Asgardians were rather known for their large, ostentatious celebrations, and for no undeserved reason. Some of the more boisterous crowd had had a lot of practice over long periods of time- some parties could last for several days, or even weeks- and they had gotten very good at it. Sometimes it seemed like they would look for any excuse to bring out the roast duck and date wine, however trivial it may be. There were often extravagant festivities whenever their forces emerged victorious on the field of battle, of course, as well as other things, like a thousandth anniversary or the completion of an updated section of their great city… And then there were the excuses, things like publishing a chapter, catching an especially big fish or Sif's hair growing another inch. No one complained, however, and somehow every setting-up and taking-down of the revelry just made it more and more popular each time.
Loki was an introvert and generally disliked other people, so when Thor came to his room to tell him of the building festivities, he wasn't all that enthusiastic. From Loki's point of view, the all-too-common celebrations were nothing more than a waste of time. It bothered him to see Volstagg and Hogun wolfing down honey cakes and sirloin when they could be doing more productive things, like training or studying. He couldn't be bothered to try and sway them, however, and knew from experience that they would just laugh in his face and run off to grab another pumpkin loaf if he tried to talk to them about it. Thor's friends were all like that: unintelligent, noncommittal oafs who would rather smash a book than read it. Loki thought they were a bit of a bad influence on his brother, which he had expressed multiple times, but Thor wouldn't hear of it. He sometimes claimed that Loki didn't celebrate enough, which only irritated him further. It wasn't like he didn't participate, he just wasn't sure it was absolutely necessary to do so all the time.
"Loki..." Came Thor's voice. Loki ignored him. His brother's strapping frame leaned against the doorway, muscular arms folded across his chest. He wore a casual navy tunic with red leather around the collar and the belt, a subtle contrast to Loki's grey tunic with layers of pea-green poking out here and there. Thor's blue eyes squinted. "Why not?" He asked, brow furrowing.
Loki, sitting upright on his bed, let out a steady breath and closed the book he was reading, something on Jötun physiology and evolution. Those who had bothered to notice thought it was odd that anyone would want to know anything about the very creatures they were brought up fighting besides how to kill them, but he had different ideas. It was quite fascinating, how they thrived on cold- the others had no idea. And in any case, know your enemy. It had been no easy task, finding a book like this, so he wouldn't have been prepared search for one without a good reason.
"Must I always participate in that meaningless chaos you call a party?" Loki replied coldly, turning his head to fix his brother with an emerald stare. Thor looked exasperated.
"You should come and converse with some of our people for once!" He declared, deep voice seeming to fill the whole room. "You are a prince, and I am sure they would be more than willing to return the gesture."
"And why are you so worried about whether or not I come to your celebrations?" Thor shrugged, blinking at Loki across the ten feet that separated the doorway from his bedside.
"Merely out of concern, Brother." He ran a hand through his golden-blond locks. "You should not keep yourself restricted to only this part of the city, much less the castle."
Loki, uninterested, had gone back to reading his book. "I might come down later if you stop bothering me," He offered, and Thor grinned.
"Excellent! The cooks have concocted some splendid meatloaf and marvelous wine, and even some pudding… don't be long!"
"Goodbye, Thor," Loki replied curtly, without looking at him. Thor leaned back as Loki waved a hand and the door shut itself hurriedly, leaving him in the silence of his room. For few moments, the only noise was that of Thor's footsteps fading down the hall, but only until Loki sighed and closed his book again, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. It had been of complete chance that Thor had happened to mention pudding, but it wasn't chance at all that the only reason Loki ever went to parties was usually for the pudding and nothing else. He would smuggle it up to his room and eat it on the balcony- by himself- enjoying the weather or reading his books. Only he knew that, of course. Loki set down his book and got up, joints popping as he stretched them.
