milliways_bar | (at the lake)

Entry tags:

(at the lake)

...long story short, there are things one cannot do in a bathtub no matter how flexible one might be, and since this includes 'being completely submerged without touching anything, not even the bottom of the tub,' Loki in Serafina-shape has come down to the lake today to continue her shapeshifting experiments.

Apparently for her it's always 1954; she is serving up Esther Williams realness in her cherry-print one-piece swimsuit--in the past sixty years, the only one Fina has ever shown the scar that had ended her circus career is Weyland, and Loki respects that decision--flawless makeup, and her usual white orchids in her hair. The flowers aren't exactly real, though you can't tell to look at them; they are magic, and as long as she has them in she can fight with Skaði all she wants and not a hair will end up out of place. ~~Not that she plans on fighting her new stepdaughter again anytime soon. That would be awkward.~~

So she takes her sandals off, sets her bag and her towel down and climbs down into the water. She wouldn't mind company, but you probably don't want to watch the shapeshifting she's doing under the surface of the water.

[open all week]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

...well, look who's here.

Weyland, taking a bit of a fresh-air break after another long day of working on her horse. Yeah, somebody still hasn't gotten changed back.

"You're going to swim like that?" she asks, amused.

So many possible responses to that. She's having a really hard time picking just one.

"Oh, I'm not swimming," she says. "I'm filming a movie. You want to help me out, you can go get one of those rubber monster-suits and come menace me for a while."

"Oh, no," she says. "You can get the pool boy to do that. If you can find him, that is; he seems to have disappeared, or at least isn't showing up to do his job anymore."

"He doesn't want to be in my movie. Says it's not 'artistic' enough. I told him 'honey, there's nothing more artistic than a pretty girl in a bathing suit' but he was having none of that."

The thing about shapeshifting is that normally, Loki copies and distorts normal bodily structures and systems. There must be bones, skin, a circulatory system--all the things a normal human or animal would have. But if one can take any shape, why be limited like that?

From her knees down, her body has taken a texture much more like a jellyfish, just fluid loosely contained in a sort of membrane.

It's really best not to look.

She takes a seat on an overhanging tree root, and settles in to watch Loki swim.

"I never liked him anyway," she says. "Maybe we should just skip the whole pool boy thing, since we don't actually have a pool, and get you an assistant instead. A personal trainer, perhaps? Someone more amenable to your... movie plans."

That is a weird feeling, that bonelessness, that fluidity. She dissolves a bit higher, carefully.

"A personal trainer--are you saying I need to work out more? Is this because I dropped you that time I was carrying you upstairs? I told you, the floor was sticky. I lost my shoe. That'd throw you off balance too."

She chuckles. This is her favorite game to play with Loki.

"You couldn't carry me anywhere if you tried. No, I was just thinking a personal trainer might be more aesthetically appealing for your... artistic movie aspirations."

"This is a monster movie. You don't get to see any more skin than I'm showing now, and the monster's going to be in one of those rubber suits, unless..."

She tilts her head, considering this imaginary movie.

"Like some beauty-and-the-beast thing, but with more swamp-monster-on-pretty-girl action? That's a very niche market. But I'm not saying no."

"Can I be a scientist in your movie?" she asks. "I'll wear a lab coat and glasses, and pin my hair up and look very serious. I know how these movies work. I'll spend my time getting coffee for the male scientists, and doing a very bad job of running away when the monster attacks our lab."

"You can't have my monster. He's mine. He'd never cheat on me with some two-bit sciencey hussy like you, Miss Oppenheimer."

She grins and splashes a bit of water in her direction, though nowhere near hard enough to reach her.

"You look good like this. And I have to say, I'm enjoying the subversion."

And there, Weyland just won that round--Loki changed the subject first, broke their little imaginary scenario.

Weyland usually wins. Loki gets bored.

"I think I've gotten used to it. I'm glad you let me keep my height, though. No awkward adjustments to strange new size and proportions."

"Oh, your proportions are still strange," Loki says. "But they suit you. I just wish you'd get dressed up a little--I know. Let's have a nice candlelight dinner. You get yourself a nice dress, my treat, I've got some money at the bar. I'll even cook for you, actually cook, not just send down for something fancy. But you need to meet me halfway."

She closes her eyes for a moment, concentrating, loosening up the jellyfish-like consistency of her legs. If she can just--

"You don't need to buy me a dress," she says. "I've got plenty of money of my own. But I wouldn't say no to you cooking for me; I bet you're quite a good cook when you put your mind to it, but probably heavy-handed with the spices."

As long as nobody expects Weyland to cook, or if it must happen, there aren't any high expectations for the results.

"And I get half that money, remember? Right now my door leads to a parking garage at a ridiculously big mall, so whatever you might want to buy, we can turn some of your gold into cash..."

--there.

