You can open the bifrost, send us to Midgard, and allow us to pillage seven hundred and twenty three boxes of pop tarts before you bring us back. That would be nice, please and thank you.
So thought Loki, calmly, as the others rushed to explain the Oh so horrible loss of his voice.
It was rather amusing, actually. How eager they were to restore his precious treats and his stubbornly aloof weapon to him. If only they knew.
He ignored the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched Heimdall try to make sense of the cacophony of childish voices that assaulted him. Come to think of it, how did the guy stand anything? It must have taken some mad amount of focus for him to not suddenly be distracted by some rap battle down on Earth, or to accidentally laugh at some stupid joke a Frost Giant made. But with all those highly developed (and probably very boring) skills, the Guardian of Worlds still had trouble deciphering the Asgardians' chatter. Maybe he was just having one of those days.
"So…if I've heard you correctly…The Hokey Pokey is a porpoise? "Heimdall asked, utterly bewildered.
Loki keeled over in a hysterical, silent laugh.
The Guardian peered curiously at him, and then down at Thor. "Is Loki…less alright than usual?" he asked. Thor nodded, attempting, unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh at Heimdall's first try at understanding them. Heimdall again glanced at the still-reeling, but ominously quiet Mischief Child.
"And the answer to his malady will be found on another realm?" he concluded.
"Yes. Allfather told us that Midgard is where we should go…" began Sif, "Weren't you paying attention?"
Heimdall looked for a second like a mouse caught between six cats, "…Maybe I was." It sounded something like defensiveness, even past the droll, low tone of his voice. He quickly turned and marched under the arched opening, into the wide inside of the bifrost. The patter of young footsteps trailed eagerly behind him.
He reached the elevated center of the dome, and the children arranged themselves in their typical swag warrior formation. "Be warned," Heimdall began in a rehearsed, dully sing-song voice, "I will honor my sworn oath to protect this realm as its Gatekeeper. If your return threatens the safety of Asgard Bifrost will remain closed…and Odin will not be happy with you, or me."
"Well, maybe we should have brought some…provisions…"Volstagg sighed, staring forlornly down at his ample, bottomless stomach.
Oh, do not worry, my tub-shaped friend, there will be more than enough sustenance to double your size, thought Loki, sending a mysterious smile Volstagg's way. The rest of the warriors shifted uneasily as the Guardian stood motionless, until Fandral finally burst out, "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go voice finding!"
"As you wish," said the Gatekeeper, and plunged his immense sword into the revolving clockwork of the machine.
There was a great clash of mechanical sounds that started to flow together into one huge, pulsating beat. The sphere spun around them at increasing speed until all but they were a blur. A flashing, multicolored light beckoned maddeningly from the other side.
Loki fist pumped when no one was looking.
The light increased and reverberated menacingly.
A flash and a jolt, and they were hurtling through space.
The cake sat magnanimously on the table, tempting small fingers to sample just a taste of its sugary joy. The strains of the tinkering music and the excited chatter of the other children only added to the tension, and for Tommy H., it was all just too much. He was compelled, no; he was forced, to reach for just a crumb or two.
He extended his chubby hand.
Suddenly, a blast of light suffocated the room and part of the ceiling crumbled through, obscuring the youngster's view of the cake in a plume of dust that vanished slowly outward, revealing six…children, dressed strangely and shiningly. The blonde one in the front, who seemed fond of the color red, looked around grinning and bounced down off the table, saluting the party goers as he ran out of the room, the others following. The last one, a rotund, red haired boy, followed hesitantly, busy scraping remains from the ruined cake into his mouth before the diabolically grinning greenly dressed one ran back and practically dragged him off.
Tommy stared.
"Onward!" Thor yelled as he charged down the street, leading the shiny brigade. Volstagg was still mourning the unbearably small quantity of cake he'd managed to steal, but the rest of the band was in precariously high spirits, ready to take on whatever inevitably random obstacles they would face as long as the Labrador was their leader.
How quaint.
Loki jogged along with a quirky smile on his features. His thoughts wandered back to the child at the party. He seemed strangely similar to himself…but it was of no matter. The pop tarts beckoned from far away, and he was determined to reach their calorie-packed, icing-smothered embrace.
"Fandral…I think there's something in your hair." Sif pointed out, causing the unfortunate youngster to look up and see the tragic conglomeration of confetti and smothered cake in his beloved tresses. A fit of bawling quickly ensued.
"Unnnhhh, really?" Hogan raspingly spoke up for the first time that day, earning surprised glances.
As the party slowed, Thor turned to the sobbing child with a heartening pat on the back.
"Come, friend Fandral, adventure waits! A wash will fix your hair, and glory will give us its fine rewards, and soon, we will be the greatest in all the realms!" His eyes gleamed as he continued thunderously," MOUNTAINS SHALL KNEEL BEFORE US, REALMS WILL QUAKE, AND ALL THE HAIR PRODUCT YOU COULD EVER DESIRE WILL BE YOURS!"
The troubled Asgardian cheered somewhat, urged onwards by promises of generously given Thoreal, before a muffled laugh alerted him.
Volstagg had one finger in Fandral's hair and one in his mouth, revealing his attempts to stealthily salvage what icing could be found. He hurriedly scooted away, laughing nervously. The others were awkwardly silent.
"Well, then…yeah, that's…let's…yup…" He hurriedly jogged on.
The others exchanged varied and hilarious looks, before hesitantly following.
"Wait, guys, my…poor hair… wait, why…" Fandral spoke to the air where the others had been, as they swiftly pulled away ahead of him. He reluctantly started at a fragile jog, casting frequent glances at the mess of his hair, adding a nice touch of confusion to the already random scene.
"Deal with it! I've had worse!" a distant Sif called back.
Ain't that the truth, all my Norse Mythology fans out there, am I right? AM I right? Yeah, I'm right. DON'T QUESTION ME! So, once again, I apologize for the short chapter, but I like this cute little snippet size, so DEAL WITH IT. Many strange things are approaching, and deepened convulsions of random storylines and references to hidden fates shall be mine, ours, and yours…fate is a dastardly thing, but it's insanely fun to play with…eheheheh