brandingproblem | au shenanigans for icasm

"I get that it's complicated." He doesn't know what it's like, obviously, but he can get that it's fucking complicated to be raised as one thing only to find out you are wholly another, an Other thing that is near universally despised in some fashion. "But if you want to be like this around me, it's not gonna scare me off."

Banner turns into a giant green hulking beast with a personality and mind of his own. This is nothing in comparison.

"Why's the statuary like that?"

"It is. But you're unlikely to see another. And it is... me."

Unlike Banner, he does not have the excuse of a strict alter-ego to blame on his poor choices and bad behaviors. But he does feel like there is less baggage in being a creature whose overall look he has so little control over.

As thought it were more honest, by design.

Like that has him furrowing his brow for a moment, trying to place the question and then its answer. "Oh, I saw it once in the gardens of the sultans of Krylor Five. I thought it was beautiful, and fitting. I never learned what caused it, or how they came to be that way. If it were design or chemistry or some other thing."

A shrug. He's always been a melodramatic thing.

"You change your looks all the time when you're out and about." When Loki meets up with the kids, when they're in public, when Loki looks like anyone but himself but makes sure all the Bartons can identify him immediately at a glance. "But obviously it's your looks to do with as you want."

The fact that he thought there might be more explanation to the statues means that maybe, maybe he gives Loki a little too much credit. They are gothic and dramatic and sad, therefore it appeals to him. Of course that's the reasoning, and Clint actually gives a scoffing cough of a laugh about it.

If Loki looks, there in the corner, there might just be a lopsided snowman that wasn't there before.

"Show me more."

Another shrug. He's decided not to be bothered: by the shift to frost giant, by Clint's insistence that he do what makes him comfortable (the Hel is that, even? conceptually?), by the presence of that lopsided snow monstrosity claiming to be a 'man' off in the corner. Yes, he noticed it. No, he doesn't care, even though it's uglier than sin and not on purpose.

It reminds him of the Bartons. The one here and the ones sleeping elsewhere.

"There's a maze, here." If Barton wants to literally get lost, but Loki suspects that wouldn't exactly be the case. "With a temple at the center. That's about all that's left out here."

"More of the library, then? Now that seems like a maze. To me. Or." His brow furrows. "Am I overstepping? I already fucked up your orgy thing; I don't necessarily want to mess anything else up. We could just...I don't know. Talk until we wake up. Or figure out more stuff I can do in dreams."

Has he realized he's done anything at all? Seems unlikely.

Loki shakes his head a little. "Your presence is no longer a disruption." In part because Loki has decided to roll with it; as long as Clint is with him, whatever he sees or touches or interacts with is fine. Loki will see to it. "Besides, the orgy was mostly an exercise in the comingling of praise and self-pity. Not much was lost.

There is the library, which is still a little more dangerous than being out here, or there are my rooms. You've seen the hall. That's all there is, really, or at least most of the time."

He rises to his feet and points at the snowman. "Do you think I summoned that into being?"

The library was spooky and spectacular, and he wouldn't mind seeing more of that. Loki's rooms might be more...intimate, a reason he hadn't followed before. But he hasn't seen any of that. So maybe that, for some small sake of completion.

But then there's the snowman, which he's pretty sure wasn't there, but then again, it's kind of tucked away. It's hardly perfect or pristine. Looks--

"You could have," he says, casual, careful though. "Building snowmen with the kids. That'd be a memory to cherish." The image of it seems to fade, stutter, like it isn't completely solid, like it might disappear.

"You could show me your rooms," he moves on, maybe a little too quickly.

Loki doesn't understand what he reads to be Clint's fear about what's happening here. Is it power? Is it about power over Loki? He knows that prying won't necessarily net him an answer that makes any more sense than the things he's observed, but he does wave a hand toward the snowman —— you he thinks at it, are not to go ANYWHERE — and then he and Clint are on their feet and moving toward the doors to the library once more.

There's no rules that state they have to traverse one to reach the other, but Loki knows Clint was fascinated by the library and he wishes to see the other man there; there's nothing to say they can't visit both locations.

So. Inside, first, and then into the library, which is markedly less freezing than the first time Clint was here.

Clint frowns, but his voice is amused. "Did you just talk to the snowman?"

Not with his voice, but. There was Something.

Probably good that Loki doesn't ask, at least not immediately, because Clint does not have any answers at all, least of all satisfying ones. The library is, of course, far more interesting than any half-assed snowman. Clearly! Because now it's less threatening, and he feels like he's allowed to explore things now. The distant screaming sounds are a little unsettling, yeah, but it's kind of background noise at this point.

