futurology | VIDEO. UN: LOKI

VIDEO. UN: LOKI

[ the sound of the wind storm hollows dully against the cave walls. Loki's squidge, Bacon, can half be seen crawling in the confines of his tacky green jacket and over his knee from where he sits, sometimes ducking and squeaking when a particularly large gust hits. to keep it from screaming, Loki offers his fingers absently, which the little squidge pulls on with its pudgy arms before ducking low again. ]

Hello there, it seems like we'll be waiting this out for some time considering the weather-type circumstances. While we're all rotting away, etcetera etcetera, I thought we could amuse ourselves with a game. A little bit of team bonding funtimes, so to say. [ he twists a dark nailed hand in the air, gesturing. ]

Soo—oo ... it's called Two Truths and a Lie. How do you play? Glad you asked, it's simple! Give two true statements about yourself and add a lie to the mix, shake it up then toss it out there and see if your team members know you well enough to spot the lie.

Usually this is done with copious amounts of alcohol, but we're lacking at the moment. [ pause. ] But—ah—you could always enjoy the satisfaction of being right. It's not like we're doing much else.

NOTE | Feel free to threadjack if that's your thing!! :****

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[He presumes "the bar counter" to be some manner of public space, and so the image he holds in his mind remains undisturbed.]

Very well - if a contest of strength is more to your liking, then I shall accept this challenge. Where am I to find you in this cavern so crowded with the members of this crew?

[Already he is rising to his feet and casting his gaze about.]

[ Oh, they're doing this. McCree's not particularly difficult to spot, what with his Stetson, shiny gold belt buckle, fluttering red serape, etc.

He waves to Achilles (again with the bionic hand) and strides over. His twang is somehow even more pronounced when not filtered through the jewelry. ]

Howdy, partner. How you wanna do this? Hard, or impossible?

[ He holds out both hands, as if to say, pick one. ]

[Achilles too stands out easily, draped as he is in a tunic which leaves one shoulder bare and thus looking as if a marble statue has sprung to life. His alien charge he leaves with Olivia before walking to meet McCree where there is room enough amid the crowded cavern in which they wait for the storm to calm. His gaze slides over this stranger's form, and when he has taken full pleasure in assessing his strength, he speaks.]

Before we begin, it is right that each man should know the name of his opponent - and so I shall tell you that it is Achilles, son of Peleus, who accepts your challenge. I should find it fair too that you explain the rules of this match, as I am not yet so familiar with your people's custom of arm wrestling.

[Please explain before he gets to suggesting they strip and find some oil with which to slick up their muscles.]

Last, we shall need a third man to judge fairly our match that the winner can be rightly declared.

[ YUP THAT IS A VERY FIT MAN. McCree would whistle if that were at all appropriate to do towards a stranger, which it is not, but he's caught up on the introduction, anyway. Because--wait. What? ]

Hold up, now. Achilles, like -- from the poem? Your mama named you after that?

[ He said 'son of Peleus', though. Then there's the way of speaking, as though he leaped directly from the pages of a poem that McCree absolutely did not actually read. ]

[He is a man of great presence, with his broad shoulders drawn back and his noble brow held high. There now swells a look of pride in his countenance as he speaks winged words.]

I am named after none - my great name is my own to bear. It seems you have heard tales of my worthy deeds, and for this I am honored. Brave indeed is the man who would challenge me in such a contest even after knowing who it is that he faces, for among the Achaeans there are few who might try to best me, and none who could succeed. Or are you no longer so certain about this wrestling contest?

[Whatever the poetic equivalent of a shit-eating grin might be, there glimmers a hint of it upon his lips now.]

Edited 2016-07-29 19:07 (UTC)

[ He mutters, 'God damn', because even if Achilles isn't the real deal, he sure as hell talks like it. And, given McCree's--everything--that counts for a lot with him.

He adjusts his hat. ]

Naw, partner, I ain't the kind to back out. I'll see my odds through.

[ He'll fold if he has to, but for now -- he's staying in the game. He gestures to a flattish rock in one corner of the cave. ]

We set down there. Lock hands. Whoever forces the other fella's arm down flat on the rock, wins.

[ He adds, after a second. ]

Name's McCree, by the way.

[He nods his approval.]

You seem to me an honorable man, McCree, and thus my heart burns bright in my breast as we set to this contest. Although your style of wrestling differs from that which the Achaeans boast, the style to which I am accustomed, I am eager to prove the strength of my arms. Still we need a judge to lend his impartial eye to our match ere we begin.

[So speaking, Achilles turns to address all who are gathered nearby, and his booming voice is magnified by the vaulted ceiling of the cavern and its cramped walls. It is certainly loud enough to cut through the din of chatter.]

Who shall judge this contest of strength? The challenge has been issued for a match in arm wrestling, yet we need a man who will bear witness to our contest that the winner may fairly be determined.

[AND OH SO CONVENIENTLY here's one (1) Riza, passing by and drawn by the sound of loud voices (and attractive men). She's generally one that prefers watching rather than actively participating (even in such an easy role as judging) but there are some things that need to be corrected here.

