[ There's a soft little laugh that escapes her, barely more than an exhale, when she realizes what he's doing. How he's building parts of what connects them, their origins, their home. The one she's lost-- that he's lost too, in his own way. Lost a thousand years later, but still gone.
Asgard. The Shining City. SkΓnngarΓ°r, threaded down to the bare essentials of those rooms inside the castle that were Loki's. That had been hers-- she'd recognize that reading nook with her eyes closed. The few memories she had that were so ingrained in smell and feel and energy, comfort that they felt hardly worn on the edges at all.
The reading nook expands, stone and mason work and bookcases that curl into the arches of the ceiling, airy and solid at the same time. The tight bend of the space she had spent days reading with sun beaming down on her, the cozy cushions, heavily embroidered, the curtains with their tassels.
A place to return to. ]
I don't give you enough credit.
[ Because really Loki, she can feel it. The connection to the magic through that thing that powers them both-- emotion. ]
[ He wants to know. He doesn't, also; Loki enjoys receiving praise on a very visceral level, to the point where he doesn't really need to know what the praise is for, exactly, every single time and yet.
He wants to know. Wants to hear her say it, or feel her think it, or something along those lines. In waking reality, he smiles at her without opening his eyes. Squeezes her hands ever so slightly.
The warmth from the sun through the windows, the softness of the memory, the intricate details that both of them brought to the space all helps. Loki feels... warmer. Better. The idea that there is some small part of Asgard in the Fade is not a bad one. ]
[ The squeeze to the hand is returned, Sylvie scooting a bit closer again, the thrill of magic and his touch making her want more of it. More of the magic, more of him. She swears that she could feel the threads of fabric beneath her fingers as she admires the embroidery on the pillows, turns and watches the rest of the room unfold from her memories. Walls full of books, history, home. ]
I dunno if I want to inflate your ego that much Loki, but I couldn't have thought up a better anchor. This is... This was my favorite place in Asgard.
[ He's been given a compliment and he practically lights up from it, glad that he got something so right. Still.
He can smell her, in the world; the Gallows' laundry scent comingling with the smells of leather, oil, and spiced soap from Sylvie, so close and so warm that his mouth opens a little at the realization. ]
I'm glad that's the same for both of us. [ It was also his favorite place. He remembers her telling him that everywhere she went, everywhen, caused a Nexus event. That she grew up in apocalypses. He would do a lot to unmake that reality for her, if she wanted. This is going to have to be as close as he comes for now. ]
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no subject
Asgard. The Shining City. SkΓnngarΓ°r, threaded down to the bare essentials of those rooms inside the castle that were Loki's. That had been hers-- she'd recognize that reading nook with her eyes closed. The few memories she had that were so ingrained in smell and feel and energy, comfort that they felt hardly worn on the edges at all.
The reading nook expands, stone and mason work and bookcases that curl into the arches of the ceiling, airy and solid at the same time. The tight bend of the space she had spent days reading with sun beaming down on her, the cozy cushions, heavily embroidered, the curtains with their tassels.
A place to return to. ]
I don't give you enough credit.
[ Because really Loki, she can feel it. The connection to the magic through that thing that powers them both-- emotion. ]
no subject
[ He wants to know. He doesn't, also; Loki enjoys receiving praise on a very visceral level, to the point where he doesn't really need to know what the praise is for, exactly, every single time and yet.
He wants to know. Wants to hear her say it, or feel her think it, or something along those lines. In waking reality, he smiles at her without opening his eyes. Squeezes her hands ever so slightly.
The warmth from the sun through the windows, the softness of the memory, the intricate details that both of them brought to the space all helps. Loki feels... warmer. Better. The idea that there is some small part of Asgard in the Fade is not a bad one. ]
It should be accessible to both of us.
no subject
[ The squeeze to the hand is returned, Sylvie scooting a bit closer again, the thrill of magic and his touch making her want more of it. More of the magic, more of him. She swears that she could feel the threads of fabric beneath her fingers as she admires the embroidery on the pillows, turns and watches the rest of the room unfold from her memories. Walls full of books, history, home. ]
I dunno if I want to inflate your ego that much Loki, but I couldn't have thought up a better anchor. This is... This was my favorite place in Asgard.
[ And now it was both of theirs. ]
no subject
He can smell her, in the world; the Gallows' laundry scent comingling with the smells of leather, oil, and spiced soap from Sylvie, so close and so warm that his mouth opens a little at the realization. ]
I'm glad that's the same for both of us. [ It was also his favorite place. He remembers her telling him that everywhere she went, everywhen, caused a Nexus event. That she grew up in apocalypses. He would do a lot to unmake that reality for her, if she wanted. This is going to have to be as close as he comes for now. ]