☆RUIN |

2

Loki watched the All-Father liaise. The speaker of Yggdrasil and the one who had hung from a branch because the words of Mimir told him thus; Odin, as ancient as he was stood in his armoured finery and made a bid to leave the feast with a simple nod to his palace guard. Smiling but not proudly at his first born son, Thor, a questioning gaze over his drunken antics as the feast became debauched.

Often a man of wise words. Odin, for this night said just as little and this was mostly due to the boisterousness that his people were displaying. Yet looking at Thor, he had the distinct impression that his son was still too naïve to rule. A fact that his youngest son had been keen to divulge.

He had also heard from a couple of his retainers that Thor boasted far more than was necessary and far too often as was appropriate. Odin had before mentioned that a good king would not need to gloat so often, for one, it was immoral to point out flaws in the name of entertainment and for two: it was very unbecoming and uncouth for an heir to the throne to act in such a manner.

Letting a small imperceptible smirk grace his timeless face. Boasting, he thought. That would be kept for times when a good celebration would be called for.

He knew that the high lords of Valhalla would often permit a little friendly gloating, the Thanes would allow for it, especially when a young Einherji had proven to be worthy of fighting for him at the end of days, in preparation for the final battle. It made for greater camaraderie, after all, a little beasting never hurt anyone.

Taking a final look at the young prince, Odin shook his head, he could tell that Thor required direction and mentoring. He thought deeply, he didn't need to consult with Mimir on this, nor visit the Norns. It was a simple decision to make, there was no point in rushing into the decision to abdicate the throne of Asgard so quickly, another 400 years was a literal blink of the eye, one eye but Nornir, he was weary, since Frigga had gone he had no desire to linger. In fact, he desired to slumber, to sleep so soundly.

Finally, he made a move and those nearest regarded him with respect. The Einherjar, distinct in golden armour had lowered their gazes. Their rounded shields at their sides and their spears tapped to the floor as they stood upright to attention.  The few seated remaining gods, those who were paying attention quickly raised in their seats to bid him a fond farewell. Loki watched it all from his place in the shadows.

The majority of dignitaries being housed were to go about their nightly rituals once the feast would end.  They would retire to their own quarters before early morn, followed in quick succession by their retainers and handmaidens respectively. That gave him a small window of opportunity to strike.

He watched Thor, as he moved to leave arm in arm with the Lady Sif, both appearing to have consumed far too much fine mead. Yet even this inebriated, he was a problematic opponent to tarry with. Again, not so much a hardship, a simple enchantment would suffice. Thor could do with having his attentions directed elsewhere and leaving the control of this realm to one who was far more aware of its requirements.

Volstagg, as usual, was eating. Not caring in the slightest at how much food was becoming trapped within his lustrous beard even as his allies got up to leave, begrudgingly he scooped up his food and huffed indignantly whilst Fandral casually ran fingers through his hair, a pitiful attempt to catch the attention of a wayward wench.  She was far too busy clearing the table of half-eaten food, despite Volstagg's protestations. Their eyes met, briefly and he tried his charm. He flashed his salt-white teeth at her, a sideways smirk and a wink of his impossibly blue eyes was all it took.

Lecherous fool.

It was so typical of Fandral, he was such a bloody womanizer, not caring of how many females he was ruining, he did it because he could, because he had done so for hundreds of years.

Hogunn was probably gladdened that he didn't need to do this anymore.  Apparently he had a family, a wife who loved him yet she wasn't in this realm to witness his flirting, she was back on Vanaheim, raising their small family whilst he fought for Asgard as and when.

Maybe there is trouble in paradise afterall.

"Why are you still eating?" Fandral inquired, partially in shock, a little disgusted with the mess he was makingas they began to leave, noisily.

"I eat when I am unhappy!" He grumbled in return, avoiding the odd stares from his remaining comrades.

"And why pray tell, are you unhappy?" Fandral asked with a smugness about him, his hand now resting on the female's arse.  She was not protesting, the slattern...

"A feeling, deep down that something big is to happen!"

"A loud explosion of sorts?" Fandral couldn't help it, he started laughing. Of course, he knew what Volstagg was trying to say but the way it came out was pure humour. "I don't doubt it..." He replied when he finally recomposed himself and nodded to the Einherjar as they opened the doors.