Event Log - Love at the Lake

[lucetimods]

Who: All you people, can't you see, can't you see?
What: Part two of el evento del amor, the lake festival
When: March 1st
Where: The Southern Lake
Summary: An absolutely ordinary week in Luceti ends on a high note, with a festival to tickle everyone's fancy.
Rating: up to PG-13, or take it off-comm please

Comments

[complicatedliar]

[That scowl really just tells Loki that he has found a mortal who desperately wants to be poked with a sharp stick. He's game.]

Killed twice. It seems so unnecessary. Perhaps the first time didn't take.

[wipesfaith]

[That almost seems too weirdly specific to be a throw-away remark - his mind jumps to Marco, immediately - but there's no way it could be anything else. He'll go for a basket of cheese curds and wave it at Loki, a bit too far into his personal space.]

Most of this stuff wasn't alive to begin with.

So are you gonna take something or just stand here spouting philosophical bullshit?

[complicatedliar]

So touchy. Isn't this supposed to be a merry gathering?

[Yeah, he is not a fan of this personal space invasion thing. But for now all he does is, lightning quick, reach out to flick one of the curds toward Jean's face.]

Perhaps this food has its vengeance by making short lives even shorter. [He read that somewhere, he's fairly certain, that mortals die from eating too much grease. Too bad that didn't take out Asgardians as well, he'd have fewer people to annoy him. But more importantly, perhaps pointing that out will about this fellow more. Since he's being so very easy to needle.]

[wipesfaith]

[No time to dodge, or do much of anything beyond looking totally caught off guard, so the cheese curd bounces greasily off his shoulder and plops to the ground. He'll get the hint and withdraw the basket from Loki's personal space, still not dropping the scowl.]

Food is one of the last things I'm worried about killing me. [And he pops one in his mouth, chewing, letting the greasy cheesy goodness ooze out.]

[complicatedliar]

That look on your face could curdle milk. You probably ought to be concerned with poisoning yourself.

Do you have quite a few things out to kill you?

[wipesfaith]

[He just glares at that remark concerning his face, mouth still full, chewing, swallowing.] Not really [not here], but I've learned to expect the unexpected. [It's a lesson he's still learning, really, because it's not something that one catches onto all at once.]

I'm mostly just saying food means survival, not death. [Coming from a world where starvation outweighs obesity...]

[complicatedliar]

There are a great many people here who would like to kill you, really. Though I should think most of them dwell on the other side of that barrier for now.

[He laughs.]

You must not come from a place with many assassins.

[wipesfaith]

Yeah, there's them. [Meaning the Third Party, of course.] They're on the other side of the barrier, but the key word there is "for now." [Or two words. Whatever. He can't help but notice that Loki says "most" of them.]

Can't see what anyone would gain from assassinating me. ...Dunno if it would count as an assassination anyway. [Important people get assassinated; if he were killed, it would just be called a murder.]

[complicatedliar]

They have been inside the barrier before. Don't count it as sacrosanct.

You're not nearly important enough for assassination.

[wipesfaith]

I know that. [On both counts, although he's not sure what sacrosanct means.]

I'm not an idiot, and I'm not nearly that arrogant.

[complicatedliar]

Aren't you? Oh. That's nice to know. [As if this is surprising news.]

[Loki relieves a passing person of an as-yet untouched cup of hot chocolate. He sniffs at it delicately.]

Well, I'm glad to know I haven't had an idiot in my stable.

[wipesfaith]

[He grits his teeth, trying to bite back his annoyance.]

Your stable? [He had of course seen this asshole at the stable - it was unavoidable, really, with each of them keeping a horse there - but he always tried to avoid exchanging words with him.] Last time I checked, the owner is a woman.

[complicatedliar]

[Oho. Silly boy.]

The stable was left to me by the man who built it, Greg. My lady and I own it in equal shares now because we are well aware one of us might be indisposed or sent away at any time.

[Sweet smile.] So as I said. My stable.

[wipesfaith]

[There's a flash of surprise, but it settles into something much drier.]

...I find it really hard to believe you have a lady. [Someone can stand being around this guy??? Someone out there is willing to kiss this guy?????????]

[complicatedliar]

How lucky for me that your belief means nothing.

[He grins.]

You ought to go talk to Rogue and cast aspersions on her taste. I'm certain she'd love to hear that.

[He sniffs at the hot chocolate again.] Hm.

[wipesfaith]

It's none of my business what she does!

[He's just sayin'. Meanwhile, he's been steadily gobbling up those cheese curds.]

You pick the flavor 8D

[complicatedliar]

Indeed, but you're rude about it anyway, Grumpyson.

Don't have a lady of your own?

[Finally, he sips the hot chocolate, then grimaces.] Or a strapping man?

plain?

[wipesfaith]

No. [Quick, in the way that suggests something to hide.]

Not that it's any of your business.