Sir Saladvocate - Lokius

🥑 I am not one and simple, but complex and many.

A single key awaits Loki at his desk in the morning. It takes him hours to find the door it belongs to, but B-15 just ends up telling him she gave it to him so he could access the kitchen. She also says to give it back when he's done with it, and he says something very vulgar in return, because he knows he has to agree to this, and he hates it very much.

Loki finds Mobius at his desk much later in the day, watching him look over the same jet ski magazine he reads every morning. He stands in front of him with the implication that he has something very important to say, but, although he is noticed, Mobius does not look up.

"Mobius."

His eyes remain fixed on the paper. "Mm."

"I found the kitchen."

Mobius looks up.

"Oh, no."

"Far back in the, uh, the cold-box..."

He trails off, his face contorted into an expression suggestive of an unsure distaste in his current confusing vocabulary usage. He really doesn't know the word for this. They idle there in silence until they've both had enough of it.

"The fridge." Mobius suggests.

"There's dressing in there that I found," Loki spills excitedly. "It was buried. I searched for thirteen minutes. Found it under the green onions."

Mobius sighs. "How old is it?"

"I don't know," Loki replies. "The lid is somewhat... flaky."

"Did you check the date?"

"Of course I didn't," Loki spits. "But if any of you let me use magic here, perhaps I could send myself off to do it."

Mobius tosses his magazine onto his desk. "Hey, Loki, it's not my fault you can't clone yourself, and it's also not my fault that the only dressing here is probably ancient."

He then fixes Loki with a blank look, understanding beginning to creep into his bones.

"I hope you didn't put it in another salad," he says slowly, and Loki only smiles, his eyes wrinkling at the corners.

"I... need you to taste test something."

"Loki, for the love of God," Mobius breathes in frustration. Loki pauses, clearing his throat as he processes a thought.

"You use dates on your food?" he asks in confusion. "I thought time was different here."

"It is," says Mobius with a pointed finger, "and so are the dates. If you checked it, you would know."

"How do you know if it's expired, then?" Loki challenges in disbelief. "What, does it tell you on the bottle?"

"Yes," Mobius reprimands, which is true.

Loki purses his lips, glancing away from the gaze of misfortune. "Well, the... the bottle is... no more."

Mobius pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I put the dressing in and threw it away," Loki excuses himself quickly, "but it tasted alright. I mean, it's a bit like cardboard and more susceptible to rot since it's dairy based, but—"

"You tasted it?"

Loki's mouth twitches at the corner. "Well, of course I tasted it," he snorts, as if it's the Obvious Thing to Do. "And where do you even get dairy products, anyway? You can't possibly have... goats up here."