Such as:]

Why a man and not a woman?

[That seems highly misogynistic, in her opinion.]

[ McCree rubs the back of his neck. He takes an antiquated view of many things, and that doesn't always exclude involving ladies in rough stuff, but he's still a product of 2070--not 1870. ]

Ah, it don't matter, really.

[ He glances at Achilles, one eyebrow arched. ]

Right?

[At first the doubt which hardens his features is plain, but as he thinks on the words once given to him by Ramir, the accusation that such an attitude is backwards, he seems to relent.]

Very well, fair stranger. Although in the tradition of my people it should be a man who lends his judgment thus, in matters of judgment a woman is no less fair than a man, and therefore I can see no reason why you should not be a suitable witness to our contest.

Edited 2016-07-29 21:19 (UTC)

[Damn straight her judgement's no less fair than a man's.

'Fair stranger' has her lips thinning, but she manages a smile nonetheless, entirely false and devoid of any particular warmth.]

I'm pleased to hear that. [Stepping forward, her demeanor turns entirely businesslike.] If the two of you have already agreed on the requirements to win, we can get started as soon as you're ready.

[ McCree has already learned the hard (burning) way that Riza isn't fond of endearments or epithets of any kind. The hollow smile makes his blood run ice cold.

(Definitely his kind of woman.)

He unwinds the serape from his neck as he walks over to the rock he pointed out, folds it haphazardly, and sets it down on the ground. As he sits, he unlocks the body armor on his chest, popping it off; this, too, he sets down, on top of the serape. He's wearing a high-collared, dark brown shirt beneath all that, and he unbuttons it a little, lets everything breathe. This kind of thing requires absolute concentration, after all.

He sets both his hands--bionic, flesh--on the rock. ]

All right. Like I said: which one?

[Many women have cast their smile upon Achilles, but none quite like that. He knows not how to interpret such a strange look, and so he frowns without quite meaning to do so.

Nevertheless, with the contest underway, he crouches down beside the flattened stone that shall serve as their wrestling arena. Already he thinks this a wonderful adaptation of the sport that requires far more room than what is afforded by this crowded cavern. As McCree prepares himself, so too does the son of Peleus: from one wrist he removes the golden cuff which serves as his means of communication, and from the other he tugs off a bracelet woven of horse hair and falcon feathers. These he sets aside. He lets alone the bracelet woven of hemp and shells which wraps his bicep, keeping it for good fortune.

Then he assesses McCrees proffered hands.]

I shall choose first to wrestle with my spear arm. [Otherwise known as his right arm.] But will you not remove the armor from your hand?

[ McCree shakes his head.

(For his part, he's keeping the hat on.) ]

Ain't armor, darlin'. It's a prosthetic.

[ He wiggles the metal fingers. ]

[The struggle of being of Ancient Greece is that he has no idea what a lot of words mean. But the boon then is that a lot of these strange words derive from his native tongue and so at least some sense of the meaning makes it through the magical translators: an addition. As he puzzles over the curious sight, he speaks his awe.]

I see now why you declared it the impossible challenge. To have grey iron in place of soft flesh - such a thing I have never seen!

I stand by my choice to wrestle first with my spear arm, thus setting myself against your arm of flesh, but not because I fear losing to the great strength of your iron hand - for were I to conquer the impossible challenge first, then what fun would there be in continuing our contest?

Aw, shucks. It's a common enough thing where I'm from.

[ He shrugs modestly, letting it his hand drop onto the rock. But he's grinning warm, obviously happy to have shown Achilles something new. ]

Can't say I fault your logic.

[ He sets his good elbow on the rock, opens his gloved palm. ]

Grab hold and gimme your best shot.

Edited 2016-07-29 22:16 (UTC)

[Achilles mimics the arrangement of McCree's body and then with his elbow anchored to the stone he takes the other man's hand into his grasp.]

He who bests the other in two rounds out of three wrestled with each arm shall be declared victorious. Should our match end with neither man better than the other, it shall be the judge of this contest who determines the terms of victory. Is such an agreement to your liking?

[ Hmm. That's ... that's quite a grip. McCree steels himself. ]

Sounds fair enough.

[ He squeezes Achilles's hand, as if to seal the deal. He's no slouch in the strength department, as his biceps suggest, but ... ]

Whenever you're ready.

[And this is how McCree finds himself engaged in an arm wrestling contest with the strongest of the Greeks. Achilles lifts his gaze to Riza who presides over this haze of testosterone.]

Upon your signal we shall begin.

[He eschews calling her "fair stranger" this time.]

[Wise decision.

To say she hasn't spent these past few moments enjoying the fine forms before her would be an outright lie, but she's careful to keep her expression neutral and quick to snap back to attention once the two are settled.]

Very well. On your mark, get set...go!

[May the best man win.]

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VIDEO. UN: LOKI

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i'm a serious rper who plays serious characters very seriously

well i'm not so y'all have to deal with me

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