An essay and two quill-pens later, Thor scratched his blonde tresses in confusion.
"So what's happened to you, brother," He said, "Is that you've lost your voice?"
Loki nodded, glad his brother could comprehend at least that much. A sick, stupid pleasure it was, for straight afterwards Thor babbled, "Where did you last see it? You can't have left it anywhere far from –"He was silenced by Loki's hand on his mouth and glaring Garfield eyes.
The pensive Asgardians were just as bewildered, if not amused. Clearly a witch or some other evildoer had stolen Loki's voice. They knew Loki would never be so careless as to simply leave it somewhere and forget it. It was not in Loki's nature to be careless.
"Brother, we must take you to Odin at once! Maybe he knows!"
And before the God of Mischief had a second to scribble out a protest, Thor and co. had dragged him to the Throne room.
There sat Odin. He cut a fine, stoic figure, what with his gold-plated armor and helm, his flashy spear, not to mention the fact that Asgard's two suns happened to be setting alongside each other for the evening in perfect view, giving the already glowing King of Asgard an even more brilliant look.
If you're into that sort of thing, that is.
The group toddled in, Thor pulling Loki along by his arm, Loki's feet dragging uselessly along the gilded floor. Not like he cared. The children gathered around Loki in the way people gather around someone terminally ill, looking so earnest that for a single moment, you could almost see the faintest flicker of concern in Odin's single eye. Almost.
"What is the matter, children?" He asked, his deep, aged voice bouncing off the walls and echoing through the room, enough to make a mortal shudder. Thor pointed at his brother.
"H-he…lost his voice, and we don't know where to find it!"
Odin blinked, and leaned down to inspect the mute mischief maker, who glanced up with an almost audible thought of, seriously, I'm fine. Really. The Allfather peered at him before asking the children, "And you children are sure, with all his past…mischeif… that he's not just jesting?"
Sif answered with her hands on her hips, "Of course. He would never sacrifice his greatest weapon for a mere prank. Someone took his voice!"
Loki facepalmed for the seventh time in the afternoon.
Odin sat back, confusion flickering across his features and fading away. He went back through his mind of all the many, many enemies that Loki had made, searching for one with such a peculiar power, but came up with nothing more than that witch's rabbit that he'd been doing battle with for most of the past week.
Just as he began to turn and declare a hunt for the rabbit (an unusually snotty character, always willing to kickbox his way through anything for a carrot…) He noticed Loki holding up a piece of parchment that screamed "MIDGARD!"
Odin blinked and turned his attention to the children.
"I have reached through the conciousness of the stars, through ages of wisdom locked away in secret vaults, and found the answer to this foul deed. The answer is shrouded in mist and cannot come from explanation, and you must heed my words…exactly. It seems that the answer to your quest will be found on…Midgard. Go! Find Loki's voice!"
His voice echoed into the empty room, the patter of small footsteps already fading away. Odin sighed and sat back on the throne, rubbing his forehead exhasperatedly. He muttered softly to himself.
"Why do I even try?"
Loki raced along with the others, a light smile gracing his lips. Midgard. What a petty place, compared with these colossal, gilded statues, silver and gold images towering over lush forests and crystaline rivers. The entire realm sang with harmony, twisting shapes entertwining the planet into a work of hardly mortal artistry.
Not to mention the rainbow bridge.
Yup. A rainbow bridge.
Strains of melody from the never-forgotten nyan cat drifted through Loki's head, tantalizing him with the thought of the results of his plan. Oh, his plans, even if accidentaly, they always worked. His grin grew wider. He tried to hum the singular tune, only for the notes to get caught in his throught, preventing them from reaching the escape of air.
Oh. Right.
To a mortal, it might have seemed like an unusual scene, and as they passed the many markets and shops in their path, even an Asgardian or two gave them a sideways glance or a knowing smile, accommpanied by a shake of the head. After all, the children happened to be riding miniature ponies, all of the beasts,wearing a somber, haughty expression, keeping their short, fluffy necks as high as possible as they trotted along the glowing rainbow bridge, ( All except Loki's, of course, who bounded along with all the grace and balance of a catnip-drunk feline, and who seemed to have the most peculiar expression on his equine features, almost alike to a silly grin)leaving splashes of color where their tiny, pattering hooves had been.
The forms of the children stretched along and glided with nonexistent shadows, mere bright streaks flashing through the brighter realm as they passed below the gilded arches and intricately carved, golden spikes that shot out from the endless casms beside the bridge at intervals, slightly curved inward like the teeth of a long-mouthed monster, with the intent of crushing every darting being between its ornate jaws.
As they drew closer, the astral, spicy wind of Asgard abated somewhat, fleeing and turning hurriedly away under the shadow of the bifrost itself. It stretched above, breaking the skyline in a colossal, fanged show of power and magic. It was an orb, gilded (Like everything else in the realm) and designed, with two gate-like openings cut into both ends to allow entrance and exit (Though it's doubtful that anyone so tall as to justify the height of the opening would ever need such a mode of transportation.) An open ended spike rose from the top of this dome, towering high to dwarf even the monstrous achitechture it sat apon.
Standing just in front of the bifrost, which really was not dually frosty in any way, stood an equally impressive figure. His posture was of one who knew his duty, and would not stray from it's course, even if that meant standing exactly as he was for…lets say…a couple thousand years. His armor glowed and shimmered in the dying brightness of the evening, and the curved sides of his helmet gave him a foreign, exotic look, not to mention the deep, golden secrets that hid within the eclipses of his eyes, contrasting sharply with the darkness of his skin, visible enough to show his deeply rooted strength.
Heimdall, The Gaurdian of The Worlds, glanced down at the procession approaching him with a stiff, but gentle look of amusement, and bent down as they approached, both to ensure his hearing them, and to get those hundred-year-old kinks out of his legs. He smiled as they reached him and spoke with a low, rarely used voice that carried disconcerting resonance.
"What can I do for you?"
I know this chapter feels short, but banter is coming, and epicness and stuffs, and I want to cram it into one chapter at a time XD. This story is wanting to take a while, but if that makes my stories longer, then huzzah! But do not worry, my dear readers, many more stories of mischeif and battles of wit come on wayward winds of imagination, brightening the dark tresses of long-forgotten minds…ehehehehehehe