Chapter 3
The water was beautiful here. The sun, as well, was very nice to see. Loki watched over the edge of the cliff, his pale legs dangling over the edge, and the white ribbon winding up his calves fluttering slightly where it tied off. He smiled. Most in Midgard or Asgard would be appalled by the clothing he wore. He'd grown accustomed to Jotunheim's senses when it came to categories. They pretty much didn't exist. The clothing he wore was much like his old, but with lighter fabrics. He sighed longingly, returning to the small sketch book in his hands. As he scattered pencil markings across the page, he hummed an old song he vaguely remembered from his time as Frigga's son. The scene he was drawing felt real and fake at the same time. An oxymoron. It was as if the picture conveyed every emotion he could no longer fathom. Every little feeling he wished for. He swallowed thickly, hated the numbness he felt. A question that ate at him for weeks had brought him here. What more is there to do? He asked himself. It hurt but it didn't. He couldn't explain it any other way. It was as if the pain was present, just out of reach. He wished he could feel it. Wished he could feel. Maybe then, maybe he wouldn't be sitting here, on a cliff's edge, contemplating the colors of the water and how they conveyed so much meaning and emotion in his sketch, but lent no such comforts in real life.
Loki finds himself trying to see a pleasant side. Something which would steer him from the path that he is currently at the end of. Something that may persuade him to leave his cliff behind and go back to Jotunheim. Claim he was just admiring the scenery Midgard had to offer. Keep living. But he could see nothing so sweet to lure him to what he came to call home. It wasn't even that much a home. He had no lover, only an emotionally distant biological mother and father, whom tried to be close yet failed miserably, and a physically distant mother, father, and brother. No friends. None to tie him to that place which he calls, only for a lack of a better word, home. And so he pushed himself forward. With his being Jotnar, and a strong user of seior, the water would serve its purpose. He would die from the impact only because his seior would be too weakened by the water to heal him,
Only he didn't fall.
There was a pressure on his right upper arm, and then he was hefted back onto the ledge. A familiar voice spoke, and Loki only then realized he had been crying. "Why don't we talk about this, before you do something you'll regret, huh, Reindeer Games?"
"Why ever would you wish to prevent such a thing?" His voice was flat, soft, and numb.
"Because your Brother Thunder Head told me you'd done some pretty awesome things for another planet. Redemption and all. Not to mention you kind of saved all of the nine realms with the whole London mishap. Thought you deserved a second chance. Now, wanna tell me why you just tried to off yourself?"
"There is nothing left to be done. I've redeemed myself, Stark."
"No, no, no, that isn't it. And it's Tony, now."
"I honestly do not understand why you are suddenly so accepting..."
"Look, you're not the only one with a fucked to hell past, hell, I have a higher body count than you. You know what made me a hero in this planets eyes? Righting my wrongs." Tony said, his voice firm.
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