Author's note: Just FYI, the guy going by the name of Arnulf in this chapter is supposed to be the servant featured in that deleted scene in Thor, where Loki turns the wine-about-to-be-served into snakes. ^^
Sitting here with his beer and a talkative Loki, Tony finds himself hoping that Thor will spend some time yet in that diplomatic meeting with the hobbits from Svartalfheim. He has a feeling that once the Thunderer returns, his presence is going to make Loki revert back into the quiet, taciturn self he has displayed since Thor showed up in Tony's tower.
Perhaps it's Loki being back in a familiar environment, or maybe it's the beer loosening his tongue, or maybe it's something else entirely, but the god has spent a good amount of time sharing stories with Tony of his life in Asgard. Not only the adventures he's been on and the battles he's fought, but everyday little occurrences that are only really important to the person who has experienced them.
Whenever someone else comes within hearing distance, though, Loki's voice falls a few notches, or he makes a pause until the person has walked by, but Tony tries to ignore that, pretending that it's just for rhetorical effect. It feels better that way.
He enjoys listening to Loki's smooth voice as the god talks, watching his restrained but yet expressive body language, seeing the long, graceful fingers move in intricate patterns as he describes a spell thrown or an enchantment woven. An insistent desire to run a hand down those fine-chiselled features suddenly comes over Tony, but he keeps his limbs to himself, well aware that such overtures would be neither welcome nor appreciated. He prides himself on his show of will power, especially considering the amount of beer he has been drinking.
Speaking of which, the mug in his hand is now gaping emptily, the last contents of the beer jug having been gulped down only moments ago. Sadly, he plays around with it for a while, remembering Thor's affinity for forcefully depositing empty drinking vessels on the floor. Perhaps that would alert one of those servants to his dire need of more drink in his glass.
In the end, he decides against it, though. Even if it's considered proper behaviour here in Narnia, the Midgardian taboo against breaking a host's household utensils wins out. Instead, he opts for the less drastic route of wiggling his empty mug at a man currently busying himself with feeding logs into the fireplace.
Seeing Tony's distress, the man nods and hurries off, only to come back a moment later with a large, sloshing jug in his hands. So the servant is middle-aged and pudgy and a far cry from those deep-décolletaged dirndl-wearing girls at Oktoberfest, but anyone carrying alcohol in his direction is a welcome sight, so he isn't complaining.
"Thanks, buddy," Tony says, offering a friendly smile.
"You are welcome, Man of Iron," the servant replies as he sets the jug down on the table, a little trickle lapping over the rim.
Tony is about to help himself to some more of that totally awesome stuff they call beer around here, but tastes more like a mixture of sweet honey and liquid gold and exotic spices. After this taste of heaven he's not sure he'll be able to drink the bland slush that goes by the same designation back home again.
However, the servant's sharp voice halts Tony's hand midway as the man turns toward Loki, a scowl on his face.
"Don't sit around there like a useless dolt, slave," he scoffs. "Serve your master."
And with that, the jovial atmosphere from only a moment ago is gone, as surely as if it never existed at all.
Loki looks up, green eyes glimmering, and Tony prays that he isn't going to leap off his seat and throttle the obnoxious man before him. Luckily, the god remains where he is, merely taking an audible breath as he clenches his jaws.
"Uh, guys," Tony says, raising a hand for attention, "I can serve myself perfectly fine. I'm not that drunk yet, regardless of what it might look like." Neither Loki nor the other guy seems to hear him, though, as they just keep staring at each other, their little battle of wills fought on what might as well be another planet for all that Tony concerns them.
And just then, as Tony is about to add another, probably inappropriate, comment to contain the situation before it explodes into something neither of them can handle, Loki slowly stands up, eyes still on the servant.
"But of course, Arnulf," he grinds out through clenched teeth. And Tony can see his hands trembling with what is no doubt anger and indignation at being ordered around by a servant as he reaches out for the jug of beer, quickly snatching it up with white-knuckled fingers.
Without another word, he pours some of the beer into Tony's mug. But the hands holding the decanter are too unstable with emotion, and it slips out of Loki's shaking grip, clattering to the floor as it spills its contents all over. Some of the fluid splashes onto the legs of Tony's pants, and the only thing he can think of is that he's really glad he brought a few changes of clothes, because he sure as hell doesn't want to stand before the Allfather smelling like the alcoholic that he is.
