VIDEO. UN: LOKI

[selfimage]

[ 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!! :****

Comments

[flashbanging]

[ 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?

[heelies]

[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.

[strictdiscipline]

[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.

[flashbanging]

[ 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?

[heelies]

[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?

[flashbanging]

[ 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. ]

[heelies]

[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?

[flashbanging]

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.

[heelies]

[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?

[flashbanging]

[ 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.

[heelies]

[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.]

[strictdiscipline]

[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.]