The lingering grip thing? Nice touch. She can feel the heat rising to her cheeks as she turns her head away and pulls her hand back. Damn. This is one charming mofo. She can't even handle it. Play it cool, Kenz! Damn.
"Kind of a mouthful. You're... Norwegian?" Some kind of Scandinavian magic going on up in here. There are fae everywhere, he's not off the hook yet.
"Huh. I bet you I know that pair of legs." Sounded a hell of a lot like Bo. "Yep. Tallish brunette, brown eyes, and the best rack this side of the border? Sounds like your friend and my friend are getting along." Which just gave her more incentive to question the hell out of him. He seemed cool... but like hell was she going to trust a first impression. You can't trust anyone off the bat. Except Bo. And she is the ONLY exception.
"Ha. Don't say it like that. Owing me can be dangerous, I don't joke about favors." She eyes him warily, looking up with an expression halfway between amusement and severe distrust. There's no way he's legit into her... unless goth chicks are more his thing than fancy parties like he's trying to get her to believe. It would be nice to believe that. Not freakin' likely, but nice. "Vacation. Staying at that hotel. The friend has connections, I'm just kind of along for the ride."
It was basically true. All she left out was the part about working on this vacation and who those connections actually were. Mostly true. True enough.
"Guess we picked a pretty good time to come down, huh? The way they rebuilt everyone after that whole... thing. With the guys in the crazy outfits and the flying dudes? Were you here for that?" Just gonna casually glance up, looking more concerned than anything. "Didn't exactly get many details when it happened."
Loki looks down at her again, expression sobering. "I... yeah, I was, yeah. It was a nightmare."
And that is nothing but perfectly honest. The whole affair had been horrible for all involved, Loki no less than most. That he'd instigated the whole thing hadn't meant he'd enjoyed it, or wanted it, ultimately.
"It was... Hell on Earth. Nothing like it. You should've seen this place when they were through." He hunches his shoulders and falls silent for a time, faintly downcast in aspect as he slouches along the street, glancing over only to ensure that Kenzi is still following.
After a time, though, he straightens. "I'm sorry. Not a great set of memories, those. And, ah, Icelandic, by the way. Me."
Or at least his Icelandic is more natural than his Norwegian, which has changed in strange ways. His accent and word usage is notably archaic, and in a city like this? Well, that might just be noticed.
"And you, you and your friend are Canadian? Come down, you said. This side of the border. Yeah? Oh, here, come on, this is the place."
At the next corner he stops with a smile and a nod in the direction of the little shop he'd meant, small and comfortable. And better than that: they know him, but they don't know him. Not many people actually saw him clearly so not many recognise him, but he does get looks occasionally. They'd not be welcome now.
That the barista knows his order, however, is. It makes his story look better. He gestures Kenzi forward. "Anything on the menu, like I said."
Of course she was still following. Quietly. Pressing him about that particular topic might just push him away. It had looked pretty damn terrible. When he straightens again, she brightens a bit. The correct guess at her nationality earns him another smile. "Oooh, you're quick. I love it. Yeah, we're from Canada. Toronto. Not too crazy-far."
The cafe is totally cute. The fact that they know his order is totally adorable. The guy wears fancy scarves, hangs out with billionaires, goes to fancy parties, may or may not be able to change his face, isn't some high-society stereotypical douchebag, and he has a usual at a tiny cafe like this? She's not sure what to think at this point. The plot thickens.
She orders coffee, black, and chocolate cake. Sugar and caffeine! Who needs actual nutrition? Not Kenzi. She just needs to stay awake and alert. Especially with this guy. He can pay while she grabs a table in the corner, slightly secluded. Quiet. Not exactly private. Her expression darkens slightly and her brows knit together in concentration. She waits until he sits down.
"... Okay. Cut the crap. This whole pleasantries thing? Not working. You probably don't actually think I'm cute and you're probably not actually some one-in-a-million guy that hates fancy parties but has to go to them anyway. I saw what you did back there. With the whole--" She circles her hand around her face a few times, leaning forward, "Face thing! You don't have to come out and say it, but just tell me if I was on the right track with the fairytale thing."
Not that any fae would actually tell a human. Again... Bo was the only exception.
Oh, a sharp one. Interesting. Loki puts on a blank stare, sipping at his coffee. Too much chocolate and sugar, just as he likes it. They're not so very different, not in this regard, though he does it to cover the bitterness of what is otherwise, to his sensibilities, a frankly atrocious drink.
"Well, I'm not going to try to sleep with you on the first date, if that's what you mean," he says bemusedly, his expression strongly suggesting that he's wondering why all the crazy ones come to New York. And that, well, he might not mind that they do, under the circumstances.
"I mean, I probably am bad news, but that's a given. No fangs, though, and grandmothers are generally a bit stringy-looking, don't think they'd be to my taste." He takes another sip of his coffee, settling back in his chair and eyeing Kenzi across the table.
"Young women are, admittedly, but I think that's more or less standard for most men my age." Another pause, this one considering.
"As to one-in-a-millions, I really can't comment with any certainty but I'm thinking no, not really -- though if it's fairytales you two are here for I might just be able to help you." For a price, of course. There's always a price.
"You mean there's gonna be a second date?" She can't help the smirk as she digs her fork into the piece of cake and pops it in her mouth. Maybe she was crazy. A sane person wouldn't do half the stuff Kenzi does on a daily basis. A sane person certainly wouldn't have a succubus for a bff and a wolf on speed dial.
"I know a guy with fangs. Total pushover. Fangs are not what I'm worried about."
... What was she worried about? Not freakin' much as of late. Roof over her head (mostly), food in the fridge, steady-ish pay check, and a friend that was more like family than anything. The fae stuff didn't worry her. God... was she becoming complacent?
"Oh great, so you're fattening me up. That's what the whole order whatever thing was REALLY about. Pretty sure that's more or less standard for most men in general. What age even are you? Thirties? Forties? Seven hundreds? Stop me when I get close."
He COULD just be a really skilled magician.
That last part had her setting down her fork and sipping at the hot coffee before folding her arms on the edge of the table. The smile was gone. This is business. "What if we really were here for that? How are you gonna help us?"
Loki has to think about all that, or he looks as if he does, anyway, given the way his eyes drift off and he frowns. "Well, that's the thing, really. Anthony Stark is admittedly remarkable -- and never tell him I said that; he'll take it entirely the wrong way -- but he's not supernatural. Ergo, if I gather your meaning, not what you're after. You're close, though."
He sets his cup down and leans back, running his fingertips over his lower lip. "And speaking of close, your first guess was mostly correct. Thirties." Sort of. "But anyway, that's, you know, interesting overlapping of conversational concepts because I've another one of these bloody events to attend in two days, giving a speech and everything, and I truly could use a date. And your company. And conversation."
Loki's eyes flick back to meet Kenzi's and he smiles faintly, a bit sheepishly, tapping his philtrum. "And believe me, it's going to be terrible, so I'm going to have to say this: come with me. Please. I'll tell you what you need if you say yes."
He spreads his arms. "I mean, I'll tell you now; it doesn't really matter if you show up or not, I just wanted to say that. Bit of fun. Though I do mean it, of course."
Of course he does. That could be fun, letting her see, letting her work it out for herself. He's so much better than any old fairy tale.
"Doubt I'll ever get the opportunity to say a damn thing to Tony Stark. Your ego-stroking secret is safe with me. Close is better than middle-of-nowhere, zero leads, fucked three ways from Sunday." And out comes the phone. She quickly texts Bo, letting her know she can lay off the sex-voodoo and stop flirt-terrogating that freaky facial hair. So much for the irondude with the glowy chest. One down, a bunch more to go.
"Is this seriously happening?" Frig. He's pretty. She'd agree even if he wasn't a potential source of valuable information. "... Yeah, okay. I'm in. But I fully expect to get incredibly drunk and make fun of people behind their backs." Because that's the only way those parties are ever fun. How could she say no to a bit of fun? He did say please.
A wicked smile spreads across her face, "Are you still gonna tell me now that I totally agreed? Or are you gonna make me wait two days?" She would have made him wait.That would have been hilarious.
Still on the fence about him. She can't quite figure out what she's supposed to believe here. People can tell you anything you want, and contrary to popular belief, seeing shouldn't always equal believing. The can make you see about as much as they can tell you. Only thing you can do is go with your gut instinct and even that's wrong a lot of the time. Why stress? Why not just go with it? See what happens. Have some fun.
It is seriously happening. Loki does love a potentially appreciative audience -- and an appreciative audience is rare enough that he's not going to force one into attending his little joke. He smiles really quite cheerfully at her. "Hey, I said I'd tell you."
And he intends to, after he sits up and reaches forward to take another sip of coffee, leaning forward with forearms planted on the table between them. "As I mentioned, you're in the right place, more or less. The hotel, good choice. I mean, think about it -- all sorts of people come and go from hotels, and nobody pays much attention to who they might be, seeing as they're not likely to ever encounter them again."
He knows this as well as anybody. Oh, he doesn't live in hotels anymore, but they're still a valuable tool. "And where in hotels are guests least likely to end up? Where can one hold a conversation without risk of being overheard?"
He's smiling now, gleeful and conspiratorial, though it's nothing to him, this bit of information. He's no particular attachment to the fae and they've no particular fondness for him. This is just business. "The noisiest place in any establishment which has one is the kitchens. Lots of business is conducted in kitchens, believe me, especially in this city. That's where I'd look, were I you."
Well, not exactly. He'd look wherever he happened to sense them, but in this case that happens to be in the kitchens and his exposition is otherwise sound. "And once you've sorted that out you can call me and we'll set up that date."
"Uuuuuugh. I wish you hadn't said that." Last time she worked in a kitchen, she almost got eaten by a land wight. The last time she was just chillin' in a hotel kitchen, she'd lost her voice and had some fire dude after her. Kenzi always gets the shitty undercover jobs while Bo hangs out with the rich dudes and eats lobster and looks all glam. Shouldn't it be brains before beauty? Guess not.
But a deal's a deal. She hands him her phone and reaches for her coffee. "Gimme your digits. Plus you know where to find me."
There's a 50/50 chance of this either being a really good thing or a really bad thing. Honestly? That's probably half the fun right there.
"So what do you do, anyway? How did you get all buddy-buddy with the billionaire super hero? Do you know the other peeps, too?"
Loki programs his mobile number into her phone under the heading 'Big Bad Wolf' and hands it back to her with a flourish. "I met Tony Stark at a... conference, of sorts. He offered me a drink and... well, we didn't get along, so naturally we had to look one another up later and here we are."
He shrugs. "Engineers and physicists typically don't get along unless they're working on something together. He likes his problems practical and applied, I like mine a bit more theoretical, and never the twain shall meet -- until they have to, of course."
Another slant lie. Magic is really just applied physics. The more he reads on the subject the more obvious it becomes. Of course, anyone who doesn't know that isn't likely to guess what he really means. "So we've dedicated a portion of our lives to annoying one another as much as possible, and very occasionally collaborating. I said we were friends; I didn't say the relationship was very... normal."
Or even that friendly, most of the time. If Loki had to think about it he'd probably consider it about as close as he ever got, but really, he doesn't care whether or not it's true in some slant sense or not. Stark would disagree, anyway.
"As for the others, if you mean the others at the party, yes, a few. They're all boring. If you mean the others--" he points upwards and twirls his finger "--yes, I've met them. Bit of a sorry lot but they do relatively admirable work."
"Physicist. Wow. Now there's a job that'll get you laid." If sarcasm paid cash, that sentence would have bought her a shiny new car. The smile right after was good natured, though. And frankly she was kind of into the whole smart-guy thing. The fact that she was into him specifically had to be obvious by now. Even if it was just for the sake of the Ashe-- actually, she probably would have followed him regardless.
"No offense, but he seems like a total dick. Saving the city aside. That facial hair just screams massive douche! Mad props to the hot archer guy, though. I'm a huge fan of old-timey weaponry. Using lasers to blow stuff up is so overrated."
They may not be fae, but she still wanted to know more about them. Real life super heroes. How cool is that?
Loki gives a soft huff. "You might be surprised. The only thing it doesn't get me is someone willing to put up with me for an extended period. Not all it's cracked up to be, living with a physicist."
Magician. God. Madman. Whatever. "As for the Avengers--" the tone of his voice implies scare quotes, though his hands stay curled around his coffee cup "--they're, well, a collection. You're right about Stark. He's a walking disaster. That's why he's so much fun."
Or perhaps that's just because Loki is awful and prone to schadenfreude. Either way, he does dearly love tormenting the man.
"Agent Barton, on the other hand, is a delightful fellow. A commensurate professional. And a little scary, to be quite honest." Which Loki quite likes, really. He'd certainly liked it quite a lot when it was being used for his benefit.
"As for that whole, you know, the big mess a few years ago, yes. It really was." A wildly overconfident alien invasion, in fact. The chitauri really weren't all they'd claimed to be, but Loki hadn't found that particularly surprising. Hardly anyone who brags that readily is.
Kenzi smiles after another bite of the cake. Chocolatey heaven on a plate, thank you very much. "You might be surprised at what I can put up with."
Living with a succubus is no picnic.
"Good. I like the scary ones." Dyson's a good example of that, even if he's more of a cuddly puppy these days. He can be scary when he wants to be... to other people. But agent Barton. She'd have to remember that one. The chick seems scary for totally different reasons, but doesn't seem to be anything the Ashe is looking for. Archery boy, though... and the blonde one? She just worries about the spangly guy and won't be going near the angry, smashy, green one.
"Okay. So. Aliens, super heroes, and adorably frightening creatures that rhyme with 'hay'. All this junk is real, and you! You... did that thing. Physicist or not, you're definitely not just some random, regular human that got swept up into all of this like I did. Can you do other stuff? Can I see it?"
"Is that you offering, then?" Loki teases, though he doubts she meant that. Even he might find it a bit odd if she did. Nobody moves in with someone after meeting them once.
The other question has him snorting softly. "I could pull a coin out of your ear, if you want. I know a few card tricks. Bit of sleight of hand... aside from that I'm afraid you're out of luck."
For today, at least. Maybe another time. At Stark's party, for instance, should she choose to come along.
"I'm really not certain what it is exactly that you're accusing me of, anyway. I'm not like the blokes in the kitchens. If you want something like that, you're in the wrong place." Let her extrapolate from that what she wants; he's certainly not fae. Nor álfar nor ás. His kind sit relatively forgotten by human beings. Their mythology, the memory of them, has long since faded. With this Loki is content. At least nobody's likely to guess.
Ha. Hahaha. Right. No one just starts living with a person after one day. That would be... crazy. Whoops. At least there was mutual life-saving first. And the whole no rent thing. Oh, and also the epic clothes-borrowing privileges. So many reasons to move in with a strange, not-human lady after only knowing her 24 hours.
"Only if your friend Stark runs off with my roomie and I'm left all alone. But I doubt that would ever happen so you're off the hook."
Okay, sure. Play it off like it was nothing, magician-pants. She still doesn't trust you on that one. She's not crazy. Definitely didn't imagine that shit. "That stuff is getting pretty stale anyway. I could go for something new."
"Well, sorry to disappoint, then," Loki responds, sounding a bit put off, as though he's tired of hearing about it. Which in a sense he is, and not because he's tired of being valuable solely for what he can do (though he is also that, on some abstract and unimportant level), but because he's really not keen on talking about it any longer, particularly in public.
"I wouldn't worry about Stark, by the way. Or at least I wouldn't worry about Stark for long. He's really not the type to repeat a performance, for one, and he's even worse to live with than I am, for another." At least Loki keeps mostly to himself in domestic settings. Somehow he doesn't think Stark is the same, save of course when he's working, and then the rest of the world may as well not exist. Loki knows. He's taken advantage of that more than once.
"But good to know I'm safe. My flat is a bit of a mess at the moment." Mostly because, thanks to a fit of his pique, all of his books had thrown themselves off of the shelves. Live in a place long enough, weave oneself into it thoroughly enough, and it starts to know you. Or, more accurately, he'd subconsciously played on the threads of magic he'd spun around his living space and that had produced a tangible result.
Sometimes, though, it looked like sentience. Sometimes, perhaps, it nearly was.
"Kind of a mouthful. You're... Norwegian?" Some kind of Scandinavian magic going on up in here. There are fae everywhere, he's not off the hook yet.
"Huh. I bet you I know that pair of legs." Sounded a hell of a lot like Bo. "Yep. Tallish brunette, brown eyes, and the best rack this side of the border? Sounds like your friend and my friend are getting along." Which just gave her more incentive to question the hell out of him. He seemed cool... but like hell was she going to trust a first impression. You can't trust anyone off the bat. Except Bo. And she is the ONLY exception.
"Ha. Don't say it like that. Owing me can be dangerous, I don't joke about favors." She eyes him warily, looking up with an expression halfway between amusement and severe distrust. There's no way he's legit into her... unless goth chicks are more his thing than fancy parties like he's trying to get her to believe. It would be nice to believe that. Not freakin' likely, but nice. "Vacation. Staying at that hotel. The friend has connections, I'm just kind of along for the ride."
It was basically true. All she left out was the part about working on this vacation and who those connections actually were. Mostly true. True enough.
"Guess we picked a pretty good time to come down, huh? The way they rebuilt everyone after that whole... thing. With the guys in the crazy outfits and the flying dudes? Were you here for that?" Just gonna casually glance up, looking more concerned than anything. "Didn't exactly get many details when it happened."
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And that is nothing but perfectly honest. The whole affair had been horrible for all involved, Loki no less than most. That he'd instigated the whole thing hadn't meant he'd enjoyed it, or wanted it, ultimately.
"It was... Hell on Earth. Nothing like it. You should've seen this place when they were through." He hunches his shoulders and falls silent for a time, faintly downcast in aspect as he slouches along the street, glancing over only to ensure that Kenzi is still following.
After a time, though, he straightens. "I'm sorry. Not a great set of memories, those. And, ah, Icelandic, by the way. Me."
Or at least his Icelandic is more natural than his Norwegian, which has changed in strange ways. His accent and word usage is notably archaic, and in a city like this? Well, that might just be noticed.
"And you, you and your friend are Canadian? Come down, you said. This side of the border. Yeah? Oh, here, come on, this is the place."
At the next corner he stops with a smile and a nod in the direction of the little shop he'd meant, small and comfortable. And better than that: they know him, but they don't know him. Not many people actually saw him clearly so not many recognise him, but he does get looks occasionally. They'd not be welcome now.
That the barista knows his order, however, is. It makes his story look better. He gestures Kenzi forward. "Anything on the menu, like I said."
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The cafe is totally cute. The fact that they know his order is totally adorable. The guy wears fancy scarves, hangs out with billionaires, goes to fancy parties, may or may not be able to change his face, isn't some high-society stereotypical douchebag, and he has a usual at a tiny cafe like this? She's not sure what to think at this point. The plot thickens.
She orders coffee, black, and chocolate cake. Sugar and caffeine! Who needs actual nutrition? Not Kenzi. She just needs to stay awake and alert. Especially with this guy. He can pay while she grabs a table in the corner, slightly secluded. Quiet. Not exactly private. Her expression darkens slightly and her brows knit together in concentration. She waits until he sits down.
"... Okay. Cut the crap. This whole pleasantries thing? Not working. You probably don't actually think I'm cute and you're probably not actually some one-in-a-million guy that hates fancy parties but has to go to them anyway. I saw what you did back there. With the whole--" She circles her hand around her face a few times, leaning forward, "Face thing! You don't have to come out and say it, but just tell me if I was on the right track with the fairytale thing."
Not that any fae would actually tell a human. Again... Bo was the only exception.
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"Well, I'm not going to try to sleep with you on the first date, if that's what you mean," he says bemusedly, his expression strongly suggesting that he's wondering why all the crazy ones come to New York. And that, well, he might not mind that they do, under the circumstances.
"I mean, I probably am bad news, but that's a given. No fangs, though, and grandmothers are generally a bit stringy-looking, don't think they'd be to my taste." He takes another sip of his coffee, settling back in his chair and eyeing Kenzi across the table.
"Young women are, admittedly, but I think that's more or less standard for most men my age." Another pause, this one considering.
"As to one-in-a-millions, I really can't comment with any certainty but I'm thinking no, not really -- though if it's fairytales you two are here for I might just be able to help you." For a price, of course. There's always a price.
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"I know a guy with fangs. Total pushover. Fangs are not what I'm worried about."
... What was she worried about? Not freakin' much as of late. Roof over her head (mostly), food in the fridge, steady-ish pay check, and a friend that was more like family than anything. The fae stuff didn't worry her. God... was she becoming complacent?
"Oh great, so you're fattening me up. That's what the whole order whatever thing was REALLY about. Pretty sure that's more or less standard for most men in general. What age even are you? Thirties? Forties? Seven hundreds? Stop me when I get close."
He COULD just be a really skilled magician.
That last part had her setting down her fork and sipping at the hot coffee before folding her arms on the edge of the table. The smile was gone. This is business. "What if we really were here for that? How are you gonna help us?"
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He sets his cup down and leans back, running his fingertips over his lower lip. "And speaking of close, your first guess was mostly correct. Thirties." Sort of. "But anyway, that's, you know, interesting overlapping of conversational concepts because I've another one of these bloody events to attend in two days, giving a speech and everything, and I truly could use a date. And your company. And conversation."
Loki's eyes flick back to meet Kenzi's and he smiles faintly, a bit sheepishly, tapping his philtrum. "And believe me, it's going to be terrible, so I'm going to have to say this: come with me. Please. I'll tell you what you need if you say yes."
He spreads his arms. "I mean, I'll tell you now; it doesn't really matter if you show up or not, I just wanted to say that. Bit of fun. Though I do mean it, of course."
Of course he does. That could be fun, letting her see, letting her work it out for herself. He's so much better than any old fairy tale.
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"Is this seriously happening?" Frig. He's pretty. She'd agree even if he wasn't a potential source of valuable information. "... Yeah, okay. I'm in. But I fully expect to get incredibly drunk and make fun of people behind their backs." Because that's the only way those parties are ever fun. How could she say no to a bit of fun? He did say please.
A wicked smile spreads across her face, "Are you still gonna tell me now that I totally agreed? Or are you gonna make me wait two days?" She would have made him wait.That would have been hilarious.
Still on the fence about him. She can't quite figure out what she's supposed to believe here. People can tell you anything you want, and contrary to popular belief, seeing shouldn't always equal believing. The can make you see about as much as they can tell you. Only thing you can do is go with your gut instinct and even that's wrong a lot of the time. Why stress? Why not just go with it? See what happens. Have some fun.
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And he intends to, after he sits up and reaches forward to take another sip of coffee, leaning forward with forearms planted on the table between them. "As I mentioned, you're in the right place, more or less. The hotel, good choice. I mean, think about it -- all sorts of people come and go from hotels, and nobody pays much attention to who they might be, seeing as they're not likely to ever encounter them again."
He knows this as well as anybody. Oh, he doesn't live in hotels anymore, but they're still a valuable tool. "And where in hotels are guests least likely to end up? Where can one hold a conversation without risk of being overheard?"
He's smiling now, gleeful and conspiratorial, though it's nothing to him, this bit of information. He's no particular attachment to the fae and they've no particular fondness for him. This is just business. "The noisiest place in any establishment which has one is the kitchens. Lots of business is conducted in kitchens, believe me, especially in this city. That's where I'd look, were I you."
Well, not exactly. He'd look wherever he happened to sense them, but in this case that happens to be in the kitchens and his exposition is otherwise sound. "And once you've sorted that out you can call me and we'll set up that date."
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But a deal's a deal. She hands him her phone and reaches for her coffee. "Gimme your digits. Plus you know where to find me."
There's a 50/50 chance of this either being a really good thing or a really bad thing. Honestly? That's probably half the fun right there.
"So what do you do, anyway? How did you get all buddy-buddy with the billionaire super hero? Do you know the other peeps, too?"
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He shrugs. "Engineers and physicists typically don't get along unless they're working on something together. He likes his problems practical and applied, I like mine a bit more theoretical, and never the twain shall meet -- until they have to, of course."
Another slant lie. Magic is really just applied physics. The more he reads on the subject the more obvious it becomes. Of course, anyone who doesn't know that isn't likely to guess what he really means. "So we've dedicated a portion of our lives to annoying one another as much as possible, and very occasionally collaborating. I said we were friends; I didn't say the relationship was very... normal."
Or even that friendly, most of the time. If Loki had to think about it he'd probably consider it about as close as he ever got, but really, he doesn't care whether or not it's true in some slant sense or not. Stark would disagree, anyway.
"As for the others, if you mean the others at the party, yes, a few. They're all boring. If you mean the others--" he points upwards and twirls his finger "--yes, I've met them. Bit of a sorry lot but they do relatively admirable work."
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"No offense, but he seems like a total dick. Saving the city aside. That facial hair just screams massive douche! Mad props to the hot archer guy, though. I'm a huge fan of old-timey weaponry. Using lasers to blow stuff up is so overrated."
They may not be fae, but she still wanted to know more about them. Real life super heroes. How cool is that?
"Was it legit an alien invasion?"
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Magician. God. Madman. Whatever. "As for the Avengers--" the tone of his voice implies scare quotes, though his hands stay curled around his coffee cup "--they're, well, a collection. You're right about Stark. He's a walking disaster. That's why he's so much fun."
Or perhaps that's just because Loki is awful and prone to schadenfreude. Either way, he does dearly love tormenting the man.
"Agent Barton, on the other hand, is a delightful fellow. A commensurate professional. And a little scary, to be quite honest." Which Loki quite likes, really. He'd certainly liked it quite a lot when it was being used for his benefit.
"As for that whole, you know, the big mess a few years ago, yes. It really was." A wildly overconfident alien invasion, in fact. The chitauri really weren't all they'd claimed to be, but Loki hadn't found that particularly surprising. Hardly anyone who brags that readily is.
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Living with a succubus is no picnic.
"Good. I like the scary ones." Dyson's a good example of that, even if he's more of a cuddly puppy these days. He can be scary when he wants to be... to other people. But agent Barton. She'd have to remember that one. The chick seems scary for totally different reasons, but doesn't seem to be anything the Ashe is looking for. Archery boy, though... and the blonde one? She just worries about the spangly guy and won't be going near the angry, smashy, green one.
"Okay. So. Aliens, super heroes, and adorably frightening creatures that rhyme with 'hay'. All this junk is real, and you! You... did that thing. Physicist or not, you're definitely not just some random, regular human that got swept up into all of this like I did. Can you do other stuff? Can I see it?"
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The other question has him snorting softly. "I could pull a coin out of your ear, if you want. I know a few card tricks. Bit of sleight of hand... aside from that I'm afraid you're out of luck."
For today, at least. Maybe another time. At Stark's party, for instance, should she choose to come along.
"I'm really not certain what it is exactly that you're accusing me of, anyway. I'm not like the blokes in the kitchens. If you want something like that, you're in the wrong place." Let her extrapolate from that what she wants; he's certainly not fae. Nor álfar nor ás. His kind sit relatively forgotten by human beings. Their mythology, the memory of them, has long since faded. With this Loki is content. At least nobody's likely to guess.
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"Only if your friend Stark runs off with my roomie and I'm left all alone. But I doubt that would ever happen so you're off the hook."
Okay, sure. Play it off like it was nothing, magician-pants. She still doesn't trust you on that one. She's not crazy. Definitely didn't imagine that shit. "That stuff is getting pretty stale anyway. I could go for something new."
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"I wouldn't worry about Stark, by the way. Or at least I wouldn't worry about Stark for long. He's really not the type to repeat a performance, for one, and he's even worse to live with than I am, for another." At least Loki keeps mostly to himself in domestic settings. Somehow he doesn't think Stark is the same, save of course when he's working, and then the rest of the world may as well not exist. Loki knows. He's taken advantage of that more than once.
"But good to know I'm safe. My flat is a bit of a mess at the moment." Mostly because, thanks to a fit of his pique, all of his books had thrown themselves off of the shelves. Live in a place long enough, weave oneself into it thoroughly enough, and it starts to know you. Or, more accurately, he'd subconsciously played on the threads of magic he'd spun around his living space and that had produced a tangible result.
Sometimes, though, it looked like sentience. Sometimes, perhaps, it nearly was.
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