meme | #002 -- absolute obedience ( do you do you want to )

[the]

the ABSOLUTE OBEDIENCE MEME 1. Post with your character. 2. That character is compelled to follow the orders of anyone who replies. 3. Any orders. 4. Any orders. Meme Strategy: There's nothing in the rules about whether or not your character knows s/he must obey - as well, the other character might not know that s/he must be obeyed. Play it however you like. Don't like the orders you got? Not willing to have your character follow them, even if you've had a good time up to this point? Talk to the other player, use OOC notes or PMs, try and work it out. Got some stuff you'd never want to play out? Consider making a preferences post and linking to it when you reply here. Wanna give orders that people would love to follow? Give em context. Make it a story. Is this about revenge? Working out some personal issues? Too dumb to realize that the other guy has to do whatever your guy says?

meme from memebells@lj.

Comments

[sorcerous]

[ He gives her an agonized look. Why are you doing this to me? he asks, but he knows, he knows, he is her enemy and he deserves this.

A physical strike would be so much easier, though... ]

Better that I were dead --

[ But her command overrides his words, no matter how much he tries to speak around. ]

I don't know. I don't know what to do, I don't know what I am anymore.

[ And there are tears, helpless, broken tears, terrible pain. ]

[brosif]

You are Loki. You are Thor’s brother and Frigga’s joy. You are Odinson, still.

[It would be kinder – to both Loki and herself – to strike him down right now. She had no taste for battle that occurred outside the realm of the physical. She had no desire to torture, or to draw things out. She did not want to turn on a friend, lost though he was.

But they weren’t the only two people in the world. She could pretend, for a moment, that they were. But the moment would pass, as all do. Taking a breath, she lowered her sword.]

Loki. I -- [She what? She comes closer to him, reaching a hand out hesitantly.]

I honestly apologize. It would seem that I lied to you earlier. It wasn't my intention.

[sorcerous]

[ He stares at the hand like a snake, agonized and appalled.

She wanted his forgiveness? For taking control of him, for having a noose around his throat such that he could not disobey?

His eyes flicked to her face. ]

I do not accept.

Let me know if you aren't cool with *any* of this and I will totally edit!

[brosif]

I know.

[Sif doesn't look away. She owes him that much. She’s not only apologizing for what's already been done. It was a set of circumstances they found themselves in – she did not set out to trap him so.

But she is sorry, she is so deeply sorry, for what is going to happen next.]

In ten minutes, you will forget that this exchange between us took place.

[The first kill she’d ever made hadn’t been as easy as Sif had expected. It was on Álfheimr, in the midst of a rebellion between ruling families. She’d killed a sentient Pegasus, on its way to deliver news of reinforcements. Her shot had been sloppy – instead of killing the beast instantly, he floundered in the air and then fell to the ground, dying slowly.]

But you will still obey my commands that follow. Even in all of those parts of yourself that you keep so hidden, so secret, you will heed these orders above all else:

[A glorious beast, reduced to an infant state. Helpless, a shadow of what he’d been.]

Send word to your father. You will ask for an audience. You will plead for his forgiveness, and you will mean it. You will await his judgment and abide by it.

[The Allfather pointed her, and so she shot. Sloppy as it was, the rebellion was put down. Asgard was safe. In the end, that’s all that mattered.]

You will get help. You will heal. In your lifetime, and even after that, you will not take any action with the intention of hurting Asgard or her people.

And you will not try to find any tricks, any loopholes, in my words. You will follow them as they are intended.

Do you understand?

OH MY GOD ;_____; I CAN'T EVEN. you are amazing

[sorcerous]

[ And his eyes close. The breath trembles in his body; the tears spill from his eyes. And he does not know what for: the loss of his self, the loss of his freedom? The burden of pain that she has wrenched from him, ripped from him, left him in shreds of blood and chips of bone?

Does he mourn, or does he rejoice?

His eyes flick up, and fix on her. ]

And know you this.

I may not remember the closing of the noose around my neck, but I will feel it. I may not know what hand holds my lead, but I will know a collar. And someday, somehow, I will find the strength and the space to break your spell.

And I will wreak such pain on you as you have never known.

Let that be the sworn vow of Loki, Odinson or Laufeyson, Liesmith and Silvertongue.

