brandingproblem | au shenanigans for icasm

There's a carnival of some kind going on here.

That's what originally drew Loki's attention to this place. Games of chance (more or less), fried foods, bright colors. Loud children and families. It's bright and colorful and much more along the lines of what Loki would be interested in seeing than the things that his father and brother are up to right now. Politicking and feats of amazing strength, etcetera, etcetera.

Loki ditched that scene almost as fast as he could. Was he interested in other realms? Definitely. But he wanted to know about the people, not the governments or the ones who had all the power. Eventually they would die off, or the people would replace them, and things would change. Boring in the extreme.

Ultimately, though, Loki finds himself wandering beyond the borders of the carnival towards some fields, following an odd but familiar sound. Odd because he knows what it is — the sound of an arrow being loosed and then striking a target, or at least various targets — but not how it's happening to be here. On Midgard. In the 1980s or whatever their calendar reads.

(One of the hardest parts of traveling between realms is that there is not any sort of unified calendar. Loki gets it but hates it simultaneously.)

The point is, Midgardians have broadly moved on from archery and arrows to metal projectiles, Loki knows to be true. So it's weird that anyone could do it in the first place, much less strike a target with as much frequency as Loki hears. So it's weird. A puzzle to be solved. Loki moves silently through sparse woods and fields of grain alike until he reaches the source of the sounds: a man, no, a boy closer to his own age equivalent, surrounded by targets made of various materials. Some bottles, some actual targets, some just... various and sundry objects, held aloft by heavy string or rope.

It's impressive, the amount of skill he (Loki is guessing at the pronouns) has in the first place. In an outmoded technology, at that. He doesn't miss a single shot he takes, in the ten, fifteen minutes Loki spends watching, and it's doubtful that any of the earlier shots were misses either.

Something happens as Loki watches him. Stares at the way his muscles move underneath his shirt, the form his body takes as he draws the bow. It's a buzzing in his head, a weight in his stomach. He wants to stand behind the other boy, to run his fingers across his shoulders as he pulls the bowline taut. Wants to gather some of the sweat at his brow on his fingertips and see how it tastes.

Now. Loki is neither sheltered nor a fool, despite his age; Thor has had an interest in various people of an assortment of genders, defined and otherwise by this point, much to Odin's amusement and Frigga's concern, but Loki has never felt interested enough in anyone to bother entertaining them, or the idea of their naked bodies in his presence. Before today.

The other boy has stopped shooting while Loki has puzzled this new feeling over, he realizes... because, of course, the other boy has to go and collect his arrows from their locations now that his quiver is empty before he can set them loose again, and Loki purposefully decides to step on a twig in order to make his presence known. "You're a good archer," he announces, raising his eyebrows. "I didn't know people bothered learning how, here, anymore." He gives a smile that he hopes indicates that he's not a dangerous threat (to this other person). "Hi. I'm Loki."

Of course Clint's drawn to the fairgrounds. They feel next best thing to home. He's already picked plenty of pockets, got enough to get himself some grub and maybe a couple of bus tickets. Not sure where he's going to run off to this time, or when, but the fact that he can go somewhere else is at least alluring. He's played all the games, beat most of them, gave the non-useful prizes away to awed little kids. And then he grabbed his bag of shit and went out to the field where he's got his little setup all--set up.

Adds a few items to the rotation. Some breakable, some that'll last at least a couple shots. Gets his bow, gets his arrows, trains.

And he is both so attuned to everything around him and also in his own little timezone when he's like this. Loses track of time but feels like he's got heightened senses. He hopes it stays like this forever. That he'll only get better. He's incorporating trickshots into his routine, and while he sucks at physics, at math, at all the boring shit his teachers bemoan and berate for, it all seems so simple when it comes to eyeballing trajectory, feeling the wind. He can't translate it into numbers. But he can translate it into the tension of the string, the angle of the arrow, in breaths in his chest.

He's pretty sure he's being watched. Doesn't hear or see anything at first, doesn't go looking, but just that prickle at the back of the neck, that sixth sense. So when the newcomer makes noise to officially announce his presence, Clint doesn't loose an arrow into the boy's shoulder for his trouble. Just looks over his shoulder as he tugs an arrow from an old tractor trailer tire tilted against a tree, shoves it in the quiver.

"I'm a great archer," he corrects. "People still hunt with bows. And archery's still a sport." Rolls his shoulders, grabs a few more that have gone through their targets and landed half buried in the dirt. "Fair's still going strong back the way you came. This isn't a prize game."

