bakerstreet | It's Too Late to Apologize

It's Too Late to Apologize

The Apology Meme

You've done something incredibly stupid. Maybe you've said the wrong thing. Maybe you broke something that wasn't yours. Or, maybe you broke a promise. Whatever the reason, you have to find a way to apologize to the person you hurt.

Rules:

1. Post with your character name, fandom and preferences.
2. People reply to you using RNG (or not) to pick an option from both lists.
3. Roleplay the apology and decide if the person can ever be forgiven.
4. Have fun!

The Reasons

01. Caught Lying - Maybe you thought they wouldn't find out, or maybe you thought they wouldn't care. Whatever the reason, the other person is now mad at you.

02. Caught Cheating - You had an affair and you loved found out. Or, maybe you cheated on a test or game.

03. Heat of the Moment - The two of you were fighting and some hurtful things were said. Now it's time to make amends.

04. Broke Something - Whether it was on purpose or on accident, you broke something belonging to the other person.

05. Snooping - You were caught snooping in the other person's stuff, or maybe even their email or phone.

06. Gossip - The other person told you a huge secret, and you blabbed it to anyone who would listen.

07. Wildcard - Pick your own scenario!

The Apologies

01. Letter/email/text - It's kind of cheap, but it's a start, right?

02. Phone Call - Maybe calling them is a food first step.

03. Flowers - Have them delivered to them, or take them there yourself.

04. A Gift - It can as small, or as big as you'd like.

05. A Surprise Weekend Away - Maybe getting away will solve the problem.

06. Makeup Sex - Maybe it won't solve all your problems, but it's fun!

07. Wildcard - Whatever you'd like.

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[ The problem is this: Loki is a young man who has developed an unwise but otherwise brilliantly effective method of drawing attention to himself.

Sif's golden hair, the one mark of femininity in a young woman otherwise unconcerned with such things. Loki knows jealousy more intimately than he has ever known a lover, and Sif - who has managed to turn the Æsir and all their prejudices upon their head - has always been an evocative force.

The golden strands sluice between his fingers like water, shining in the moonlight. He ties them into a knot and hides them in the heart of his precious belongings, away from the eyes of anyone who may come looking.

A day passes.

Loki knows guilt with considerably less intimacy, but he is no stranger to it. And that's why he stands outside the changing rooms bordering the training ring, waiting for the newly-shorn Sif to emerge. ]

[ She had not been a child, to cry over something so silly as a few locks of hair. But it was only when she was alone, only when all of the hubbub had ceased and the whimpering of all the silly, simpering women had quieted that she allowed herself to mourn. After all..

He'd cut her hair. Her one vanity, the one thing she'd dared to hold close to her heart as her beauty. How she'd wanted to kill him for his daring, but he was Odinson and she was.. not. And that was all that mattered.

Sif had cried that night, but not because she was ashamed. Because she was angry. And that day in the training ring, she'd sent more men away battered and bleeding than ever before, working her body until she thought she might collapse.

It was only when she broke the hand of a man who might otherwise protect Asgard that she allowed herself to be sent away from the ring, changing quickly, anger still threatening to consume her.

Once she left the changing room, she stopped short. Him. Why had he come? One of her hands twitched slightly, as though to move to her head - one of those stupid women had done their best to even it out, but it was no good. She looked like a baby, a child -- she didn't even look like a man this way, her face was too small, delicate features revealed fully. It was disgraceful.]

You are not wise to come here, Loki Odinson.

Edited 2012-07-10 18:57 (UTC)

[ He would cut his own tongue out before sharing his thoughts with her, but he finds her oddly beautiful like this. She'd known brilliance with her golden hair lighting her face, but now she has been stripped of that shield, left only with her eyes and her mouth and the delicate curve of her jaw. Like something small and fragile and eggshell-thin; like a strange trinket to be placed upon a shelf and admired.

Perhaps he simply likes the fact that he's taken her pride and shoved it into her face. That he's shown her that she is no more than a silly girl playing warrior at the first Prince of Asgard's side; that a simple matter of sheared hair has affected her to such an extent.

And so his guilt is conditional. ]

The price of wisdom is freedom, Lady Sif. [ He steps forward, leaving the shadow of a great pillar, looking as calm and as unruffled as ever. A strange way to begin an apology, perhaps, but Loki has always followed his own path. ] You, of all of Asgard, should understand why that's an untenable trade.