[ He wrestles with the next word, fighting it, every muscle tense: ]

-- yes.

I understand.

YOU TOO. This thread ;~; My *emotiooooooons*…

[brosif]

[She understands his vow – the certainty of it. Nothing is eternal. Someday, the enchantment will be broken. He will seek her out. And they will be destroyed.]

It was a sword through your heart or a chain around your neck. I chose the selfish option. I’ve never...done that before.

[There was a time in her life, Sif thinks, where she could have loved him. Where it could have been his hand she reached for instead of Thor’s. It’s fitting, then, that he hate her above all else.

The Lady Sif, warrior of Asgard. Weapon, shield, and target.]

When the time comes that you seek out your revenge, I will accept it.

[When Sif was a girl, she had the most beautiful hair. When it was cut, she because a warrior, and never looked back.]

Goodbye, Loki. I will miss you.

[sorcerous]

[ He looks at this like... going to sleep. Like he will dream, for a time, and perhaps those dreams will be of chains, but eventually he will awaken.

And he will be all the more terrible for the gap.

And Loki smiles. A sick, twisted smile. ]

Oh, Sif. There, you are wrong. You won't miss me.

[ And he laughs. He laughs, half-hysterical, until his breath is gone.

How funny. How funny, because he sees how it will go. How they will all love him -- all his hate burned away, all inconvenience blotted and swept free. How Sif will learn to love him -- from guilt, and from the hopeless, helpless faith that this Loki is the real one, justifying to herself that she has done the right thing.

Oh, Sif.

Oh, Sif, and if he awakens from this slumber with her hand in marriage, he will be unsurprised.

He may take her pain all the sweeter. ]

[brosif]

[His laugh should scare her, if anything in this world is capable of that. But he’s never frightened her, even at times when he should have. That is her own weakness.

Sif doesn’t share her brother’s all-expansive vision. He of nine powerful mothers, and she only of one. But she sees a great number of things before her – like she can reach in and draw them out of the air, like the broken strings of harp.

Outcast to Midgard or executed, if the royal family learns of her deception. Wife to a man that will hate her, her belly swollen with child. Taking a place beside her brother at the Bifrost, too far away to interfere further.

In all possibilities, it ends in fire. As she was always going to end. She doesn’t say anything, only looks at him. Let him say what he will in the time he has left. It changes nothing that hasn't already been cast.

Only a few seconds, now.]

[sorcerous]

Good-bye.

[ And his eyes fix on her. Like imprinting the sight of her into his mind. Like a wolf memorizing the sight of prey. ]

Good-bye, my dear friend Sif.

[ And the clock runs out. Loki's eyes go hazy, unfocused, and he --

Panics.

His fingers claw at himself, at his damaged armor, at leather until they reach skin, until he has drawn bloodied lines with his nails. His breath is too quick and distressed and he doesn't know where he is and what has he done, his chest is too tight to draw air, his heart feels as though it is full of a thousand filthy worms squirming and worrying away at his insides and he needs to tear himself open and rid himself of the filth inside and he cannot breathe, he cannot, he can but wrack his body in dry, painful sobs. ]

[brosif]

[Sif closes her eyes, finally, as the clock runs out. When she opens them, it’s a different man before her.

This isn’t Loki. She will need to remind herself of that often, in the years to come. The man before her – broken, in a panic – is Thor’s brother and Odin’s son. But he isn’t the man she grew up with. Not really – not with all the inconvenient parts cut away.

The real Loki is locked away in there, somewhere, hunting her slowly. And Sif can already feel herself locking away some of her own better parts in return. The parts with weaknesses attached to them.

This isn’t Loki. But he is her responsibility. So she kneels down next to him, locking more things away.]

Loki. Loki. Breathe.

holy shit this thread.

[sorcerous]

[ He thrashes and shoves her away and digs his nails into his flesh until the blood runs free, soaking his chest and dripping off his agony-curled shoulder, but still it isn't enough. Still he feels the wretched center of his own heart. ]

Get it out --

[ If he could rid himself of it, the stain on his soul, like drawing a leech's tongue out of his flesh.

But he cannot.

He flattens his hand over the bloody wound and cries, his body shaking terribly with grief and horror. ]

kljfds I can't EVEN. Just get it together kids.

[brosif]

Loki, stop!

