[ He sits in the chair next to her, posture one of a man who is perhaps bracing for the worst sort of news. What she sees in his face, when she tells him that she is the wife of the second son of House Asgard, is a mix of fascination and not a little bit of surprise. Not simply at the idea of a marriage that appears to be — from the limited information of where he stands — one of choice and possibly love as opposed to mere assignment, though that is a great deal of his response. Love being a dagger, and all of that.
But to be still a son of Asgard, perhaps in more than name alone?
He's surprised he'd managed it without getting some type of disowned, here.
His posture relaxes, a little, but it's mostly a sham. He doesn't feel relaxed at all, just curious and caught up in the riptide of someone else's decisions. Another version of himself. At least that's easier to handle in its own way than, say, if she'd said she was Thor's wife.
She loves her version of him, that much is clear. In her face, which he watches with hawk-like intensity, in her earlier shock, in the way she can't stand to hear his voice say her proper name. He takes a sip of his own vodka before clearing his throat a little, turning that over and over in his head. She loves him. He's not here. Does that mean he didn't love her? Or was it something more complicated than that?
There is a war on. With the nation he'd presume that this world's Loki is a member of if he were to take stabs in the dark. Perhaps he'd felt that he could do more from there, destabilize things. Perhaps it was more complicated than that.
Love should be simple, let the mortals tell it, and yet. It is not. It has maybe never been. ]
Lexie.
[ Of course he can grant her that. ]
Loki Laufeyson. God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard. [ He inclines his head. ] At your service.
[ Another pull from his mug. ] How long since you've seen him? [ He then shakes his head, almost immediately. ] Forgive me. That's really none of my business.
no subject
But to be still a son of Asgard, perhaps in more than name alone?
He's surprised he'd managed it without getting some type of disowned, here.
His posture relaxes, a little, but it's mostly a sham. He doesn't feel relaxed at all, just curious and caught up in the riptide of someone else's decisions. Another version of himself. At least that's easier to handle in its own way than, say, if she'd said she was Thor's wife.
She loves her version of him, that much is clear. In her face, which he watches with hawk-like intensity, in her earlier shock, in the way she can't stand to hear his voice say her proper name. He takes a sip of his own vodka before clearing his throat a little, turning that over and over in his head. She loves him. He's not here. Does that mean he didn't love her? Or was it something more complicated than that?
There is a war on. With the nation he'd presume that this world's Loki is a member of if he were to take stabs in the dark. Perhaps he'd felt that he could do more from there, destabilize things. Perhaps it was more complicated than that.
Love should be simple, let the mortals tell it, and yet. It is not. It has maybe never been. ]
Lexie.
[ Of course he can grant her that. ]
Loki Laufeyson. God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard. [ He inclines his head. ] At your service.
[ Another pull from his mug. ] How long since you've seen him? [ He then shakes his head, almost immediately. ] Forgive me. That's really none of my business.