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.
“Scotch it is.” Something nice and smoky and not too strong, and two glasses, all of which he carries with him as he makes his way back to Kenzi.
“This is the only place I could think of where we could safely pop out of thin air without attracting too much attention. If you'd prefer someplace more public, say so,” he says, pouring her a few fingers of scotch all the same and pushing the tumbler across the table to her. The bottle stays with him, thanks.
“Most of it was true enough. The best lies are mostly honest anyhow.” He settles into a chair, slumping easily back into it like he belongs there, catlike, languid, and lazy. “I did know you were following me. People don't, as a rule. They never notice. I was curious.”
He shrugs. “I thought the coffee shop a perfectly acceptable way to spend my evening. Your conversation is better than most, when you're not being pointlessly self-effacing, and it was obvious from the start you have some experience with the lying game. So, why? Because it amused me. Because I like you. Why does anybody do anything? Because I could.”
With his own glass Loki sketches a gesture in the air, a nevermind-all-that. “Better: because you've a sense of humour. Rare indeed is the human who might be able to appreciate what I do, the humour in it, and either you would laugh or learn a valuable lesson, perhaps both; in the end worth the trouble. Besides, you really do look lovely in that dress. And anything else, though that's hardly my primary motivation. I have seen much of beauty in my time. That alone isn't remotely enough to catch my interest. Which is the point, in the end. You interest me.”
A high compliment from him, though she likely doesn't know it yet. “Of course, as I've some interest in my own self-preservation I couldn't simply tell you, could I? Consider it an audition. You earned my trust and here we are.”
"No! No. This is good. It's, uh-- ... nice." Slightly frightening, but nice.
She reaches for the drink, keeping her eyes on him until it's in her hand, pulls back and takes a little more than a sip. Definitely not drinking it for the taste. It's for her sanity more than anything. Calms her nerves. Anyone would be nervous in the presence of an apparently all-powerful alien life form that tried taking over the world and got pretty damn close to leveling New York.
"Yeah, I tend to do the lying thing. You obviously do it better. Gagillion years to perfect the craft, huh?" She's surprisingly not bitter. There's a hint of a smile as she takes another drink before setting it back down on the table. It's not like he'd taken advantage of her or anything. If any advantage-taking had gone on, it was pretty damn mutual. And it's not like he'd lied for months. He said she'd get her answers. She'd definitely gotten them and more. Hard to be mad when he's true to his word. Also, that little bit about him liking her hadn't hurt at all. She may have focused in on that part just a bit.
"An audition. For what, The Apprentice: Mythological figure edition? Who wants to be a henchman-aire? Or is this some messed up dating show, because I think you owe me a rose." Earned his trust. Ugh, he was like a guy version of Bo. What's with magical creatures trusting her? It can't be good for their health.
"Not sure trusting me is such a good idea. And just for the record, I don't trust anybody." Another lie. Not even a very good one. Kenzi trusts easily as soon as she sees a reason for someone to deserve it. Loki's already given her a few good reasons. She never stood a chance.
She watches him carefully. Something's not adding up here. It's starting to bug her. "... Space invasion wasn't your idea, was it?" Less a question, more a statement. She could be wrong. She could be VERY wrong. But ... she really hoped she wasn't.
Loki quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, near enough my idea, I'm sorry to say.”
Near enough. Not entirely, though. “I wasn't coerced. Not to start, in any case. Arrangements were made, though, yes. I was to retrieve and deliver an object and in return, the consolation prize. All he had to do was convince me that I truly did want a throne, which under the circumstances wasn't a particularly difficult task.”
He shrugs. “It's entirely possible I wasn't in my right mind, but it's entirely possible I'm not most days. Only marginally better. Really, though, what would I do with a kingdom?”
A question he probably ought to have asked himself sooner, in retrospect, before it became more about the statement and less about the reality of the thing. There were other ways, surely. “I already have one, technically, or could have if I bothered to go and claim it, but frankly I can't say I am. This is better. No pretending to be something other than I am, unless I want to.”
Which, clearly, he sometimes does. “As for you, I told you, I find you interesting. An audition for the right to know - and for the record, I don't trust you entirely, that would be stupid; but what can you really do to me in the end? Tell that lot up in the tower where I am? I can be out of here before you make it to their front door. No, you do as you like; there are no strings. I'm simply fond of a bit of company on occasion, though I suppose some might say that my company is its own downside.”
He doesn't seem particularly bothered, though, given the lazy stretch.
It's not terribly different than forgiving Bo's slightly-murderous past in favour of a murder-free future. She can't just make an exception for a human-eating fae and not have the same policy with this formerly-power-hungry god. That would be totally unfair. Kenzi was all about fair.
When it suited her.
She's quiet as she thinks it over, eyes downcast and fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm that only seems to make sense to her. After a moment, she stops, downs the rest of her drink, and makes a face as she focuses on the burn in her throat.
"Well... Obviously you're pretty freakin' interesting yourself and I think I might be hooked." On him. On the magical stuff. On the potentially dangerous situation and the thrill she gets just thinking about it. The 'no strings' was like music to her ears, along with most of the other stuff he was saying.
"Okay, so what do we do? Just keep hanging out like this until I stop being interesting? Obvi the whole me not being here permanently isn't an issue unless your less-than-awesome teleportation trick has a limited range. But what's the deal here? Can I tell Bo? Or are you like... my new imaginary friend."
And what is this going to cost her? His company being a downside can't be all there is to it. No one gets something for nothing. Everything has a price. Maybe she'd figure it out later. Right now, she was just trying to process all this new information.
She slipped the killer heels off her feet and folded her legs up on the couch next to her. The shoes were painful and she just got comfortable. Kenzi had no plans to go anywhere for a while.
