He had always viewed humans with disdain, but this one, she just unsettles him. /"You're cold, Mr. Sun," she says. Yes, well, that was kind of the point./
They were born to kneel at his feet, Loki thinks, convinces himself, even when the old man stands, and the monkey striped man attacks him. Humans were born to kneel, and no matter how many centuries pass, how many generations are stripped down, they will always kneel to the likes of him. -to the likes of a nobody, but it's fine, because he's not human, and that is enough, he should think-
In all honesty, he does not understand the appeal. Thor is gone for a few days, and comes back a stranger. All thanks to a mortal wench, and the thought makes his lips twist into a sneer. They stick him in a flying castle, eying him with open hostility and no amount of tact.
He smiles with sharp white teeth, and wrinkles around his blueblue eyes. Fury turns, scowling. Loki glances at the camera, smirks. Big brother -he sneers- is watching, and he needs to know Loki is fine without him, will burn Asgard and renew it under his harsh visionary. Vaguely, he wonders if Thor had a choice, who he would pick.
But, he already chose, didn't he Laufeyson?
His smile is starting to hurt his cheeks.
…
Really, was there any chance? Did Loki dare hope, dare think, dare even try, to commandeer a planet that he held no sentimental interest in in the first place? Did he think that he could hurt Thor's precious little mortals, mortals he was only trying to help. (Maybe he's harsh, and cold, and downright rude, but really, did they expect anymore? They were just humans.)
"You can't kill an entire race!" An irate expression becomes him, makes him cold, and he rubs his temple absentmindedly. Thor's hurt, and shouting, is providing a heavy headache. Loki closes his eyes for a brief moment, allows himself the weakness. He remembers words of poison, and we all mourned and come home brother.
Thor burns Loki, but Loki remembers the Chitauri, the simpering sneers, threats behind sharp teeth, and makes up his mind.
There is always a choice, but Loki is selfish and cold, and no one's son. Is it really a surprise it came to this?
"Puny god," the beast snarls, and Loki starts at the pain. He is left, indented in the floor, and he closes his eyes. A hysterical giggle, softened by a painful groan.
Really, was there ever any chance?
…
Thor offers the Tesseract, as if it were a choice, and Loki accepts easily. Smiling makes him bleed in his cage.
"Brother," Thor starts, does not finish. Loki regards Thor with a contemptuous look, tongue still. He finds it funny that Loki's mouth is caged, and yet Thor is tongue-tied.
"Brother," Thor says, and Loki almost sighs. The misnomer is so common on Thor's tongue it is starting to lose value, meaning. Thor cannot finish his statement, and Loki does not look up when the door closes behind the thunder god.
Later, Loki will be released back to Midgard, without Thor's knowledge, and Odin will gaze on, unfaltering, grim, and Loki will laugh and laugh and laugh.
"Loki, my son-" Loki sobers, "you have only ever been that to me, Loki. But, you pose too much of a threat here (no one wants to gaze upon your face), and you deliberately disobeyed me. Consequences will always follow you."
"Yes," Loki agrees, "being born is the one sin I've ever committed to you, isn't it, All-father?"
Why would Odin care for such mortals? He is looking for an excuse, Loki gathers, sneers. It is becoming a common expression.
"Think about what you've done," Odin says simply, and Loki barely has time to blink, before he is struck. He tumbles away with nothing but the stars as company. His thoughts turn to Mother, and he banishes the thought, and the feeling that accompanies it. She is no mother of his -because out of all this, you wished her image went unscathed, although the argument is weak in his head.
He wishes he landed in the middle of nowhere, alone,but he always did have such unfortunate luck.
He wakes up to gray eyes and warm fingers prodding his face. He smacks them away, moves to sit up, tongue curling around an obtuse comment. He stills when she frowns slightly, blinking, before straightening. His eyes trail her carefully, suspicion and disgust twisting his lips.
He has only ever found humans useless, pointless, and he hates it. He examines the dwelling he is in, dull shabby walls, ugly stained window. The only thing notable are the eccentric items scattered around the room, sticks and over-turned stones, a still wind chime, bright objects. Notable, but not appealing.
She returns with a grin that's not all there, hands cupped around a glass.
"You're very thirsty, aren't you, Mr. Sun?" He narrows his eyes at the name, but does not immediately dump the glass over her head when she puts it in his hands.
