Kari looked around Heimdall's shoulder at the door wondering who it could possibly be this time. As she looked back up at the guardian he was smirking, an unusual occurrence in all the time she had known him, which mutated the curiosity on her face into confusion. There was a second banging, whoever it was certainly seemed desperate for attention. She was about to head towards the door, leaving the comforting embrace of Heimdall's arms but he beat her too the gesture and turned away from her.

"I did not expect Heimdall to come so quickly." It was Loki's voice but coming from Heimdall's body.

Kari inhaled, suddenly, pulling her blouse closed around her as she watched the golden armored man stroll towards the door with some purpose. As he moved, his appearance shifted and morphed around him until he was in a very familiar shape that was indeed not Heimdall. She would have said something, made some noise but was glued to the spot clinging to her clothing with bulging eyes.

Without turning back once, Loki reached the door and opened it to be greeted by an angry looking Heimdall – probably the real one. Bewildered by what was happening she blinked several times to let the vision in front of her fully sink in. The pair were talking but she could not hear the words; her insides full of an overwhelming array of static. The guardian looked at her, an apologetic spark in his too pretty eyes before he followed after Loki as a man who means business.

What had just happened? Her feet began moving first, carefully bringing her to her open door, followed by an arm that shut out the world. Her love interest had just showed up and… They were kissing, he was undressing her, and they were about too… Loki was about too… She was about too… with Loki…

She suddenly felt very ill, the desire to vomit searching her stomach for contents but finding none. Dry heaving several times she sunk to her knees on the floor, one arm holding her up from the ground whilst the other clung to her chest holding the blouse closed. She felt horribly violated. He had played on her sketchy-love of another man and tried to use her. That was no simple prank, it wasn't just cruel, it was closer in kin to the sexual assault persuasion - a step too far, even for him.

Would he have actually gone through with it? Her stomach lurched again at the thought until smothered over from the chest squeezing racking of tears that soon crippled her body. She hated him. She really truly hated him now. The thought of poisoning his food came to mind as a serious option but she was in trouble enough because of him.

A soft mewing caught her attention as she looked up through blurry eyes. Griffin was watching her, worried golden orbs that blinked at her expectantly. She sat up on her knees, pulling the compliant cat up into her arms as he began to purr a reassuring sound. It was not enough though, her cheek buried in his fur as the flow of tears still came accompanied with sounds of a wounded nature.

Apparently Loki had actually gotten into a little trouble after his stunt. Heimdall had been very annoyed and Odin even more so at the guardian's discomfort – Kari's feelings on the matter were of little interest to anyone it seemed. The imposter had been sent off to work for an alchemist in the city as punishment but as annoyed as he looked leaving the palace, the whole situation still stank of favoritism. Perhaps Odin had sensed her murder vibes towards the prince and sent him to chill in the city until she calmed down?

What of Heimdall? She could hardly ever go to see him ever again – ever – now. The memory of his apologetic look made her cringe on the inside. He felt sorry for her and she wasn't even sure in what way. It was too embarrassing and she too much a coward to walk all the way down to his lair and say something.

"Lift your arms." Fandral tapped her elbow with the side of his blade, causing her to lift it once again.

"Right, sorry." She started the practice stance again, a wooden sword held in her right hand.

"Slower, let your body memorize the movement and learn to adjust your weight accordingly."

Her grandfather was watching her like a hawk, occasionally correcting her misplaced limbs. Learning swordsmanship was a lot like pilates with a stick so far. She thought she was getting quite good at it now in her third lesson but the look on Fandral's face, that she sporadically glimpsed, said otherwise. He had made several comments about her floppy arms this session alone and the frustration between them was certainly not improving things. The problem was, the sword was heavy and her arms tired from working all day lifting full jugs and things. She probably should have biceps of steel from her job alone but the muscle use was entirely different when holding a sword. Different parts of her arms not as used, weaker parts, were being forced into action whilst more frequently used ones were feeling the fatigue of the day.

"Again." Fandral ordered, this time standing opposite her and joining in with the stance she was practicing.

It put her to shame watching him, his whole body moved in an elegant, honed dance with the blade. Kari, on the other hand, looked more like a potato trying to peel itself. Frustrated, shown up, she groaned letting her stick drop to the ground so she could lean upon it like an old woman.

"Why have you stopped, my dear?" Fandral questioned, continuing his own practice with ease.

"I'm no good at this." She rubbed her sore sword arm, trying to give herself a massage.

"You are improving."

"Really? You keep giving me a disappointed look when you think I can't see."

"That is fanciful talk." He frowned then smiled while coming to a halt at the end of his stance. "I had expected to much perhaps, a protégé of the blade in my foolishness. I have to remind myself you are also Francesca's descendant and what a tumble of limbs that woman was. It was a chore to keep her upright and not twisting her ankles."

"I'm not that much of a klutz." Kari chuckled at the thought of a bumbling grandmother. "I got pretty good ankles too, never twisted them once. Broke my leg though… well it was the horse that broke my leg when he drop his whole weight on it." She cringed at the sudden memory of pain.

"Which leg?" Fandral was suddenly interested, looking between her two legs as if trying to find the culprit through the product of elimination.

"Uh, this one." She lifted her left leg slightly and followed through with a point.

Fandral squatted down, lifting her foot onto his knee as he felt along the bone. She wasn't sure whether to ask him what he was doing or not; her grandfather deep in thought as his thumb traced her calf bone then halted suddenly.

"Here?" He pushed lightly on a slight dent.

"Yeah, and below it a little further down too." She raised an eyebrow at the odd concern – it wasn't as if he could do anything about it now.

"This changes things." He placed her foot back down and stood eyeing her awkward stance. "Try adjusting some of your weight to the other leg and turn your left foot in a fraction."

He was studying her footwork now, indicating she start her practice stance again with the added changes. At first she hardly noticed the difference but as she neared the middle of the routine there was an obvious improvement in her footwork. It felt easier, her leg ached less as she moved into the turn but it still did nothing for her arms other than to remove one annoyance so she could concentrate on getting through the other. The arm strength would come in time she assumed, for now she was doing much better if Fandral's prideful grin was anything to go by.