deceitfultrickery:
The ocean stretched out before him, endless blue that reflected the night sky above. All was still and calm but for the sound of the waves as they lapped at the sand, surging forward to kiss the toe of his worn, leather boots before slinking back, enchanting and seductive and eternal.
He stood in silence, a strange figure in his leather duster, hair falling just so over his shoulders, around his face, down his back. There was no expression on his face, no indication outwardly as to his thoughts; his hands hung loosely at his sides, fingers curled only slightly, and his shoulders, though they were held high, sloped slightly downwards. Those mismatched eyes stared straight ahead, the right eye green, the left eye red. Christmas eyes, they had been called once upon a time, during a time long ago when he was young and innocent and oh so much more wicked.
A time that had become distant memories and nothing more.
Behind him, the corpses of two strange, spider-like creatures that had once towered upon spindly, tripod-legs lay in a pile, freshly dead. They had torn through a portal, their sight laid on he who had destroyed their colony, seeking retribution; as Loki had killed their Queen, he killed them easily enough with only four moves, two each. The battle had been so brief, though there was so very little doubt in his mind that there were likely to be more battles in the future.
Life is a battlefield.
Loki’s head bowed, his eyes closing but briefly. When they opened again and his head lifted, a brilliant fire seemed to flicker to life in those il-matched depths, those Christmas eyes of red and green. In a swift movement, he raised his right hand. The water of the ocean stirred, the waves lapping ceased before retreating and raising itself high into the air, rearing up. His left hand joined the first hand, and it was as though he had grabbed the water as he began manipulating it, moving the large column, changing it from simply water into something more until it was no longer the briny ocean and sea foam but a large, wild horse, free-spirited and galloping endlessly yet going nowhere.
And Loki smiled, unaware of anyone approaching.
“That’s … amazing,” she breathed, pausing as she picked her way down the sand, barefoot. The wind swirled her short skirts around her knees and yanked wisps loose from her braid. She slipped closer, one hand lifted as if to touch it, green eyes huge.
“So beautiful.”