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. Chapter 2: Bar Fight!"


It was important in Asgard to know exactly how each person handles their alcohol in order to avoid… unpleasant situations.

Fandral is a flirty drunk, which Loki differentiates from happy drunks by the repeated attempts to sleep with anything that draws breath and—on one occasion involving a psychologically scarred column with a drawn-on face that was totally not Loki's fault—some things that don't.

Volstagg hugs everyone in a non-sexual, still-completely-awkward-to-anyone-who-isn't-drunk, way and declares himself everybody's best friend. Loki can't hate him for it as much as he'd like. It must be the beard. So fuzzy.

Freyr and Freya come together. They don't drink a lot usually, but when they do, Freyr whines about everything and Freya starts bawling in the corner. I don't know why I mention; nobody really gives a damn about them anyway.

Sif, oddly enough, becomes 100% more charming and likeable. She is friendly and funny, and Loki could not find that more terrifying. She also occasionally wants to jump off Bifrost and "see what happens," or see if the Sons of Muspell would like to play horseshoes.

Hogun goes to sleep. That doesn't sound that interesting, but Loki would be fascinated to learn how he got on top of the chandelier, on the roof of the palace, or completely buried in tomatoes (not a single one was bruised).

Heimdall will f***ing kill you. He's under strict orders to never ever drink again. Ever. As someone that Heimdall particularly doesn't like, Loki can attest to how very, very good of an idea this is.

They told Loki that he was a philosophical drunk. That wouldn't be so bad, except that he was also rendered incapable of keeping a secret. At the time of his first drunken venture, he had been planning to convince Thor that Mjolnir had been stolen and trick him into dressing up like a lady. Naturally, that plan failed once he started discussing the psychological ramifications over his fifth flagon of ale.

By flagon seven he is led to believe he was curled in the fetal position, weeping uncontrollably about not being loved, the imminent doom of Ragnarok, and global warming ("The polar bears, Thor! The polar bears!").

By flagon nine (how had he managed to drink two in the fetal position? One of life's many mysteries) they… well, they called his mother. It was not one of his better moments. Since then, he rarely has more than one ale a night, but tonight he was feeling rather depressed, and was on his third.

You might notice that someone is missing from this list. Hm… who could it be now? Let's see, Fandral, Sif…

Well, of course it's Thor; do you think I'm an idiot or something? I leave him for last because his reaction is the most relevant to the story being told. That's right; there is a madness to my method.

So, anyway, Thor was a happy drunk, not a violent one. Unfortunately, when Thor is happy, he fights. Alternatively, fights make him happy. It was rather a conundrum. Yes, a real chicken-or-the-egg scenario, as they say. Loki didn't like eggs. He didn't like chickens, either.

Hm… Maybe Loki ought to stop drinking now. We don't want another "polar bear" incident. He set his drink down (only half finished) and pushed it away. They were in Prince's Tavern, except it wasn't called Prince's Tavern at that point. It was still called… some stupid dragon thing. Dragon Tooth? Dragon Fang? Something like that.

Anyway, with Thor being Thor and alcohol doing what it does, a bar fight was really rather inevitable. The opponent tonight was a brutish-looking man who somehow managed to stand half a head taller than the Thunder God. He had a brown beard and the shiniest head Loki had ever seen. It was rather distracting, actually, and he could see Thor's attention drift to it every once in a while as well.

Loki sighed upon hearing the beginnings of the fight. He looked at his half-remaining drink and contemplated finishing it anyway, despite the potentially embarrassing situations it could bring.

Punches were flying, along with glasses, pitchers, chairs, and—was that a table? Thor had left Mjolnir at the castle, but he was still rather fond of throwing things at his opponents, even without it. The bartender, a thin Vanir and predecessor to the mustache mead guy, watched with a pained look on his face as the fight commenced. Loki imagined he was calculating the chances of his pub coming out of this in one piece. They weren't good.