"I know where the... fair is," a dismissive handwave behind him that is still unerringly in the correct direction, "I'm not interested in that anymore." He hadn't thought of challenging the other boy to a contest if skill — too fascinated in the moment, clearly — but it's not the worst idea ever presented to him. "You are a great archer, but. You don't know me. I could… make you flee for your coin." Is that how that phrase works? Nose wrinkle. "Besides. If it was a prize game what would I even win?" Said offhandedly in the tone of someone who is pretending very hard to seem bored when they are the complete opposite. "Your name, maybe? Hm. You could lie, though. You think I'm just some dumb kid.

Something more real, then. Three truths."

Loki dematerializes in a poof of green and gold sparks before reappearing a little closer, pulling one of the arrows embedded deep in tree bark with ease. "We could use your bow. Each of us sets the targets for the other. Or just points and decides. No magic, no tricks. Three truths. If we tie, we both share."

He offers the arrow to the other boy. "Or we could not. You could just tell me."

The second Loki says 'flee for your coin' is when Clint stops paying as much attention to his wayward arrows and more to the fellow boy. Brow furrowed. And then he just...keeps talking? In the strangest fucking way? Opens his mouth to argue that he doesn't think Loki is just some dumb kid, that he doesn't think anything about him, but he's starting to think he's a weirdo who needs picked up by whatever guardian he wandered away from--but Loki keeps talking, and Clint's brow keeps furrowing.

And then the motherfucker uses some kind of genuine actual magic, and Clint startles back several steps.

His bow is half raised. He does not take the arrow. Looks at it suspiciously like it's going to disappear (and find itself embedded suddenly in his back). Looks at Loki.

"What the fuck are you? Did I step in a damn fairy circle?"

"I'm Asgardian, not a fairy. Which doesn't mean much to Midgardians like you, in this part of this planet..." Loki twirls the arrow on his fingertips since the other boy is clearly resistant to taking it back, rotating it around with speed and grace like one might a switchblade. "You would probably have to go, ah, further northwest than this continent can reach to find people who'd recognize the word alone as what it is anymore." He shrugs and changes hand with the arrow, still twirling. "Godhood is weird like that."

Loki gives Clint a slightly more genuine smile. Mischievous and perhaps a little shy, all things considered. "Anyway, you should tell me your name. It's only fair; i told you mine. I haven't even lied at all and I usually do because people are so boring sometimes, especially when you first meet them."

He's watching the arrow, because those are some impressive moves. Even if the words coming out don't make much sense to him. "Loki's a viking god, I think." It sounds kind of dumb when he says it, though. Because the kid fucking poofed himself around. Was that actual magic, or like...stage magic? What even is an Asgard and a Midgard?

His hand lashes out suddenly, snatching he arrow from Loki mid-spin. "If you're looking for not-boring, I don't know why you came to the ass end of nowhere." No one should come here. Everyone should be struggling to leave. What is with this guy? "If I say my name's Clint, do you have any reason to believe me?"

Loki's eyes go a little wide when Clint snatches the arrow from him. A bit of shock plus some admiration with a dash of refusal to pout. "Yes, that's true. Not many vikings left now, or at least not people calling themselves that. Plus some of the modern intense worshippers are kind of crazed, even for me."

Nazis. It's Nazis he's thinking of.

"Clint. Is it short for something? Why are you out here alone? Do you live by yourself? You don't like it here, and it is boring on this planet.

Maybe you should see a different one."

"You ask a lot of questions, Loki the Asgardian." It'd be a lot more suspicious if he was an adult. This kid can't be much older than him.

He sets the quiver down to make quick work of the rest of the arrows, grabbing them together as a handful and stuffing them in, making sure nothing's broken along the way. "Do I really seem all that interesting for shooting a bow at some shit?" Which, of course, doesn't answer any of the several questions asked of him.

"You're interesting. You can shoot arrows, yes, and that is also interesting but. The why of you being interesting is different."

Loki stays in one spot and watches Clint, hands at his sides. "You must be alone. You haven't said anything about parents or going home. Are you a runaway?"

"Hold still."

Once again, not super interested in answering questions, apparently. Whether Loki holds still or not is not important, because either way, Clint's going to nock an arrow, whirl it on Loki, and fire, in a very short amount of time. A lock of Loki's raven hair is pinned to the tree.

"Are you a runaway? Don't you want to go back northwest and to your Asgard?"

Loki does, in fact, hold still, though one eyebrow is immediately up.

He's rewarded with his momentary patience with the soft swoosh of an arrow going through his hair near his ear. Loki whips his head around to see the hair pinned down to the tree bark.

"I've... sort of run away. I got bored with the politics, I don't think anyone should blame me for that, and I will go home. Eventually. So not really a runaway, like you are."

"That was exciting." Hope you're prepared to keep that lock of hair for the rest of your life Clint, natural or otherwise.

He does seem to be willing to keep the hair, from the way Clint takes some string, wraps it around his prize, shoves the little rabbits foot of Loki hair in his pocket. "I haven't technically run away from my newest foster home yet, but it's only a matter of time."