[She felt (and looked) like a child this way, no longer remarkable, no longer beautiful - she had only her skills in battle to commend her now and even then, it was difficult to force the men of Asgard to take her seriously. She had Thor's ear and his favor, but that was not always enough. Growing up hearing that her hair was her only beauty, she was no longer certain that she even had Thor any longer - both he and Odin had been so angry once they discovered what Loki had done, and surprised that she wasn't more upset.

Her hand rests on the hilt of her dagger - she's not frightened of him, she's not afraid to attack him here. It was treason, but he'd ... he'd cut her hair. Surely there would be some allowance made, under the circumstances! She didn't need to kill him .. just scare him a bit, just keep him from coming near her again.]

If you come any closer, I will free you from this mortal plane, Loki, and send you to the halls of our fathers. [This time, her voice was a low growl, temper flaring in her eyes.]

[ Perhaps it's nonsensical for Loki to be taken aback by the depth of Sif's hostility, especially after goading her. And yet, it's still difficult for him to brush off the surprise. Loki finds vanity to be a weak, womanly trait — the Æsir wear their beauty with pride, but in so many other ways, Sif has shown herself to be above the petty grievances of the common sort about her.

It invokes disappointment in him, but even that disappointment is tempered. Loki has always liked Sif in his own way, and perhaps that regard for her is what made her the singular target of Thor's dearest companions. So he stills his silver tongue in the face of her flashing eyes, and keeps to the shadows.

It's only after one long, careful moment of the silence weaving itself into the air between them, that Loki deigns to speak. ] Those who seek to unravel the powers of seiðr across the Nine Realms have never quite unraveled the mysterious properties imbued in the hair of immortals, did you know? [ His tone is light, conversational, but he doesn't move to close the distance between them. He is brother to Thor, whose temper is legendary. Sif is a slavish follower of Thor. He knows better than the strike at the tinder of her rage. ] —strange, then, that one like me, a humble servant of the craft, should have answered so many questions that even the great minds of the past could not touch upon.

[ And then, before she can draw breath to reply, he steps from the shadows: a lateral step, placing him between the columns, maintaining the distance between them. ] If you would deign to accept my help, perhaps I could regrow yours.

[It's not just her vanity he's offended - mostly, it's her pride. Since she was a child, Sif had always been told that her hair was the greatest of her beauty, even for the Æsir, it was remarkable. Her hair had been a gift, and he had stolen that from her without a second thought.

Thor and the Allfather had loved her hair. Without it..

Even more than that, she had been stupid and foolish - to allow her guard to fall and be so exposed that he could get close enough to her to even touch one lock, let alone cut it all off.]

.. I was not aware. [She admits, finally, eyes following him though she did not turn. He wanted to help her? It was his fault she looked this way to begin with, it was only right that he offer to correct it, but .. She did not want his aid. Still, once cut, there was no guarantee that her hair would grow and she'd already tried to using what magicks she possessed to make it grow herself.

There is something suspicious about his manner.]

Why would you offer to help me? Did your brother ask you to?

[ Did your brother ask you to?

That, more than anything else, prompts the flare of his irritation. Of course, mischievous Loki, useful for naught on his own except when directed by his gallant brother.

Had Fandral shorn her hair, would she have seen it as more than a jest? If Volstagg had done the deed, or Hogun, or even Thor himself? ]

My motivations are as transparent as you would make them, my lady.

[ He thinks of that knot of golden hair, locked deeply into his collection of magical artifacts, and his heart hardens against the guilt. But he is Odinson, of blood royal and true, and he will pay the debts that he has incurred. In a manner that suits his purposes. ]

[She had never known him to do something kind for her of his own volition - but she had never known him well. He was right in believing her to be Thor's, completely, though she wasn't sure how much he knew (or guessed) about her wishes for the future.

His thoughts were silly - Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral or Thor would never have shorn her hair. Not even for a jest.]

You would not do something that did not have a benefit for you. What would you ask of me in return?

[In her opinion, he should ask for nothing. She owes him nothing. He owes her a great debt for her hair. But Loki is different. He may .. require .. something.]

[ He is not so simple-minded as to believe that asking a boon of her would solve anything — indeed, it would only serve to show her the underside of his heart. And Loki hardly trusts himself with the vulnerabilities that he's hidden behind his penchant for mischievous chaos; he wouldn't dare open up his chest for Sif's unfriendly eyes. ]

Your favor. [ A smile flits to his lips: guileless, sweet. ] You've granted one of the sons of Odin the extent of it already; would you deny the younger the same?

