AN: They're the Asgardian equivalent of like…thirteen/fifteen-that age of bad fashion taste. (I see Loki as going through a Snape-like-phase: black robes, greasy hair, brooding…the works.)

Christineoftheopera-I despise raisins. They are not edible. You're also very picky. I have a very refined palate, is all.

Queen Amaryllis Kay-Tell me you haven't come for hugs, mortal.

Fenrir was enjoying a nice lie-in. It was sunny outside, the birds were chirping (noisy little buggers, couldn't they chirp elsewhere?) and no quests for glory were on the agenda today. Perhaps later she'd go for a swim in the pond…or just stay in and sleep. Either one sounded pleasant.

Until a bellow of rage ripped through the castle and a thunderstorm sprang up.

At least the birds were silent now.

There was only one person skilled enough to enrage Thor at this unnatural hour and she groaned and plastered her ears to her skull in hopes of ignoring the problem.

That had never worked before and it didn't work now.

"LOKI!"

Why. Why? It had been such a nice day.

She dragged herself off the bed and padded down the hall. He probably deserved whatever Thor was going to do to him, but he might turn her fur blue-again-if she didn't at least pretend to assist him.

This is why I never had children, for heaven's sake…foolish pup, would it kill him to wait until lunchtime, I ask you…

"I solemnly swear that it will wear off in a few hours!"

"I cannot walk around the castle naked, brother!"

She wasn't so sure she wanted to go in now. Perhaps he could fend for himself?

Something shattered against the door. Apparently not.

"What is going on in here?"

Thor's head popped over a screen* on the far side of the room, murder in his eyes.

"Make him fix this."

"What?"

"He is overreacting, it will wear off." Loki came up from behind a chair, hands raised. "I tried to assure him that it would, but he simply refuses to believe me."

"What did you do."

"No matter how many times I tell my brother that his clothing doesn't need to be quite so…tight…he refuses to listen."

"You look like a wraith!" Thor howled from behind the screen. "Look at yourself, brother-it's no wonder that mortals take you for their Grim Reaper."

The black robes were a little ridiculous, she would admit. He insisted that all great sorcerers wore them, and she hadn't the heart to tell him that had gone out of style before she was chained.

"And."

"My clothing will not stay on. The minute I put on my pants, they remove themselves."

"They don't wish to be seen on you, brother, that's all." He ducked as a mug hurtled towards his head. "Either you find something less horrendous to wear, or wait a few hours for it to wear off."

"I have an appointment with Lady Arabella at ten!"

"Dress better."

If looks could kill, Loki would be dead where he stood. As it was, he stepped behind her, his smile flickering a little.

"Loki…"

"Your socks stay on, at least."

Another mug flew through the air at that.

"Fix. This."

"You know, I don't believe I can, there's nothing to be done. My apologies."

And with that, he was out the door and walking quickly down the hall.

"Get back here, brother!"

Well. There went her nice lie-in.

THE END

*It was less a matter of modesty and more a matter of 'annoying little brother'. Make of that what you will.