Her eyes were level. “Such things often leave behind … marks. Scars, where the hooks were set in. Places in your heart that ache, for reasons you cannot remember; things once you loved but cannot now. I can find them. Ease them.” A quick smile flickered over her lips. “Or I can just try to distract you.”
He leaned closer, studying the flecks of colour in her eyes. ”Astonishingly,” he purred, “I am rather more interested in the latter.” And, he added to himself, he was certain there was no power, however strong, that could erase the burdens he carried. Distraction, however, was one of his favourite pasttimes.
She picked her glass back up, toying with it, running a finger around the rim. The smile returned, crinkling around her eyes, and deliberately she licked her lips. “And how would you like to be distracted, darlin’? I am absolutely at your service.” She leaned forward, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Show me some mischief, luv.”
“I believe that wine may be getting to you,” he murmured, running slender fingers through her hair, making it fall over her face again. ”It almost seems as if you desire me.” He spoke into the side of her neck as he laid a feather-light kiss against her skin.
“Only almost?” she murmured, tipping her head to the side. “I must be doin’ it wrong, then. Tsk-tsk, all out of practise.” One hand came up to cup the back of his head, slipping her own fingers into his hair. A little shiver ran down her spine.
Her hands curled into fists, and every trace of pleasure or happiness was wiped from her face. “Such a truth, from the god of lies.” A sharp, short breath, and she relaxed, all over. “Will you … let me look?”
He raised an eyebrow, turning to meet her eye to eye.
“Look?” He felt far too exposed at this point. There wasn’t enough wine on Asgard to make Loki Laufeyson feel comfortable exposing his secrets.
Her eyes were level. “Such things often leave behind … marks. Scars, where the hooks were set in. Places in your heart that ache, for reasons you cannot remember; things once you loved but cannot now. I can find them. Ease them.” A quick smile flickered over her lips. “Or I can just try to distract you.”
He leaned closer, studying the flecks of colour in her eyes. ”Astonishingly,” he purred, “I am rather more interested in the latter.” And, he added to himself, he was certain there was no power, however strong, that could erase the burdens he carried. Distraction, however, was one of his favourite pasttimes.
She picked her glass back up, toying with it, running a finger around the rim. The smile returned, crinkling around her eyes, and deliberately she licked her lips. “And how would you like to be distracted, darlin’? I am absolutely at your service.” She leaned forward, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Show me some mischief, luv.”
“Ah.” The syllable was almost inaudible, her eyes wide and unfocused. When Loki fell silent, she blinked, and a few tears rolled down her face. Her fingers flexed.
“Yes. I’ll carry that. He held your mind, didn’t he.” It wasn’t even a question; her voice was low and harsh, and something sharp edged it.
“He did,” Loki muttered simply. It was strange, opening up his most vulnerable secrets to a near stranger, and yet she felt very familiar to him. He felt lighter in her presence already, like she truly had lifted away his troubles.
“I am most certain now that the mind is capable of reaching far greater levels of pain than the body.”
Her hands curled into fists, and every trace of pleasure or happiness was wiped from her face. “Such a truth, from the god of lies.” A sharp, short breath, and she relaxed, all over. “Will you … let me look?”
He raised an eyebrow, turning to meet her eye to eye.
“Look?” He felt far too exposed at this point. There wasn’t enough wine on Asgard to make Loki Laufeyson feel comfortable exposing his secrets.
Her eyes were level. “Such things often leave behind … marks. Scars, where the hooks were set in. Places in your heart that ache, for reasons you cannot remember; things once you loved but cannot now. I can find them. Ease them.” A quick smile flickered over her lips. “Or I can just try to distract you.”
Amazingly, she laughed. It was a small, bitter kind of laugh, but it was a laugh. “You would not be the first to say so, and likely not the last, either. You offered your secrets. I’ll dance with danger if that’s what it takes to numb your pain.” Turning around to sit back down (he could see the full knee-length fall of her hair, and nothing else), she added, “Or any other kind of dance you like. If that’s what it takes.”
“You asked me what I run from,” he spoke finally, pausing to take a drink. ”I run from Thanos. He does not want me dead, he wants me tortured…slowly…horribly. He caught me once, not very long ago. I had a taste of his plans before I escaped. I know I would not be so lucky a second time…” his voice was catching and his breath was coming faster, so he stopped to compose himself. He would not let his eyes fall on Summer again; she was hardly less intimidating, though in a much different manner.
“Ah.” The syllable was almost inaudible, her eyes wide and unfocused. When Loki fell silent, she blinked, and a few tears rolled down her face. Her fingers flexed.
“Yes. I’ll carry that. He held your mind, didn’t he.” It wasn’t even a question; her voice was low and harsh, and something sharp edged it.
“He did,” Loki muttered simply. It was strange, opening up his most vulnerable secrets to a near stranger, and yet she felt very familiar to him. He felt lighter in her presence already, like she truly had lifted away his troubles.
“I am most certain now that the mind capable of reaching far greater levels of pain than the body.”
Her hands curled into fists, and every trace of pleasure or happiness was wiped from her face. “Such a truth, from the god of lies.” A sharp, short breath, and she relaxed, all over. “Will you … let me look?”
“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.”
Something in her countenance made Loki shiver slightly. That would not do.
