Written to The Girl - City and Colour, crosspost from AO3.
Am I sorry I wrote this chapter? Absolutely not. Do I realise how terrible it is? Absolutely.
Witzelsucht: a feeble attempt at humour; excessive facetiousness; a condition where the patient compulsively tells puns.
In the past few weeks, while he was down on Midgard battling a new upcropping of Chitauri, Thor had become positively infatuated with Midgardian fast food restaurants. The Chitauri had later apologised and told the Avengers that it had been a navigational error, they had meant to go to the second universe to the left, not to the right; the mistake was quickly cleared up and the Chitauri went on their way.
"And, love, they deliver the food to you so quickly it's almost like they magic it into being!" Thor tells Loki, his head pillowed on Loki's thigh as he gestures in the air. Loki does not appear impressed, and only sniffs a bit as he tries to put his attention back on Anna Karenina.
"We must go sometime," Thor says, rolling over and nudging the book out of Loki's hands. It falls to the covers with a heavy thunk worthy of Russian literature. "I will take you and show you."
Loki doesn't say anything, but he is rather glad for Thor's interruption; reading about Anna's two-timing nature with Vronsky and the other fellow was getting to be rather tedious.
The day before they were supposed to go to Midgard, Loki was reading Rapunzel to Modi, who watched him with bright eyes from where he lay on the floor. Jory was curled up in a little coil next to Modi, flicking his little tongue out every now and then as Loki read in soft, melodic tones. The snake didn't really understand the concept of hair, everybody had hair except him, but he supposed that it was a good thing he didn't have hair, otherwise he might end up like that foolish girl in the story Mama was reading. Nor was he a girl, for that matter.
Loki flicked his wrist lazily, and a small picture of the tower popped up in front of Modi and Jory, streams of golden hair spilling out the windows. Modi gasped and waved chubby hands up to touch the picture, and Loki smiled at his children before turning back to the book.
While Loki wasn't looking, Modi slapped at the air, his little brow furrowed, and before Loki knew it, a small stream of seidr came up to smack him in the mouth. He looked over at the two of them, and Jory pointed an accusing tail at Modi, who just babbled innocently at him. Loki decided to ignore it.
"Taco Bell."
"Yes!" Thor exclaims in delight as he takes Loki by the wrist and leads him toward the door. "Lord Taco is indeed a fantastic man." Modi swings happily from his carrier and babbles up at the two of them.
Loki sits down at a white table, grimacing at the sticky spots of spilt soda all over the table and trying not to touch anything while Thor orders. He lifts Modi out of his carrier and ensconces him in a wooden seat close by to the table, wiping the surface in front of him. Thor sits down in front of him in a few moments, beaming broadly.
Loki feels an itching around the corners of his mouth, an itching on the very tip of his tongue, but ignores it as one of the employees brings out a tray of food. Thor had been right; the service was indeed rather quick.
Modi, prone to grabbing anything and everything that was set in front of him, instantly reaches out to stick his fingers into a small pool of orange cheese. Loki quickly grasps his wrist, tutting. "That is nacho cheese." He stops immediately after saying that, holding his fingers to his mouth, horrified.
"That's right, Loki, it is nacho cheese!" Thor says in delight, smiling over at the two of them. "How did you know that? Has Lord Taco invited you for dinner as well during your excursions on Midgard?"
"I don't want to taco bout it," Loki mutters, flushing scarlet. He reaches out, stuffs something into his mouth to keep himself from talking, he was embarrassing himself, but Thor was too much of a buffoon to appreciate Loki's normal witty humour.
After he finishes and leans back, wiping his mouth with the cheap paper napkins that were provided, Loki tells himself determinedly that he will not talk any more, but his tongue is itching more than ever. The same tired looking employee comes out with a second platter of food, this one even more crowded than the last, and sets it down in front of them.
"That Juan is yours?" Loki asks, arching an eyebrow before clapping his hands over his mouth. Thor pauses in his ferocious chewing to stare at Loki in confusion.
"No, fairest..." he says after a moment, spitting taco shell out all over the table. "I do not keep slaves, you know that. And his name is Patrick, it looks like."
To the side of the table, Modi giggles and sticks his fingers into a puddle of cheese.