Loki wouldn't answer me, not before he performed all the duties that were required to get the key to OUR room. One room - and he had to explain to the confused and then sympathetic person who handed him that key why we had no luggage - the sad eyes, the tsking of the tongues - I wanted nothing more than to be behind a closed and locked door so I no longer had to playact a scared bride.
Without luggage, Loki and I were left to find our lodgings on our own - after he assured another Midgardian that we'd have no problems. Into a lift - giving another person the floor where our room was located, and once the grate shut - it rose with a slight jerk. I was growing weary of the constant need for a mask - or so it seemed, from the moment we'd arrived, we hadn't been alone.
"Here you are," the man who was operating the lift announced our arrival at the floor that held our room. "Have a lovely stay."
Loki still had my hand tucked in his arm, and he led me off the lift and into the hallway. I couldn't complain of the choice that had been made for our stay - the opulence was almost overwhelming, the white marble and the gold fittings gleamed even in the dimness that the foggy natural light from outside offered - luckily the hotel aided it with additional lighting. Our room was at the end of a long hallway, tucked away as if it was paying penance for some wrongdoing, but when he released me to unlock the door - I realized how wrong I'd been.
It was alone at the end because it was so large. A suite, he explained, with a bath and sitting room - and ONE bedroom - with a huge bed, but still.
"I told you," the door was shut and locked behind us, and I felt at least some of the tension release from my body with the barrier between us and THEM. "Midgardians have a strange understanding of -"
I nodded, too weary to argue. "Yes, yes." The clothing, the short trip from the road to the hotel - all of it felt like a burden I'd like to remove. "I honestly don't want to fight, Loki." He looked concerned. "I'm -" I tugged at the fabric of the top piece of my attire. "I'd like to take a bath and not be in THIS any longer."
He chuckled quietly. "Yes, I can see that." Sighing, he came closer. "It's strange to see you in it, but it's not a terrible look." I didn't believe that for an instant. "Still don't trust me, I see." He took my hand gently in his, the one wearing the gold band and pulled me into the room holding the bath - there stood a full length mirror and he tugged me so I stood in front of him. "See?"
Was that me? Pale and large green eyes, red hair twisted and pinned in place with a plain set of picks - which now made far more sense to me than when Loki chose them in my rooms in Asgard - the attire he'd turned my gown into looked very similar to what Margaret and Elizabeth had worn. High necked, lacy white blouse, with a dark blue blue, tight sleeved coat over it. The skirt was the same dark blue, but there was a flounce that made sitting interesting to say the least, and my shoes, even though the skirt hid them from view, were buttoned and heeled - different from the ones I'd put on before leaving. I didn't look TERRIBLE, but I also didn't look like ME.
"Well?" My eyes met his in the reflection and I bit my lip. If I didn't look like myself, then what could be said for how Loki looked? His dark hair - was the mist and dampness the cause of the slight curls I saw? Instead of layers of Asgardian leather, he wore black on black, with the barest hint of white peeking out at me - his shirt, under a tie, vest, and coat as dark as the darkest starless night. "Sigyn?" His coat length matched the outer layer of his normal attire, but the rest? So strange.
"We look like strangers," I finally answered, and his smile returned. "Who are we, my prince?"
"Shall we make up names?" He asked, letting his fingers slide down my fully clothed arms, my urge to get rid of the clothing being diverted for a moment. "Since we're newlywed Midardians, should we have names to match?"
My mouth was dry, as though we HAD walked the entire way from where we'd appeared. "What name would you give me, Loki?" I watched him in the mirror, his eyes were on my head, my neck, my skin. "What would you call me?"
I should have seen it, so obvious that it should have felt like he was screaming it, but I didn't, not until he turned me to face him - not when his eyes, so blue I felt like maybe I was finally going to fulfill my thirst - locked onto mine, his head lowered and as his breath, nowhere near as hot as mine blew across my face, I finally heard precisely what he wanted to call me -
"Mine," it was half plea and half growl, and then his lips finally met mine, and I wondered why we had to wait until we left Asgard. And then his tongue touched mine and I stopped thinking all together.