“I hope you are aware, darling, I would not need you intoxicated first to kill you.” He smiled then, throwing the force of his contrasting dispositions upon her. Know thyself. That ought to do it.
He silently considered her offer; he could pour out his troubles, watch them suffocate and burn her, and be rid of them. Or perhaps he would never truly be free, no matter how many he hurt with his own pain. ”I could not trouble you with such things,” he murmured, “But if I did, you would be in danger from more than just the pain of your…abilities.”
Amazingly, she laughed. It was a small, bitter kind of laugh, but it was a laugh. “You would not be the first to say so, and likely not the last, either. You offered your secrets. I’ll dance with danger if that’s what it takes to numb your pain.” Turning around to sit back down (he could see the full knee-length fall of her hair, and nothing else), she added, “Or any other kind of dance you like. If that’s what it takes.”
“You asked me what I run from,” he spoke finally, pausing to take a drink. ”I run from Thanos. He does not want me dead, he wants me tortured…slowly…horribly. He caught me once, not very long ago. I had a taste of his plans before I escaped. I know I would not be so lucky a second time…” his voice was catching and his breath was coming faster, so he stopped to compose himself. He would not let his eyes fall on Summer again; she was hardly less intimidating, though in a much different manner.
“Ah.” The syllable was almost inaudible, her eyes wide and unfocused. When Loki fell silent, she blinked, and a few tears rolled down her face. Her fingers flexed.
“Yes. I’ll carry that. He held your mind, didn’t he.” It wasn’t even a question; her voice was low and harsh, and something sharp edged it.
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.”
Something in her countenance made Loki shiver slightly. That would not do.
“I hope you are aware, darling, I would not need you intoxicated first to kill you.” He smiled then, throwing the force of his contrasting dispositions upon her. Know thyself. That ought to do it.
He silently considered her offer; he could pour out his troubles, watch them suffocate and burn her, and be rid of them. Or perhaps he would never truly be free, no matter how many he hurt with his own pain. ”I could not trouble you with such things,” he murmured, “But if I did, you would be in danger from more than just the pain of your…abilities.”
Amazingly, she laughed. It was a small, bitter kind of laugh, but it was a laugh. “You would not be the first to say so, and likely not the last, either. You offered your secrets. I’ll dance with danger if that’s what it takes to numb your pain.” Turning around to sit back down (he could see the full knee-length fall of her hair, and nothing else), she added, “Or any other kind of dance you like. If that’s what it takes.”
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.”
You did ask. Don’t ask if you don’t want the answer. :looks at him, hard-eyed: I’m your opposite in some ways, god of lies, born of ice. I’m the daughter of the fire, and I always speak truth.
Emotions don’t scare me. I’ve seen them all, I’ve tasted them all. It only hurts when I try to deny them.
:looks away, drinks again, speaking softly: Is that what this is about, then? You have a … sentiment you need carried?
:scoffs: I have no sentiment. I am heavy with too many thoughts and not enough to do with them, I suppose. Heavy with memory…expectation…I know not what.
Aren’t you supposed to tell me? :smiles weakly, takes another drink: You must have exquisite sentiment of your own then?
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?”
Oh, it’s definitely not ‘nothing’. It shapes my life. :opens a hand, and flames lick up from the fingertips, red and gold and blue and every other colour: You’re pouring off enough now to fuel an inferno. It’ll start to hurt, soon, if I don’t burn it off or shield you out. :drinks again:
Can you…read them? And you mean to say that the emotion of others burns you?
What a fantastically tragic creature you are.
:raises an eyebrow at him: Oh, /I’m/ tragic? Don’t be absurd. But yes. If I … take in too much, it hurts. Convulsions, actually, not fire. You :looks away: your heart screams pain like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.
:eyes flicker downward: Please, don’t…:sigh:
I only mean that…to be cursed to carry the weight of others’ sentiment must be quite a burden. I cannot imagine how you can stand it.
You did ask. Don’t ask if you don’t want the answer. :looks at him, hard-eyed: I’m your opposite in some ways, god of lies, born of ice. I’m the daughter of the fire, and I always speak truth.
Emotions don’t scare me. I’ve seen them all, I’ve tasted them all. It only hurts when I try to deny them.
:looks away, drinks again, speaking softly: Is that what this is about, then? You have a … sentiment you need carried?
I’m a firechild. :sips, frowning slightly into the glass: I read others’ emotions, their inner fire, and make that foreign emotion into actual flame.
Do you? :laughs: You speak as if it is nothing.
:shuffles closer, leans dangerously close to your face: Show me.
Oh, it’s definitely not ‘nothing’. It shapes my life. :opens a hand, and flames lick up from the fingertips, red and gold and blue and every other colour: You’re pouring off enough now to fuel an inferno. It’ll start to hurt, soon, if I don’t burn it off or shield you out. :drinks again:
Can you…read them? And you mean to say that the emotion of others burns you?
What a fantastically tragic creature you are.
[[ooc: whyyy do I always post to my personal blog :p]]
[[I’m glad I’m not the only one that makes that mistake!]]
:raises an eyebrow at him: Oh, /I’m/ tragic? Don’t be absurd. But yes. If I … take in too much, it hurts. Convulsions, actually, not fire. You :looks away: your heart screams pain like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.