Frostbite

And the Lion Devours the Sun

Loki stared at her broken reflection around the ice cube in her whiskey glass. Two small braids pulled against the scalp started from above either ear and roped down to her shoulders to be lost in the inky sea of the rest of her loose hair. Blue-black metal chains dangled from her lobes and sat stark against her neck and swept dark shadows across her eyelids. Most days on Midgard were not as long as they felt this last week, and not often did she feel the lead in her bones nor the drag in her steps, but it would not slow the beating of her heart and leave her for the hush. She would live.

Her dear heart, however.

"How's he holding up?" Neena questioned from her left. She set her chin atop her knuckles which sat atop her full bottle of beer, lips twisted into a concerned frown. Her leather jacket was a loud assortment of black and white blocks, non-symmetrical but oddly flattering as it hung down to the middle of her waist.

"Two days ago I managed to coax him out of his room for proper meals. Otherwise he is... enduring."

She had not known what to do at the sight of a large bundle contained on one corner of his bedroom ceiling. Swathed in numerous blankets until he was nothing more than multicolored silk that never shifted a single thread. Prying him away would do no good, and who was she to lecture how he should and should not mourn?

She might be his mother by blood, but she was not the one who raised him.

Weasel clicked his tongue as he filled a couple pitchers of water. "Damn, that's rough. Make sure you tell him he doesn't have to worry about showing up as long as he needs to."

"I will pass on the message."

Wilson tipped back in the stool to her right and unhinged his maw to dump the rest of his ice-diluted drink into it. His hood hung low over his face as it always did, a darker red than his Deadpool suit. Worn, and wine. "We know who did it?"

Loki exhaled quietly and set her glass down onto the bar. "Kairo Green sent the perpetrator."

Weasel's mouth twisted like he partook in something unbearably sour and poured himself a shot.

"Wait, like the guy who kidnapped him and Granny?" Neena raised a brow. "No way he's that fucking stupid."

"That's... How sure are we that it was one of Green's attack dogs?"

"My darling recognized his face and knew his name." She deliberated the next fact for a moment. "And he ignored his cooling body without concern when he saw May."

"Ah," Neena acknowledged. "Shit."

Weasel knocked back his shot and immediately began pouring himself another.

"That's on some other level. That's so incredibly fucked up, actually, what the fuck. You're just saying this now?" Wilson rapped his knuckles against the side of his head as if it were enough force to realign the rattled parts of his brain. "Okay. Okay. We can deal. He can stew for a couple more weeks if he needs it, but we have to get him out eventually. He needs fresh air and water and socialization—"

Neena snorted. "He's not a Dobermann, Pool."

"Woof," he countered before shifting back towards Loki. "If he's still not out of his room once the warranty expires, call me and be prepared to make your floors buffed after I bust out the crampons." He waggled his empty glass in front of Weasel's face until it was snatched out of his hand. "For traction."

Loki rolled her eyes. "Naturally."

"He really grew on you, huh?" Neena asked her dryly.

"Like parasitic fungi."