Frostbite

Orange

Loki traversed the cold streets back to that dilapidated building her son called a bar, her visage as Lora and a black three-piece suit donned beneath a dark green overcoat. The streets were practically deserted compared to the last time she visited, and the few stragglers that lingered near the entrance of the establishment were quick to scramble out of her way.

At least they had come to learn that valuable lesson.

Immediately upon stepping into the red light of the short hallway, her ears filled with incessant chatter. No, it was nowhere near the likes of the endearing ramblings of her dear heart, but more the incoherence of a madman in dire need of a muzzle.

She stepped into the core of the building and noted that the place was practically barren, the chairs stacked and the long sticks that were normally held over fuzzy green tables were lined up along the back wall in some semblance of an orderly fashion. The floor was swept, though somehow managed to maintain some of its notable grime, and there was still that tinge of ale and smoke lingerings that permeated the air. The barman—Weasel—tinkered with one of the electronics behind the long stretch of wood, and she spied the source of clanging vocal chords to be a man dressed in a red and black suit covering the entirety of his countenance.

"I just don't see the merit of there being a height limit on train-shaped roller coasters," the red man whined. "If I'm coming for Thomas the Spank Tank, I'm getting Thomas the Spank Tank—"

"If this is the conversation where I learn that you've secretly had a fetish for wanting to bone trains, I want to leave."

"I'm not saying I would like to fuck this blue train, but I do understand why people want to fuck this blue train. But we're getting off topic." He flapped a gloved hand. "I'm absolutely positively sure I can fit into one of those cargo-cart-seat-majigs."

"Your back would snap like a fucking folding chair."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. You know why I know that? I know that because I've seen your bones twist like a bendy straw when Professor X's thicc transformer went and—"

"God, I would climb that hunk like a tree."

"Alright Wade 'Whack-Off' Wilson, this is a no-splash zone—"

"So you are the infamous Wade," Loki mused. Her heels clacked against the wooden floor as she strode forward, taking the small pleasure of startling the barman into smacking his hip into something as he jumped and cursed. Wade, though, had not moved a hair's breadth until he spun in his stool, the white eyes of his mask blank as they settled on her.

"That's one of my many deliciously applicable names," he greeted with a waggle of his fingers. "Feel free to wear it out, wash it on cold, hang it out to—" He leaned forward suddenly, tipping his chair— "wait one diddly-dang second! Almost-Katie-McGrath?!"

"Who also seems to be full of inane comments, though I suppose I had no other background to sustain your preconceived image. Save for your penchant for violence and foolhardiness," Loki commented dryly. Sharp green eyes flashed over to the other man in the room, who gulped. "Weasel."

"Um." He swallowed and edged slightly to the side. "I-I don't think I ever got your, uh, name?"

"Lora Olstad, but Olstad should suffice enough for your tongue," she said, then turned her gaze at the humming of some misaligned tune. "I assume Peter is finishing up his duties?"

"Ye-Yeah, he's in the... back..."

"So you're really here for sweetie Petey-Pie, huh? He's a growing boy, you know, even if he's super short. I wonder if it's cause he drank 1% instead of 2%, and you know what they say about that 1%. They cripple this society and we should bust out the guillotines and eat the rich," Wade went on in that flippant way as the Weasel shrunk further away from the two of them. It was this sort of flippancy embodied by either an unsalvageable moron or someone that very well believed they could hold their own against the likes of herself. Ridiculous, truly, and though it would be in her better interest to put him in his place before his head swelled, she was only moments away from seeing her darling again. What damage could be done humoring this fool, even for a little while? "But if you're going to eat the rich you're gonna have to at least marinate them overnight. I bet they're chewy and bland and full of ick, if you Tokyo my Drift."