He was all things mischief: the tickling flames, the laugh of the crackling wood, the smirk of the embers peeking through the log. He could snap his fingers, and chaos would erupt wherever his feet landed. His deep red hair was knotted up at the back of his head, poison green eyes dancing with mischievous glee. He was tall, and fairly handsome - though lanky, not much meat on those bones - staring off into his abyssal maliciousness with a hare-like twitch of his sharp, (some may say pointed) rosy nose.
Loki was lost in his 'bag-o-cats' as he fondly nicknamed it, picking at his fingers, biting at his lips. He hadn't done anything. This damn place was agonisingly slow and boring. He needed something interesting. Something interesting to happen now.
What can I do? There's nothing to mess with, nothing to knock over, nobody to scare... and it's almost Samhain! Oh, the shame, the shame...
Reluctantly, he dragged himself from the turmoil of his bag-o-cats, frowning gently at the woman leaning over him, though his eyes burned with an icy intensity.
"And what little tweety-bird is trying to flap its way into my brain?" He chirped, though the fair-haired woman simply tilted her head in confusion, remaining silent.
"So? What do you want?" The red-haired male re-iterated.
"You know what," The fair woman, her name was Sif, replied sternly, tightening the towel that was wrapped around her body, "Why is there tomato ketchup in the shower?"
Oh... Oh. Oh! I'd forgotten about that one. How delightful...
"Tomato ketchup?" Loki replied innocently, hiding the smirk that was trying to wobble its way onto his face, "What's tomato ketchup?"
"Red sauce." Sif growled, "Red sauce. In my shower."
"Is there really? What does it smell like?"
"How very strange, Sif," Loki's nose twitched again, "Well... I have no idea how that got there."
"Loki, I know you put tomato sauce in my shampoo." Sif folded her arms, letting out an exasperated sigh as Loki failed to stifle his dark little chuckles any longer. Usually, the joke would have lasted at least a few minutes more, but - having been unprepared due to him forgetting all about his misdeed - he simply couldn't hold it in.
"Tomatoes are good for your hair, you know." Loki shrugged, "I read it online."
Sif readjusted her stance, staring him down with her cold blue eyes.
"And I suppose that everything you read on the internet must be true..." She replied sardonically, a droplet of vaguely-tomato-infused water dripping onto Loki's forehead. He slapped it away immediately, the water reminding him of less fun times.
His feline green eyes darted back and forth between hers.
"Go clean up." She snarled at him, dangerously, and though he curled his lip in a gin-dry, strychnine smile, he was suppressing a squeak of mild fear. He sat up promptly, strutting over to the stairs, catching the blonde woman mutter something about 'nightmares' under her breath.
"I'm going for my haircut, now." Sif announced.
"Oh? Why pay money?" Loki fired back, faster than lightning, "I could have easily cut your hair for you." The redhead hinted, and Sif narrowed her eyes at him.
"You're lucky I didn't help Thor snap every bone in your body, because I guarantee that the mood I was in with you, I could have beaten Thor's fifteen minute record." She threatened, solemnly. Loki held his hands up in defense.
"It was a bit of hair, Sif," the redhead defended himself, fiercely, "besides, I only meant to cut a small strand - the shears slipped!"
"Just do me a favour and behave for once, and perhaps I won't tell Thor that you put tomato sauce in my shampoo." She grabbed her car keys and moved towards the door.
"That is, if he doesn't smell your tomato-hair first." The lanky one snickered, and Sif rolled her eyes.
"What, are you trying to get yourself beaten up?" Her eyes caught sight of the clock, "Look, I need to go - you're going to make me late. Please behave."
"Smell you later, spaghetti-head." Loki smirked.
Sif snapped something obscene back at him, before slamming the door.
Loki remained frozen on the stairs for a moment or two, checking for the sound of her car pulling out of the drive, making sure that she hadn't forgotten anything. When he was at least four hundred percent sure she was gone, he set a timer for two hours before springing into action.
Right. Time to get to work.
He started by first cleaning up the shower and replacing Sif's shampoo, before hurtling back down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Kitchen was where all the good stuff happens. He flicked the radio on.
Flinging open the freezer, his eyes lit up at all the good shit inside.
Loki thrust his hand into the ice, retrieving his things, and by his things, they truly were his things. Nobody else was allowed to touch them. Nobody else even knew they were there, shoved right at the back behind his numerous stacks of takeaway containers, and cleverly disguised as one of them.
He brought the containers to the table, and opened up his laptop, sliding a pair of glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, and a pair of surgical gloves onto his hands. He flexed his fingers, and then began his forty minute power-research, skimming over and scanning numerous articles before cracking open the lid on one of the plastic tubs.
Every time he stuck his finger into the liquid, it made him wretch, made him feel like a small part of him had just died with disgust. His lip curled, stank-face present without his realisation as he lifted his gloved finger back out of it, the clear, stringy fluid coming away like goop and landing back in the container with a jelly-like squelch.
"Yuck." He made a face, looking for the label on the container. Hella, nobody had even told him what this shit was. All he knew was that it had cropped up in a nearby library, and was found near a crime scene in which two people had been murdered without any outward signs of trauma. For all he knew, he could be sticking his fingers into someone else's-
Loki - after a vicious mental battle - slowly lifted the container up to his face and sniffed the contents. It didn't smell of anything. It just smelled... well. Cold. It smelled like cold.
A totally valid answer...
He took the glove off his left hand and scribbled down the details of the sticky liquid, documenting the texture, smell, appearance. He snapped the lid back on the container, then put it back in the fridge, still without the faintest idea of what it was. A thought occurred to him.
Now this would have been better to put in Sif's hair.
He chuckled malevolently, his eyes glittering like volatile green beetle shells. He considered it for a moment, but then disciplined himself, knowing that he couldn't just waste evidence like that.
He tucked the thought away in the bag-o-cats, letting his mind eat it up like a little fish.
He pondered for a moment or two, before slowly keying in his question into the search bar.
"Colourless, cold-smelling goop?"