The Art of Rhetoric
Loki tried not to be bitter about Sif quitting speech right before the national tournament so she could focus on lacrosse, he really tried. Okay, maybe he tried to try. Alright, alright, yes, he was actively and terribly bitter about Sif quitting speech right before the national tournament so she could focus on lacrosse. Not only was it cruel to the rest of the team, it was cruel to him. He had poured countless exhausted hours into training her and making her the single most eloquent girl at Asgard Preparatory Academy. With his voice and her persistence, they were poised to be champions. How dare she take their inevitable victory and throw it away for a ball and a stick?!
The fact that she was going to college on a lacrosse scholarship was irrelevant.
A few sharp knocks on the door made him sit up from where he had been reclining on the hotel bed.
“What?” he snapped.
“Are you going to keep pouting or are you actually going to get out here and talk?” an irritated voice called through the wood.
“I’m not interested in speaking with you, Sif,” he growled.
He heard her sigh and knew she was rolling her eyes.
“Loki, I swear that if you don’t open this door right now I will kick it down and put the damage on your room tab.”
Much to his chagrin, he knew she wasn’t bluffing. He had firsthand experience of her leg strength from freshman year when she convinced him to take a demo class at her Tae Kwon Do dojo and she side kicked him in the chest so hard that he had trouble breathing for two days after. He finally opened the door to find her already completely dressed in her tailored pant suit, even though their last match of the regional championships wasn’t for another few hours, the toes of her fancy high heels tapping the floor impatiently. He expected her to look as furious as he felt; as furious as she had been an hour ago when she broke the news that she was leaving the team after this competition and he started a fight in the middle of the hotel restaurant. Instead, she just looked annoyed, and this irked Loki.
“Are you done being childish?” she asked, placing one hand on her hip. “The rest of the team is celebrating in the next room over.”
“An ironically condescending choice of adjective from the one who has such a small sense of commitment,” he hissed.
Sif sighed exasperatedly.
“Are you man about me leaving the team or mad that once I get back into lacrosse training I won’t have as much time to spend with you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” he retorted with a scoff, and hoped she didn’t notice the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “You were a valuable asset for the team and now you are choosing a simplistic and crude sport over our place in the national championships.
“Uh-huh…” she vocalized sarcastically, finally shoving Loki out of the way so she could get into the room and close the door behind her.
Loki drew his shoulders back indignantly as Sif turned to stand toe-to-toe with him. It didn’t matter that she was almost half a foot shorter than he was, she still fearlessly glared right into his eyes. Staring down his opponents was a tool he often employed in tournaments. Whether it was during a debate to show his confidence or while another competitor was giving a speech as a means of distraction, most people found his gaze incredibly compelling. He was always conflicted as to whether he loved or hated that it never was for Sif.
“Listen, Silvertongue, you have a whole speech club that is counting on you to get your act together. If it means so much to you that we spend time together, then man up and ask me out because if your brother asks, I’ll say yes and your chance is gone. If not, get your head out of your ass and be the team leader you promised these kids you would be!” she nearly shouted, jamming an accusingly pointed finger into his chest.
When he didn’t respond, the two of them stood there in tense silence for several moments, Loki’s breath caught in his throat and Sif’s chest heaving from her outburst. Neither broke eye contact, and neither stepped back. If there was anything he hated more than losing and being proven wrong, it was doing both to Sif, and she knew it. He must have flinched, because the right corner of her lips was beginning to curl into the start of the same smug grin her face took on whenever she won anything. However, he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of being self-satisfied. Before she had the chance to even fully shape that antagonizing smirk, he reached out, tangled his long fingers in her hair, and pulled her into a harsh kiss. A part of it was spiteful and angry, his intent to make her fully understand how much her leaving the team hurt him, but another part was affectionate, a plea and a promise. He was not surprised to find that she wasn’t taken off guard at all. She threw her arms around his neck the instant his lips touched hers. Maybe he had coached her a little too well on the art of rhetoric and manipulation…