Your name is Maite Hirsch and you are very glad you studied psychology.
That being said, Loki is a terribly frustrating patient. You've just finished your third visit/session and by the Vishanti, you've never met someone with such a stubborn inferiority complex.
And that's not even getting into the daddy issues. Sweet fuck.
I think I might actually slap Odin when I see him, you wrily inform Loki, who actually laughs. Which is immense progress, seeing how he used to scowl whenever his adoptive family's names fell in any context.
Of course, that's when Thor enters with a curious expression on his face. Brother? He asks.
Ah, there's the scowl. You sigh. As one of Loki's illusions innately connected to him, I have to inform you he's not ready to see you just yet.
Thor... visibly has no idea what you mean. You formulate the sentence again: Loki doesn't want to talk to him yet.
He looks like a kicked puppy. You try not to aw.
Loki, in contrast, and to your great surprise, deflates and walks over. What do you want, you big oaf?
The thunderer tells the two of you that he just finished his mission in Utgard for the lunar cycle. He had some free time and heard of his brother's strange illusion, so he was curious.
You trade a glance with Loki. He looks beyond exasperated at your wordless question, but nods a go-ahead.
You tell Thor he should probably know you're not actually one of Loki's illusions, but actually the girl who healed his mind on Midgard. At his more than a little lost expression, you explain the Amulet hanging around your neck and the fact that you're from the Origin Dimension.
So that is how you knew of Thanos' influence, Loki muses. You nod an affirmative before asking Thor to keep your true nature a secret.
You stay exactly long enough for Thor to swear upon Mjölnir (which means he's gonna start telling people back in your own time when he's not too preoccupied) before the Amulet mimes a sharp guitar riff and you're... not in your room.
Damnit, you mutter, drawing the attention of the person strapped on the table right next to you.
The prisoner (again, seriously?) stares a bit, then leans back and idly questions the ceiling if he's hallucinating.
You respond that you're none too sure of that yourself, sometimes, but you're pretty sure that's not the case right now.
James Buchanan Barnes, the assassin-to-be introduces himself wrily. You do the same, letting the Sergeant assume you aren't real for now.
Footsteps echo from the hall. Without much preamble, you turn yourself invisible. This likely doesn't help Barnes' hallucination impression. Man, but this really is your favorite spell.
As an aside, Arnim Zola. Oh boy.
Your name is Maite Hirsch and you really hope you aren't about to be discovered by a crazy Nazi scientist.
