A/N: Well, I certainly never expected to try and write something like this, but thanks to finally watching Crimson Peak for the first time, my Nanowrimo project with a nice and sensible Lokane plot ended up temporarily abandoned while I wrote a 50-page outline for this quasi-AU historical romance. Not sure if there's even any interest in that kind of thing, but eh, figured I'd share it anyway. I have it about halfway written, so posting the first chapter will be motivation to finish it ;)
The idea in this story is that it's about 100 years before the MCU (toward the end of the Edwardian era), but all the MCU characters were born about 100 years early. So, 95% of the story's characters are repurposed from elsewhere in the MCU to fit a period-appropriate role. Except for Jane's mother – ever since Black Swan, I can't picture anyone but Barbara Hershey as her mom, so I plucked her character from OUAT.
Anyway, enough of that. On with the show!
Chapter One – 670 Days
If anybody had asked Loki, he would have said it was all Thor's fault.
Of course, it was entirely predictable that nobody did ask him; whenever something suspicious happened, anybody and everybody would always point to him as the culprit. Granted, he usually was the culprit, but that was beside the point. This time, it really was all Thor's fault. If Thor had not been idiotic enough to sneak off into the night with the too-flirtatious-for-her-own-good daughter of the visiting duke from Alfheim, Loki would never have needed to step in and get the duke drunk enough to not notice their absence. It honestly all was a bit of a blur from that point – he remembered something about conjuring dancing pigs with feathered skirts and showing off just exactly how many duplicates of himself he could sustain while doing a series of back handsprings – but he still maintained that whatever he had done to offend the duke and cause him to tell Odin that his youngest son was the most disgraceful and disrespectful man he had ever met, he would not have done it if Thor had had an ounce of intelligence in that blob he called a brain.
So, yeah, it was Thor's fault.
But here he was anyway, suffering a punishment that certainly was one of Odin's more unusual ideas: a five-year mission to Midgard, with a list of tasks that ostensibly would take measure of the mortals' progress since their last visit several hundred years ago, but Loki had seen through that justification in a heartbeat. There certainly was no reason that Midgard would suddenly be worthy of attention; the pathetic creatures that inhabited its surface had yet to leave their own atmosphere, let alone make contact with other worlds. No, this was a punishment, pure and simple.
Loki sighed as he glanced out the window of the moving vehicle (though "moving" was a generous term – if it went any slower, he might as well have found one of those turtles and ridden that instead), giving a sharp tug on the bottom of his vest as it stubbornly tried to ride up from the jostling motions. Over the past three years, he had immersed himself thoroughly into the role of a mortal gentleman while accomplishing the tasks Odin had set out for him. If he were honest with himself, he might even say that they had started out as somewhat interesting years. Though the Midgardians were still woefully behind in almost every way as compared to the rest of the civilized universe, they certainly made up for the lack of technological intricacies with social ones. The wealthy and powerful elitists had developed their own secret language of carefully measured remarks and coy doublespeak, far more elaborate than anything in Asgard's courts. As he had quickly learned, even the slight tilt of a fan or the type of flower one gave to another could speak volumes without one word being said. It was exactly the sort of subtlety he loved – and why he had found such easy success in climbing the ranks of their petty hierarchy. Too easy. If only Odin had not threatened to leave him there permanently if he tried to do anything drastic like declare himself ruler of the world; though he had no desire to manage this horde of mindless ants, it would have been an intriguing endeavor to see if he could take them over unsuspectingly from within.
But alas, it was not meant to be. He would just have to find something else to do with his remaining two years to keep himself sane in between projects.
The scenery beyond the window failed to hold his attention for long, all of the springtime green blending together. It was beautiful yet dull, an oxymoronic trait of many things on this backwater planet. The countryside of New York was not completely unvaried, but he felt he had seen enough of it to last a lifetime. If only these blasted cars would move faster.