"It's not gonna mess anything in your head up if I start...doing anything? Pulling books? Poking around?" Because he's already reaching for the spine of one with an ornate runic design he can't decipher in brilliant silver.

"It seems likely." Completely unaffected air you've got there, Loki, but; Look. He may not have put it here but it's here now and here it shall remain. Clint made it happen (whether or not he wants to admit it or likes that truth) and Loki loves Clint, so.

It. Stays. Put.

He remains a frost giant when they're inside, which is more a mark of how comfortable he is with Clint knowing his secrets as they are and having less to do with how cold the library may or may not be still. "Purposefully damaging the books would probably be painful in a way I wouldn't enjoy, but I doubt you'd do that anyway." Plus the library would likely defend itself from such an attack as it stands. "It should be fine. I'll let you know if anything feels... off, I suppose."

Mostly he wants to stand there and watch Clint handle the binding, the pages, moving drawings of things Loki knows, places he's been, people he's met and encountered along the way. This is a book of languages; the faces in it are of those who taught or opened the door for Loki to learn a new dialect, to expand the AllSpeak, to study the written word as it was intended to be understood.

It's a pretty heavy tome.

It is heavy. And, funnily enough, the words inside of it are indecipherable to him. Which may be because there are so many different languages, or it could be the library attempting to protect Clint from himself. Literal centuries of knowledge do not necessarily belong in a mortal human's head.

And immortal human, well. Save that for later.

But even if the specific words are impossible for him to read, he still understands the gist of it. As is what tends to happen in a dream, he realizes. There's a joke to be had that this is a hint, that they need to sort out their god damn communication issues. But he's not going to be the one to say it, and puts it back.

He plucks another at seemingly random, a few rows down. This one is slighter, a balmy blue, and full of--weather facts and figures. Details on the constant volcanic rains on Cyrellus, the volatile silver seas of Ganid, the hottest and coldest days ever recorded in the history of Asgard's existence. He flips to a page on snowy Iowa days, near the very end of the book. By sheer coincidence. Surely. Clint smirks and slots it back.

Lets his fingers trail along the spines as he ambles down the aisle. There's so much. And it's all so beautiful.

The next is a little black book. Literally. "Oh, is this a universal concept?" he jokes.

Surprise, it's details on the mating rituals of serpents through the universe!

"Nnnnnevermind."

Loki chuckles a little; he can't help it at all, not really. Is that where any of those books belong? The language one, yes, perhaps, but the book on weather should be several aisles over while the tome on snake sex (appropriately black as it is bound) should be much farther afield. What's happening, Loki guesses, is that he thinks of certain things when Clint is around. Snakes and arrows and cornfield skies. The difficulty of communication (yes, he caught the hint, thanks). The pervasive desire for touch, sex, connection between himself and this man.

Sex as a snake is definitely a form of communal connection. It would be easier than this dance they've engaged in now, certainly, but perhaps not as much fun in the long run.

"You don't like snakes?" A raised eyebrow.

He tosses it at Loki's head. Knowing that it will be caught, or magicked away.

"I'm starting to think your dewey decimal system is really fucked." does loki even know what that is "Or your brain's giving us hints. Free association, maybe."

He's...more cautious with the next book. Literally flips right into the middle, and it's instructions on how to tango.

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

Caught, easily, and then shelved behind him.

"My what now?" No, he doesn't, he's not an ancient Earth librarian after all, "I'm going to presume that is some method of organization and you being here has made things more... flexible, in terms of its location in the library. So no, I'm not doing it on purpose. Ask it for what you want," he offers, extending a blue hand towards the stacks, "otherwise it will continue filtering through my own thoughts as you literally rifle through whatever is at the top of my mind at the moment."

"What makes you think your brain library is going to listen to-"

Oh. Because Loki is head over heels attached to one Clint Barton. Why wouldn't something inside Loki's brain listen to Clint?

He purses his lips, slots the dance book back, keeps staring at Loki, holds out his hand to press it against the stack. Like thinking it is going to summon it right to his hand like Mjolnir. What does he want to know? Or, what does he want to see that's in Loki's memory bank? Something Clint would recognize. Archery? Does Loki know anything about the use of a bow and arrow?

His hand starts to move of its own accord, then stops. Archery's too obvious, too simple. Grew up a prince, probably learned hunting when young. Something else. The family. Knowledge and thoughts and feelings on the Barton clan. His hand starts to move again, in a different direction. Stops again.

Because that could be a very bad idea. His fingers flex, and he closes his eyes. Fine. Something more neutral.

Had dance. What about music? Instruments and the playing thereof.

He takes a few steps, eyes still closed, hand reaching down to pluck a new book out. Images of instruments, many he doesn't fully recognize. Bits of sheet music.

