Eventually, the question he's been dreading is posed to him, as they're sitting at the dinner table eating the Midgardian dish known as pepperoni pizza, Stark having opened the conversation with a few words about the device he's currently building. And frankly, he had expected it much earlier since the man asked him this already back in Vanaheim, even though he had been unable to answer it back then.
"So how did you end up back there?"
So Loki has no other choice than to tell him. He fiddles a little with the remaining crust in his hand and then begins to recount the story of his escape from his cell in Asgard, how he had thought he could hide in Vanaheim, unaware of what had transpired there, and his eventual discovery and capture. He skims when describing what transpired in the dungeons; he doesn't want to talk about that and he gets the feeling that Stark, perceptive as he is, is drawing his own, mostly correct, inferences.
Then he describes in somewhat more detail the brief trial that followed, the one that ended with his being sentenced to spend the rest of his life in slavery. He ends his story there; his humiliating and painful servitude is another theme he cares little about revisiting.
"Huh. Rough." Stark says. "For all your magic and shit, you're still stuck living in Medieval times."
'Medieval' is rendered to him as 'a long time ago by Midgardian standards' by the Allspeak. He has no comment to that.
"So tell me another thing. Why did you decide to invade New York?"
And that's one question he cares for answering even less. But Stark has asked, so he has no choice but to tell the truth.
"I had… misguided ambitions that led me to do the things I did. I was jealous and angry, and Earth… paid the price. I did not see the wrongness of my actions back then."
"But you do now?"
He bows his head. How can he not, after having suffered what he did in Vanaheim?
He takes a deep breath. "I have learnt what it truly means to be powerless and what it is like when others take advantage of that." He makes a short pause. "I do realize now that what I did was wrong, and I regret all the suffering that I caused so recklessly. If I could, I would take it all back." He would. And not only because of the situation it has landed him in.
"Huh. Experience is sometimes the toughest but most effective teacher, isn't it?"
If Stark knows personally what Loki is talking about – and something in his voice tells Loki that he might – he makes no further comment on it, merely reaches for another slice of pizza and proceeds to stuff himself.
"Hmm, you know what," he says thoughtfully, mouth full. "This needs more cheese on it. Next time I'm gonna fucking order from Pepe's Pizza around the corner regardless of what that NY Times review said about 'kitchen' and 'rats'."
Being down in Stark's lab is considerably more interesting than cleaning the man's floors and furniture. Even if it's mostly so that Stark can get various readings from him and the residues of seidr that are supposedly still clinging to him.
On the table are several thick print-outs and he surmises that they are the translations that Jarvis has made of the Vanir books. So it would seem that not everything that Stark reads, if he has a choice, is on a screen, then.
The scanner from before comes out again, Stark waving it around – rather excitedly – in his left hand. "Okay, you know the drill, hold still and tell me if things start to get painful."
"Yes, Master," Loki says dutifully.
But instead of being slowly moved along his body as expected, the scanner is put down on the work table.
"You know, that 'Master' shtick is kind of getting old."
Loki wrinkles his forehead in confusion. "I… don't understand?"
"What I mean is, stop calling me that. It's rubbing me the wrong way."
He hesitates for a few seconds. "Jarvis calls you Master," he finally dares, a part of him shocked by his own audacity to challenge Stark like this.
Stark looks flustered. "Yeah, well, that's not the same kind of 'Master'."
Loki frowns. And here he was starting to think that maybe he was perhaps beginning to understand Stark just a tiny little bit. But this is utterly incomprehensible as far as he can see. Jarvis's status as a servant is higher than Loki's position as a slave; it makes no sense that the deferential address should be requested by him but not by Loki.
"Anyway, 'Stark' works just fine."
Once more, he wonders if this is a test. But so far, the ones he has failed he all managed to fail by picking what he thought should be the correct choice.
"As you wish… Stark," he says. Then he watches as the man calibrates the scanner. There are no consequences forthcoming for the inappropriate address.
The work with the device that Stark is building proceeds slowly but surely forwards. More and more often, Loki is called upon to assist Stark in his work, even if it's mostly just him sitting as still as possible in a chair. He's curious, and finally he gathers the courage to ask.
"May I ask what it is that you're building?"
Stark looks up from his screen. "You may. It's a teleportation device. Or at least it will be, once it's finished."
Loki's eyes widen. "You… you do realize that it's very risky to travel like that?"
"Hey, I'm starting small. My first project is to make a pen," – he points to the writing device lying on the table – "go from here to my living room. Not going to try it myself until I know it's actually working. I can risk a pen, though. This one I even got for free, so it won't even be a financial loss." He picks it up and reads the tiny print on the side. "Pearson's Electronics. They're always sending me useless shit, thinking it will make me buy more of their stuff."
He relaxes a little. Not that he really thought Stark would be stupid enough to try such a potentially dangerous device on himself first, but the man does seem rather… reckless.
And there's another question that's been sitting on his tongue for quite a while without ever being able to leave it. Slaves aren't supposed to ask nosy questions, and Stark might get annoyed with him. But this time he decides to risk it.
"May I ask something else?"
"Yeah. And you don't need to ask permission to ask questions. If I don't feel like answering something, I won't."
"How come you have no other slaves working for you? I mean, someone as wealthy as you…" He doesn't finish the sentence. The point should be clear enough regardless.
Stark's hand has started to move towards the scanner, but it freezes in mid-air. He snaps around to regard Loki with a look on his face that would certainly not have been any different than if Loki had suddenly sprouted horns or wings.
"Okay, okay… that's just… oh, wow. Looks like we need to rewind the tape a little bit here. Like, to the very beginning." He rubs his face in a way that has grown very familiar to Loki by now.
Somehow, it seems that every such time he can recall he has been the cause of that face rubbing.
"So, Loki, what would you say if I were to tell you that there are no slaves here on Earth? Okay, perhaps there are in some local shitholes, for all intents and purposes, but even in those places it's pretty sketchy goings on the legal spectrum. But at least here in the US, the landmass that you happen to have your ass seated on right now, keeping slaves is illegal as hell."
This time it's his turn to gape.
"What?"
"Yeah, it's like I said, believe it or not. Slavery is outlawed. There are no slaves. No one owns any. End of story."
The ramifications of this are almost too much to take in. So he begins with one of the easier ones to deal with. "But… who performs the labour that the noblemen and other wealthy people need done on their estates?"
"You got money, you can simply buy whatever services or goods you want. Except for people, that is." He gives Loki a crooked smile. "Didn't you learn even the basic civics during your previous little sojourn here?"
Loki's head is spinning. He thought he had learned things about Midgard back then, but somehow he totally managed to pass this over. How arrogant he had been, how ignorant and yet conceited. No wonder his attempted invasion of this realm had failed; he knew nothing of Midgard or its people.
But the most important consequence of this has yet to be answered. Because what place does that leave him here? As Stark's slave, he would at least know where he stands here in Midgard in the scheme of things, now that there is nothing else left for him anywhere. There would have existed clear expectations – as obscure as they may have appeared to him – and he would have had a given place, a lot in life, no matter how lowly.
And now Stark tells him that there are no slaves.
Not that it changes his situation, of course; he's still bound to serve and obey Stark, but he finds himself in a strange limbo. If he's not a slave by Midgard's standards, then what is he?
He decides to ask that too.
"What am I then, by your standards here on Earth?"
Now it is Stark's turn to seem taken aback and confused, as if this question never occurred to him before.
He remains silent for several minutes before answering.
"Well, you're…you're… You're here, I guess, and that means we'll have to make the best out of it."