"Alright," Loki relented finally, leaning back in his seat. "Lie to me."
"Well, I can't seem to stop watching Sherlock," I lied. Having only seen the first two episodes, I hadn't fallen that hard yet for the series-but given that it was written by Steven Moffat, I knew that I was about to, so it might as well be true. Would he fall for a half-lie?
"You don't even have a television anymore," he scoffed. "Try again."
"You're the worst," I snapped, rolling my eyes. "Freaking. Impossible. You."
"Don't believe that, either," he said nonchalantly. "Again."
"Ugh!" I snarled, hitting my forehead on the table. If Tony hadn't walked in, I would've devoured him then and there.
"What're you doin'?" he asked, the briskness of his statement making me suspicious.
"Composing for Broadway," I growled sarcastically. Believe that. "What're you doin'?"
Tony blinked, frowning to himself as if he'd forgotten something. "Nothing," he replied. "I just...it's the weekend. Shouldn't you be...I don't know, sleeping or something?"
"You have a point," I lamented. "I do love to sleep...ah, ah! Don't you take that the wrong way. I know your type-"
"Oh, you walked into that one," laughed Tony, still reeling from my unintended dirty joke. "Admit it."
"Admitted," I lied with a shrug. He made like he was going to sit down on top of Loki, but didn't. How did that blasted god do that?
"Oh, that's what I was going to tell you," Tony said to himself, as if remembering the most obvious thing in the world. I know that feeling. "Tell me, kid, can you play cards?"
"Depends what game," I said carefully. "I can definitely play fast games like Speed and Slapjack, but I'm guessing you're talking about Blackjack or Poker. I'm less good at those."
"Yeah, yeah," he affirmed. "Poker. Saturday nights we play cards. Mostly poker, 'cause it's one of the only things that's old enough for Capscicle to know. But occasionally others...what's Speed?"
"I'll show ya," I offered with a smile I hoped wasn't too scary. I'm a bit of a card shark, depending on who you ask. I pulled a deck of cards out of my pocket-c'mon, who doesn't walk around with playing cards in their pocket?-and gave my seat to Tony, opting to stand up on the other side of the table. This game is too fast to sit down while playing, anyway, and Loki didn't appear to want to get up.
"The only thing that matters in this game is numbers," I explained as I shuffled. Tony set his beer down, watching me intently. "There are two cards in the middle, with two piles of five on the outsides," I demonstrated as I dealt them out. It took focus to deal out the remaining cards between me and Tony while talking. "The rest are dealt out between us. At the same time, we'll flip over the two cards in the middle. You play on those two with cards from your hand, which should always have five cards, based on number. For example, if one of these two is a seven, you can play a six or an eight on that. And yes, it's totally legal to play something like six-seven-six. King loops around to ace. Suit doesn't matter. First one to get rid of their pile wins. Got it?"
"I'll figure it out," shrugged Tony nonchalantly. I had the feeling that he wasn't really paying attention, despite his avid look. He drew five cards, arranged them like the genius I should've known he was, apparently struggling to ignore the fact that I had done so already. I put my hand on one of the middle cards, staring at Tony. When he stared back with no apparent reaction, I was forced into actual dialogue. Ugh. Noob.
"Ready?" I asked, more to say the word than anything. He put his hand on the other card.
"&$# right I am." he replied. We flipped the cards.
No, he wasn't. Not as much as I was, anyway.
What flipped over was a jack of diamonds and a seven of clubs. What could've happened was that the elaborate art could've thrown off Tony for a fraction of a second, because it takes a smidgen more mental processing to register the royalty cards than the numbers. Or his brain wasted energy computing the suit, rather than cutting to the chase. Which you need to do in this game. I was lucky enough to have a nice straight. Playing one card at a time yet with reflexive speed, I laid down queen-king-ace.
Tony swore as I drew more cards, then put down an eight on the seven. Just what I needed-I followed up with a nine, a ten and a jack. I hadn't played the jack straight on that queen earlier simply on base instinct. Sometimes you have to guess like that, and sometimes it turns out sour. He responded with another queen, which I topped with yet another jack. On and on we went, slapping cards down back and forth, our piles disappearing rapidly. Finally, we were both stuck with cards in our hands. I had four in mine, he had three.
