Jarvis decided that he didn't like magic. More specifically he decided that he didn't like magic when it was being used to play music that wasn't coming from his speakers let alone the fact that the music wasn't coming from any speakers at all. Of course he kept searching for the speakers that must have been somewhere either on or near Loki. But then Loki stepped into the elevator to go down to floor 58 and the music simply followed him. There was no other word for it. The music, the vibrations of sound, kept the same frequency but wherever Loki went the vibrations simply followed him. Sure Jarvis could accept the existence of speakers other than his own, he would even accept being out of control though he didn't have to particularly like it. What Jarvis found he could not accept, much like his creator, was not knowing what exactly was going on. By the time the elevator doors opened and Loki walked into the greenhouse Jarvis decided that he didn't like magic or at least he didn't like not understanding magic when it was being done right under his metaphorical nose.
For a brief second or two Loki allowed himself to close his eyes. Concentrating on the swelling violins and flowing cellos. He latched onto the steady calm of the instruments. His eyes opened once more when he felt the elevator stop moving and watched as the doors opened with a faint hiss which was nearly hidden under the vibrato of a viola. He clutched his books a bit closer to his chest and quickly stepped past the elevator doors before they could close around him.
The greenhouse was more of an actual garden then anything else. Something Loki had not expected to see in the middle of a Midgardian city, especially in the home of someone so tech oriented as Tony Stark. A path of various shades of grey rock started from the elevator doors and stretched out into the garden, it even branched into several paths. The rest of the ground seemed to be covered in alternating levels of dirt which housed all manner of plants from lilies and Pângnâĸs to græs and shrubs.
Loki loosened his grip on the books in his hands once more, taking care that he would not hurt their spines or covers. He shifted them so his right hand was free so he could dust some nonexistent dirt off of their covers. He made his way down the main path till he came to the first branch which lead to the right. For some time he simply walked down path after path till he came to a wall which seemed to be sprouting steps. After debating with himself for a few moments he looked up toward the ceiling, "Jar-Jarvis. Are these steps?"
"Yes, sir. You can follow them up and you will end on what is part of the 59th floor. From there you will be able to look and see all of the greenhouse from a 'Clint's eye view' as Mr. Stark likes to say."
"Oh," Loki's voice was soft as he looked further up the path of wood that was still half covered in bark which fit quite well with the rest of the plants in the room yet seemed odd against the nonorganic wall. He shifted his gaze back down to the first step and began to climb. Step after step Loki rose till he reached a large wooden platform. Chairs, couches, rugs, and all manner of comforting looking things were on the platform but Loki didn't move to enjoy any of them. Instead he placed his books on a glass tabletop he passed as he made his way to the railing which looked out onto the floor below.
From this height, a floor above the garden below, Loki could see everything. He took a deep breath full of the smell of flowers and fresh cut græs. He smiled. His music swelled around him after a flick from his wrist. His heart rate was normal. His breathing was normal. For a few moments he indulged himself. Let his eyes gently close. He breathed through his nose. For a few moments he let himself pretend that he was in the gardens of Asgard. The music shifted to something less Midgardian in nature or at least it was less like the stringed instrumental songs he played in Tea and Potions. He could pick out the nine-stringed hardanger fiddle, the drums, and the flutes. He could just barely feel Frigga standing behind him, had an even harder time imagining her lilting voice singing some lullaby from his youth. Yet, for a few seconds, minutes, he could in fact hear her. Very quietly, before he opened his eyes, before the fantasy had time to shatter, he whispered, "I'm sorry."
As Loki opened his eyes the music around him switched back to completely traditional orchestral music. He walked back from the edge of the platform, turned, and picked up the book on top of his 4 book stack. He found the chair closest to the edge of the platform and curled up on it. The leather bound book creaked more than it once had when opened but it was still only really noticeable to someone who had spent many hundreds of years caring for a library worth of books. Loki leaned on his left side, rested the open book on his right upper leg. He stayed like that, for the most part, for what could minutes or hours. Hours tended to be the more likely option for such activity. Time never seemed to move the same when reading compared to doing other things.
Clint had been informed that Loki would now be a permanent resident of Stark Tower. A fact which he was completely against. Yes, he understood from both Steve and Tony that Loki was not a threat to humanity anymore. At the very least he wasn't as much of a threat as he once was. Yet Clint didn't understand why they had to share the same roof, food, living area. As the elevator doors opened he mumbled, "I would have been perfectly fine if he had stayed-" He froze the second he saw the Loki looking form at the far edge of the platform. He stepped out of the elevator and what he knew was proven true as Loki's head shot up and they looked each other straight in the eye. Clint carefully walked to the chair opposite of Loki's. He sat down and plucked the book right out of Loki's lap. "I might be wrong but we need to have a little talk, sir." He could feel the bile rise in the back of his throat even though he knew the man practically huddling before him could no longer control him. If anything Clint would or could be the man in charge here. He smiled, leaned back into the chair, and flipped casually though the book he had taken. He looked back up, "Anything you would like to say or should I go first?"
