Art Appreciation 101
Loki heard the raised voices, and saw the sad little man come running out of the room, clothes clasped to his groin, but otherwise bare. Loki hesitated, but ultimately decided that he'd risk it. He strolled casually into the room. "Girls?"
"Mr. Loki," said one of the girls, Tabitha, he thought. Suddenly all of the girls were looking at him in a rather disconcerting manner. They walked in a circle around him, reminding him inexplicably of sharks. "Our model was disappointing," she said finally.
"Model?" He queried, against his better judgment.
Angel pointed to a canvas. "Art class, Mr. Loki. We're meant to be painting a live subject. And he was… uninspiring as a model."
"You're a god, right, Mr. Loki?" Haley followed up.
"That has to be more inspiring," Angel concluded.
Loki couldn't help but smirk. These little girls were bold, that was for certain. The question was: did he dare? He was certain that Matron Murgatroyd would not be best pleased, possibly nor would Miss Fritton. But….the little urchins were challenging him. He felt certain that he could …inspire them.
"As you wish," he said finally, a wicked look in his eye. He pointed to the small chair that had been set up, and with a gesture, made a large throne, a scaled down version of Odin's, with a green cape draped artistically over it, and his clothes literally melted from his body, leaving only his helmet. And if he hadn't been wearing the helmet when he walked into the room, well, no one seemed inclined to quibble.
Angel made a strange "ungh" sound, as Haley blinked rapidly. The girls exchanged a look and grabbed their brushes as Loki moved to the throne.
When Matron Murgatroyd found him, some twenty minutes later, he was lounging on the seat, legs spread, one of his elbows casually resting on the throne's arm, his chin in that hand, and the other elbow on his thigh.
"What the bloody hell is going on?"
"Please, Miss, we needed a model and Mr. Loki was … well, a really inspiring choice," said Haley.
Miss Murgatroyd turned back to Loki, her eyes taking him in. Surprisingly broad shoulders for one so slim, well-defined chest, with sparse chest hair, firm abs, with a line of hair leading from his belly-button down. Her eyes followed the trail against her will. She shook her head as if to clear it. She forced her eyes to meet his wickedly twinkling green eyes. "These girls are 16 and 17 years old, Mr. Loki. This is wildly inappropriate, not to mention…," her eyes dropped again, "filling their heads with unrealistic expectations. That's just cruel." His eyebrows rose, as he smirked. She flicked a corner of the green drape over his groin. "Please, Mr. Loki, get dressed."
She turned to Tabitha, "do you even have paint on that brush?"