A handful of dreary minutes later, his destination came into view. Mr. Erik Selvig's manor was ostentatious in the way that so many were, trying desperately to mimic the grandness of England's estates or the Vanderbilts' summer cottages without quite managing to capture the essence of such places (studying architecture had been among the less appealing topics of his to-do list). The car drove up the gravel path, and soon Loki could see nothing but unending marble. It was utterly tasteless. The chauffeur hopped out once they had come to a stop, hurrying to open the passenger door so that he could step down. Unsurprisingly, there was no one outside to greet him; he knew it had less to do with a snub than the fact that Selvig was a scatterbrained man who likely had forgotten what time he was set to arrive. Loki rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck as he made his way to the front door, trying to get himself in the right mindset for this meeting. Just because his entire false life here was inconsequential did not mean he would put in a poor performance.
The butler let him in, greeting him by name though Loki had no recollection of the man's own. Informing him that Selvig had been detained but would be back soon, the butler led him into the excessively large library to await the man's arrival. Loki waited until the butler disappeared with the click of the door to let his stiff shoulders relax, irritated at having to wait. Though considerably wealthy, Selvig was a relatively small cog in the machine of his enterprise. He had been one of his first connections in the New World, easily manipulating the man to leverage himself into high society. From there, he had taken on New York City, Philadelphia, and Washington DC, his skillful words getting him into the parlor rooms of the high and mighty of this world. He really had no further need of this small fish when he had the whole ocean now open to him, but it had not felt right to cut him off completely. One never knew when one might need an old connection.
Wandering over to the series of arched windows lining the length of the room, Loki absently observed the sprawling garden beyond before a whisper of a noise caught his attention. He pulled his gaze away from the greenery, turning slightly to take in the rest of the room. Bookcases lined every inch of free wall space, an unlit fireplace large enough for him to stand in the only thing breaking up their shelves. He had been here a few times in the past, and it looked exactly the same as always.
Except for the girl curled into the corner of the elegant settee adjacent to the fireplace.
The room's other occupant had her legs tucked up onto the tawny upholstery, with her pale blue skirts covering them to maintain her modesty. Her face was nearly buried in the book she held, looking so enthralled by it that she must not have heard his entrance. With such a limited view of the creature, Loki could only guess as to whether she was truly a girl or a woman. Even after three years, he had yet to master the ability of estimating a mortal's age, their development not quite lining up with that of an Asgardian.
Still, with no idea how long he would be forced to wait for his host, she could service as entertainment in the meantime. Certainly better entertainment than staring out the window. Keeping his steps silent, Loki approached the center of the room, leaning casually against the arm of a highbacked leather chair facing the settee as he remarked airily, "I wonder what could possibly be so interesting that you would ignore your guest?"
The girl's head snapped up, a sharp jerk that made his own neck twinge in sympathy, and he withheld a grin at the wide-eyed look she gave him. He only had a moment to take in her features (soft wisps of russet brown hair escaping from their pins to hang in her golden-brown eyes, almost like amber, and to frame her pale cheeks) before the clatter of her book hitting the ground caused him to look away.
"Oh, I'm so sorry; I didn't see you there!" came her flustered apology as she tried to push herself into a more upright position on the cushion.
"Clearly," he deadpanned back, enjoying the rush of heat that bloomed in her cheeks in embarrassment. It really was the little things that provided the greatest pleasure.
Taking advantage of her momentary speechlessness, he stepped closer, bending down to retrieve the fallen book. He glanced at the title, a smirk twitching at his lips.
"Now, what's a young thing such as yourself doing reading a book with a title like Crime and Punishment?" he asked, idly flipping the pages with the side of his thumb. It was quite the coincidental title, what with thoughts of his own punishment still fresh in his mind. Perhaps he would have to read it himself.
The wide eyes narrowed into a glare. "A woman ought to read as she pleases," she responded superiorly, her embarrassment apparently forgotten in favor of taking offense at his mocking.
Well, that partially answered the question as to her age, but he could not help but think she looked much too young to be considered a woman. Opening his mouth to say as much, his jaw snapped right back shut at the sudden creak of the library door.
