thor wasn't around.
"Both."
"I can do the paint." He stood up and took a few steps back. "What exactly do you want...for the runes ?"
"Sex."
"Eh hehe, I think that would suit red better, being the colour of passion and all that. How about, um, ha, a waterfall instead ? There's plenty of pounding in waterfalls. Although, downflow means they only go on the upper body." It really didn't matter but like Hel was he going anywhere near the Grandmaster's lower body.
"Upflows go on the lower body, then, huh ?"
Hilarity implied, he and the entourage laughed. "Yes, of course. Let's get going, shall we ?" Seriously, though, was the blink supposed to be alluring ? It creeped him out. God, he never thought he'd miss stupid lightning puns and winks in the midst of battle. Thankfully Thor'd been his only type. He turned around to witness a smattering of sympathetic looks that were quickly smoothed. Old Banin, formerly Bor's Master of Ceremonies, who'd painted his runes, had taken it upon himself to become ritual assistant. Banin helped him into the ceremonial, sleeveless black robe with trembling hands.
Instinctively, he glanced down at the runes...and blanched. The runes never smudged, unless the toucher was utterly repugnant to the traditional morals of Asgard. Truth, independence, blah, blah, blah, honour else wise known as Thor's narrow definition of heroism. Even with all the times he'd lied, stabbed Thor and dishonoured Father, he hadn't ever smudged Thor's paint. So, what the fuck had the Grandmaster done ? Whatever it was, since he'd rather be sacrilegious than dead, he'd do the painting. Except maybe it would say, "Grand Creep." or "Has Hideous Taste in Walls." instead of, "Waterfall.". After all Banin was forbidden from telling the Grandmaster what it said after the smudging.
Regardless, he'd start triple checking any drinks the Grandmaster gave him.