But, lest Loki get the wrong idea: "They're okay. The family. There's nothing wrong with them, really. Nothing wrong with any of them, it's just kinda not for me, I guess." Clearly just some bum kid slinking his way through the system without getting arrested for his troubles. That's all. Nothing exciting. Nothing interesting. He'll probably end up just like his mom, eventually.

"You should probably go. Back to your politics and whatever."

Loki is clearly pleased by the fact that Clint keeps the lock of his hair. Maybe it means Clint feels it too, the sensation as though the Norns themselves were pounding a gong where his heartbeat should be.

He could ask why they're not for him, the foster families, but instead Loki is trying to figure out how to convince Clint to come back to Asgard with him. Because he knows, with an intensity he couldn't begin to explain, that if he loses track of the other boy due to him running away from this place, due to them living in different realms, due to the passage of time, that it's going to drive Loki a particular sort of mad. The kind where you become obsessed and mean and a bit unhinged.

Maybe that would be best avoided.

Loki has never liked anyone on sight before, or even after a few moments of conversation; he doesn't know if what he's feeling is normal, if it will pass. He'd rather not find out, honestly.

"What if I could promise you adventure? For the rest of your life? In a place very different from this one. Would you want to come with me?"

If asked, he wouldn't say it's anything so dramatic. He wouldn't be able to say what specifically drove him to such a move in the first place. Might have to make something up, but he's just going with the flow. Not making plans.

It does feel like this is one of those Moments, when you make a big decision, when something enormous is about to happen. Just meeting this strange otherworldly kid. Strange otherworldly kid who says something like that, like right out of some kind of fantastic adventure movie or something.

"I'd say it's an empty promise, but I did just see you do your little poofy disappearing reappearing acts, so what do I know?"

He wants to bite something back hat he can go on his own life of adventures, far from here. The money is burning in his pocket. But. He knows, honestly, that he'll probably just spend it on food, a new hoodie, some more shit at the sporting good store if he can afford it. Not a bus ticket. He'll just run off again until he's picked up and faced with worried/disappointed faces, again.

"I don't know anything about you or your life."

"I'm sure you know some things. Midgardian-type things. Archery things." Loki grins, and summons a copy of one of Clint's arrows, though it's green and made of flames. "Magic, though, that's my purview."

Twirling the arrow between his fingers once more Loki considers the things it best for Clint to know before approaching Asgard, even under his protection. "I'm a prince, but the second born, so I will probably never rule. Which I'm okay with because it'll mean I get to do other more fun things instead, in the name of diplomacy. My older brother's name is Thor; he's a little thick sometimes but I'm told 'his heart is in the right place' which I'm supposing means somewhere other than in his chest, where it belongs. Right now he's the worst to spend time with, because he has to go to a million council meetings this season with the Allfather but Mother has forbidden me from helping him to remember his schedule or what each one is for."

By magic, of course.

"I like books. I like magic. I'm best at illusions. I'm smarter than people expect and usually I'm bored with things in general. I can fight, though people often forget because I'm not going to turn out to a berserker like Thor probably will, but I like daggers the way you like your arrows.

What else do you want to know?

It's a life. Sometimes there's nothing to do but there's usually a feast, or a foreign delegation, or someone else's feast. There are festivals like this one here only more wonderful that cover an entire city for days.

Or there are hunts. Tournaments. Quests. That sort of thing."

"So you're a prince of a fairytale land." Is what he's taking away from that. Which still sounds like bullshit, except there's that flaming green arrow being spun around, and Clint is tempted to try and snatch that, too. Would it hurt? Would his hand go right through?

"Daggers mean you fight up close." An observation. "I'm better at a distance. Could be a deadly combo. If you get into actual fights, I guess." He's never been in any kind of life or death fight, not really. Risk getting picked up by the cops for assault with a fucking arrow? No thanks. Picked some fights before punching-wise, though. He's what the state would generously call troubled. "Most of what you said sounds like stick around your home and go to some parties and sometimes hunt. But you promised adventure. What kind of adventures do you go on?"

It's an illusion arrow; it would feel weird but wouldn't burn Clint at all.

"I've gotten into actual fights before." Slightly defensive. Fights he started, most likely, and usually with people who didn't know who his parents were. "Nothing to the death though. Quests are adventures. So are hunts if it's an uncommon prey. Sometimes there are puzzles or riddles to be solved in order to be awarded something." Thor adventures for trinkets; Loki usually is more taken up with the promise of magical artifacts or books on the topic, though he kind of doubts Clint would be as interested.

"Being here is kind of an adventure." It sounds a little pathetic to say so, even to him. He shrugs. "No one will force you to learn quadratic equations or whatever passes for mathematics here, at least."

