Author's note: In response to Nightalp – yes, the dream in last chapter was Loki's, but it was written so that readers would at first assume it was Tony doing the dreaming. ^^
He's pulled out of Dreamland by the sound of a soft knocking on the door, and he groggily rolls over onto his back, just about to call for Jarvis to handle the visitor. It doesn't make sense that someone would be knocking on his bedroom door, but his sleep-muddled brain is not yet in a state to reflect much further on that anomaly.
Then, the memories flood back and he suddenly remembers exactly where he is.
Oh. That's right. Asgard.
The knock is repeated, a little harder this time but still sounding patient enough. He groans, wondering if it's acceptable behaviour here in Magic Wonderland to open the door dressed in your underwear or if he should put on a pair of pants first. But before he can make up his mind, there's a shuffle to his right and Loki crawls out from under the covers. Standing up in one fluid motion, as if he doesn't need any recalibration time going from fast asleep to wide awake, he makes for the door, opening it to admit the visitor.
Not wholly unexpected, it's another one of the ubiquitous servants, judging by the bland, simple clothes he's wearing.
"Good morning, Man of Iron," the man says with a courteous bow. "I hope you have slept well."
"Morning, James," he responds with a yawn, pulling the cover up just a little bit further. He can't help but feel a bit awkward at having a stranger enter his bedroom like this when he's still newly awoken and undressed, but yeah, Rome and Romans...
The servant doesn't look the least bit perturbed by the state of things, though, which probably figures. The guy must have years of experience of helping lazy noblemen bathe and dress and probably wipe their asses too because they can't be bothered to do it themselves, so barging in on men still half-asleep in bed is no doubt standard procedure for him.
"Thor sent me to express his apologies that he is unfortunately unable to join you for breakfast as he would have liked, but he was called on to deal with a matter that demanded his urgent attention. Until he can join up with you again, he invites you to explore the Halls as you wish, but would strongly advise that you do not leave the premises," the servant says, demurely clasping his hands before him. "Now, your breakfast meal is prepared and ready to be served, whenever you wish."
Food. Despite the lavish meal he'd eaten yesterday evening, he's actually a bit hungry already, however impossible that sounds.
"Well, I guess now is as good a time as any," he says with a shrug. "Don't think I'll be able to go back to sleep now anyway."
"Do you wish to take your meal outside in the dining hall or have it brought here into your room?"
At that, Tony glances over at Loki, who hasn't moved from the spot, half-hidden in the shadow cast by the open door, face expressionless. Like he's trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, like he's part of the furnishing, like he's… a slave.
"I'd rather have it sent here, thank you," he says resolutely, a bit harsher than intended, as he tears his gaze away from Loki. There's no way he'll opt to have breakfast in a semi-public place if he can avoid it, given how Loki is expected to behave whenever other people are around.
"Very well," the servant says with another bow. "Your meal will be brought shortly."
With that, he turns and leaves, and Loki closes the door behind him.
"Damn, do people always barge into your bedroom like that around here?" he asks as the god makes it back to the bed and sits down on the mattress with a dull thud.
"It is expected by the servants that they see to the needs and wishes of those they have been tasked with serving. Having them enter like this is not seen as an invasion of privacy as it might have in Midgard," Loki replies, leaning back a little. "But don't worry, they will always knock and wait before entering chambers of a more private nature."
Well, at least that's something. Then he can trash the mental image of himself soundly asleep and sprawling on his back on the bed with a raging hard-on, cover having slipped down onto the floor, while a bunch of stealthy servants are busy dusting the furniture around him.
They dress in silence and Tony has just finished shaving when there's another knock on the door.
This time, a whole procession of servants enter the room, carrying an assortment of plates and trays and pots and carafes. They set their burdens down on the table and fuss around a bit with the table setting, before bowing and taking their leave again, reminding Tony of little pre-programmed robots.
But the food smells delicious. Curious as to what aliens eat for breakfast, he walks up to the table, lifting the lids and peering inside. Some things are recognisable – freshly baked bread, slabs of creamy butter and various cheeses, cooked eggs, peeled fruit in neat slices. As well as a plate of hot, sizzling steaks. Huh. Other things are less identifiable, various stews and pots smelling of spices and aromas unfamiliar to him, but they make his mouth water nevertheless.
"Anything to your liking?" he hears Loki's amused voice behind him.
"You bet," he says as he lifts another lid to investigate the contents. "But seriously, there's no way even a sumo wrestler back home could eat even a quarter of all this without exploding. Is the cook going to be offended or something if the servants have to take most of this stuff back?"
Loki gives a little chuckle. "You're not expected to eat everything, or even most of it. This is merely so you can have the choice of whatever you prefer. The servants will eat whatever is left."