"My apologies, I was held up with some other work," Selvig uttered distractedly as he entered the room, not looking up from the papers in his hand as he walked over to the desk in the corner. Loki turned to face him; his meticulously trimmed blond hair and tailored suit were designed to give the impression of importance and draw the eye.
"No apologies necessary," Loki replied with seeming politeness. Internally, he groaned his disappointment; his fun had only just been getting started, and he was loath to give it up. It had been ages since he had gotten a rise out of anyone. "Your other visitor has been keeping me engaged."
The man's head finally lifted, a crease forming between his brows. "Other visitor?"
Loki inclined his head at the girl behind him; though he could no longer see her, he had heard her heels hitting the wooden floor as she moved to get up and sneak away.
Selvig followed his indication, the confusion on his face morphing into scorn. "Jane!" he chided crossly. "We have discussed that the library is off-limits in the morning. And I believe you have other duties that need attending to."
"Yes, of course, Father," the girl murmured. Loki pivoted back to her in time to see the tips of her ears burn red as she fidgeted under her father's glower. "I apologize for interrupting you and your guest."
Selvig merely swished his hand at her in dismissal, and she swiftly ducked her way out of the room. Loki watched her departure with an odd sensation of amusement combined with sympathy. Even with as mild of a scolding as that had been, it had been done in front of a third party; Odin usually at least had the decency to dole out his disappointment in private.
Not yet ready to delve into the increasingly dull world of mortal economics, Loki adopted a disinterested tone as he asked, "Your daughter, I presume?"
Selvig harrumphed as he sat down behind his desk, gesturing for Loki to take the seat in front of it. "Step-daughter, actually. A bit of an odd duck, that one – quite unruly. Normally, I would let her run free, but her mother is determined to have her presented and engaged by the end of the summer."
Interesting. Of course, that was the goal of every mother in this strange society, but most of the debutantes that had been flung at him in frantic search of marriage were from less desirable families; the Selvig name carried sufficient weight that the girl should have had a few years to make her selection. He wondered what irredeemable quality she could possibly possess to inspire such immediate desperation. Still, Loki let none of those thoughts show, only allowing a glimmer of surprise to flash across his face as he replied, "I hadn't realized she was old enough for such a thing."
"That's the problem with getting old: the young start to look impossibly young, and it becomes difficult to forgive their foolishness because of it." The man shuffled through the stack of papers on his desk, his mind clearly already tuning out thoughts of his child. "Now, what's the latest news from Washington?"
Disappointed once again with the abrupt shift in conversation, Loki nevertheless seamlessly transitioned into his affected businessman persona, sharing all the details that the man needed to hear to plan for the next quarter. But his curiosity had been stoked by this trivial mystery, and, being bored to tears with the current state of his temporary life, it clung to the possibility of momentary relief. The girl's book was still in his hands, and, with a plan quickly taking shape in the back of his mind, they swiftly tucked it into his pocket dimension while Selvig buried himself in a ledger. There would surely be no harm in having a touch of fun in recompense for sharing his insider information.
Barely refraining from running while indoors, Jane clutched the wrought iron railing in relief as she finally made it out the sunroom's door onto the back patio. The whole of the back gardens spread out below her, the endless stretches of nature promising an elusive freedom that the marble façade behind her would never provide. The cool iron beneath her fingers was the last barrier, the only anchor to the reality from which she had just escaped. And what a reality it had been.
The spring air still carried the lingering scent of last night's rain. Jane inhaled it deeply, letting it soothe the embarrassment she still felt prickling at her skin. Lordy, that had been awkward.
Of course, she knew better than to use the library; that fact had been ingrained in her since the day her mother had married her father – well, step-father – eight years ago. But it was precisely that reason that she had been there; it was the last place her mother would expect her to be. It had been a risk, and she had lost.