The sudden commotion has drawn the eyes of every single person present, and slowly, they're all coming to gather around in a wide, loose half-circle with the servant, Loki, and the dropped decanter in the middle, like pedestrians hungry for a good show congregating around a street performer.
"You clumsy oaf!" Arnulf scolds angrily. "What kind of slave doesn't even know how to serve beer properly?" And just as the words have left his lips, there's a malevolent, scornful grin slowly making its way across the man's face as he regards Loki. When he speaks again, it is in a calm tone of voice, more directed to the gathered audience than to Loki as he pointedly looks towards the chair that Loki was sitting in moments ago and the mug filled with beer instead of the expected water. "Though, perhaps it's not so strange that you are unfamiliar with such basic tasks, given the kind of services that you are no doubt called on to provide for your master."
The group snickers in amusement, and Tony blanches, wanting to speak up but not getting a word out of his constricting throat. But one look at Loki makes it clear that he needs to defuse this situation, and quickly so, before things get out of hand. The god's chest is heaving as if he has just run a marathon and he looks like he wants to strangle someone with his bare hands. Most likely that Arnulf guy.
"Okay, cut the crap, everyone," he half-shouts, trying to cut through the chatter. "Let's just forget this ever happened and move on with our lives, alright? It's just some freaking beer!" And really, he would have liked to say quite a few select words more, but he figures that wouldn't go down well, and the situation is bad enough as it already is without him screwing it up further and Loki somehow ending up paying the price for it.
No one pays any attention to him, however. He might as well be invisible for all they care, or one of those fancy statues littering the hallways.
"And have you really forgotten your station so soon?" Arnulf continues disdainfully. "You sullied the clothes of your master through your clumsiness, so how come you have not yet apologized properly?"
"Look, let's just all calm the fuck down and-" Tony tries again but his protests are drowned in the shouts of agreement prompted by Arnulf's demand. It makes the hairs on his arms stand on end; it's almost as if there's a riot brewing, or, worse, a lynching. The people here are eager for something, though Tony isn't sure just what that something is.
He sincerely wishes Thor were here. He would have handled this; one bellow from the Thunderer and this little mob would slink away with their tails between their legs. But no one seems to listen to Tony – honoured guest, perhaps, but still a puny mortal.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" comes Arnulf's voice again over the commotion. "Don't shame all of Asgard with your behaviour. Offer your master a proper apology."
Making anther attempt to get his voice heard but once more miserably failing, Tony finally realizes that he's not getting through and that there's a possibility that he might in fact even be making things worse for Loki by voicing his protests. And as much as he doesn't like this, it's just an apology, nothing more than that is demanded. Better to just get this shit over and done with, before something much worse happens, like Loki actually getting hurt.
And then, Loki turns to him, between two breaths reigning in the emotions battling on his face until there is only a blank, expressionless façade left. And with one smooth, fluid motion, Loki kneels in front of Tony, bowing down until his forehead is touching the floor. "My sincerest apologies for my clumsiness, Master" he says flatly, voice emotionless and carefully controlled.
And that was most definitely not the kind of apology he'd been expecting.
"Oh for crying out loud," Tony chokes out, overcome by exasperation and revulsion. "This isn't fucking Wayne's World and I'm not Alice Cooper, okay? Enough already!" What the hell is wrong with these people?
Loki slowly gets up, his eyes glistening with broken pride and anger and bitterness and a million other things.
And then, like the sun suddenly breaking through the clouds, the atmosphere eases up. The little show is over, the audience having gotten what they came here to see – the humiliation of a disliked and disgraced prince. One by one, the people in the crowd scatter, returning to their chores and duties that they abandoned in favour of this little spectacle. Even Arnulf turns on his heel and walks off, having milked the situation of its full potential.
Loki isn't looking at Tony as he sits himself down at the table again, resentment at the public degradation still drawn into every line of his features. The relaxed atmosphere from earlier is gone, and Tony winces at the uncomfortable-ness, rummaging his brain for something to say.
"That Arnulf guy is a total ass, isn't he?" he finally manages. Not his best line ever, but it will have to do.
"He's a thrice-damned impotent ape who cavorts with pigs," Loki mutters under his breath, voice unsteady with suppressed anger.
The mood for engaging in further conversation is gone, perfectly ruined, so the two of them just sit there in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.
Tony has no idea what to say after all this and Loki has once more reverted into his previous taciturn self, offering no words about whatever he is thinking, but it probably involves various instruments of torture and Arnulf.
