all_inclusive | (no subject)

Still a woman, and Loki was doing his best not to worry about it. It certainly did offer an interesting spin on things, though, especially when it came to him going out and about in the hotel. When it came to attractiveness Loki had very little opinion, one way or another, regarding his own face. But as a woman he could easily see that he was attractive, at least to a certain type of person, that person being himself. It brought a strange sort of confidence to someone who was already confident, but not in the ways he was aware of.

So in that regard, he had decided, for a moment, to flaunt it. The dress he wore was a weave of green and black, off one shoulder and cut just above the knee, revealing more pale, creamy skin than he ever had as a man. A good section of calves was revealed, as well, topped in heeled, laced ankle boots. Style from different worlds was never something he had much difficulty in grasping, though certainly he had a tendency to stop once he had found something suitable and wearable. This had a distinct brush of Ruby's influence, though mostly he had simply followed the direction she had pointed him in.

While some of his peers from Asgard were more interested in keeping their body tuned, Loki preferred to keep his mind sharp first of all. He was sitting on a bench in one of the hotel's gardens, which he understood had an 'oriental' theme according to Midgard, and beside him there was a stack of books. The topics were all in relation to one another - they were extensive histories of different continents on a certain planet, covering everything from its societies to geological movements from fresh Stone Age to dirty, polluted end. One, however, described the pattern of movement of that planet within a certain solar system. Whoever could have written these documents, he did not know, for it was information that could be compiled only by a strange, vast mind. Yet Loki had read it all, and now he was translating it.

The original text was a very dead language, and he was carefully and calmly inscribing it using pen and notebook into the alphabet of Midgard. He didn't know of anyone who would like to read it, but it was something to do, kept his mind active. Translations were always interesting - though Loki read, wrote and spoke many languages, there were always words that fell into and out of use, or had no counterpart. In that he was entertained.

Threaded | Flat

Ruby hadn't forgotten the information passed along to her by Sif concerning Loki's recent transformation, but for all her looking she had not seen anyone who matched the image Sif's words had created in her mind in the bar, or anywhere else in the hotel. She'd contemplated going up to Loki's room and knocking and had even done so once, but he had either not been at home or not in the mood for accepting company, which of course she could respect. Their friendship was one of idle fondness as opposed to dependency, and she knew Loki well enough to know that he was more than capable of handling his new form or at least asking for help if he needed it. If he needed her help he would've surely asked by now but it would not stop her from offering it, as she could do no less and be true to her own nature.

It was a turn of luck, then, that had her wandering through the hotel's gardens, her heels clicking on the cobblestones as she paused every now and then to read the placard of a plant she was unfamiliar with. It was a day off in which she'd had nothing else planned save for idle leisure and thinking, and she didn't pay particular attention to anything until she saw the woman sitting on one of the benches apparently writing something and wearing one of the more fabulous dresses Ruby had seen in a while.

Unable to resist, Ruby took off in a stride toward the other woman, a bright, friendly smile forming on her face as she drew near. Ruby just had to know where the woman had gotten that dress and, of course, if it came in red.

"Hi there," she said brightly. "I don't mean to bother you, but that is a glorious dress."

Moriarty's been waiting for the pin to drop.

It's been too easy, too easy, playing at normal and ordinary and boring. He's been doing it for so long that he's started to feel as if he might actually succumb to this. Is this what Sherlock feels like? Is this what having a goldfish is really like? Does it invade your mind and suck out every worthwhile thought and plan. It's why he's so grateful for the thrill of delight when he sees a familiar face, tapping his fingers in Beethoven's favourite song as he approaches, a sly smirk upon his lips.

"Well, well," he hums. "Would you look at what the cat brought in? All the bad apples are turning up in the same orchard," he sing-songs.

Either he had forgotten just how many laws of physics and sense the Nexus broke on a daily basis, or Steve had to think the hotel had gotten stranger in his absence.

It had been strange enough to have found that the clocks in the lobby had gone forward only a few days between the day he had stumbled accidentally back into a dusty diner in Kansas full of faded Wizard of Oz memorabilia and the one two years later that had seen him stepping out of his bedroom to find himself again inside the hotel he had long ago decided had to have been a dream. A vivid, bizarre dream that had felt as if it had stretched on for weeks, but a dream all the same.

He had expected the doors that studded the walls to lead to strange worlds, or back to his own. He had not expected that the door between his bedroom and bathroom might spell anything but...well, the door between his bedroom and his bathroom. It hadn't even been closed!

Steve had managed to get something like control over the body he inhabited then in the six days that had passed, though he felt nothing of the easy fluidity that women seemed to have been born to as he walked through the garden with a battered paperback in hand. With Natasha's help (studded with no little commentary) he had been able to find clothes that fit the form so unlike his own, and particularly some that felt more familiar to the styles he had known of from the days of traveling with the USO and its troupe of dancers. The blue and white polka dotted dress was nothing the least bit risque, tied at his waist with a white bow and falling to his (and not his) knees, and was comfortable enough given the circumstances after he had been able to find a pair of boots deemed feminine enough to not draw attention but functional enough to allow him to run in them if required.

Steve considered that last as he trailed through the garden, but thought immediately better of the idea of asking Natasha how she managed to run with a wider set of hips. Only to discover that the spot he had found some days before was then occupied, a dark haired woman in a dramatic dress sitting where he had expected to find only privacy.

He pulled to a stop, fingering the edge of his book and spoke with the first thing that came to mind. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt - I wasn't expecting to find you here."