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Life was calm after the events of Ragnarok, no fear of wondering if any powerful god would discover ironwood and set it to ruin. Angrboda lay on her furs, deep in sleep. Her face was smooth, no wrinkle from her furrowing her brows or scrunching her nose. She slept in her day clothes, though her gold hair adjuncts off to the side, with her locs laying free over her neck and face.
Atreus threaded carefully into her home, careful not to wake her. He came with a treat for her, a sweet loaf of bread secured in a cloth to trap the warm smell that came from it. The loaf rose when Atreus attempted to bake it, the first run ended up horrible. Burnt so badly it would be better as ashes. His second attempt was better, but it was stiff.
Three more attempts later, he finally got it perfect for her. He didn't know if she liked bread, even, he didn't really know what she liked at all. Their first time together in Ironwood, he got no inkling of anything of her taste. Even right after Ragnarok, the little time he spent trekking before leaving there still was nothing.
He has only been gone for a few moons, and he has gotten rather lonely. No watchful gaze of his father, Mimir's accent waving through his ears, Sindri's presence walking alongside him… It had taken a little toll on him, not that he would admit it. He was still trying to find his role of Loki, his purpose after Ragnarok.
He had to contact someone, but he couldn't face his father with Mimir on his hip, he couldn't bear seeing that. It would make him homesick, even just thinking about them made him homesick. He had no clue where Sindri was, and if he'd ever forgive him. He decided to look at the eyes of Angrboda once again.
Of course, when he carefully made it inside, her eyes were covered. Internally he debated to just
leave the loaf beside her and make his way out, but slowly the guilt would swallow him whole. He had to face her, he had to.
He refused to let himself stand beside Angrboda awkwardly, glancing at her until she woke. He would probably seem like a creep and Angrboda would have every right to slap him. Not that she would anyway.
Examining her home, he made his way to sit not far from her. Pulling out the warm loaf from his bag he brought along just for this. The heat seeped through the cloth it was wrapped in onto his hands, sending a chill through his body.
He had fabricated his own version of an oven, but it was made more like an overhead cooker pot above a fire. Metal scraps geared together for a box, metal door at the front, with lava he had somehow gathered from Muspelheim bubbling under it. He cooked it at Midgard, hopefully wishing that the cold would balance out the burning hot lava set under the very thin metal.
The many attempts and many travels back to Muspelheim proved that it would've just been better if Atreus seeked for some kind of oven. He wasn't someone meant to make any type of device anymore after the effort of a shortcut just to bake a loaf of bread.
As he unfastened the string holding the cloth in a tie around the treat, Angrboda cracked an eye open. The clink of his armor against itself and his bow wasn't a very pleasing sleeping sound. The cloth opened, and fell into his hands as the sweet bread was still smoking just a bit, its what you get for “baking” with lava.
“That for me?” Angrboda asked with a smirk on her face, her hand still resting under her head. Atreus jolted, in result the loaf shifted to the side of his cupped hands. Angrboda could never get enough of her catching Atreus off guard; it always pleased her to see his reaction.
She could do it hundreds of times, thousands even. He knew she liked sneaking up on him, even if it wasn't literally sneaking up on him. Atreus had tried to attempt what she had always done, and failed to do it.
“What if it's for me and I just brought it to eat it in your face?” Atreus boasted, he smirked and deliberately pulled the loaf in his hands a bit more away from her, the warmth of the sweet vapor hitting Angrboda's face.
“A lot of ‘its’ in that sentence Loki.” Angrboda shifted to lay on her back, moving her arms straight up, her palms facing the ceiling as she stretched them out.
“What else would I say? ‘What if bread for me and I just brought bread to eat bread in your face’?”
“No, now you just sound dumb.” Angrboda's head turned towards him, as Atreus moved himself for his body to face her more and properly. He handed her the loaf, raising the cloth to the sides as she took it from his offering hands.
Chipping off a small piece, she moved her fingers around it. Steam rolled out of the exposed soft cloud of bread, as she took a bite. Quickly swallowing it as just the corner of bread burned the roof of her mouth. Why the hell was it so hot?
“It burned,” Atreus stammered after the two words left her mouth, moving from left to right as he tried to come up with a response. Even after trudging through Midgard, and then Ironwood, it was still almost as hot as it was when he baked it. He did bake it over lava anyway; what did he expect?
“I mean, the hotter the better?” He cringed at his own response, looking down before glancing back up at Angrboda now sitting up with the loaf on her lap. “Sorry–I didn't know it'd be so hot.”
Angrboda let out a snicker, picking parts of the bread to expose more of the cloudy rise inside. Once there was enough biteable pieces, she set it off to the side to air out, most of the vapor already disappearing. “It is very enjoyable, don't step over your words. I like it.”
She then moved to pick up her golden attachments once again, parting and lifting her hair to sit them right. Atreus took time to register her words, mainly focused on her actions of lifting her locs up. He had not really cooked anything since his mother passed; they usually roasted the game from hunts at the end of the day or mashed herbs to scoop into soups.
After that, he didn't have to put as much effort into meals; moving into sindris made his knowledge on cooking even lessened. With the few moons that he'd been alone after Ragnarok made his spark come back once again, deep down he did really enjoy cooking and baking. The process was fun and difficult, and the finished result was always exciting to see.
The main part that he enjoyed was all of the combinations of anything he could make. Of course he had his tastes and preferences, but the idea of basically anything at his hands to combine to make edible was exhilarating to think about. He didn't have time to make himself three stable meals a day, but the fun of making meals made him consider if he could actually put in the effort to make that possible.
“I made it myself,” He admitted, for some reason he was scared to say it. Would she think differently because it wasn't made by someone good at baking? That it took him seven tries to perfect it for her? Constantly realm hopping just for one loaf.
“Did you try it?” Atreus shook his head as he glanced at the pieces of the bread, no vapor was visible now. The flesh of the sweet now cooled. “If I tried it; it wouldn't be in one piece.”
Angrboda laughed once again, cupping the cloth around the pieces of bread to then lay it in her lap. She picked up a piece and took a bite once more, tasting the soft cloud in her mouth. It wasn't the best–but close to how her grandmother would bake for her.
Atreus watched her, absorbing her every facial change. The biteable pieces were at least two bites worth, one if you just placed it in your mouth and chewed for around ten seconds. So Angrboda popped the rest of the piece in her mouth, smiling at Atreus. She liked it, good.
“Its like a cloud,” Atreus huffed out a chuckle.
“No really! I'm eating clouds.”
“Eating clouds?” Atreus shook his head, “You realize how dumb that sounds right?”