Somewhere in the distance, music begins to play. If Clint stops to think about it, he's pretty sure he'd recognize it.

Loki doesn't recognize the song, which is saying something... it must be from some part of Clint's past that Loki wasn't a part of, or some event where there was music but Loki wasn't there? Either way, he's not displeased, it isn't bad music, it's just interesting, and Loki tilts his head a little to better catch the snatches of it.

He knows where it would be loudest: the hall/ballroom/location of the former orgy. That is where all celebrations are loudest. But it could also be centered in his own rooms. That, he supposes, depends on how comfortable Clint is thinking about that particular location right now.

"What is your favorite type of dance?" He could ask Clint's favorite instrument but the man might say 'bass guitar' and Loki will have to groan into the next millenia.

Good beat, energy. Clint's not trying to pay attention, but he is tapping his foot. The question catches him off guard. "Type of dance?" Jesus, are there all that many? "The kind where you move to music, I don't know, I like a good club scene just fine. Slow dancing when appropriate."

One day, Loki decides, he will expose this man to some blessed culture. Or at least the proper terms for the things he likes. Loki also enjoys a good club scene, but for very different reasons, and while this is good music to move to it's not quite that.

"Did you ever learn to dance or has it always just been a matter of the heart meets rhythm?"

"Learned a little waltzing during SHIELD training, went undercover at a fancy shindig. Not usually my place." He sees better from a distance, after all. Nat usually did the up close and personal. "I feel like most dancing should just be natural, go with the rhythm. But what would I know? There's a reason you've got a memory dream book on dancing. I've never done the tango in my life. I'm sure you've got some Asgardian folk dances in there somewhere."

"Waltzing is good." Loki's mouth raises in a half-smile and he shrugs. "The folk dances were mostly lost to the atrocities that were courtly dances by the time Ragnarok rolled around, but waltzing is a perennial favorite. Tango might be fun, actually. It's up close fast dancing. I have memory dream books on dancing because I love dancing and because I'm obsessed with knowing and learning things."

"Well, you definitely know...a lot of things." Given the size of the library and all. From there, he kind of fades off. Because he doesn't know shit for shit about any formal dancing, so he doesn't feel like he can comment on it other than waltzing is constantly counting 'one two three, one two three' in your head. Flips a few more pages, shelves the music book. Tries not to suddenly feel very small in the shadow of a millennium and change of knowledge. "Never seen you dance."

"Your children have." Clubbing, parties, that kind of thing. Loki's smile is soft, fond. The music changes; a tune that seems ever fluid, the sort of thing you absolutely love but won't be able to quite remember the next morning.

Loki pushes himself off from the bookcase behind him, extending a hand out toward Clint. "Will you dance with me? I promise you won't have to count."

"Sounds like we should be going to parties more often then."

It's a joke. Kind of. Sometimes he wonders if it's maybe, maybe time he just let Loki into his life more fully. Not like he'll be getting rid of the god anytime soon. Or ever. They belong to each other, and there's no fixing or changing that.

He eyes the hand. This doesn't seem like a joke or any attempt at humiliation. Loki looks, feels, like this might be a genuine good time. Considers it a moment longer before finally taking the offer. "Show me what you've got."

"I would like that." Not much reason to be coy about it; he enjoys spending time with the Bartons, he is connected to Clint, he loves parties. Dancing, dressing up, showing out. What's not to like?

The music swells. The bookcases move to make room. It's just them and Loki more or less likes it that way, for now. In the waking world, things are different.

He'll take every moment he can steal with abandon.

There's no leading or following in this dance. It's not slow but not so fast as to end up out of breath too fast. The music teaches the steps; this is dream logic, yes, but also the truth of this particular trip of composition.

Loki has always loved this dance. It changes every time. And Clint doesn't step on his toes even once.

The kind of dance where he might remember the moves on hearing the music again or when his mind is far away but not necessarily when he tries to pluck out the memory specifically. As dreams do. Though naturally one as deft as he would make sure not to step on toes even if he doesn't dance with any formality. Too mindful of his own body for that.

His outfit, too, changes. Out of the robe offered as cover and into jeans, a tee, both tighter and dipping lower on his body than he normally wears casually, looking a little more ready to pick up some attention at a club than work on another addition to the house.

It's fun, is the thing he thinks he's surprised about the most. Not that dancing is fun, of course it is, but it's Loki. In his odd mindspace with the moving shelves, the air having enough of a chill to keep from getting too warm from the moving, and the music feels like it's going through him rather than hanging around overhead. It feels good, better than a room of fake orgiastic glory for how much more real this feels. Which is going to feel silly on waking, but how else could he describe it rather than Real and Not Real?

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