He wedged the slightly dusty volume back onto the nearest shelf, reaching over to tug a rumpled curtain back into place. Loki's room was large, elegant and maintained almost entirely by magic, all of which he was proud to say that he'd concocted himself.(A few spatial extensions here and there gave him room for whatever he wished to put in it.) A vast array of books adorned the many shelves that were scattered about the room, their facades of thick spines bearing titles like "Advanced Potion-Making Techniques of the Fourth Century" and "Temporal Lucidity For Use in Combat". The walls were a soft grey, it's accents a pleasant olive. The ceiling was a stately eighteen feet, supported by a few pale-stone rafters where Loki sometimes climbed up to read. A square skylight mounted above them poured geometric shards of light onto the floor below. Besides the obvious necessities- a small door to the bathroom, for example, or the floor-length mirror in front of which Loki brushed his hair each morning- the walls were relatively unadorned. Relatively, that is, except for the tapestry across from his bed that his mother Frigga had woven for him a few years ago on his birthday. It depicted a younger Loki with his brother, both grinning with their arms slung around each other. He had placed it there specifically so that he could sit up and look at it from his bed.
Two glass doors on the far side of the room spilled rectangular pools of sunlight onto the dark cypress hardwood. Flanked by a pair of round windows and drapes of a light cream, they opened onto a wide balcony and a spectacular view of the Asgardian city, gleaming merrily in the afternoon light. From there he could see from the gates below to the lively streets and intricate shapes of buildings etched into the earth below, past bending waterways, into the forest and beyond. Past the trees stood grand mountains with snowy peaks, massive steel-grey guards standing watch over the marvelous treasures that lay between them. To the South, the Bifrost extended into the distance, ending only where the rounded form of Heimdall's Observatory stood perched on the edge of where the ever-moving sea dropped into nothingness. A clear blue sky like that of Thor's eyes gave way to starry nebulae near the outskirts of the city, creeping inward at nighttime and retreating outward again as the sun rose at dawn. It was a breathtaking sight.
Despite its beauty, he sometimes resented the gleaming panorama before him, a constant reminder of to whom it would eventually belong. It wasn't that he didn't think Thor would make a splendid king(though sometimes he had his doubts), he just felt omitted sometimes, erased from the equation that was his brother's steady- however unfair- ascension to the throne.
Loki shoved the thoughts away and stood silently for a moment before the shelf, head tilted. He could hear the echoes of faraway shouting and laughter and faint sounds of music filtering through his door, and he pondered what kind of petty excuse for celebration they had invented this time. He scoffed to himself.
A few minutes of thoughtful silence later, Loki eventually did wander down toward the festivities, using his ears as a guide. Tongues of fire flickered quietly in their mounts high on the polished walls, making soft shadows stretch toward Loki as he passed them.
The halls were wide and empty, aside from the occasional armor-clad guard, dressed in bronze with their spears pounded adamantly into the marble beneath them. The few that he did encounter nodded respectfully as he passed them, murmuring such phrases as "my prince," or "sire," and then straightening again like unshakable redwoods. Loki inclined his head in greeting each time as he passed through the palace like a ghost, leather soles making no sound on immaculate marble floors.
He passed out of the hallway near his room, down a wide staircase and through an immense vaulted chamber lined with Corinthian pillars. Gorgeous arches soared high above Loki's head, and light streamed in from towering faraway windows.
He crossed the room and entered another corridor. Warm yellow light loomed from a hallway down his left as the distant tumult grew steadily louder. The smell of food seeped down the passageway toward it, and he breathed it in tentatively.
He emerged into a splendid, palatial chamber with sunlight streaming in from one end. Divided by the columns, it poured across the floor in wide bands and added natural illumination to the otherwise firelit room. Long tables piled high with food lined both sides of the room, and two stood in the middle, surrounded by the avid figures of his people. Asgardians were drinking and laughing around him, pulling up chairs from the sides of the room and exchanging colourful anecdotes. Loki hoped this would be enough for him to get in and out unseen, sufficient distraction to claim the prize and then make his escape. His eyes swept the room as he made his way into the crowd. Loki stepped over capes and hems and maneuvered around the occasional servant, leaning away from them lest they spill their trays. Occasionally someone would recognize him, sending him a nod or a slight bow, which he returned.