"Good to know. I'd hate to insult whoever took the time to prepare all this stuff." He peeks down into another pot, and wrinkles his nose. Unlike the rest of the dishes, this doesn't smell nice at all and looks more like something you'd feed the pigs with. Some sort of colourless, texture-less slab of gruel that would make a cheeseburger at McDonalds look inviting.
"Is this some sort of Asgardian specialty?" he asks Loki, who is watching his examination with mild interest. "I mean, I know a lot of exotic so-called delicacies around the world are actually pretty gross to outsiders, like monkey brains or cheese with maggots or whatever, so maybe this is supposed to be like a godly hors d'oeuvres or something?"
"That particular dish is not meant for you, Tony," Loki says evenly.
And as the words sink in, Tony's suddenly not feeling so hungry anymore.
"They expect you to eat this crap?" he says with no small amount of offence, his own no doubt incredulous stare meeting with Loki's calm one.
"Yes."
"But you ate the same stuff as me and Thor yesterday evening?" he tries, not liking this one bit.
"Well, Thor is free to do as he likes in his own private chambers." He gestures towards the pot. "But this is still standard fare for slaves, what they'd be served under normal circumstances."
Yeah, of course. He looks down at the gruel again, making a grimace at the sad sight.
"So the servants would expect this pot to be empty when they come to clean the table?"
"Yes," Loki says again. "They would."
"Fine." He picks up the pot and walks over to the window, fiddling a little as he tries to open it with his only free hand. Then, he turns the thing upside down, letting the bland, non-descript contents spill down into the greenery below.
"This is probably more useful as fertilizer than as food anyway," he remarks as he closes the window again and puts the empty pot back onto the table. The almost symbolic gruel purge makes him feel a little better, and a part of his previous appetite is starting to return.
Loki doesn't comment, but his eyes are still on Tony.
"Alright, I guess it's finally mealtime, then," he exclaims and rubs his hands together in an attempt to put the previous unpleasantness and unwelcome reminder of Loki's slave status behind them. He's about to pull out the chair to his side and sit down to indulge in the feast before him, but then becomes aware that this is the only chair at the table.
Blinking, he scans the room for another one.
Only to quickly realize that the room is as lackingly equipped when it comes to chairs as when it comes to beds. For all its lavishness and fancy decorations, there is only one measly, single chair in the entire room.
He makes a double-take, not wanting to believe this. Surely there's has to be something that could serve as proper sitting material?
But there's nothing, not even one of those hideous bean puffs. Sure, there's that couch-like something, but it's a lumbering beast, too heavy to drag around for some temporary furniture rearrangement, just like the massive oak-and-gold table in front of him.
"How come there's only one freaking chair in here?" he groans out loud in frustration, and then immediately regrets it. He knows the answer to that already.
Loki answers him nevertheless. "Slaves are not supposed to sit on chairs or on other furniture, whenever there is a floor available."
Yeah, which obviously is equivalent to 'never'.
And it's making his annoyance and irritation rise up again. So perhaps he can't do much about the expectations of a master and his slave in this place, but he had still been sure that at least in here, where no one else is around to see, he would be able to act as he damn well please, not having to acquiesce to any of that crap. But now, even the furniture is rallying against him and his Midgardian ways, trying to force him to adapt to the local customs he's been seeking to avoid.
He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. Okay, so maybe they can't sit around the table and have breakfast together, but that in no way means that Loki has to sit on the floor, like it's expected here. There are a number of other, more palatable solutions, after all.
They could take turns eating – even though that would kinda suck; fancy meals like this are meant to be shared. They could both stand and eat – something that he's spent enough cocktail parties doing to learn just how awkward and impractical that is. They could grab a plate of food each and then sit down on the weird-looking couch – even though it doesn't look in the slightest designed for eating and they'd risk food stains on the pretty gold-inlaid fabric, but that would probably be the best solution.
Or they could…
He can't help but snicker a little at the mental image. Yeah, why the hell not? Sure you might not normally do these things indoors, but there's definitely room for it, and the bed cover has that perfect checkered pattern already...
Deciding to go with it, he walks over to the bed and resolutely pulls the cover off, bundling it up into his arms. Then he carries it over to the middle of the room and spreads it out on the floor, patting the fabric in satisfaction. Having taken care of that part, he heads back to the table and grabs the basket of bread and one of the lidded pots, placing them down onto the cover.
As he stands up to retrieve the next food items in line, he meets with Loki's inquisitive stare and raised eyebrows, and gives the god a cheeky grin.
"What, don't tell me you guys have never heard of picnics in Asgard"?
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