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@petrichormemory liked for a starter !
“New Years get sort of hard to count when you’re traveling so often.”
It was strange for him to think about-- he and Amy had been traveling for so long now. Important dates, holidays-- they all tended to blend together. But usually they could fight for the time around Christmas, almost as if it really were a proper winter break.
“How long do you think it’s been, really?”
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A small box waits for him. It's wrapped in bright green paper and tied with a shining gold bow. Inside is a small capsule filled with a dark powder. The note with it reads: "Hey Trouble. In case your tricks can't save you, this is a trick I learned from a very sneaky woman. Crack the capsule and throw the powder. Whoever breathes it in will only remember what you want them to know. Use it wisely and come back to me safe. No more scares, you hear? Happy hunting! -Amelia"
He examines the capsule with intrigue and grins when he reads the accompanying message.
“Oh, this will be very useful.”
The package is wrapped in brown paper and sealed with the wax imprint of a sunflower. Inside is a painting of a gilded city against a night sky. The constellations are close enough to the star he saw as a child to be recognized. Laying against the canvas is a small note. "We never forget where we come from, do we Sunshine? It's always with us. I found this in my travels and thought of you. Hope this helps more than it hurts. See you soon. -Amelia"
He recognises the imprint at once; treats the package with a sort of reverence. Their times together are so often out of sync that every communication is given his full attention and all due care. The wax imprint finds itself torn out and kept amongst a small box of letters from her. The painting momentarily takes his breath, so unexpected and yet something so thoughtful he can hardly be surprised. The constellations he used to stare at as a boy with his mother trigger a litany of memories and he has to compose himself, as delighted as he is moved.The painting finds itself as pride of place in New Asgard’s mead hall when it opens; when other Asgardians enquire about it, express their delight, he explains its origins with pride.
@petrichormemory continued from here
Amy froze, a snarky comment dying before it had a chance to be voiced. Much like a mental record scratch, every other thought she had fled. It wasn’t often that Loki asked for anything simple. If she thought about it, it wasn’t often he asked for anything at all. The request would have been enough to move her to agree on its own. But he said please.
“Of course,” she said gently.
There was no other acceptable answer. Without a second thought, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.
After so long running from one event to the next, which was usually his preferred pacing, Loki had finally come to a halt at New Asgard. It was all over, the War, anyone to fear, the reunion with Thor. Now the god of mischief sat with Amy in one of the village’s spare huts and he felt the weight of everything catching up with him. There was relief, of course, but there was also a torrent of emotions he had not allowed for years.
He rested his head on her shoulder and folded his arms around her in turn. His eyes watered without prompt. “I can’t remember what it’s like to slow down.”
There's a note left on his bed. It's a bit singed on the edges, but he can still see a sunflower stamped on the paper. Inside the writing is messier than usual, like she was writing in a hurry. It reads: I wish I could be there right now instead of sending this stupid note. I know how it feels to- It really changes how you see- Nothing can really prepare you- (a drop of blood interrupts her writing and she's scribbled around it the words 'not mine') Never mind all that, sunshine. I'm on my way.
It takes a few seconds to bring the envelope into focus when he finds it after collapsing onto the bed in the early hours, head pounding and mood sour. This irritability swiftly melts into something closer to panic when he registers the sunflower, unmistakable in its symbol, and he isn’t entirely certain if he can bring himself to open the letter. Has she seen him, then? what he has become? He almost dreads the prospect of what it could contain. Still, he cannot do anything else but open it.
The blood is what first draws his eye and Thor isn’t entirely convinced by the notation, not when her penmanship seems so hasty. Concern furrows his brow and though he longs to take comfort from her gentle words they are too piecemeal for him not to worry. He knows in his heart that all he can do is wait, but it weighs on him that she will be fighting for this.
Right. Some resolve, at least, was still left in him for Amelia Pond. Dragging himself back off of the bed, he stumbles to the kitchen to find the kettle and from there try to tidy some part of the living room.
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“An apple a day keeps the… Ah, never mind.”
@petrichormemory
“Believe me there are not enough apples in the damn universe to keep him away. I’ve tried.”
“I think that’s more than a little cut.”
[Injured/Bleeding Sentence Starters]
“Do you think so?”
By the feel of it alone he was convinced that the laceration which drew a neat diagonal down his back was worse than his levity indicated. Thor was no stranger to harm, all told: hundreds of years of violent warfare and adventure had ended with countless number of superficial injuries,and still his tone carried the same mild surprise as one might to find stray pet hairs on the arm of their jacket.
He didn’t, however, brush Amy’s concern off with an excuse. Much as he might attempt to in situations where there was more at stake, his pride was not so much that he detested care. If anything he knew it to be wise to keep in as good a shape as possible, and he certainly knew he had nothing to prove to the redhead. He remained where he sat so as to let her continue checking him over, but couldn’t resist glancing over his shoulder. “You know, in hindsight it was quite a ridiculous injury to receive..”
@petrichormemory
@petrichormemory
“Amelia,” he beamed, placing his hands on her shoulders. “It has been far too long.” The last he’d seen her had been centuries ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to think about that. Not now that she stood before him.
“I got you a present, Amelia.” For Christmas. Because, for once, the Doctor had remembered.