A two and a five in the middle. Useless to apparently both of us.
I put my hand on one of the side piles, waiting for Tony to quit his swearing and flip a card on the other pile.
We flipped. Five and two again.
We flipped. Nine and six. So close, yet so far. Tony played a five and a six, so fast I couldn't do anything about it. He's getting better.
We flipped. Seven and a king.
I played an ace on the king before Tony could lay down his last queen, then played my last three cards on the seven. Six five four.
"Speed." I blurted.
Tony swore and smacked the table, throwing his last card down. I couldn't help myself from giggling. It's not that I'm an addicted winner, it's just that the reactions are always priceless. Honestly, how am I supposed to keep a straight face while Iron Man is ragequitting at a silly card game?
"You can play, all right," sighed Tony in defeat, picking up his drink and beginning to walk out. "We'll be expecting you tonight. 8:30. The room with the lights on and ACDC blasting through the speakers."
"See you then," I farewelled as the door automatically slid shut behind him. I looked at Loki, who had been watching me the whole time. His face was unfathomable.
"Looks like you made a friend," observed Loki coolly. He said it with a barely-there tinge of sarcasm that let me know that he was secretly jealous about it, bitter even. He didn't seem to realize that not all friendships were created equal. Tony had the maturity of an eighth grader and the tact of Han Solo. Loki had the maturity of a senior and the tact of Sherlock Holmes.
I snorted at myself and dropped my head to the table.
"What's so funny?" he asked with a mild shake of his head, as if there was no such thing as funny and I had absolutely no reason for mirth.
"If I knew, it wouldn't be ridiculous anymore," I said blankly, like that made the most sense in the world.
"Makes sense," he admitted with a slight shrug, opting to look at a wall. I smirked.
"Liar," I purred.
Untying my jacket from around my waist, I put it on and zipped it up against the chill. Apparently whoever ran the helicarrier either didn't know how to turn off the AC or had the cold threshold of an emperor penguin. I even pulled my black fedora down further on my head, as if I could will it to trap more heat. I wish.
As I followed the sound of 'Back in Black,' I thought to myself that ol' Fury was the one in charge of everything around here. And air temperature fell into the category of 'everything.' Interesting. Was he secretly a polar bear? Perhaps a were-bear?
I poked my head in the door, eyes intentionally wild. I stared at the assembled S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, counting all six with a pang of fear in my chest. Well, all except for Thor. That would've been awkward-I didn't know how well I would be able to go along with the whole dead-Loki coverup, being one of his only friends and all. They stared back with emotionless poker faces as I pondered which one would be the best to strike up some spontaneous improv with. Probably Tony. He had his faults, but he knew how to play along.
"Tony! Do you have the duck?" I hissed, bugging out my own eyes and furrowing my brows as if this were the most important sentence of my life. He blinked blankly at me. Inclining my head slightly, I raised my eyebrows and stared harder. Finally it clicked with him that I wasn't actually talking about a real thing. Took him a whole three point five seconds.
"Oh, the duck," he replied with a slight smile. "'Course I have the duck. What kinda idiot do ya take me for?"
"Good," I affirmed, walking in and taking the only free chair around the circular poker table. Everyone was still staring at me, except Tony, who was arranging his cards. I could feel their eyes on me like red scope-lasers. I took a deep breath so that I wouldn't explode into some embarrassing gibberish. They were still staring. Bruce dealt me in with two cards, and I picked up a two of hearts and a five of clubs.
"Zippy-da-freakin' doo dah," I muttered to myself. Worst. Hand. Ever. "Wait, is this poker or blackjack?"
"Blackjack," informed Hawkeye. Man, this is so cool! I couldn't read his face, partially because I'm a tactical idiot and partially because he was wearing sunglasses. The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all. If mine can't decide what color they are, does that mean I have multiple souls?
"Hm," I responded with a scowl. "Still lame. Oh, well." It actually wasn't too bad, depending on what I got hit with, but why does anyone else need to know that? Regardless of my hand, I was ready to play. With some of the most freaking amazing heroes on the planet.
And then the wall exploded.