"You were baking in the sun," the girl sighs, lifting her head to stare out the window. In her distraction, Loki leans in to sniff the drink.
"It's quite alright," the girl is smiling, "It's just milk." Her eyes turned wide, dreamy. "Have you never had milk?" The horror in her voice unsettles him.
"Don't be daft," he snaps, and is tempted to smash the glass against the floor in a poor show of etiquette as Thor was so prone to do. He supposes he never fixed in with that lot. But he is thirsty, so he sips the drink, and doesn't comment on why she didn't offer plain water instead.
He sets the glass on the night table beside him, falters when he catches the eye of the girl in the picture. She smiles, waves, dangling her fingers teasingly. Sorcery, Loki thinks, but abandons the notion. Loki is well aware of the technology Midgard has, knows of moving pictures, but he did not take it literally.
"Oh, are you a wizard, Mr. Sun?" the girl says, pads over to his side.
"Wizard?" he repeats softly, narrows his eyes when the girl in the picture seems to walk out of the frame.
"Silly me," the girl laughs, "I suppose I should have covered that when I brought you in. Would of been much trouble if you were a Muggle."
"Oh?" Loki says, turns to her.
"Oh, yes," the girl says, seriously, "I would've had to fix your brain, and no one likes that."
A threat? Loki ponders, suspicious when the girl extends a hand.
"Luna Lovegood," Luna says, tilting her head to the side. The sun heats her hair to a bright glow, and Loki blinks. "And you are, mister? Or did I guess correctly?"
"I am curious as to how you came by 'Mr. Sun'," Loki announces, does not take her hand. She does not show a reaction, merely retracts her hand.
"You were muttering about suns in your sleep," Luna says, and Loki pales. Luna notices, asks him if he needs more milk.
"No," Loki says, annoyed, eyes scuttling to the view outside. Dust clings to the window, Loki notes with disgust.
"The Nargles are at it again," Luna says, following his eyes. "They do get so worked up, nowadays."
Loki does not ask. Luna smiles, and Loki looks away.
Sorcery, Loki comes to learn, is not reserved for better species. Rather, it expands to even human grasps. It is only luck, then, that he meets the strangest of them all, and not entirely sane either. Sometimes, she is so blunt in nature he wonders if she is trying to be vague. It is not a concept he wishes to understand. He grows accustomed to it anyways.
The way she looks beyond his shoulder at things not seen, dare he say, doesn't exist. Her credibility dwindles every day. Still, she is useful, provides a room for him, so he stays, and tries not to be a nuisance (although Lovegood can be annoying to the point of suicidal the way she speaks to him). He demanded more attention than any nonexistent beast, he'd like to think.
She still does not know his name. His real name. He grudgingly accepts 'Mr. Sun.' The title is not degrading, although from her tongue, he can't be sure.
The dwelling is located in the middle of nowhere, he notes with detached amusement, and his wish did come true, just not the 'alone' part. All is well, he supposes, it wouldn't be good to wake up in a sun-baked desert without any resources.
"How do you grow herbs?" Loki is asking, bored, lounging in a rocking chair under the shade of the roof. She looks up from where she is tending an ugly green looking plant, and mulls over the question. The lion hat and sunglasses make her look ridiculous, and Loki enjoys the view, smirk drawing under his palm. He always did like being superior.
"Magic," she says, and Loki dismisses the simple answer.
"Of course," he drawls, "Magic solves everything."
"You're a wizard. Wouldn't you agree?"
Loki does not answer, zaps a buzzing fly from his ear. His magic is crippled, and Luna stares at him curiously -ignorant girl, it's not fair, that she have magic at her disposal, and he didn't, not fair, injustice, unfair, he should steal it. Her eyes are distracted again, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
Loki decides mortal magic will not suit him, and if Luna asks him why he's outside ("Mr. Sun, I admire the attention, but if you aren't going to help, I suggest going inside. Your skin is peeling red.") he will smile cryptically, say, "Magic."
She is bemused, but it's only fair.
A/N: It had to be done, it did. Wrote this while waiting for something, cough. Will probably continue this, since this relationship intrigues me so. Reviews would be adored! :)
2/3/13: Brushed away some minor grammatical errors, mostly involving dashes. Changed last sentence to make it flow easier. Will update soon.