Oh, aye, I can tell you your … sentiments. But not always why, or what you would do with them. :swirls the wine in the glass: And yes, I feel, strongly. Overwhelmingly, sometimes. I can understand a desire to stop thinking.
But I would not be without it. :takes a clip out of her hair and starts to play with the river of it as it comes down over her shoulders: Just like my hair, it’s so much a part of my self-identity that to lose it would be to lose myself.
They tried, once. I had rather burn, suffer, for a thousand years than not feel.
“They?” Loki tilted his head to the side, curious. He took another long drink. ”Who would try such a thing?” He tried to steady himself from distraction as she dragged her fingers through her hair. Her words echoed softly in his mind…he couldn’t imagine embracing such lifestyle. He hated his own emotions, hated the way they fueled him, made him weak, hasty. It was a rare luxury to even consider the feelings of others.
She shrugged, avoiding looking at him. “People, people around me. To feel so strongly … it’s not ordinary. It frightens people. There are drugs — I felt like I was walking in a world of cotton. Muffled.” With a shudder, she tossed the rest of the wine back and held the glass out to him. “You think you’re finding my weaknesses, don’t you?”
Loki chuckled a bit. ”My dear, I am the God of Mischief. I picked apart your weaknesses before we even sat down. It’s simply what I do.”
He flashed his most charming smile.
It wasn’t entirely true; people were constantly surprising him. But he quickly dismissed any such thoughts. They were not beneficial to his pride. He finished took another drink and poured one for her. ”But enough about you. What can I tell you of my own secrets?” He smirked at her expectantly.
“Shall you whisper them in my ear, lest anyone else know them? Or maybe you’ll try to kill me, after I’ve drunk enough of this wine to satisfy you. Just to protect yourself.” Her mouth curled in a one-sided smile. “What do you want to tell, darlin’? What’s so hard to carry you resort to drinkin’ and a smart-mouthed firechild?”
She set the glass aside and rose to stand immediately before him, looking up the foot of difference. Very close. “What are you running from? Tell Summer.”