Edited 2022-12-07 15:11 (UTC)

Clint makes a face at the math part. "I don't have a head for numbers like that. I just know that I'm the best shot there's ever been, and at the rate I'm going, I'll probably end up in the army being a sharpshooter, pick off bad guys in another country overseas or something."

At least he is, at times, realistic.

He flashes his hand out to snatch the illusion arrow, but Loki's seen him move before, can see it coming, and he misses. Not by much, though. "You go on quests a lot, Prince? You and your brother and your king dad?" And then he squints, pulls back. "Are you like...trying to adopt me or something? Cuz that hasn't worked out so far."

Loki grins when Clint attempts for the arrow and misses. The fact that he got that close a second time means he's good. "The Allfather doesn't really quest anymore. He makes appearances in the courts of others, or disguises himself to know the people of a realm better."

The arrow vanishesintoa whiff of green smoke. Loki narrows his eyes at Clint a little. "Not exactly. I don't want another brother. I want us to be friends but I can't stay here and you're obviously miserable and bored here so why not travel somewhere new? Somewhere no Midgardian has been in at least an age."

"Aw man, I wouldn't even be the first?" But he says it with a mischievous little smirk. "I guess that would be okay. I don't have anywhere else I was planning on going." Since 'home' doesn't exist but 'the house' doesn't seem to be an option at the moment. He hefts his quiver, his bow, and his bag.

"Do I click my heels three times, or do you do some kinda magic incantation or what?"

"No." Loki's grin gets a little wider. "I'll ask Heimdall to summon the Bifrost. It might make you a little dizzy though, using it the first time."

He offers a hand out to Clint, and once the other boy takes it, draws a breath. For courage. For... something.

"Heimdall." He knows the Watcher has been fulfilling both title and role. Other than leaving his brother and father behind Loki has been more or less on his best behavior this trip so certainly that shouldn't weigh against him for bringing a mortal home, right?

Right?

Hopefully.

"We want to go back to Asgard. I know Mother will wish to speak with us."

There's a moment in which Loki thinks 'oh no, I'm going to have to properly beg aren't I?' before the ground beneath their feet lights up in runes and he gives Clint's hand a squeeze just as the Bifrost comes crashing down on them in all its technicolor glory.

"Ask whowa to summon the whatnow?" Does not stop from eventually taking Loki's hand, because he's half being a shit (but only half), and if nothing happens, then he's had a memorable encounter, and if something does happen, holy shit his life is about to get wildly interesting.

Loki talks to the air, and at first, nothing, but between breaths, light, nothing but dazzling light. He means to say something, or curse a lot, but he's pretty sure he just screams as he clutches Loki's hand tight and his feet leave the ground like the trippiest alien abduction he could've conjured. It feels like everything is moving around them, and the rainbow of lights swirls around them, and when his feet finally touch something solid again, he's pretty sure his ears are popping and also just, like, everything is still moving in dizzying circles? But he's stopped screaming before that point, so he's mostly just still clinging to the other boy's hand, other hand clinging to the strap of his bag and quiver and bow, eyes darting around.

"What," he says quietly, intently, "the fuuuuoh god, hi-"

That is a very large man in very shiny armor with the biggest fucking sword he's ever seen.

"Heimdall."

The Watcher simply stares at them in silence, which Loki expected, though he does not let go of Clint's hand at any point.

"I've done what you asked of me; I've made a friend." Loki lifts his chin and squares his shoulders as one gets the impression that if Heimdall had pupils he'd be rolling his eyes at these words.

"And in my infinite wisdom I neglected to give you the caveat of not kidnapping mortals to the end of endeavoring towards friendship?"

"... it's not kidnapping if they want to leave," Loki replies sullenly. "And he's important. A worthy champion."

Heimdall's gaze settles on Clint for a moment before he inclines his head in their direction. "You are correct: your Mother wishes to speak with you both.

Welcome to Asgard, Clint Barton, and well met."

"...Hi, um. Hello, Hhhheimdall? How do you know my name?"

"I know many things," he says cryptically, with just enough wryness that it sounds like it could be a joke, or having a private laugh to himself at least. Though if it's supposed to be funny, it goes over Clint's head.

Outside is a long crystalline bridge, and blue skies and white clouds that seem normal save that they are the backdrop to a glimmering kingdom. There's a long drop below, but heights have never scared him.

"You really are a prince, huh? II thought...you might've been pulling my leg." Clint shakes his head a little, but everything is still in front of him just as clear as ever. "You think I'm important?"

Loki grins at Clint. "You're the first person I've never lied to." Yet, anyway, though he doesn't think that hesitating to tell the entire truth as he knows it is quite the same as lying. "You're very important. To me, especially."

He raises his chin and his grin dies down to a shy sort of smile. "I hope you like it here. Come on; Mother will want to talk to both of us. Want to race?"

teenagers.

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