Well, sort of lost. Even though she had been reprimanded in front of a rather rude stranger with a face worthy of one of Rome's angels and lost her book, her mother had yet to find her. Perhaps a little wandering was in order. Her mother would be unlikely to search for her in the gardens when the ground was still wet.
Smiling at the thought, Jane dashed down the steps to the ground, momentarily forgetting about the oddly beautiful man in favor of plotting out other ways she could avoid her mother.
Loki breathed in the fresh air with a sigh of contentment. The one upside to visiting the country was the escape from the cities' pollution. Even this air was nowhere near as clean as Asgard's, but he would take what he could get.
"How are you finding our little country home?" The insincerely voiced question came from his unfortunate tour guide: Mrs. Cora Selvig. The woman had an intensity about her that normally Loki would find admirable except that she had taken an immediate disliking to him for some unknown reason all those years ago, and he had not cared to improve her regard when he already had her husband so deeply in his pocket.
"Oh, it is quite the lovely retreat," he replied, clasping his hands behind his back as she maintained a half-step distance in front of him, leaving him to look at only the glossy brown curls coiffed perfectly atop her head instead of her expression. "One tends to forget the quaint beauty of gardens when surrounded by the glamor of the city."
All right, perhaps her dislike of him was not entirely unjustified.
There was a hint of steel in her voice as she uttered a single word, "Indeed." With her still determinedly not looking at him, he let a small smirk curve his lips. Really, how was he supposed to resist tossing out tiny insults when he was finally around people who knew how to comprehend them?
Still, the older woman was a lady – a genuine one, in fact, being the fourth daughter of an earl or some other arbitrary designation – and would tolerate him with grace and poise as long as he did not push too far. When he had asked Mr. Selvig for a chance to stretch his legs before departing, the man had insisted he stay for luncheon and fetched his wife to take him on a tour of the extensive gardens. Cora, dutiful wife that she was, had agreed to show him around, though everything else about her screamed out how much she wanted him to leave. And at the moment, he would be quite pleased if she would leave, too.
After all, he had a young woman to find, and he highly doubted Cora would let him speak to her alone.
They continued on in silence, neither one feeling the need to fill the air with unnecessary chatter. Though he had called them quaint, the gardens were rather lovely, giving a vital bit of colorful variation to the relentless expanses of green. His mother would likely be right at home amongst the flowering rosebushes and dogwood trees. Perhaps he would have to bring one of the buds back home with him as a souvenir of his travels.
At long last, he caught a glimpse of what he had seen from the library window and inspired this tour in the first place. With the advantage of his height, he could see over the shrubs lining the pathway to what was around the next bend: Miss Jane, draped dramatically over one of the many stone benches, entirely unaccompanied. He would need to get rid of Cora quickly to take advantage of the opportunity presented.
Evaluating his surroundings, Loki halted in place. "Lady Cora," he called, forcing her to stop. He leaned in to inspect one of the immaculately manicured topiaries bordering the path, sending out a small spark of magic as he did so. "I believe there is a crack in this vase."
The woman hurried back to him, her fingers reaching out to graze the jagged line he had just added to the marble base. "Oh, my. I shall have to have it sent out for repairs immediately."
Perfect. "Why don't you go back and fetch your gardener; I can wait here so that you may more easily find back which vase had the problem."
Her dark brown eyes flickered with indecision, her desire to rid her perfect garden of any flaws rivaling her distaste at the thought of leaving him to run rampant through her property. He bit back a grin as the first desire won out. "Yes, I believe I shall, if you don't mind. I will return in a moment."
Loki waited until the sounds of her footfalls faded before he abandoned his post, once again taking his own silent steps to round the bend of the path. To his surprise, the girl had straightened from her unladylike pose and was waiting for him with watchful eyes, not the least bit startled by his approach.
That was intriguing. If she had heard him coming, she easily could have run off to avoid him, yet here she remained. Perhaps she was as bored as he was. Stopping a few paces in front of her, he began teasingly, "Oh, so is this where your father expects you to be? He told me you were to be spending your days preparing for your debut."