[Action, now, which is where Sif has always excelled. She goes to Loki (not Loki) and, ignoring how he trashes (it kicked at the ground hours after she shot it, such a poor shot, and that was war) holds his arm back. A wrestling move that she perfected when they were children. She holds one hand behind his back and rests the other over his own, over the hand covering his wound, now bleeding freely. She applies pressure, but both of their hands are soaked.

(that I alone am blameless)]

Do you see? Red. It’s red. Just like mine.

[sorcerous]

[ He twists in her hands and fights, but this time it isn't to get away. Just to bury his face in the curve of her shoulder, his blood spilling over her, mixed with tears, salt-copper-iron-red-clear.

(A piece of him knows: if she had not told him you will heal, he would not have stopped. He would have clawed his heart clean from his chest, and died in her arms.) ]

Sif, Sif -- [ he gasps, and he clings to her, broken a thousand times over, seeking some solace in the arms of one he would call friend. Fellow. Companion. ]

I hope the linking is okay!

[brosif]

[She felt sick, holding him. Not because of his actions, but because of hers. She was not to blame for the Allfather's lies or Loki's resulting madness – but for where he was, now. Where he would go from here, and how it may all fall apart. She felt sick, offering comfort that wasn’t hers to give.

But her feelings were ultimately inconsequential. She’d made her choice and now it needed to be seen through. So she held him tighter (different, really, than how she’d ever held a man before), murmuring whatever came to her mind. Anything to provide a contrast to his cries. She was not good with words – she never had been. What came out – from a book she’d only read once, and hadn’t particularly liked – surprised even Sif.]

Water from Mímisbrunnr; used to bring clarity. Water from the stink bogs of Álfheimr; used to induce temporary gout of the reproductive organs. Water from the wastelands of Vanaheimr...

a-awwww

[sorcerous]

[ And the words seep into his mind, slowly, as his sobs start to fade. Of course Sif would be there. It wouldn't be Thor, it wouldn't be any of the others. They would have just struck him down. ]

You -- remember.

[ And there's a curious quality to his voice, a curious desperation in his hands, clenched tight in her clothes. She remembers. Like casting a light back to a time when things were easier, simpler, when it wasn't all so confusing, when he didn't hurt so badly.

He wants that. He wants it so much it would break him. ]

[brosif]

There are many things that I remember, Loki.

[She pulls back, a bit, trying to look him in the eye. She means this -- it's dangerous, the extent to which she means this.]

I remember a week where you were my enemy. I remember thousands of years where you were my friend. A day pales in comparison to a lifetime.

[sorcerous]

[ And he reaches up and touches her face. A thumb along the line of her nose, and then tips smoothing her eyebrows. As though she was a mirage, as though he were blind and he would memorize each inch of her skin. ]

A day can change a lifetime.

[ The blood's flow is slowing. He only wishes it were because he was dying. ]

[brosif]

[She tells herself that it could be anyone, here. It could be Thor, or Frigga. It could be one of his wives or children. Anyone that would prefer Loki alive to dead, short as that list may currently be.

That is what she tells herself, as she releases her hold and brings a hand to his neck, feeling for the pulse there.]

Yes. It can. Let this be that day.

[Because eventually, it will. One way or another.]

Will you come with me?

[sorcerous]

[ He has no choice. He sees nothing but a bleak dead end, his life set in stone and closed in on him until there is no air to breathe. He sees a future where he never again takes wing, where he is a ghost in the palace halls, where he is held by a chain wrapped around his very soul. ]

No.

[ The word is soft, but it rings, thrums in the air.

He is empty. ]

I will go alone.

[brosif]

Go where?

[She knows what she implated, but ideas can have their own ways of taking root.]

I can't just leave you in such a state as this.

[sorcerous]

To Asgard, of course. Where else can I go?

[brosif]

[She is too cautious to be relieved, but it is a better answer than others he could have said.]

That is where I go as well. Why not walk together, until our path splits?

[sorcerous]

Because we are not friends.

Because I will not poison my ears with lies. Not today. Not now.

[brosif]

Then perhaps I go not as a friend, but as a guard.

[sorcerous]

[ And the gaze that he turns on her is wretched. ]

As my heart's blood drips on the ground -- you think the world still needs defending from me?