Title: Prince's Tavern
Description: "'Loki has always been one for mischief,' Fandral had said. Oh, how right he was. Alternatively: Loki tricks Thor into looking like an idiot in front of a pretty lady."
It wasn't unusual— before the ill-fated trip to Jotunheim, the realization, the heartbreak— to find the two Asgardian princes at the bar together in the local taverns of Asgard, drinking the night away. Well, Thor would drink. Mostly, Loki would sip one ale all night long, for he did not care for the dulling effects of alcohol on his wit. One pub that they often frequented even had the pluck to change its name to "Prince's Tavern" in honor of their patronage. Thor was elated; Loki was embarrassed.
It was on one such night at Prince's Tavern, as Loki was getting to the bottom of his glass (a bit early, actually. He must have been thirsty), that Thor spotted a beautiful maiden enter the pub with a few friends.
"Loki," he said as he nudged Loki with his elbow a bit too hard. Loki, who was taking a swig of his ale, choked on the amber liquid and sent Thor a nasty look.
"What?" he snapped, dabbing a bit of ale off his mouth with his sleeve, since there were no napkins in the place.
"That woman is stunning," Thor answered, not taking his eyes off the woman, who was now ordering a drink with a charming smile.
Loki looked at her discretely. She had long, curly blond hair and blue eyes, with pink lips and an attractive face. Her dress was pure white and she wore a necklace in the shape of a pentagram. She was indeed beautiful, but she was Freya after all. Thor might not know, but Loki would recognize that necklace, Brísingamen, anywhere, and Freya never let it out of her sight.
"She is," Loki agreed simply, hoping to end the conversation quickly. Unfortunately, Thor had no such plans.
"Do you suppose she might like to sit with us?" Thor asked.
"She might. Odr might not."
"Who?" Thor asked, finally turning away from Freya and back to Loki.
"Odr," he repeated. "You know, large fellow, thick blond beard, rather intimidating but hardly ever around?"
Thor looked at him blankly.
"Freya's suitor?" Loki tried again. "Really, Thor, you should pay more attention."
"I shall ask her to join us!" Thor declared, completely ignoring Loki's warning.
"This isn't going to end well," Loki muttered. The bartender was watching them with amusement while he dried a glass.
Thor looked at Freya, took a hearty draught of his mead, then looked at Loki, his confidence waning. "How do I look?"
Loki opened his mouth to speak, but was caught by the sight of the enormous foam mustache that had seated itself on Thor's upper lip. A lesser man would have defecated his pants laughing at how absurd he looked in that moment, but Loki was strong. Still, his whole body gave a little spasm at trying to contain the hilarity.
"Thor, you have…" He began, voice thick with laughter. He cut himself off as a devious thought crossed his mind.
"I have what?" Thor prodded, frowning a bit.
By the Norns, it even turns up a little bit at the corners.
"You have… as good a chance as anyone else," Loki finished, keeping his voice steady. "More even, since you are a prince after all."
"You're right," Thor agreed, "I'm going over!"
He stood with newfound determination and walked over to Freya's table. The bartender and Loki shared a glance. The bartender's look seemed to say, "You should tell him." Loki finally allowed a broad grin to spread across his face, which obviously replied, "Not a chance." He took the last gulp of his drink and turned in his chair to watch the show.
"Excuse me," Thor was saying, "Freya, isn't it?" His naturally loud voice made it easy for Loki to hear him, even from where he was at.
Freya was just turning to face him as Thor began in what he must have thought was an seductive voice, "I was just noticing how beautif—"
Freya cut him off by expelling her mouthful of honey mead straight on the ground, the whole table breaking into uncontrollable laughter. Thor looked affronted, then his face turned cherry red as he demanded, "What!? What are you laughing at!?"
Freya tried to answer him twice, only to be struck wordless by the sight of him. Too overcome with giggles to answer, she merely rubbed her index finger over her own lip meaningfully, before breaking down into some of the most unladylike cackling Loki had ever heard.
Speaking of Loki, it was probably time to beat a hasty retreat.
Thor pressed a finger against his lip in confusion. It came away foamy, and he whipped around to see his mustachioed reflection in one of the metal canisters the bartender used.
Utterly embarrassed, Thor wiped the mustache away with his sleeve. When had that happened? The last time he took a drink was right before—
Loki.
"LOKI!" Thor bellowed, looking back to where his brother had been sitting. The chair was empty, the trickster gone. The door to the pub was swinging, and Thor was sure he could hear a distant cackle coming from outside. He charged out the door, hefting Mjolnir high and roaring like an angry bilgesnipe.
Loki calmly returned to his seat, never having actually left the pub. He knocked on the counter with his fist and told the bartender, "I'll have what he was having."
The bartender looked at where Thor had exited—his bellow of rage could still be heard— then back to Loki. "Shouldn't you…?" He made a vague sort of gesture.
Loki raised an eyebrow at him, vibrant green eyes daring him to finish his thought. "'Shouldn't I…?'"
The bartender hesitated, then just shook his head and went about pouring the mead.
"Loki!" Thor cried in victory as he swung the door of the tavern wide open.
"Shit!" Loki cried, dodging a lightning bolt. It struck the chair he had been sitting in and left it black and charred. After a few dodges he managed to slip past Thor and out the door, laughing and cursing the whole way. Naturally, Thor was in hot pursuit, and their quickly fading cries left the pub feeling very quiet and empty. Freya's table was still giggling softly, but for the most part the tavern paid very little attention to the exchange. It was pretty normal for those two.
The bartender looked at the drink he had poured for Loki. The same kind as Thor had been drinking, but as of yet untouched. He casually took the glass himself and took a drink, coming away with a magnificent horseshoe mustache. He wiped it away with an impish grin. The structural repairs were a pain, but mustache mead was just so much fun.
What? He had to keep himself entertained somehow, right?
I also have an idea for Loki being a BAMF in a bar fight. Anybody interested?