Her pale cheeks flushed a bright pink. "Father never said I couldn't go outdoors, so any complaint would be due to his own vagueness," she replied rather primly, her hands flexing against each other in her lap.
Ah, perhaps this was what Selvig meant by her being "unruly" – using technicalities to avoid responsibility was a concept he was intimately familiar with, and plenty of his tutors had used that same word to describe him as a result. "That may be true, but I don't think he would be agreeable to such an evasion."
She shrugged, attempting to appear unbothered by the thought. Yet, there was too much innocence about her to make him believe her defiance was an effortless thing. What a pity.
A reward might make such behavior come more naturally.
Remembering his initial plan, Loki swished his hands behind his back, pulling the hidden book back into existence. He brought it around, holding it out to her with a flourish. "I believe this belongs to you."
Bright eyes flared wide in wonder, and her hands flew out to seize the book. A beaming smile lit up her face before she remarked in awe, "You must be quite the thief to have snuck this out from beneath Father's nose."
Well, he had certainly been called worse things before. "It's not thievery to return one's belongings to the rightful owner."
Still grinning, she contended, "I'm not sure if the law would agree with you on that, but I won't object if you wish to be Robin Hood."
Robin Hood… he crossed his arms as he tried to place the name and failed. "Should I take that as a compliment?"
Her head finally rose from the book, a few more wisps of russet hair springing free to frame her face at the abrupt movement. "Don't you know who Robin Hood is?" she asked in astonishment. "I thought all English children grew up with the stories. Mother made sure my nurse read them all to me."
Suddenly, Loki felt a swell of relief for his already contrived backstory; he hated having to flounder at not knowing some colloquialism that a real mortal in his role would know. If only Odin had let him prepare for this mission instead of just tossing him down with but a day's warning. "I'm afraid to disappoint you there; I am from Norway, not England. I merely speak with the same accent as my tutor in the subject."
"Oh!" The surprise was written clearly on her face, followed swiftly by abashment. "Then I shall not tease you for not knowing English folklore as I likely know none from your homeland."
"No, I don't think you would," Loki replied with amusement. Even with the strange title in her hands, he doubted she would much appreciate the tales of glorious battle that filled most of Asgard's stories anyway. "As it is, it looks as if you find the Russians more deserving of your attention."
In a reflexive movement, she cradled the book against her chest – the unconscious act of someone far too used to having such things snatched away. Now that too was interesting; when was the last time he had seen someone get protective of a book of all things?
But such a reaction did not bode well for him if she feared him retaking his gift. Pretending not to notice her behavior, he added breezily, "But, of course, that is quite fair; the Russians have a such a unique perspective that their works are well worth the fascination." At least, he hoped they did; perhaps he would have to do a bit more reading of this world's literature. It would be a way to fill up some of his free time.
Her arms loosened from their rigid position, relaxing enough to return the book to her lap. "Yes, they write with such purpose, I can't help but admire their stories."
The distant echo of heels tapping against paving stones reached his ears; his time was running out. "Surely your parents must feel the same way; elsewise why have such a book in their collection?"
In an almost conspiratorial way, the girl leaned forward with a lowered voice, saying, "I think it must have been some shameful gift that they tucked away; the binding did not have a single crease when I first found it."
The twinkle in her caramel eyes was oddly enticing for such trivial gossip; why did her parents have to keep cutting short his entertainment? "Then I suggest you hide it quickly lest your mother catch you with such a scandalous novel."
Her features twisted with confusion for a moment until the distant murmur of Cora's voice reached her ears. Panic removing all trace of her prior ease, she shifted her position to pull enough of her skirt free to tuck it around the book and shove it beneath her thigh, saving the cover from having to rest upon the unfinished surface of the stone bench, just as Cora rounded the bend.
Hiding his amusement at the girl's actions, Loki called out to Cora, pleased by the brief scowl that flashed across her face at the sight of him. "Lady Cora, I must apologize for wandering off."
