Thor, 2011 movie, Songbird
May. 20th, 2013 12:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_goldenpathTitle: Songbird
Fandom: post-Thor (2011 movie), post-Avengers (2012 movie)
Character: Loki
Genre: introspective
Summary: Sticks and stones won't hurt... pain can be inside a prison, or inside a mind, which can also be a prison...
Author’s note: another drabble to get me more familiar with Thor/Avengers fandom and to get me back into writing again. Feedback is a wonderful thing.
“I told you so.” His voice is grating, hissing and menacing at the same time. “I told you there would be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he could not find you. Did you really think you were safe under your precious father’s watching eye? No, I must be mistaken. He is not your father, is he? Maybe that is why there was hardly any resistance when he came to get you.”
The prison is a prison, yet it’s not. There are no walls, no chains, no bars, but if Loki takes a few steps, he simply can’t move anymore. If he turns and walks into another direction, his body also freezes. He’s nudged back to the center again, the center of this… holding cell, or room, or whatever it is. He doesn’t even know in what realm he is, where he is…
“You are just like a pretty little songbird,” the Other continues, his voice rasping, wheezing, breathing. “A pathetic little broken songbird, caught and locked up in a cage. What strength is there to you now, Loki Odinson? Ah, excuse me, Laufeyson?”
He feels numb. The Other’s taunting has winded him down, almost retreating into a crevice of his own mind, where the words can hurt him. He’s the God of Mischief, the Trickster, what pain and hurt could these words cause him? But he knows how it hurts. He knows the pain. He uses it himself, to his own benefit, to his own goals: the silken poison of a word, whispered at the right moment, inserted into a susceptible mind, and watching it fester. How many has fallen under his manipulation?
The Other lacks the sophistication of using the words in a smooth way, that will cause grief and defeat, doubt or overconfidence. He speaks the words, with that annoying, slithering, growling voice of his, and there’s no finesse to everything he says.
“Do you think your brother is coming to save you? Your precious stepbrother, the mighty Thor? He thought he lost you once, maybe he thinks now he lost you for good. How will he search for you, when he doesn’t know where to begin? Are you the veritable damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued by another insignificant pawn, only to be crushed by the power of my Master?”
“You are repeating yourself.” Loki sounds tired. There is no darkness in his prison, and there is no light. He hasn’t slept in ages, hasn’t eaten, hasn’t bathed. Yet he doesn’t feel any hunger or thirst, he’s not feeling tired and his body isn’t in need of a bath; he looks pristine and proper, and to make it worse, he’s wearing his battle armor. He didn’t put it on himself. Loki doesn’t look at the Other. Not that he’s intimidated, he just doesn’t want to. It’s not like he has heard or seen anything else the last couple of days. Or months. Or years. He has lost track of all time in this place. “You are boring me.”
“I am not here to provide you entertainment, would-be King of Asgard!” It’s still a shock, however, that the Other can move freely, even inside and outside this weird prison, and Loki visibly startles when the Other appears at his side, so close that he’s forced to look at that distorted face, barely hidden by the dark hood, his mouth and teeth an abomination that can’t be unseen, not in the deepest abyss of one’s mind. “Who do you think you are? You have failed, wannabe King of Asgard! You have led our army into defeat - while we were promised a victory! You are nothing but a songbird with broken wings, a discarded toy lying in a corner, all forgotten!”
“You should not have taken me away,” Loki turns his head. “Even though I was imprisoned, I would have been able to serve your Master better from Asgard than in this place.”
“Asgardian,” the Other screeches, and his hand touches Loki’s face. It’s a hard, cruel touch, his fingertips pressing roughly into the flesh and Loki can’t help but gasp. All of the blood drains from his face, and a familiar cold rises up, freezing his veins, coloring his skin an icy cold blue. “Liar! You do not want to serve. There is no one you serve but yourself, Loki Laufeyson. You gambled and you lost. You are not even Asgardian. You are not even Jotun.”
