BACKOFFBUB.
“Yeah, tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”
Eyes travel down to the wooden floorboards where a puddle is growing beneath Thor’s feet. One brow arching in annoyance, Logan sighs and steps back, but not enough to let the guy in. “Wait here.”
He disappears, but for less than a minute, and returns with a few towels. “If you make a mess I’m not takin’ the blame. Dry off, leave your boots by the door and come on in.”
“Fair,” he concedes, simple and certain without a trace of disagreement. One’s home and hearth were sacred; it was always so ------ and Thor knew well how Loki prized the sanctity of this tradition even as he scorned most others. His mantle is thus discarded, left like a wilted banner hung over the baluster of the porch. Mjölnir, too, is left in Thor’s wake; both sentry and insurance for the family he visits. Inside, his boots ( strangely the only source of reluctance which Thor suffered toward separation ) are left by the door, beside a coat rack and closet.
Loki is not here; he senses nothing of his seiðr or his mood. It is difficult to envision him and his fickle footfalls here, walking the same entry hall and passing into the living room. The chairs and kitchen and stairs. Thor catches sight of an unmistakable toy half-hidden beneath the coffee table, set with a book, an empty mug, a hair tie. He has not seen Loki in near a mortal decade and had presumed him gone, fled to some nameless Realm beyond Heimdall’s gaze. To have discovered him here, after all this time ------ Thor’s gaze settles on an empty space upon the wood floor beneath his feet... and he can find nothing of great worth to say.
