Pushing Buttons

Always Pushing

Why the All-Father had extended an invitation to a giant was something he couldn't understand. Just looking at Loki made his blood boil. The boy's eagerness was dangerous. He could practically see Asgard crumbling every time that chaotic teen smiled.

And then there was her.

She was a walking disaster, and more of a shadow than an actual person. Following that stupid boy around like a lost puppy. She was a fish out of water—out of her element, out on a limb, and desperate to keep her head down. Try as she might to hide behind her comrade and his intentions, she stood out like a sore thumb.

"Your skills with a bow are pitiful. And walking in a straight line is a personal challenge in and of itself for you," The Aesir jeered, waltzing up to one of the training fields with the full intention of humiliating her. She had taken aim at a target, only to hit the outer edge. It was a complete and stark contrast to the giant next to her, who had a cluster of arrows already embedded within the center ring.

"And here I thought the jötnar were hopeless." Heimdall continued to taunt, pacing behind her as she readied another arrow. "Yet you've managed to set the bar even lower—" Her arrow missed again, and he was practically grinning ear to ear, "Ditzy."

"Just ignore him," Atreus grumbled, "He's just trying to get in your head."

"I know."

She was a very good pretender, or so Heimdall assumed. It was still rather frustrating to him that looking into her eyes produced....nothing. There was no insight as to what was going on inside that scatter-brained head. No visions of her future intentions or those secret truths that she kept tucked away.

It was jarring and even a bit alarming at first. He couldn't name the last time someone had thwarted his abilities. Any who had met a bitter and violent end rather quickly, or were conveniently never heard from again. Whether it was some sort of protection spell conjured up by queen mistletoe, a trick of the Norns, or merely a fluke, he was determined to poke and prod until her secrets came spilling out.

"Don't tell me the retired God of War and his half-breed son allowed you to tag along because they felt sorry for you?"

There was a twitch in her stance, but she continued to ignore him and readied her bow again. Regardless of how minute the reaction, it was fuel to the fire all the same. "Don't call Atreus that," was all she said. But as she took aim, a kick to the shin had her face planting into the mud.

He laughed, circling her like a cat playing with a mouse. "You're really trying to sell that selfless act, aren't you, Ditzy?"

"Hey!" Abandoning his own training, Atreus had turned his weapon onto the Aesir god. "Leave her alone!"

Bifrost eyes turned to Odin's invited guest, though beneath the mocking smile, Heimdall was seething at the mere sight of him. "Do you really expect to shoot me with tha—" He leaned out of the way and caught the arrow midair. Jaw clenching and lips curling into a taut line, he snapped the projectile over his knee and discarded the pieces. Oh he was itching for a fight—to teach this stupid boy that neither he nor his kind were welcome here. He stepped forward, but a hand around his ankle temporarily curbed his anger. He looked down.

Muddy fingers had curled into the fabric of his boots. While her eyes were firm, her strength was almost comical. He scoffed. "Was that really meant to knock me off my feet, Ditzy?"

"Don't do it, Atreus," She warned her companion instead. Her hand slipped from his ankle, and she pushed herself back up, head held high. "He's not worth it."

"Yes, yes listen to your loyal pet, Loki," Heimdall agreed with a cynical chuckle. "After all, mother hen knows best, doesn't she?"

Nothing was ever off limits in Heimdall's eyes. So long as he wormed his way into someone's head and thrust those nasty little hidden truths into the light, he was thrilled. Pushing every button he could find was a talent of his. From servants, to his opponents, and even his own kin, no one was free from his provocation. Especially persistent headaches who tried to hide or ignore him. So it was only natural that when he had found the one button that absolutely drove her up the wall, he abused it to no end.

"You can place a crown on a paper's head, but that doesn't make you a queen, Ditzy."

"Drink in Asgard's splendors while you can! Knowing your luck, you'll croak tomorrow!"

Her insecurities were easy to prey upon. Whether it be the impending doom of her own mortality, her inferiority in comparison to the gods she kept in her company, or her pitiful combat skills. Her negative reactions were genuine, but they never surpassed a glare or a swift "shut up". Push, push, push, he would keep pushing until she snapped—showing her true colors to the world and finally convincing herself that she didn't belong.

"Run home little girl," He taunted during her usual attempt to ignore him, "Run home to mommy and daddy! Oh, wait...there's nothing to run home to, is there?"

She stopped. Her hands had balled into fists, knuckles popping and turned white from the restraint to keep her emotions in check. But with a quick turn of her heel, she threw a punch. Then another, and another.

He laughed, dodging each rage-filled attempt, "What happened to 'He's not worth it', Ditzy? If all I had to do was bring up your dead parents, I would've done it a long time ago." Her hits grew more random and wild, yet he blocked each one, the taunting smile never fading from his face.

Perhaps it was this strategy, or just plain dumb luck that she actually managed to knee him in the stomach. But it was his reflexes that ultimately created an opening for her to make contact with his face.

The resounding slap seemed to echo off the walls. Warmth began to flood the stinging area, but more than anything, he was stunned. He lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the heat and red mark that was undoubtedly forming.

She hit him. She actually hit him.

Her chest heaved and her shoulders shook. Fury had clouded her eyes. But gradually, it began to fade. She stood up straight and took a deep and trembling breath. There were no words spoken, though her unapologetic eyes said everything.

"I hate you."