“I am Loki,” he protests, but the force of the Other’s hand on his face is something he can’t fight. It’s driving him mad; is the Other really pushing his hand down on him, or not? He feels the weight, he feels the strength, but when Loki moves up his hand, the only thing he sees are his own fingers. “I. am. Loki!”
“And that is why you will perish.” A grin, a twisted smile. The Other is outside his prison again, calm and composed. “You have nothing left, Trickster. You tricked yourself into a corner, and now there is no way you can get out again.”
Loki refuses to clench his fists, refuses to show any sign of distress. He has heard these words over and over again, why do they sound different now? Is this Thanos’ way of torturing him, by repeating the same words, to send the Other to tell him over and over again that Thor will not be coming, that there will be someone out there to care for him…?
“I know,” he growls, finally. He knows that Thor won’t be coming. He knows that he has failed to lead the army, due to the Avengers’ interference. And maybe he is a would-be King… but does he deserve this all? Hasn’t it all started with the lies of the All-Father, who never told him of his true parentage, until it was too late? Hasn’t it all started with Thor, whose shadow he walked in all the time? And he knows he’s still waiting for Thor, a faint little hope, a small piece of his heart, waiting desperately for his brother to come rescue him. “I know.”
The Other fades away in front of his eyes. As soon as he’s gone, Loki falls to his knees. No tears, no screams, just utter silence as he rocks himself back and forth. One day, Thanos will come to execute his revenge for Loki’s failure. He doesn’t care, he’s not afraid. He’s looking forward to having his bones broken, his body tortured and in pain, being send to Hel and back again. Everything but those words, those cursed words that are sung by the sweetest little songbird in his mind, hooking into every nerve and fiber of his soul, echoing softly until the end of time.
--------------------
Fandom: post-Thor (2011 movie), post-Avengers (2012 movie)
Character: Loki
Genre: introspective
Summary: Sticks and stones won't hurt... pain can be inside a prison, or inside a mind, which can also be a prison...
Author’s note: another drabble to get me more familiar with Thor/Avengers fandom and to get me back into writing again. Feedback is a wonderful thing.
“I told you so.” His voice is grating, hissing and menacing at the same time. “I told you there would be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he could not find you. Did you really think you were safe under your precious father’s watching eye? No, I must be mistaken. He is not your father, is he? Maybe that is why there was hardly any resistance when he came to get you.”
The prison is a prison, yet it’s not. There are no walls, no chains, no bars, but if Loki takes a few steps, he simply can’t move anymore. If he turns and walks into another direction, his body also freezes. He’s nudged back to the center again, the center of this… holding cell, or room, or whatever it is. He doesn’t even know in what realm he is, where he is…
“You are just like a pretty little songbird,” the Other continues, his voice rasping, wheezing, breathing. “A pathetic little broken songbird, caught and locked up in a cage. What strength is there to you now, Loki Odinson? Ah, excuse me, Laufeyson?”
He feels numb. The Other’s taunting has winded him down, almost retreating into a crevice of his own mind, where the words can hurt him. He’s the God of Mischief, the Trickster, what pain and hurt could these words cause him? But he knows how it hurts. He knows the pain. He uses it himself, to his own benefit, to his own goals: the silken poison of a word, whispered at the right moment, inserted into a susceptible mind, and watching it fester. How many has fallen under his manipulation?
The Other lacks the sophistication of using the words in a smooth way, that will cause grief and defeat, doubt or overconfidence. He speaks the words, with that annoying, slithering, growling voice of his, and there’s no finesse to everything he says.
“Do you think your brother is coming to save you? Your precious stepbrother, the mighty Thor? He thought he lost you once, maybe he thinks now he lost you for good. How will he search for you, when he doesn’t know where to begin? Are you the veritable damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued by another insignificant pawn, only to be crushed by the power of my Master?”
