The Flower of Fidelity

Thor turned his body to face her, giving her his attention instead of Loki’s stupid artwork. “I have been well, busy, how have you been?” He asked her, genuinely curious, he didn’t really know what she did most of the time. 

Thor looked over at her as she spoke and then back at the artwork on the wall. “Trust me, he is good enough with his knife work.” Thor told her, he had the scars to prove that. 

@flowersandfidelity​ liked for a starter from Thor

Thor stood, looking at a large painting of himself that someone had very carefully painted onto a wall, it was impressive for sure. “…Loki.” Thor mumbled to himself, how did he know it was his brothers work, well Thor just happened to look not much like how Thor actually looked, and the Loki that was pictured next to him, looked perfect. He was so distracted he hadn’t heard anyone enter the room behind him. 

Vasilija checked her tongue, remembering the clipped words Loki always pointed at her before events like these–the sort of events that required some level of polite behavior and manners–about her severe lack of social etiquette. Rather than voicing what words lingered at the back edge of her throat (”because I can”, “Loki and Keir are wearing armor why accost me?”, “because Vanaheim has ties to our greatest enemy”), she swallowed them down and tried another approach, “As Loki’s Left Hand and commander of his army it is standard protocol that I wear armor.”

It scratched the surface of question but Vasilija was not the sort to give full answers to incomplete inquiries. Fixing her curdling stare to a wall, she reset her annoyed expression into something hardened but impassive. There was something about ornate palaces and fancy decorations and lingering servants that ignited a long buried fire within her. That lit her veins, made her blood boil with unquenchable fury. Silly, perhaps, to some, but her history with rich, extravagant governments said otherwise.

 “And my question was about the formality, not the blatant misogyny.”

Oh, she tried her VERY best to look shocked and confused, but Sigyn likely failed. “There’s a luxury to not be formal?” Then she smiled a little, “yes, we are typically formal with everyone who are not regular guests of Vanaheim.” Which the list of regular guests was a very short one, and she knew each of them personally, as she would need when she ascended the throne.

She had a habit of leaving the little chilling spell they used when others couldn’t handle the heat of the dominantly SUMMER realm, the icicles trickled from the long table as she dragged her fingers along it.