And all Tony can think of is the time Loki first came to his tower and he forced the god to kneel before him.
The silence continues to hang heavily over the table like a cloth drenched in water. Even the beer seems to have lost its alluring taste, and Tony merely plays around with the mug in his hands, letting the remaining liquid slosh around in slow circles. His feeble attempts to start up some kind of conversation with Loki again have not yielded any results that could be classified as anything but piss-poor, so eventually he decided to just give up.
Not knowing what else to do, he finally reverts to digging around in the duffle bag he brought with him to pull out his favourite kind of stress reliever – his trusty Rubik's cube, perfect for playing around with under the table during long meetings or when he just needs some time-out.
Juggling the cube around in his hands a few times, he enjoys the tangible familiarity of the edges and ridges pressing against his skin. Right now, he needs something well-known and controllable, rather than all this messed-up stuff. Leaning back into his seat, the world around him slowly fades away as he starts to twist and turn the blocks around until there are only those colourful little patches before his eyes, and equations and mathematical formulas in his head, banishing all other thoughts.
After a while of fiddling in silence, he notices that he has an audience. About a dozen of Aesir or so are standing at a respectable distance, watching in fascination as he slides the sections of his little cube around.
Glancing at the gathered audience, hoping they're not momentous asses like the previous spectators, Tony nods at them. "Wanna give it a try, guys?" he asks, waiving the cube in their direction. Trying to get on the good side of at least some of these people and work up a little good-will probably won't hurt. Who knows when they might need it. "It's real fun, once you get the hang of it."
He needn't have asked twice. The Aesir are all over him in a second, jostling each other as they fawn over his little toy, turning it around in eager hands, laughing and smiling at the exotic object at display. And it's not just the servants and simple workers either, but other people as well, including a couple of Einherjers who should probably know better. One brave soul spins one of the outermost sections of the cube around, and that sets the whole little group into a frenzy of comments and suggestions of how this puzzle should be solved, hands eagerly grabbing and poking.
And Tony can't help but think, as this little Kodak moment unfolds, how bizarre it is seeing perhaps thousands of years old Aesir fawning like little children over something so simple. Their amazed reaction is what would have been expected if he'd travelled back in time to the Stone Ages and presented a lighter to the bewildered natives.
The excitement is quickly drawing more people in, all curious and awed by his little toy. It's ironic, for all the fancy magic and spacy stuff so commonplace here, that such an everyday object from his planet can be the source of such amusement and interest.
And they are supposed to be the evolved ones, being gods and all. Tony can't help but wonder what would have happened if he had brought his laptop along. Perhaps that would have been too much for the local populace to take and he would have been burnt on the stake for being a witch or something.
He notices that even Fjalar is hovering in the background, as if these shenanigans are beneath his notice, but he still doesn't want to miss out on anything important.
"Where does this marvellous object come from, Man of Iron?" one of the Aesir asks, turning towards Tony.
"It was crafted by a mighty Midgardian lord named Rubik," Tony says in reply. A little embellishment of the truth never hurt, he supposes, especially not with this crowd. He might as well play along and take this opportunity to increase his popularity with the locals here. Never know when that might come in handy, after all, especially not after the shit he's come face to face with so far.
The Aesir look impressed at this, nodding in awed admiration.
"And this Lord Rubik gifted this amazing thing to you?" another asks.
"Eh, well-" Tony begins, but is interrupted by a pretty young girl, who is gaping at him like he's some sort of hero.
"Thor told us you are a famous warrior and hero in your realm. Tell us, did this lord bequeath such an item to you in appreciation of some mighty deed?" she asks breathlessly, all blinking eyelashes and admiring eyes and flushing skin, a hand clutching her braid.
Tony smiles at the young girl, who blushes. "Well, sweetie, let's just say it used to belong to a powerful empire whose borders I crossed in order to liberate this particular treasure from the hoards of riches where it was being kept."
Okay, so that's just a fancy way of saying he bought it at Wal-Mart, but these people will probably favour the interpretation that he ventured into an enemy realm to storm the fortress of some big-shot lord and pillage his belongings.
As suspected, his audience looks even more impressed at this suggestion of unlawful breaking and entering, and the ensuing battery and grand theft following in its wake.
And he can't help but roll his eyes inwardly at that. Charming people, these Aesir. Real charming.
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