“You are repeating yourself.” Loki sounds tired. There is no darkness in his prison, and there is no light. He hasn’t slept in ages, hasn’t eaten, hasn’t bathed. Yet he doesn’t feel any hunger or thirst, he’s not feeling tired and his body isn’t in need of a bath; he looks pristine and proper, and to make it worse, he’s wearing his battle armor. He didn’t put it on himself. Loki doesn’t look at the Other. Not that he’s intimidated, he just doesn’t want to. It’s not like he has heard or seen anything else the last couple of days. Or months. Or years. He has lost track of all time in this place. “You are boring me.”
“I am not here to provide you entertainment, would-be King of Asgard!” It’s still a shock, however, that the Other can move freely, even inside and outside this weird prison, and Loki visibly startles when the Other appears at his side, so close that he’s forced to look at that distorted face, barely hidden by the dark hood, his mouth and teeth an abomination that can’t be unseen, not in the deepest abyss of one’s mind. “Who do you think you are? You have failed, wannabe King of Asgard! You have led our army into defeat - while we were promised a victory! You are nothing but a songbird with broken wings, a discarded toy lying in a corner, all forgotten!”
“You should not have taken me away,” Loki turns his head. “Even though I was imprisoned, I would have been able to serve your Master better from Asgard than in this place.”
“Asgardian,” the Other screeches, and his hand touches Loki’s face. It’s a hard, cruel touch, his fingertips pressing roughly into the flesh and Loki can’t help but gasp. All of the blood drains from his face, and a familiar cold rises up, freezing his veins, coloring his skin an icy cold blue. “Liar! You do not want to serve. There is no one you serve but yourself, Loki Laufeyson. You gambled and you lost. You are not even Asgardian. You are not even Jotun.”
“I am Loki,” he protests, but the force of the Other’s hand on his face is something he can’t fight. It’s driving him mad; is the Other really pushing his hand down on him, or not? He feels the weight, he feels the strength, but when Loki moves up his hand, the only thing he sees are his own fingers. “I. am. Loki!”
“And that is why you will perish.” A grin, a twisted smile. The Other is outside his prison again, calm and composed. “You have nothing left, Trickster. You tricked yourself into a corner, and now there is no way you can get out again.”
Loki refuses to clench his fists, refuses to show any sign of distress. He has heard these words over and over again, why do they sound different now? Is this Thanos’ way of torturing him, by repeating the same words, to send the Other to tell him over and over again that Thor will not be coming, that there will be someone out there to care for him…?
“I know,” he growls, finally. He knows that Thor won’t be coming. He knows that he has failed to lead the army, due to the Avengers’ interference. And maybe he is a would-be King… but does he deserve this all? Hasn’t it all started with the lies of the All-Father, who never told him of his true parentage, until it was too late? Hasn’t it all started with Thor, whose shadow he walked in all the time? And he knows he’s still waiting for Thor, a faint little hope, a small piece of his heart, waiting desperately for his brother to come rescue him. “I know.”
The Other fades away in front of his eyes. As soon as he’s gone, Loki falls to his knees. No tears, no screams, just utter silence as he rocks himself back and forth. One day, Thanos will come to execute his revenge for Loki’s failure. He doesn’t care, he’s not afraid. He’s looking forward to having his bones broken, his body tortured and in pain, being send to Hel and back again. Everything but those words, those cursed words that are sung by the sweetest little songbird in his mind, hooking into every nerve and fiber of his soul, echoing softly until the end of time.
no subject
Date: 2013-05-20 07:22 pm (UTC)This was beautifully written, my dear. There is just so much aching emotion in it, and you really drive it home. Bravo. Simply bravo.
My only nitpick is this right here:
You have failed, wane-be King of Asgard!
I think you mean "wannabe King of Asgard"? I might be wrong. (On a side note, "false King of Asgard" also could work.) Please feel free to correct me if I'm mistaken.
no subject
Date: 2013-05-20 09:29 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for reading and commenting dear, that means a lot to me. I corrected the mistake, I was indeed going for 'wannabe', I guess I fumbled a little when typing. ^__^