"Loki, I..." Uncertainty is rarely a known look upon the public face of the Thunderer, yet in Loki's presence it forever seems the first to hand; the first to crest his brow in this new and hesitant dance, learning and re-learning steps old and new to know his sister as he thought he had. As he never did. "...I am sorry. For the stag." The jar of his elbow, pounding childhood steps straight to their father, boyhood's eyes wet with tears. Open honesty, solemnity, crowds Thor then, the earnest look of a hand held out, an olive branch extended, where only had been a fist to strike, poison to fleck from the tongue. "Had I known what Father would do, I would not have told him." So he would like to believe.
@avalior
it's an odd thing, the way the past and the present seem so intertwined, how something that happened so long ago can feel as fresh and stinging as the day itself. for a moment, she's wide-eyed, disbelieving—that he'd apologize, after all these years. that he'd give her a vulnerability she wouldn't dare require of him, because it had been her fault, hadn't it? all the aching envy of their childhood together, and she remembered how it had felt to draw the longbow, how excited she'd been to hit the makeshift target they'd set up.
she had only wanted to be better than him at something, just once. loki didn't mark the passing of the animal, would have never wanted to be responsible for the death of anything, much less put it in her brother's hands. it had upset him horribly. one of the only times she'd ever seen him cry as much as she did.
atta evened that score out for them, always did, made it impossible for them to reconcile themselves. but maybe now she can reach out and take the hand offered, even if it's timid and shame-faced, even if all at once the feeling comes up and consumes her and bends her down, down, down, her brow pressed across his knuckles. when was the last time she'd so much as touched him? he, whose presence she could scarcely breathe without? what right does she have to any of this?
"thor." his name is like fresh water, but her shoulders slope and cave with the premonition of weeping. "it was my fault. forgive me. forgive me."