"Think nothing of it," she replied, though her tone indicated that she would have preferred he wandered all the way off a cliff. Her eyes remained solely on him, never once flickering toward the girl. "I know our gardens can entice even the best of us to explore."
Either the girl had some gift of invisibility, or else her parents were so accustomed to ignoring her that they could not see her right in front of them. "Yes, indeed, though your daughter was kind enough to keep me from wandering too far."
The woman finally looked down enough to see the girl, the tightening of her lips as clear a sign of displeasure as Selvig's scolding. "I'm glad to know you were well diverted, then, in my absence," she managed with some grace. "Jane, dear, I believe it's time that you head inside."
Loki could see the girl start to panic, her posture freezing in hesitation; there was no way for her to stand up without revealing her hidden book and getting into more trouble. Ah, what insignificant problems these mortals had. Nevertheless, it was an opportunity to have a bit more fun, so, thinking quickly, he used another pinch of magic to direct a burst of pollen at Cora. The woman turned her head to sneeze, and in that split second, he reached down to snatch the book from beneath the girl, tucking it into his inner coat pocket in a smooth motion. He would hide it away later, once she was no longer looking at him with a mixture of a scandalized and grateful expression.
"I think you'd best mind your mama," he recommended with false gravity, sending a quick wink her way. "Perhaps we may enjoy a similarly stimulating conversation at luncheon later."
Eyes darting between him and Cora, the girl's cheeks flushed crimson again before she stood and bobbed a curtsy, darting back down the way he had originally come. He let Cora resume her tour, following behind without protest. It really was a pointless game, with all likelihood being that he would never see the girl again after today, but he was tired of all the boring old men and young coquettes; a fresh innocent who wanted nothing from him but still played the game was quite the treat, and he was damn well going to enjoy it while it lasted.
Jane escaped her mother's watchful eye, carefully pacing her steps so as not to incur her wrath and receive yet another scolding for unladylike behavior. Ever since she had come home a few weeks ago, it was as if she were still at finishing school and her mother were the strictest instructor of all.
Rounding the bend in the path, she felt her tension lessen, the sounds of her mother and the stranger fading away with each step. Now there was someone who most certainly had also incurred her mother's wrath before; Jane was familiar enough with the signs to recognize the distaste on her face as she had looked at the man. She could not imagine what he could possibly have done to deserve it, as he was undoubtedly the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and her mother was easily influenced by such shallow things.
But appearances were only one layer of a person, Jane reminded herself as she crossed the yard back to the house. Pretty faces tended to hide cruel souls, and it was entirely possible that something dark lurked within the man that she had yet to see. It was a distressing thought; oddly enough, she found herself wanting him to be exactly as he had shown himself so far. Though he had clearly been teasing her, there had been no derision in it. The girls at school had teased her, too, but they had been merciless, stealing her books and informing the headmistress whenever she had one that would be deemed too improper. It had resulted in more reprimands than she cared to recall.
But this man, this friend of her father's, he had had opportunity to inform either of her parents of her strange reading material and had done nothing of the sort, instead returning the book to her. Of course, he had taken it back shortly thereafter, and she might have to slap him for how he had done so, his fingers brushing against places no one had ever dared touch before, without any sign of apology… She felt the heat rising in the back of her neck; it would be best not to think on that again. No, he had given her the book without asking anything in return, and that was all that mattered. He had shown her the first bit of kindness she had received since she had returned home, and she did not even know his name.
Finally crossing the last stretch of the lower courtyard, Jane hurried up the rear patio's steps and slipped back inside the house. She needed a way to learn his name without just asking him; even after two conversations, he had not bothered to introduce himself, and, at the time, she had forgotten that such formalities still needed attending to. But she could not ask her mother or father; either one of them would disapprove of her forgetfulness. How else could she acquire it?
Pacing the length of the sunroom, she remembered someone else who would have the knowledge she so desired. Elated at the realization, she dashed out into the hall to find the closest footman, asking him to fetch Jarvis for her. The butler knew every person who came and went from the manor.
