A horrible scraping is screeching throughout the hall, making the guards on parole wince and grimace. It's me, of course, making the terrible cacophony that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. I'm dragging a small sofa up the stairs, trying to avoid passerby who are searching for the source of the noise.
I give it a tug, and it makes an agonized screeching. "SHUT THE HEL UP", a mans voice roars from somewhere down the hall. "KISS MY ASS".
The leg slides on the step with a 'thump', and I start lifting it to climb the next step. "I see you're charming persona hasn't changed in the past hour. May I make an inquiry as to what in the Hel you are doing" , A head of black hair comes into view at the base of the stairs. "Apologies for dinner, by the way".
I jump, and my stomach drops. I stop breathing for a second, then remember that I put the book back in the room, angled exactly as it was before, and left quickly. It turns out, I had more time to kill until everyone returned from the great hall, and sleeping arrangements had been on my mind. Hence the sofa.
"No need to apologize", I wheeze as I lift the leg another step, deciding to ignore his question. If Loki's not considerate enough to realize that I need a place to crash that's not the stone floor, then let him wonder.
He climbs the stairs the short distance I've dragged the sofa and takes it from me, "Take pity on these poor people's future hearing, and let me". He lifts the front, and I go around the lift the back. We shuffle up the stairs and head down the hallway.
"Where did you come by this unfortunate piece of furniture?", he raises an eyebrow at me as he walks backwards. "Around".
We reach the room and set it down so he can open the door. It won't go through. "Push it", he says. "I'm trying".
There's a moment of tension filled only with grunts and curses as we angle it in midair. It goes through with the short wooden legs clunking against the doorframe.
The sofa is a light blue hue, with mahogany arms and trim. It's more of a loveseat, really, but it's better than the floor. I position it on the far wall and plop down on it, slightly wheezing.
"that took it out of me", I breath. Loki doesn't reply, and I glance at him. A pang of paranoia rushes through me when I see him handling The Book. Will he notice something off? Will he know I took it? He sets it back down.
"what where you doing all that time after you left the hall?", he asks conversationally while he slides off his brown boots. A flush of panic is working it's way up my neck, and my insides are frozen.
"Stealing some bastards' sofa".
