Up To Mischief
The mid-afternoon sun illuminated the grandeur of the Asgardian Palace with hues of gold. Medea, a resident of the palace, was sat on a rock in the Royal Gardens, sketching the picturesque image into her sketchbook with intricate detail.
She wanted to capture the state of tranquillity that bestowed the palace, as for once, it was peaceful; no trickery or mischief present; everyone was living in harmony-
“MEDEA!”
But what is life without a little chaos?
Medea quickly stood up and began running through the palace. Now, you must be curious as to why I Medea Daegandottir, Goddess of Trickery, could possibly be running away from something.
Well, hypothetically, I may have pranked the Warrior’s Three and Sif, and I may have slipped a potion into their mead after lunch.
But that’s not too bad, right?
Well, the potion may have caused them to swap genders…in the middle of the dining hall…in front of the Allfather. You know, pretty much embarrassing them in front of the King, and something that might have angered them to the point of wanting revenge.
A hilarious story, I’m sure; but is hypothetical, nonetheless. For I am a noble lady of Asgard, and I would not stoop so low as to perform a petty-
“You cannot run forever, little Meddie! We will find you!” A very feminine Fandral calls.
Heh…maybe not so hypothetical after all?
Continuing to sprint because her life may very well depend on it, Medea began running from one side of the palace to the other; dodging servants and members of the court (much to their chagrin) with somewhat impeccable perfection.
However, she was halted to a stop when she collided with body…and one quick look made her wish the Warrior’s Three and Sif had caught her already. The body she had bumped into was none other than Holger Gormson—one of those members of the court who were stuck in the times of old, where women were to bend backwards to obey a man’s command.
“Watch where you’re going you malignant trickster!” He sneered.
And it didn’t help her case that he just didn’t seem to like her.
She only rolled her eyes, “As charming as always, Holger.”
“How dare you address me so informally, you-“
She just continued running. She had no time for stuck up old men who were obsessed with power…especially when the Warrior’s Three and Sif were after her.
Eventually, she reached the Queen’s Garden. Freedom was in sight; she could smell the sweet magnolia blossoms. All she had to do was make it to her alcove and she would be free.
She was within freedom’s grasp but slipped straight through when she collided into someone again.
“What trouble have you gotten into this time, darling?” He purred.
Norns…she loved it when he spoke like that. That deep and sultry voice could make her do anything that he-
“We’ll get you back for this Meddie!” A masculine-sounding Sif called.
With wide eyes, she answered Loki, “I’ll tell you about it once I’m done running for my life.”
As quick as Fandral when he encountered a Bligesnipe, Medea grabbed Loki’s hand and, once again, continued to run.
“Darling, this is a little absurd. A Prince of the Crown, running throughout the palace, attached to a maiden that he is not courting. Quite scandalous.”
You halted and huffed, “I do not wish to be bombarded with whatever revenge plot that the Warrior’s Three and Sif would like to throw at me due to their gender swap crisis. But, by all means, stay and endure their torture while I go off and hide, Lokes.”
His blank stare was one that Medea wished to have framed on her wall.
“I suddenly feel an urgent need to run through the palace.”
Smiling, she grabbed his hand again, and continued to run throughout the Queen’s Gardens.
Noticing that they weren’t going to be able to outrun them for much longer, Medea dragged Loki off the path and into the trees.
Catching her breath she managed to get out, “We need to get out of here…dead end.”
Loki grinned mischievously. “What are you thinking about-“
Before she could finish her question, Loki grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his chest; engulfing her in his embrace. Being pressed up against his muscular chest sent a plethora of butterflies throughout Medea’s stomach, and millions of thoughts through her head…none of which can be deemed child friendly.
Pulled out of these thoughts by a puff of green smoke, Medea realises that he had teleported them both to their secret alcove; a place that the two friends had not been to in centuries.
Noticing that she was still enveloped by him, she quickly removed herself from his embrace before he had the chance to notice her strawberry-tinted cheeks.
But, because luck never seems to be on her side, he noticed her bashful complexion and laughed.
“You’ve got a little something on your cheeks, Love.”
She slapped his arm, “Shut it, Lokes.”