[ Friendly, uncomplicated words, if one didn't know to read between the lines. The very nature of Loki's prank may have spilled a little too much of his angry vulnerability, but he holds a secret of Sif's far dearer than that. And he wants her to know that.

Had he been wiser, he would have given her the gift of his help without playing this petty game — for all his posturing, Loki does like Sif and her inelegant courage, so much and yet so unlike Thor — but wisdom is a gift that neither of the Odinsons have yet been given. ]

[ For a moment, she wasn't entirely sure she knew what he meant. Her favor? As Odin's son, there was no favor she could give him that was higher than his own. Surely he knew that. 'Favor' .. was a word used to describe what ladies could give. Sif had never heard it applied to herself before. Once his true meaning sunk in, she was in motion before she even realized it.

How dare he. Sif crosses the distance between them, anger running hot in her veins, making her rash and foolish. She's backing him up against a column before she has a chance to consider whether or not that is a good decision. Once there, she'll slam both hands against the cement on either side of his head - she has to look up at him, something she realizes with a start.

When you grow up with someone, sometimes you fail to realize when they change and become so tall.]

Who I bestow my favor on is not your concern. Is it now custom is Asgard for ladies to be passed among men like .. like .. common whores?!

[But, her hair. For such a simple thing, something so quick and silly - she could have her hair back. How could Thor want her, this way? After their couplings, he always loved laying in bed and playing with her hair; braiding it and twisting it around his fingers, kissing each curl before finally ---

No. Not now. She can't think of that now.]

[ Loki flinches at the proximity, but the vulnerability is all artifice. The smile remains, though his eyes darken with a touch of something that's too honest to be mischief.

Let her think his anger to be a brittle thing, rather than the deep, poisonous snake that it has become. Sif, damned Sif, she who shattered the social and moral mores of society — favored amongst all while Loki is thrown into the shadows that Thor leaves behind him. ]

You'd do best to listen before flying into an unattractive rage. [ Let her take his offer, and he will grow a thicket of bristle upon her head rather than the golden mass for which her vanity mourns. ] I thought to enter the tournament that my father plans to hold in honor of Thor's coming-of-age — a scrap of fabric blessed with your family's crest would serve.

[She's controlling her temper, but only just. If she were to strike him now, he might never offer to help her regrow her hair again. As much as it would pain her to admit it, if there were someone who could help her, it would be Loki. He had, after all, done this and magick often relied heavily on the undoing and redoing of things.

Sif needed his help. But, at what price? Even as he spoke, she was second guessing him, unwilling to believe that he would do her so great a kindness for a trifle in return. She blessed things with her family crest often, it was part of her duties. And in a tourney for Thor's honor, he might think..]

You and I both know that is not what you meant. [Her voice is a low hiss, dark eyes searching his for answers, some sort of guidance. As usual, he gave away nothing.] I won't give you my favor for the tournament. You'll have to find some other price.

So be it. [ And that's the end of it. He has named his price, and he won't settle for anything else. She has been soaring high off the ground for the entirety of her life; let her learn a moment of humility.

Even so, the denial rankles, and Loki can't walk away from this without baring his teeth one last time. ]

But - lest you misunderstand my intentions, let me clarify that I am no more interested in the pocket of sweetness between your legs than Thor is interested in your heart.

[Humility? You don't think she's learned a bit of humility from the fact that she has no hair? Now she knew what it was like to feel as if there was nothing special about her at all, as if she was no one. He'd given her that, that was his fault.

Her fist slammed into the column, breaking skin. It didn't satisfy her rage anymore than her snarl, but it did make her feel a little bit better.]

Your brother's intentions are not your concern!

[Why was she so angry? He was telling her something she already knew - she'd known it since the moment Thor had found her, curled behind a statue of the Allfather's father, hands over her bald head. She could see it in his eyes, then, he would never look at her the same.

If Thor was not interested, who would be?]

Why would you ask my favor, Loki? You detest tournaments, you've never worn a lady's favor before. Tell me why.

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It's Too Late to Apologize

7-7. hope pre-thor is all right!

oh my goodness, yes! this is amazing!

excellent.

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sorry for the late reply, i was ill.

don't worry about it! hope you're feeling better.

thanks :) i am!

<3!

<3!!

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