Loki reached out, and tugged sharply on the bartender's sleeve, displacing him a step or two. A loud crash behind him sent the poor man to the floor, and he looked back in horror at the shards of glass where his head had been a moment ago. He stared at Loki in astonishment, but Loki merely snatched a peanut from the little dish and popped it into his mouth. A second later, Thor grabbed the dish and started to pelt his opponent with peanuts, prancing around the room in a rather unmanly fashion.

Thor was definitely not allowed to fly home.

The opponent roared—not nearly as drunk as Thor and quite angry besides—and unsheathed a sword from his hidden scabbard. Thor frowned, seeing that this man was not going to play by the rules, or the rules as Thor saw them. Using a weapon against an unarmed adversary was a big no-no.

"Play fair, you... you... villain!" Thor lifted his arm and called out mentally for Mjolnir. Wow, wasn't it here yet? This was taking, like, forever.

The man took a menacing step forward. Just as his whole body coiled back to lunge at Thor, a voice behind him called out, "Another!" and something heavy and glass broke against the back of his head, amber liquid trickling down between his eyes. His eyes, now that I mention them, rolled to the back of his skull, and he fell in a twitching, uncomfortable-looking heap on the floor.

Loki gazed at the fallen warrior and said, without any real remorse, "Whoops."

Thor blinked, then laughed and dropped his arm, cancelling his giant hammer order.

"I think we've had enough for the night," Loki addressed the terrified bartender, who looked as though he might need a change of shorts, "Good evening."

"Wait, brother!" Thor said too loudly, as Loki was barely two feet from him. "What shall we do with thish… this… curl!? He must be shown proper humish—muli—humiliashion!"

"I think you mean 'cur,' and he shall awaken in his own blood… and drool," Loki added, seeing the way the man's mouth gapped open in his unconsciousness, "defeated, you will remember, by a half-empty flagon of mead. Is that not punishment enough?"

He silently congratulated himself on how totally not tipsy he sounded.

"Not for the dishhonor he has bringded upon the houshe of Odin!" Thor declared, staggering.

Loki contemplated that for a moment. "What did he do?"

Thor paused, "I—he—it wasn't—He dishonored me, do you not lishen!?"

After a moment (a moment longer than a sober Loki would've taken), realization crossed Loki's face, and he reached up with both hands to press them against his eyes. "Thor… please tell me this is not one of those times when you overreact to something completely innoshent." Whoops. Oh well, Thor was too drunk to notice that last slur.

"No, brother! I do not remember what he said, but if was off—offensh—it was mean, indeed! And when have I ever done such a thing?" Thor asked, seemingly insulted.

"Aw…" Loki sighed, crouching down next to the unconscious man (he only wobbled a little) and poking his temple lightly. The man didn't so much as twitch. "Now I feel bad for hitting you with my alcohol. I could've drank that."

"When have I overreacted?" Thor insisted.

"How about that time you were convinced that Volstagg and Fandral were lovers because they shared a congratulatory hug?"

"… 'Twas a long hug."

"No, it wasn't. Besides, Volstagg hugs everybody."

"When he's drunk! Sober men don't hug!"

"You hug me."

"That is different!"

"Uh-hu."

"It is!"

"Right."

There was a long silence.

"What about the story you kept telling people, that I slept with a horse?"

"Oh, but that was not due to mis—to mis—understanding! You honestly think I believed such a thing? The Lady Shif and I created that shtory to get back at you for cutting her hair off!"

Loki pouted, "S'not funny; that one stuck."

Thor laughed drunkenly as they exited the pub and began the walk home, leaving devastation in their wake as usual. The bartender went back to Vanaheim, where he claimed the ongoing civil war was preferable to the hazards of life in Asgard. The next bartender didn't last a week before promptly disappearing. They found him on Midgard, pretending to be a polar bear.

Valhalla knows where he got that idea.


OK, I guess that's the end. I had a hard time ending this one. I hope you guys like it. =)