— ᴄᴏᴠᴇᴛᴏᴜs ᴍᴀɢᴘɪᴇ. (
ikols) wrote in
riverviewlogs2017-12-10 02:08 pm
Entry tags:
but they're gonna pay me
who: loki and billy (616)
what: billy is loki's hero.
when: dec
where: trixie, the club.
warnings: gay boys play gay chicken, how can anyone lose? #moonboyfriends
[ The basement, pub, and VIP area of Trixie are all bursting at the seams tonight owing to bad weather and the enchanted nature of the building to stay a toasty hub in the wintertide months. Hygge is ongoing which means a party spirit is in the air but, for once, Loki can't be found dancing or flirting with his patrons; he sits in one of the booths upstairs on the restricted first-floor, not an ounce of merry-making beyond the half-closed golden drapes where he sits behind a low table scattered with official documents pertaining to his accounts. A laptop has a billion tabs open and a half-empty chocolate milkshake stands forgotten while Loki, with the sleeves of a smart white shirt rolled up, hunkers over bills and spreadsheets and genuinely wonders if this is a fate worse than falling into the Void.
The godling rubs his eyes and sighs, head in a hand. Not for the first time his mind wanders to a dozen other things, places, and people, restless and unwilling to cooperate because there was a reason he hired Tim Drake to do this, the guy was wired for marketing and financial nonsense. The strict, unrelenting nature of it goes against every iota in his body that tries so hard to feign interest, scripted for chaos and tricks and all sorts of things that don't help him explain tax and net incomes and EBITDA. His horned helm lies at an angle on the far edge of the table but it may as well be an omniverse away for all that he feels like he's the God of Mischief. God of Migraines, sure.
He always did hate arithmatic ... in every lifetime. ]
what: billy is loki's hero.
when: dec
where: trixie, the club.
warnings: gay boys play gay chicken, how can anyone lose? #moonboyfriends
[ The basement, pub, and VIP area of Trixie are all bursting at the seams tonight owing to bad weather and the enchanted nature of the building to stay a toasty hub in the wintertide months. Hygge is ongoing which means a party spirit is in the air but, for once, Loki can't be found dancing or flirting with his patrons; he sits in one of the booths upstairs on the restricted first-floor, not an ounce of merry-making beyond the half-closed golden drapes where he sits behind a low table scattered with official documents pertaining to his accounts. A laptop has a billion tabs open and a half-empty chocolate milkshake stands forgotten while Loki, with the sleeves of a smart white shirt rolled up, hunkers over bills and spreadsheets and genuinely wonders if this is a fate worse than falling into the Void.
The godling rubs his eyes and sighs, head in a hand. Not for the first time his mind wanders to a dozen other things, places, and people, restless and unwilling to cooperate because there was a reason he hired Tim Drake to do this, the guy was wired for marketing and financial nonsense. The strict, unrelenting nature of it goes against every iota in his body that tries so hard to feign interest, scripted for chaos and tricks and all sorts of things that don't help him explain tax and net incomes and EBITDA. His horned helm lies at an angle on the far edge of the table but it may as well be an omniverse away for all that he feels like he's the God of Mischief. God of Migraines, sure.
He always did hate arithmatic ... in every lifetime. ]

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