There is now no longer even a membrane holding the contents of her legs contained. She is simply liquid from the knee down, her substance moving slightly with the faint current of the water.

"We don't need the gold. I've got a credit card."

One that she hasn't gotten to use in forever, what with not having a door and all.

"My own invention. A universal gold card--no limit, no bills."

"...you have unlimited resources and you didn't feel the need to tell me," Loki says. "Me, your other half. Just for that, when you give me that card and I go shopping I'm not gonna buy you quite as nice a present as I was going to before."

Really, it would've been nice to know before she went and got herself run over by an armored car.

"You never asked," she says with a shrug. "If you'd asked I would've told you. My fortune here consists of some gold, which you are welcome to share; two horses, which you are welcome to ride; a boat, which you may use anytime you like; and the credit card, which you're welcome to use back in your world, or that of anybody else who might invite you to theirs. That's all I have."

"...a boat, too?"

Oh, Weyland. Dear, sweet, bizarre, fucked-up Weyland.

Also, she's really not sure how to feel about the water thing. It's so...

It's a sensation she has never had before, and given that she's been something of a connoisseur of sensations, that's saying a lot. She's having a hard time focusing on the conversation, in fact.

"You remember the boat I made once, that could be folded up and put in one's pocket? It's like that, but much smaller. It only holds two people; it's in the shape of a living, enormous swan and you ride in a compartment on its back."

The boat's up in her room somewhere. She hasn't had many excuses for a quiet, romantic boat ride lately.

"I remember."

That just makes it even better. And she's sure she'll be able to make quite a lot of use out of it.

But she can't keep up the conversation while getting used to this strange liquid feeling; so she solidifies a bit more, gathers her slightly-dispersed substance back into the jellyfish-like form again.

"Is everything all right?"

It's not like her to suddenly go quiet like that. In fact, it's not like her to go quiet at all. And she knows there are strange things lurking in the woods and lake here...

"Perfectly fine," she says with a smile, moving a bit closer to the edge of the lake. "I want to see that boat of yours. Maybe it's a good start for our romantic evening together--or maybe after dinner, but before dessert. Have you finished the door yet?"

"Not yet," she admits. "When were you thinking of having this romantic evening? I can probably get it done for tonight, if that's what you were thinking. I've just been preoccupied with finishing this horse."

"Horses can be very distracting," she agrees, with a bit of an eyeroll. "If you can get it done for tonight, we'll do it tonight--you put the door in, and make sure you take a shower too. I'll get you a nice dress and have it sent up. Maybe something purple."

"I can live with purple," she says. "And the door will be done. You just worry about making a good dinner; I'll handle the rest."

She's interested to see Loki's cooking skills. It's not like they have a normal domesticity together; but there was a time when that was all Weyland had wanted out of life. The semblance of an ordinary life, even if was only a shallow illusion.

She doesn't know what she wants now, but this is a good start.

"I hope you like curry."

Oh, she's a very good cook when she needs to be. She's got all the skills of the people she's absorbed over the years, hasn't she? She just usually can't be bothered... but tonight she's feeling generous.

Her experiment has been a success.

"I do."

She reaches to take hold of Loki's hand, now that she's come close enough.

"Just remember it's not a competition to see who can handle hotter spices. I'm already dead, I can take the heat; but you'll have to eat it too."

She solidifies her legs the rest of the way, and smiles up at Weyland.

"You're supposed to trust my judgment. Isn't that how this whole thing works? C'mere..."

She motions for her to lean down, apparently for a kiss.

"I do trust your judgment," she says. "Most of the time."

And really, who can resist a look like that? So sweet yet so playful...

...oh, right.

Yeah, there's no kissing happening here. Just Loki pulling an off-balance Weyland into the lake.

"I need a personal trainer, huh?" she grins. "Been seeing one for weeks now. He's a friend of the pool boy."

"You are horrible," Weyland says with a chuckle, managing after a moment to regain her footing. "And if this weren't a shotgun wedding I would divorce you for it. Why must you be so cruel to me? I never did anything to you."

"Just born bad, I suppose. I can't help it."

She hoists herself back up out of the water, leaving a trail on her way back to her towel and shoes.

"That doesn't count as a shower, by the way. Oh, did you forget to bring a towel? It seems I'm the only one here who has one..."

"It's yours," she says. "You brought it, you take it with you."

These little games happen all the time. She feels like she's being tested, and she probably is. What she's being tested for, who knows.

"Mmm."

She hangs the towel over a tree branch near the water.

"A swimsuit'll dry faster than jeans will. You don't want to drip your way back to your room, do you? Or go stand by the forge until you dry off? I'll see you upstairs."

"I'll be up as soon as the door is done," she says, watching her walk away.

Life has certainly not been dull lately.

But she really would like her actual body back.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

(at the lake)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject