"Just because I probably do like you for who you are, doesn't mean I want to be seen with you lookin' like a fool and let you kill my rep." She's joking. Of course she's joking. Not only does she not give a damn about her reputation, thank you very much Joan Jett, she's not that shallow. A little shallow, yes, but not that shallow. Most of the time Kenzi's hard exterior is just covering up for a gooey, sweet, way too soft center that gets her into more trouble than it's worth. She knows better, always knows better, but that doesn't mean she can just turn off her stupid-squishy heart. It's how she got in deep with Bo even when common sense was telling her to run.
"Please tell me you're joking. That sounds about eight different kinds of horrible. At least opt for extra cheese if you're gonna commit pizza sacrilege! Hot sauce, yes. Other things, not together!" She raises an eyebrow, fighting a smirk, "Purple and whatever's on sale. Now you know."
Stupid emotions. There's gotta be a way to get rid of those things. It would definitely make it easier to not go all freakin' melty just because a guy goes into total gentleman mode and bows and offers his hand and junk. Jeeze! Okay, so maybe no one will notice how she can't stop smiling. Totally not inwardly freaking out here. Nope. Not even a little bit. This guy isn't charming! It's lame and not at all making her swoon!
... She totally just swooned a little.
As for the dragging, that was definitely happening. Bo got to do this kind of thing all the time! And more often than not, some rich guy with ulterior motives was footing the bill. Really, it's only fair the human gets a turn. Succubus powers be dammed! She heads into a glam-looking boutique, still unable to stop smiling, and heads towards a display near the back, quite obviously attracted to the all-around shiny look.
"Metallics are totally in this season. Unless you try working the gold and red look, then you just look tacky." CoughTONYcough.
Loki laughs, sharp and genuine, perhaps slightly unhinged but who isn't, these days? Certainly the sort of fellow who'd take a girl out to buy expensive clothing on their second meeting, without any guarantee he'll ever see her again after the next date, isn't quite playing with a full deck.
"No, God no, no red and gold, the boost to his ego would be utterly insufferable." He grins down at her a moment before bending forward, suddenly solemn, to meet her at eye level.
"Let's see," he says softly, reaching out to take her gently by the shoulder with one hand while the other brushes a stray strand of hair away from her neck. His eyes light on her lips, and linger.
"Red would suit you, though." Loki's voice is low, quiet and admiring, his gaze intent as it flicks over her features. Gently he drags the second knuckles of his first two fingers, lightly curled, along the sternocleidomastoid from interclavicular notch to the edge of her jaw just below her ear. Such a delicate, elegant muscle. So easily severed.
"Or green, perhaps." Like the eyes that flick back up to meet hers, perhaps. Green and black and bronze. What a pair they'd make. "Though you'd look lovely in anything, I expect."
Don't look at his eyes, don't look into his eyes, don't you dare--
Fuck. She looked. She's doomed.
There's a moment where she forgets how to breathe. When she does figure it out again, it's her heart's turn to betray her by skipping a few beats here and there as he touches her. Hours, Kenzi. You've known this guy for hours. Not even a lot of hours! Come on. Usually she's better than this. Guys have to work for a piece of this, but he's just... something else entirely. It's not a fae thing. She'd know. It's not like the hypnotic effect of a selkie and it's definitely not like when Bo turns up the succubus juice. It's just him. Being totally gorgeous. And acting remotely interested.
It's easy to be overlooked when you're always standing next to Bo. She's not quite sure what to do with this kind of attention anymore. But the whole... slack-jawed staring, looking totally and completely awestruck thing? Probably not so attractive. She snaps out of it and plays it off with a smile as she places a hand against his chest just to get some room to breathe without turning into a starry-eyed zombie all over again.
"Green sounds good. I can work with that." She replaces the open palm with her index finger, poking him in the chest, "You're good. Did you minor in flattery? Or is that just an international-gentleman thing? Any other girl would probs be a quivering mess on the floor by now."
Ha. Like she's not a total mess on the inside. The rack of gowns is a welcome distraction from his too-green eyes and perfect cheekbones and perfect everything. Dammit.
Loki rubs the back of his neck and grins sheepishly at the floor. Well, that worked surprisingly well. It'd be amusing if it weren't so surprising. And vaguely sad, if he bothers to think about it.
"I... no? I was only being honest," he says, sounding just confused enough for it to ring true. "I'm not trying to... I'm only saying."
After that he's silent for a time, stepping back to watch her pick through the dresses, brooding. His eyes travel the store (lingering, of course, on the scarves, of which he's rather fond for so many reasons -- comfort, the hint of colour they add to a formal suit, the fact that they can be turned into a makeshift weapon if need be) and he sucks on his lower lip.
"She must look quite good, your roommate, if you really don't hear that very often," he says softly, smiling at Kenzi a bit sadly before he brightens.
"It's alright; I know how it is. My brother is much better looking than I am. Big blonde and stupid. You and I will just have to settle, it seems." He moves up to stand alongside her, setting his palm atop her head gently. "For some reason that only makes me feel like the lucky one."
Wow. He just hit the nail right on the head there. Maybe he really is psychic... ffff-- nah. No way. He would have called her out on a few choices thoughts by now. But she believes him. For some likely-stupid reason, she believes that he doesn't mean anything by it. That it's genuine. And that freaks the hell out of her but also has her hooked.
"Bo was genetically created to be the sexiest thing on the planet. It's not her fault she was born pants-splittingly gorgeous. Just her DNA or whatevs. It's nature." Oh. But. That was a compliment. Another one. Jeeze. She returns the smile, managing to look only slightly uncomfortable as she pulls out a long, green silk dress for a closer look.
The comment about his brother makes her smirk. He's sharing. He IS a real person and not some crazy-hot hallucination. There's back story. She looks up from the dress when he touches her, he steals her attention so easily. "Stupid blonde? Poor walking stereotype. Bet he gets everything handed to him."
Settle? She... she could settle.
Kenzi puts the dress back on the rack and turns slowly to face him. "Me and luck don't usually mix. I know this really great anti-jinx ritual, though, If you really wanna feel lucky and not at all cursed by me. Super easy. There's only one step. All you have to do is kiss me."
"You've no idea," Loki responds drily as she turns to replace the dress. Big, blonde, stupid, and royalty; a perfect storm of entitlement and ignorance. Of course, Kenzi would probably like him if she knew him. Nearly everyone does.
The words that follow make him smile and huff in amusement. "Well, see, now I can't," he says, reaching out to tap her gently on the nose. "Now it'd seem like I'd only be doing it because I'm worried about curses, and then perhaps you'd think that I mind, and that would be really awful."
Absolutely unforgivable. Loki isn't frightened of any such thing. Besides, if either of them here are cursed, it's him. "I'd much rather there be absolutely no doubt that I want to."
He's probably being unfair, he realises. A bit too good, and some of it in ways he actually isn't. On the other hand, most of it is entirely honest. Perhaps that's the problem. "Which... I do want to, mind, but you've put me in a bit of a tight spot."
Mostly this is just Loki being a tease, of course. One can be honest and still do that. "So you tell me. Would you be horribly offended if I did?"
She squeezes her eyes shut when he taps her nose, smiling. Is he serious? Is that seriously why he won't do it? She can't tell if he's joking or just trying to wind her up. If it's the latter, he's doing a damn good job of it. Tease indeed. There's a soft hum of consideration as she cracks an eye open to peer at him before blinking them both open and tilting her head.
"It takes a lot to offend me. I'd be so un-offended that I'd be the exact OPPOSITE of offended." She states matter-of-factly , placing a hand on her hip to convey as much attitude as possible in retaliation to his feigned stubbornness.
"For what it's worth, I wouldn't doubt you for a second."
... Except for all those times she doubted the fact that he was human, that he was being honest with her, that he wasn't a psychopathic murderer that was going to toss her in a trunk before they got to the coffee place. She wouldn't doubt him for an HOUR. Maybe two. Consecutively.
Yeah, that's totally a lie. She still doesn't trust him completely. She doesn't trust anyone completely. But she did trust him a little.That was mistake number three. The first two mistakes being following him out of the lobby and meeting him a second time.
Of course she would doubt him; to say otherwise is laughable and he wouldn't be here if that weren't the case. She's a curious and welcome break from the vast and gullible horde that pushes past his doorstep and meanders through the parts of the city he frequents and has come to call his own.
So really, really, the most honest, the most immediate reaction would be a lamentation, a throwing up of hands, a please, please don't say that; you were doing so well and now it's not a game anymore, just pretending, and so on.
Except, well, that would be rather telling, wouldn't it? Besides, he doesn't trust her for a minute, and that, at least, is all well and good.
"Well," he says thoughtfully, "in that case, what can I possibly do but as the lady wishes?"
He's smiling faintly when he bends down to her level, nudging his nose against hers with something like affection. There's teasing, too, in the faint brush of his lips against hers before he presses forward for a kiss proper, a mostly chaste but lingering thing. Pleasant. Warm. Warm for him, anyway. Humans always are. Almost too warm, just the edge of it, like slipping into a hot bath. They're so very alive, and in ways that he isn't, cold and old as he is.
Woah. Just-- holy hell... what-- Okay. She was not prepared for that. Not just the minty coolness that was either some peppermint chapstick or really low blood pressure, but the tenderness. Not expected. Not deserved. Just given. Half of her mind was just shouting 'WHY' while the other half drifted through a fog of contentment that showed in the blissful expression on her face as he pulled away. Her eyes opened slowly and that cheshire grin returned with full force.
She was totally going to regret this. Maybe not today, but eventually and for so many reasons. Falling fast and hard is kind of the worst thing that could happen and it definitely just happened. She could be hooked and still be cautious. At least, that's what she hoped. She was determined. Don't read too much into it. Calm yourself down, girl.
"See? Not offended." Yeah. Smooth. Mostly...
Less smooth was how fast her hand found his and how she held fast for the rest of the day.
Dress bought. Food shared. Sights seen. All with the promise of seeing each other again the following night, which couldn't come fast enough for Kenzi. She practically floated back to the room she shared with Bo and gushed about this wonderful, contradictory, not at all average but definitely not fae guy. He was something else. Something she wasn't letting go of so easily.
Her mind was elsewhere the rest of the night and the next day. Interrogating the fae of the city, following up on leads, she was off her game. Not like she was that necessary, anyway. Where Kenzi fell short, Bo's succubus powers came through. Just like they always did. Bo didn't need her. She could have a guilt-free night knowing her bff had this shit handled. It was harmless information gathering. They weren't breaking any rules.
Yet.
They could worry about it all later. They'd sent a progress report to the Ash and all Kenzi wanted to do tonight was forget about the fae for a few hours and have a magical freakin' time or else while looking beyond fabulous and potentially ruining some rich guy's night. Doesn't get much more perfect than that.
If Loki has his way they'll definitely be ruining a rich guy's night (and, though neither he nor Stark are likely to admit it, perhaps making it as well). There will be moments of truth, broken things, a bit of a fight and in the end no real harm done, which means everybody can go on about their business in the morning.
So more or less a normal party, really, only... bigger.
Magic, though, magic he can certainly promise, regardless of the outcome.
It begins not long after they do, with greetings and arrivals, just enough to leave him a forgettable face in the crowd in the sight of most, of those who might recognise him, all but Kenzi. There's perhaps a bit of privilege in that. She doesn't see him as he truly is, not yet, but she's still closer to it than anyone else. Loki might be inclined to think it an honour, in fact, but he's in a fine mood and always thinks much of himself when he is. Which only compacts it really, the delight, the delicious anticipation, leaving him all smiles and easy charm, and in no small way affectionate. Of course he is. It's a good day.
It's a good day, and they've a table near the edge of the room to themselves, which lets Loki lean close and whisper unflattering, conspiratorial things about the guests he recognises, gossip picked up during those other dull evenings of reconnaissance and put now to good use. A fine collection of mostly horrible people, they are, and laughing at their expense passes the time.
And then the speeches. Stark's, typically full of posturing and bombast. Others, mostly dull, mostly idle flattery and attempts at ingratiation. It's at the conclusion of the last that he leans over to Kenzi again with something wicked in his grin. “Now,” he says, voice low and thrilled, “we have some fun, and you get your answers. Don't be frightened. It's all a game.”
With that he's on his feet, tall, straight-backed, all confidence, all arrogance as he takes the steps to the stage two at a time in easy, loping strides. And the room is silent when he steps up to the microphone and lets the glamour fall, lets them see, silent save for a soft profanity whose source he needn't see to guess. From his pocket he produces a set of index cards, flicking through them with a faint frown before tossing them over his shoulder and turning his attention back to the crowd.
“Well,” he says cheerfully, grinning wide and mad, “what can I possibly say about Tony Stark that hasn't been said already this evening? You lot at the bar were particularly good-- no, no, I know you didn't speak in front of us all tonight, but I assure you I was listening.”
He presses one elegant hand to his chest and gives a stiff, shallow bow in their direction. “I'm terribly sorry; where are my manners? It seems I've forgotten to introduce myself. Some of you know me already. More of you, I expect, than you realise, but these--” he tugs at his shirt “--are... well let's - shall we? - let's jog your memories.”
The golden light that ripples over him is bright, unnatural, and there the game is certainly up, nevermind what it leaves behind in its wake: leather and brass inscribed with alien things, powerful things, and most distinctive of all the helmet with its tall, curving horns and there, there's a lovely sound, the gasping, the click of weapons unholstered by security personnel even as Loki's staff appears in his hand.
A woman somewhere gives a muffled cry and Loki laughs. “Madam, please - I've not done anything yet.”
At that, behind Loki, a brawny, overconfident security guard raises his weapon and aims. In the fuss, Stark has likely managed to send out an alarm call. Good. Let them come.
“I think let's not,” Loki says to the fellow with the gun, turning his head faintly - just faintly, which is good, given the bullet that clangs off his helmet, leaving one of his ears ringing madly. The staff lashes out like the strike of a serpent, the butt catching first the guard's gun hand and then sweeping low to take his feet out from beneath him, easy, too easy. The hard fall and the ensuing strike to the solar plexus leave him flat on his back and gasping, wind knocked from his lungs, but very much alive, and so he'll stay providing he doesn't do anything terribly stupid. The gun he kicks away as one of Stark's bodyguards - Happy, he knows now - rushes in with a distinctive suitcase cuffed to his wrist.
Delightful. Someone worth fighting. Loki readies his staff.
“You lot might want to get out of the way now,” he says, shooting Kenzi a cheery wink, and look at them go.
A game? Kenzi didn't know what she was expecting. Likely more cleverly hidden insults and subtly venomous comments that they could laugh about later. Why would she be frightened of that?
... What did he mean by 'answers'?
Kenzi watched him curiously, covering any nervousness with a smile. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the edge of the table and let her hair fall over her shoulder as she tilted her head just slightly. The reaction from the crowd is puzzling. The silence. It doesn't click right away, but she knows something's up. And then there's that light... and he changes.
There's more concern in her expression than anything. Even after she pieces it together. The bathroom the night they meant, the careful answers to her questions, the seemingly playful vendetta against Stark. That outfit. It was him. The guy from the incident. The alien that tried to be king. Definitely not fae. Definitely not from Iceland. Not who he said he was and a damn good liar.
Still, she stood up when the shot rang out. Concern briefly turning to horror until she realized the helmet had protected him somehow. That close? Really? It shouldn't be that surprising. The horror remained in the pit of her stomach as he totally owned Trigger-fingers Mcgee, but didn't murder his face. Disarmed him and took him down, but he didn't kill him. She noticed that. She clung to that.
The crowd turns into a mob, of the crazy-screaming variety, but Kenzi doesn't look away. She stays where she is until the majority of the party goers have fled. It's only when the room is mostly empty and the screams have died down, giving way to an eerie sort of silence, that she moves. She circles around the table and takes slow, but deliberate steps, towards Loki and Stark and the dude with the case. The concern is back in the form of knit brows, accompanied by a touch of betrayal around her eyes and confusion more than anything. She keeps a safe distance between her and Tony Stark, stopping just short of the stage.
Between all that armour and leather and the fact that the guy he's here to mess with has an iron suit? She suddenly feels ridiculously under-dressed.
With her hand on her hip and her eyebrows raised, you can bet her words are just dripping with attitude, "Physicist? Nice. What big horns you have, Mr. Wolf."
Two heads turn in Kenzi's direction and silence reigns for a few seconds. Interesting.
“Well, technically--” Loki starts, but he's cut off by a blast from the flight stabilisers in Tony's gauntlets cuts him off, sending him stumbling back with a soft noise of annoyance.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Stark intones, voice muffled and processed strangely by the suit, “time for the boys to play.”
“I told you he was rude,” Loki says with a sigh, firing a blast of his own from the end of his staff before taking a running leap. Stark staggers but manages to dodge, and then it's on, then things get broken, then it's magic and mayhem, and most of the explosions aren't even Loki's. That's the fun with Stark, but it's also the danger with him, the reason Loki stays on the offensive to push him further away from Kenzi.
It's short, it's nasty, by the end Loki's lip is split and bleeding from a blow of a gauntlet to his mouth and Stark's suit has been dented in a dozen places. And in the end all it takes is the worming of Loki's fingers into the joint of the suit under Stark's arm and a bright flash of green to shut the suit down and send Stark toppling onto his back. Loki kneels over him and taps at the faceplate with the end of his staff, smiling.
After a few seconds' time fails to produce a response he pries the faceplate away himself. “An improvement over the last design, I must say,” he says cheerfully. “That was a nice touch with the rockets; I think I missed that last time. The flares were clever but I suggest you work on a method to deploy them more quickly and quietly; not terribly useful if I can tell they're coming, are they? Otherwise, really well done, you lot are learning.”
Two none-too-gentle pats to Tony's cheek later, Loki rises to his feet.
“Right,” Tony replies confusedly, “yeah. Enjoy the rest of your... date, or whatever.”
“Alas I think that bird has flown,” Loki sighs, and there really is a hint of regret to his words. Still, he turns away to find Kenzi, swiping at his bleeding lip.
“So, is this coffee and questions or where you slap me and stomp out? I know which I favour. No more explosions for the duration of the evening, on my word.” A pause, a conceding shrug. “No more explosions to do with me for the duration of the evening; this is New York City.”
There's definitely stomping as she closes the distance between them, and she lifts her hand with enough speed that it totally looks like he's going to get a beatdown, but no. No slapping. Her palm rests gently against his cool cheek as her thumb pulls his lip down to examine the cut. Idiot. Did he leave himself open like that on purpose?
"This is massive amounts of alcohol and questions. I hope you charged him for that advice." She pulls away briefly to glare at the dented suit and the person inside of it, "Does this happen a lot? Is this a regular thing? Big, huge fight, lots of flare, but no one dies? What the hell kind of a system is that? Business partnership? You're probably generating millions in publicity for this guy and if you're not getting royalties or some shit, I'm going to be way the hell more disappointed about that than the whole lying to me thing."
No one died. He was purposely deflecting a lot of that mess away from her. She noticed that, too.
Kenzi notices a lot of things, and people don't give her enough credit for it.
No amount of disappointment can keep that smirk away for long, "You could have just told me you were a god." Looks like someone was lying about how much she knew. What a pair.
Loki lets her toy with his lip, pointless as it is. Once they're away from here he'll put more effort into healing it. Best they go soon, though, before the cavalry arrives, and so-
“I'm afraid this isn't going to be terribly pleasant,” he says, and tugs her with him into places nothing was ever really meant to go, the gap between things real and fake, a place where the laws of physics and dimensionality are more like suggestions - but only for the space of a few moments before they pop out the other end and his hands come to her shoulders to steady her. A darkened flat, nice but nondescript. His.
“I apologise. I can't say I was keen on sticking around until the rest of his pals showed up. Quite enough for one night, I think. Please, have a seat. Anywhere you like. I'll see what I've got on hand to drink, since you were keen on it.” A wave of his hand and the lights flick on as he stalks off to the kitchen, armour already melting away. He certainly doesn't need it now.
“As for why I didn't tell you, well. That would've been terribly arrogant of me. I wasn't the one who started with that name anyway, you lot were, roughly, oh... two and a half millennia ago, give or take a few centuries; it all blends together after a while.” So. “Let it be stated for the record, though, that I didn't say it first. Anyway, that's more a... part-time job, these days. I'm mostly retired.”
He opens one of the cupboards and there comes a clinking of bottles as he lowers them onto the counter with a soft, considering hum. The collection is vast but most of the bottles are nearly full, which is telling. He hardly ever drinks any of this himself, as it'd take quite a lot to produce any effect, but he's found that humans generally expect him to have some on hand. Of course, they normally don't make it this far. Most, in the end, probably wouldn't want to.
“Regarding Stark, no, I haven't charged him, but I do very much enjoy making him feel like an idiot on occasion. Somebody has to. It's a public service, believe me. That is more or less the arrangement - I show up and dance for them a bit on occasion and I make sure to play very nicely, and in return they don't bother trying terribly hard to find me. It's not just him, but his mug has been all over the newspapers lately and it rather made me want to put my fist through it.” So. Reasonable excuse, really.
“Meanwhile Clint Barton frequents the same coffee shops I do and most days we can both get in and out without breaking anything. Occasionally we stop for a bit of a chat. Steve Rogers sent me a Christmas card last December, still haven't worked out whether or not that's a joke.” Nor does he dislike Rogers enough to try. May his God help the poor man, though, if it's even remotely in earnest.
“I think this year I'll reciprocate with a lovingly-executed watercolour depicting the time he tore the arse out of that ridiculous suit of his. So, you see, it's all in good fun; keeps everyone busy, no harm done most of the time. And most of the time, I... well, I play around with physics, anyway, after a fashion. Nearly the same thing.” Nearly. "What would you like? I've... well. You did say massive amounts. This, clearly, I can do."
Sitting was an incredible idea, seeing as whatever the hell he just did made her want to throw up. That would not have ended well for her dress. Oh god, the dress. Elegant satin in the middle of an epic fight and now in a semi-magical apartment? It was like some terrible soap opera with a really huge budget. Thank god he held her up, or she would have crumpled to the ground and ruined it.
She took shaky steps toward the couch in a daze, sinking down onto it gratefully and unconsciously clutching the arm rest in something of a death grip. Kenzi could play the brave one all she wanted, but this? This was messed up. She knew it was messed up. Trying to pretend everything is normal and everything actually being normal are completely different things.
"You get coffee with hot archer guy and Captain Spangles sends you Christmas cards. If you have scotch, I'll take the scotch. No ice." Leave the bottle. She'll need it. Her stomach's still doing flips in the worst way, but she's not entirely convinced that it's because of the teleportation trick anymore.
She waits until she can see him again before the dam breaks and words come bursting out, "... You knew I was following you that night. Was this all just because you were bored? You're obviously not going to murder me because you would have just let laser-hands accidentally pull that one off. So ... basically-- What I want to know is..." She releases the grip on the arm rest, looking less determined than a few seconds ago and much more lost, "Why? What was a lie and what wasn't? And what is ... this?"
He brought her to his place. Or at least what she assumes is his place. Third date. The hell is that supposed to mean? She's in a god's apartment. Part-time god trumps Bo's hottest full-time fae nobility. Hands down! Or... horns.
"Please tell me you're joking. That sounds about eight different kinds of horrible. At least opt for extra cheese if you're gonna commit pizza sacrilege! Hot sauce, yes. Other things, not together!" She raises an eyebrow, fighting a smirk, "Purple and whatever's on sale. Now you know."
Stupid emotions. There's gotta be a way to get rid of those things. It would definitely make it easier to not go all freakin' melty just because a guy goes into total gentleman mode and bows and offers his hand and junk. Jeeze! Okay, so maybe no one will notice how she can't stop smiling. Totally not inwardly freaking out here. Nope. Not even a little bit. This guy isn't charming! It's lame and not at all making her swoon!
... She totally just swooned a little.
As for the dragging, that was definitely happening. Bo got to do this kind of thing all the time! And more often than not, some rich guy with ulterior motives was footing the bill. Really, it's only fair the human gets a turn. Succubus powers be dammed! She heads into a glam-looking boutique, still unable to stop smiling, and heads towards a display near the back, quite obviously attracted to the all-around shiny look.
"Metallics are totally in this season. Unless you try working the gold and red look, then you just look tacky." CoughTONYcough.
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"No, God no, no red and gold, the boost to his ego would be utterly insufferable." He grins down at her a moment before bending forward, suddenly solemn, to meet her at eye level.
"Let's see," he says softly, reaching out to take her gently by the shoulder with one hand while the other brushes a stray strand of hair away from her neck. His eyes light on her lips, and linger.
"Red would suit you, though." Loki's voice is low, quiet and admiring, his gaze intent as it flicks over her features. Gently he drags the second knuckles of his first two fingers, lightly curled, along the sternocleidomastoid from interclavicular notch to the edge of her jaw just below her ear. Such a delicate, elegant muscle. So easily severed.
"Or green, perhaps." Like the eyes that flick back up to meet hers, perhaps. Green and black and bronze. What a pair they'd make. "Though you'd look lovely in anything, I expect."
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Fuck. She looked. She's doomed.
There's a moment where she forgets how to breathe. When she does figure it out again, it's her heart's turn to betray her by skipping a few beats here and there as he touches her. Hours, Kenzi. You've known this guy for hours. Not even a lot of hours! Come on. Usually she's better than this. Guys have to work for a piece of this, but he's just... something else entirely. It's not a fae thing. She'd know. It's not like the hypnotic effect of a selkie and it's definitely not like when Bo turns up the succubus juice. It's just him. Being totally gorgeous. And acting remotely interested.
It's easy to be overlooked when you're always standing next to Bo. She's not quite sure what to do with this kind of attention anymore. But the whole... slack-jawed staring, looking totally and completely awestruck thing? Probably not so attractive. She snaps out of it and plays it off with a smile as she places a hand against his chest just to get some room to breathe without turning into a starry-eyed zombie all over again.
"Green sounds good. I can work with that." She replaces the open palm with her index finger, poking him in the chest, "You're good. Did you minor in flattery? Or is that just an international-gentleman thing? Any other girl would probs be a quivering mess on the floor by now."
Ha. Like she's not a total mess on the inside. The rack of gowns is a welcome distraction from his too-green eyes and perfect cheekbones and perfect everything. Dammit.
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"I... no? I was only being honest," he says, sounding just confused enough for it to ring true. "I'm not trying to... I'm only saying."
After that he's silent for a time, stepping back to watch her pick through the dresses, brooding. His eyes travel the store (lingering, of course, on the scarves, of which he's rather fond for so many reasons -- comfort, the hint of colour they add to a formal suit, the fact that they can be turned into a makeshift weapon if need be) and he sucks on his lower lip.
"She must look quite good, your roommate, if you really don't hear that very often," he says softly, smiling at Kenzi a bit sadly before he brightens.
"It's alright; I know how it is. My brother is much better looking than I am. Big blonde and stupid. You and I will just have to settle, it seems." He moves up to stand alongside her, setting his palm atop her head gently. "For some reason that only makes me feel like the lucky one."
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"Bo was genetically created to be the sexiest thing on the planet. It's not her fault she was born pants-splittingly gorgeous. Just her DNA or whatevs. It's nature." Oh. But. That was a compliment. Another one. Jeeze. She returns the smile, managing to look only slightly uncomfortable as she pulls out a long, green silk dress for a closer look.
The comment about his brother makes her smirk. He's sharing. He IS a real person and not some crazy-hot hallucination. There's back story. She looks up from the dress when he touches her, he steals her attention so easily. "Stupid blonde? Poor walking stereotype. Bet he gets everything handed to him."
Settle? She... she could settle.
Kenzi puts the dress back on the rack and turns slowly to face him. "Me and luck don't usually mix. I know this really great anti-jinx ritual, though, If you really wanna feel lucky and not at all cursed by me. Super easy. There's only one step. All you have to do is kiss me."
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The words that follow make him smile and huff in amusement. "Well, see, now I can't," he says, reaching out to tap her gently on the nose. "Now it'd seem like I'd only be doing it because I'm worried about curses, and then perhaps you'd think that I mind, and that would be really awful."
Absolutely unforgivable. Loki isn't frightened of any such thing. Besides, if either of them here are cursed, it's him. "I'd much rather there be absolutely no doubt that I want to."
He's probably being unfair, he realises. A bit too good, and some of it in ways he actually isn't. On the other hand, most of it is entirely honest. Perhaps that's the problem. "Which... I do want to, mind, but you've put me in a bit of a tight spot."
Mostly this is just Loki being a tease, of course. One can be honest and still do that. "So you tell me. Would you be horribly offended if I did?"
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"It takes a lot to offend me. I'd be so un-offended that I'd be the exact OPPOSITE of offended." She states matter-of-factly , placing a hand on her hip to convey as much attitude as possible in retaliation to his feigned stubbornness.
"For what it's worth, I wouldn't doubt you for a second."
... Except for all those times she doubted the fact that he was human, that he was being honest with her, that he wasn't a psychopathic murderer that was going to toss her in a trunk before they got to the coffee place. She wouldn't doubt him for an HOUR. Maybe two. Consecutively.
Yeah, that's totally a lie. She still doesn't trust him completely. She doesn't trust anyone completely. But she did trust him a little.That was mistake number three. The first two mistakes being following him out of the lobby and meeting him a second time.
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So really, really, the most honest, the most immediate reaction would be a lamentation, a throwing up of hands, a please, please don't say that; you were doing so well and now it's not a game anymore, just pretending, and so on.
Except, well, that would be rather telling, wouldn't it? Besides, he doesn't trust her for a minute, and that, at least, is all well and good.
"Well," he says thoughtfully, "in that case, what can I possibly do but as the lady wishes?"
He's smiling faintly when he bends down to her level, nudging his nose against hers with something like affection. There's teasing, too, in the faint brush of his lips against hers before he presses forward for a kiss proper, a mostly chaste but lingering thing. Pleasant. Warm. Warm for him, anyway. Humans always are. Almost too warm, just the edge of it, like slipping into a hot bath. They're so very alive, and in ways that he isn't, cold and old as he is.
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She was totally going to regret this. Maybe not today, but eventually and for so many reasons. Falling fast and hard is kind of the worst thing that could happen and it definitely just happened. She could be hooked and still be cautious. At least, that's what she hoped. She was determined. Don't read too much into it. Calm yourself down, girl.
"See? Not offended." Yeah. Smooth. Mostly...
Less smooth was how fast her hand found his and how she held fast for the rest of the day.
Dress bought. Food shared. Sights seen. All with the promise of seeing each other again the following night, which couldn't come fast enough for Kenzi. She practically floated back to the room she shared with Bo and gushed about this wonderful, contradictory, not at all average but definitely not fae guy. He was something else. Something she wasn't letting go of so easily.
Her mind was elsewhere the rest of the night and the next day. Interrogating the fae of the city, following up on leads, she was off her game. Not like she was that necessary, anyway. Where Kenzi fell short, Bo's succubus powers came through. Just like they always did. Bo didn't need her. She could have a guilt-free night knowing her bff had this shit handled. It was harmless information gathering. They weren't breaking any rules.
Yet.
They could worry about it all later. They'd sent a progress report to the Ash and all Kenzi wanted to do tonight was forget about the fae for a few hours and have a magical freakin' time or else while looking beyond fabulous and potentially ruining some rich guy's night. Doesn't get much more perfect than that.
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So more or less a normal party, really, only... bigger.
Magic, though, magic he can certainly promise, regardless of the outcome.
It begins not long after they do, with greetings and arrivals, just enough to leave him a forgettable face in the crowd in the sight of most, of those who might recognise him, all but Kenzi. There's perhaps a bit of privilege in that. She doesn't see him as he truly is, not yet, but she's still closer to it than anyone else. Loki might be inclined to think it an honour, in fact, but he's in a fine mood and always thinks much of himself when he is. Which only compacts it really, the delight, the delicious anticipation, leaving him all smiles and easy charm, and in no small way affectionate. Of course he is. It's a good day.
It's a good day, and they've a table near the edge of the room to themselves, which lets Loki lean close and whisper unflattering, conspiratorial things about the guests he recognises, gossip picked up during those other dull evenings of reconnaissance and put now to good use. A fine collection of mostly horrible people, they are, and laughing at their expense passes the time.
And then the speeches. Stark's, typically full of posturing and bombast. Others, mostly dull, mostly idle flattery and attempts at ingratiation. It's at the conclusion of the last that he leans over to Kenzi again with something wicked in his grin. “Now,” he says, voice low and thrilled, “we have some fun, and you get your answers. Don't be frightened. It's all a game.”
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With that he's on his feet, tall, straight-backed, all confidence, all arrogance as he takes the steps to the stage two at a time in easy, loping strides. And the room is silent when he steps up to the microphone and lets the glamour fall, lets them see, silent save for a soft profanity whose source he needn't see to guess. From his pocket he produces a set of index cards, flicking through them with a faint frown before tossing them over his shoulder and turning his attention back to the crowd.
“Well,” he says cheerfully, grinning wide and mad, “what can I possibly say about Tony Stark that hasn't been said already this evening? You lot at the bar were particularly good-- no, no, I know you didn't speak in front of us all tonight, but I assure you I was listening.”
He presses one elegant hand to his chest and gives a stiff, shallow bow in their direction. “I'm terribly sorry; where are my manners? It seems I've forgotten to introduce myself. Some of you know me already. More of you, I expect, than you realise, but these--” he tugs at his shirt “--are... well let's - shall we? - let's jog your memories.”
The golden light that ripples over him is bright, unnatural, and there the game is certainly up, nevermind what it leaves behind in its wake: leather and brass inscribed with alien things, powerful things, and most distinctive of all the helmet with its tall, curving horns and there, there's a lovely sound, the gasping, the click of weapons unholstered by security personnel even as Loki's staff appears in his hand.
A woman somewhere gives a muffled cry and Loki laughs. “Madam, please - I've not done anything yet.”
At that, behind Loki, a brawny, overconfident security guard raises his weapon and aims. In the fuss, Stark has likely managed to send out an alarm call. Good. Let them come.
“I think let's not,” Loki says to the fellow with the gun, turning his head faintly - just faintly, which is good, given the bullet that clangs off his helmet, leaving one of his ears ringing madly. The staff lashes out like the strike of a serpent, the butt catching first the guard's gun hand and then sweeping low to take his feet out from beneath him, easy, too easy. The hard fall and the ensuing strike to the solar plexus leave him flat on his back and gasping, wind knocked from his lungs, but very much alive, and so he'll stay providing he doesn't do anything terribly stupid. The gun he kicks away as one of Stark's bodyguards - Happy, he knows now - rushes in with a distinctive suitcase cuffed to his wrist.
Delightful. Someone worth fighting. Loki readies his staff.
“You lot might want to get out of the way now,” he says, shooting Kenzi a cheery wink, and look at them go.
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... What did he mean by 'answers'?
Kenzi watched him curiously, covering any nervousness with a smile. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the edge of the table and let her hair fall over her shoulder as she tilted her head just slightly. The reaction from the crowd is puzzling. The silence. It doesn't click right away, but she knows something's up. And then there's that light... and he changes.
There's more concern in her expression than anything. Even after she pieces it together. The bathroom the night they meant, the careful answers to her questions, the seemingly playful vendetta against Stark. That outfit. It was him. The guy from the incident. The alien that tried to be king. Definitely not fae. Definitely not from Iceland. Not who he said he was and a damn good liar.
Still, she stood up when the shot rang out. Concern briefly turning to horror until she realized the helmet had protected him somehow. That close? Really? It shouldn't be that surprising. The horror remained in the pit of her stomach as he totally owned Trigger-fingers Mcgee, but didn't murder his face. Disarmed him and took him down, but he didn't kill him. She noticed that. She clung to that.
The crowd turns into a mob, of the crazy-screaming variety, but Kenzi doesn't look away. She stays where she is until the majority of the party goers have fled. It's only when the room is mostly empty and the screams have died down, giving way to an eerie sort of silence, that she moves. She circles around the table and takes slow, but deliberate steps, towards Loki and Stark and the dude with the case. The concern is back in the form of knit brows, accompanied by a touch of betrayal around her eyes and confusion more than anything. She keeps a safe distance between her and Tony Stark, stopping just short of the stage.
Between all that armour and leather and the fact that the guy he's here to mess with has an iron suit? She suddenly feels ridiculously under-dressed.
With her hand on her hip and her eyebrows raised, you can bet her words are just dripping with attitude, "Physicist? Nice. What big horns you have, Mr. Wolf."
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“Well, technically--” Loki starts, but he's cut off by a blast from the flight stabilisers in Tony's gauntlets cuts him off, sending him stumbling back with a soft noise of annoyance.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Stark intones, voice muffled and processed strangely by the suit, “time for the boys to play.”
“I told you he was rude,” Loki says with a sigh, firing a blast of his own from the end of his staff before taking a running leap. Stark staggers but manages to dodge, and then it's on, then things get broken, then it's magic and mayhem, and most of the explosions aren't even Loki's. That's the fun with Stark, but it's also the danger with him, the reason Loki stays on the offensive to push him further away from Kenzi.
It's short, it's nasty, by the end Loki's lip is split and bleeding from a blow of a gauntlet to his mouth and Stark's suit has been dented in a dozen places. And in the end all it takes is the worming of Loki's fingers into the joint of the suit under Stark's arm and a bright flash of green to shut the suit down and send Stark toppling onto his back. Loki kneels over him and taps at the faceplate with the end of his staff, smiling.
After a few seconds' time fails to produce a response he pries the faceplate away himself. “An improvement over the last design, I must say,” he says cheerfully. “That was a nice touch with the rockets; I think I missed that last time. The flares were clever but I suggest you work on a method to deploy them more quickly and quietly; not terribly useful if I can tell they're coming, are they? Otherwise, really well done, you lot are learning.”
Two none-too-gentle pats to Tony's cheek later, Loki rises to his feet.
“Right,” Tony replies confusedly, “yeah. Enjoy the rest of your... date, or whatever.”
“Alas I think that bird has flown,” Loki sighs, and there really is a hint of regret to his words. Still, he turns away to find Kenzi, swiping at his bleeding lip.
“So, is this coffee and questions or where you slap me and stomp out? I know which I favour. No more explosions for the duration of the evening, on my word.” A pause, a conceding shrug. “No more explosions to do with me for the duration of the evening; this is New York City.”
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"This is massive amounts of alcohol and questions. I hope you charged him for that advice." She pulls away briefly to glare at the dented suit and the person inside of it, "Does this happen a lot? Is this a regular thing? Big, huge fight, lots of flare, but no one dies? What the hell kind of a system is that? Business partnership? You're probably generating millions in publicity for this guy and if you're not getting royalties or some shit, I'm going to be way the hell more disappointed about that than the whole lying to me thing."
No one died. He was purposely deflecting a lot of that mess away from her. She noticed that, too.
Kenzi notices a lot of things, and people don't give her enough credit for it.
No amount of disappointment can keep that smirk away for long, "You could have just told me you were a god." Looks like someone was lying about how much she knew. What a pair.
"I probably wouldn't have held it against you."
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“I'm afraid this isn't going to be terribly pleasant,” he says, and tugs her with him into places nothing was ever really meant to go, the gap between things real and fake, a place where the laws of physics and dimensionality are more like suggestions - but only for the space of a few moments before they pop out the other end and his hands come to her shoulders to steady her. A darkened flat, nice but nondescript. His.
“I apologise. I can't say I was keen on sticking around until the rest of his pals showed up. Quite enough for one night, I think. Please, have a seat. Anywhere you like. I'll see what I've got on hand to drink, since you were keen on it.” A wave of his hand and the lights flick on as he stalks off to the kitchen, armour already melting away. He certainly doesn't need it now.
“As for why I didn't tell you, well. That would've been terribly arrogant of me. I wasn't the one who started with that name anyway, you lot were, roughly, oh... two and a half millennia ago, give or take a few centuries; it all blends together after a while.” So. “Let it be stated for the record, though, that I didn't say it first. Anyway, that's more a... part-time job, these days. I'm mostly retired.”
He opens one of the cupboards and there comes a clinking of bottles as he lowers them onto the counter with a soft, considering hum. The collection is vast but most of the bottles are nearly full, which is telling. He hardly ever drinks any of this himself, as it'd take quite a lot to produce any effect, but he's found that humans generally expect him to have some on hand. Of course, they normally don't make it this far. Most, in the end, probably wouldn't want to.
“Regarding Stark, no, I haven't charged him, but I do very much enjoy making him feel like an idiot on occasion. Somebody has to. It's a public service, believe me. That is more or less the arrangement - I show up and dance for them a bit on occasion and I make sure to play very nicely, and in return they don't bother trying terribly hard to find me. It's not just him, but his mug has been all over the newspapers lately and it rather made me want to put my fist through it.” So. Reasonable excuse, really.
“Meanwhile Clint Barton frequents the same coffee shops I do and most days we can both get in and out without breaking anything. Occasionally we stop for a bit of a chat. Steve Rogers sent me a Christmas card last December, still haven't worked out whether or not that's a joke.” Nor does he dislike Rogers enough to try. May his God help the poor man, though, if it's even remotely in earnest.
“I think this year I'll reciprocate with a lovingly-executed watercolour depicting the time he tore the arse out of that ridiculous suit of his. So, you see, it's all in good fun; keeps everyone busy, no harm done most of the time. And most of the time, I... well, I play around with physics, anyway, after a fashion. Nearly the same thing.” Nearly. "What would you like? I've... well. You did say massive amounts. This, clearly, I can do."
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She took shaky steps toward the couch in a daze, sinking down onto it gratefully and unconsciously clutching the arm rest in something of a death grip. Kenzi could play the brave one all she wanted, but this? This was messed up. She knew it was messed up. Trying to pretend everything is normal and everything actually being normal are completely different things.
"You get coffee with hot archer guy and Captain Spangles sends you Christmas cards. If you have scotch, I'll take the scotch. No ice." Leave the bottle. She'll need it. Her stomach's still doing flips in the worst way, but she's not entirely convinced that it's because of the teleportation trick anymore.
She waits until she can see him again before the dam breaks and words come bursting out, "... You knew I was following you that night. Was this all just because you were bored? You're obviously not going to murder me because you would have just let laser-hands accidentally pull that one off. So ... basically-- What I want to know is..." She releases the grip on the arm rest, looking less determined than a few seconds ago and much more lost, "Why? What was a lie and what wasn't? And what is ... this?"
He brought her to his place. Or at least what she assumes is his place. Third date. The hell is that supposed to mean? She's in a god's apartment. Part-time god trumps Bo's hottest full-time fae nobility. Hands down! Or... horns.
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