A few minutes later, Jarvis entered the sunroom. "You sent for me, Miss Jane?" he asked politely. As always, his British accent made her feel far more respectable than she knew she was and act accordingly. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why her mother would prefer to marry her into the English aristocracy – and why it had been disappointing to learn that the mystery man was not so.
Pushing aside that entirely irrelevant thought, Jane asked, "Yes, Jarvis, I wanted to ask if you knew who was visiting my father today? I've never seen him here before."
"You must mean Mr. Odinson," Jarvis replied almost instantly. "You must have been away at school during his previous visits; he does stop by a few times a year."
Jane mulled that over, not detecting any hint of Jarvis's own feelings toward the man from his typical vocal inflection. "Do you know what he does for my father?"
"I'm afraid I know nothing more than that he is some sort of advisor; what his advice entails, I could not say."
Well, that certainly was vague. She dismissed Jarvis absently, her mind already too deep in thought over what that could possibly mean. In all likelihood, he was merely another lawyer or financier or something else dull – but such a position did not fit with what she saw. A man like Mr. Odinson should be something exciting, an undercover spy or a worldly traveler. It would explain why his name was so utterly unsuited to him; it was far too dour of a sound to truly be his own. But she was letting her imagination get away with her.
With a glance at the distant grandfather clock, Jane sighed. It was time to wash up before luncheon, and after that was over, she would likely never meet Mr. Odinson again. He would just become a mythical figure in her memory as her mother forced her through a pre-determined life with some powerful elitist for forty years of toleration, just as her parents had done, and their parents before them. Honestly, it was no wonder her mind had fixated on this stranger so quickly; with him being so completely separate from her fate, she could forget for a moment that the minimal freedom in her life was nearly over.
She would just have to enjoy what little of it she could yet.
After a luncheon filled with adequate food and company, Loki found himself leaving the Selvigs in a far better mood than the one in which he had arrived. Despite his earlier frustration, it had turned into one of the least boring days he had had all year.
The irritants of the slowly moving car seemed to melt away as he chuckled to himself, thinking back on his departure. Cora had spent the entire meal becoming increasingly visibly annoyed with him as he engaged Selvig in a discussion over the latest Constitutional amendment ideas gaining ground in Congress, specifically asking Jane for her opinion on the matters. It had been dually entertaining: Cora's disapproval over such political topics being discussed at the dining table going completely unheeded by her husband and Jane's floundering over trying to give her opinion without invoking her mother's wrath for actually having one. Even without his nurturing, there was a seed of rebellion in the girl that he could see taking root, and he rued the man who would one day undoubtedly try to crush it under heel.
It was unfortunate that the girl would likely be married off and gone by the next time he would need to visit Selvig, but he hoped he would find something else more lasting to distract him through the remainder of his time on Midgard. She was but one more ant that he would forget before long, though he had made sure to leave the girl with a lasting impression of himself. As he departed, he had ignored Cora's suspicious looks and taken Jane's hand to raise it to his lips in farewell, slipping a conjured note into her curled fingers. Smirking, he thought back to the words of his missive: "It was a crime that our own conversation was ended so soon, so it shall be my punishment to never learn why such a tale of human morality intrigues you so. But as I am not one to discourage a developing mind, you may wish to investigate your mother's sitting room before she does. A fond farewell, Mr. L. Odinson." He could imagine her slipping away from her mother and frantically tearing apart the room in search of the book, trying desperately to find the hidden novel before anyone else did. Of course, he had actually placed it in the drawing room – there not being any chance in Hel that Cora would ever let him into her personal sitting room – but he was only a visitor; surely the girl would forgive him a "mistake" such as that?
Loki only wished he could be there to see the look upon her face when she realized it.
A/N: Hopefully I'm not diving too far into the realm of impossibility with this story. I don't think there are many Lokane stories like this, so at least it should be a unique journey for any who wish to join it!