“Well, you can call me whatever you like, I suppose, but that is my name. Not terribly reverent, using my name outright, though. Your Illustriousness would do.” He inclines his head, eyes turning ceilingward, and strikes a regal pose. “His Imperial Highness, Loki, Son of Laufey, First of His Name, Supreme Ruler of Buggerall. Occasionally some of you funny little animals do call me 'oh my God' but I find that off-puttingly proprietary to be entirely honest.”
The fact that he deadpans his way through the lot of it, posturing aside, labels it as the joke it is, as does the grin he breaks into when he turns back to her. “So the name will do nicely, yes, unless you had something better in mind.”
The rest Loki has to think about for a few moments, sipping at his Scotch thoughtfully. “To be entirely honest I didn't think you'd be keen on sticking around after all of that. I've no plans, so you tell me: either we keep playing the game and you find out what other areas I've a great deal of experience in, or we keep on as we have been.”
He closes his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “Or you can tell me to piss off, of course. I'll probably listen.”
Loki runs his tongue experimentally over the cut in his lower lip, debating whether or not the novelty of being injured outweighs the annoyance. For the moment it does, and so for the moment it can stay, even if it brings back memories of things rather less pleasant. “Regardless of your choice I suppose you can tell your friend what you like, providing you trust her to keep it a secret. My life here is comfortable, which is a pleasant change from the usual and I'd like it to remain that way. Meddling won't be tolerated.”
That is the regalest damn pose she ever did see. And by regal, she means adorable, which is probably why she's laughing. Despite how fucked up this whole thing is, there's still that familiarity. It's comfortable. It probably shouldn't be, but she's slowly getting used to the idea just like she got used to there being a secret world of fae hidden to most humans. People aren't supposed to get used to this kind of shit. Maybe she's cracked, too. Slightly unhinged. A sane person would have ran away with the rest of the crowd.
A sane person would get the hell out of here.
"Probably listen?" She smirks. "Not so sure about those odds."
If she wasn't crazy before, this could certainly be a turning point. She presses her fingers to her left temple and sighs at her own stupidity. Not because she got herself into this, but because she wasn't getting herself out while she still had the chance. Kenzi, you idiot. Bad news bears! He's giving you an exit and you just want to stay. To know more. She really should tell him to piss off.
But she stands up, shorter without the heels, and moves over to his chair, crouching next to the arm and reaching out to take his free hand in both of hers. Still cool. Not even just cool, it's cold. Every time she's ever touched him, he's been cold. Even his lips. She stares at it, brows knitting together, ever-curious.
"Is this normal for you? I was gonna just chalk it up to bad circulation. No meddling, I promise. Scout's honour. Bo's good at secrets." And Kenzi's still never been a scout.
Loki turns his hand over to curl his fingers about her wrist, looking down at their joined hands dispassionately. “No, normally I'm much colder than this. I am not, however, in the habit of wearing my true face in the presence of others for a host of reasons. It would be inadvisable to touch me if I were, that's one, though I suppose I could mitigate that with magic. It's rather obvious, for another. I'd never be able to pass unnoticed on the street.”
A pause. “It's not entirely a lie, in case you're wondering. I was lead to believe this was my face for most of my life until now; it's nearer real than what I truly am.”
Still, it fades. Odin's magic fades, and as it does, Loki grows ever colder. For the time being, he tolerates it. Soon he'll have to remake his Asgardian appearance of his own accord. He sighs heavily.
“I am not of a species with the Æsir, to elaborate further, though I was raised as one. I am Jötunn, what your people once called hrimþurs, a... giant of the rime, I believe is the translation.” He smiles faintly. “Though I'm not. Giant, I mean. Large, maybe, but well within reason, I promise.”
And that's how he does it, these days. Derails himself with humour and self-deprecation whenever things touch too close to something that might make him angry, might send him over that particular edge and put him in a mood to start breaking things in earnest. It doesn't make him feel terribly good, this method, but it's safer. How long it'll last, though, he doesn't know.
That part sounded familiar. A frost giant had almost killed Bo, but she was almost positive that it wasn't the same thing. Loki was an entirely different case. The fae were separate. While they both pulled from myths and bedtime stories, he was nothing like she'd ever seen before.
But that expression... she'd seen that before. The faint smile couldn't cover up what this line of questioning was doing to him. She could tell that there was far more to this story and now was not the time to get into it. Maybe someday. He'd already revealed more than enough for one night. Pushing wouldn't help anyone. There was no doubt in her mind that if he wanted to talk about anything, she'd be there to listen. It was much more preferable than talking about herself.
"I'm gonna kiss you now, and it has less to do with that 'large' comment and more me not wanting to say something stupid. Just so you know." And it just might also be because he said she looked lovely, but mostly because talking never ends well for her. Kenzi looks serious for all of a second before breaking into a warm smile of her own.
She straightens only to lean over him slowly, one hand still holding his while the other finds his neck and her fingertips brush lightly over his jawline. She presses her lips to his with a little more urgency than he'd used the day before, but it's just as tender. Even if that part had been a lie. The tenderness. Hers was true despite quite a few reasons why it shouldn't even exist.
She'd meant what she'd said. It does take a lot to offend her. He hadn't completely screwed her over, and she'd told worse lies in her lifetime. As short as that lifetime likely is in comparison...
The cut on his lip was still a minor concern. Aren't gods supposed to be indestructible? Bo could heal. Dyson was never scraped up for very long. Maybe it was one of those deals and the human should just stop worrying about everyone else and focus on her own fragility. Ha. Not gonna happen any time soon.
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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“This is the only place I could think of where we could safely pop out of thin air without attracting too much attention. If you'd prefer someplace more public, say so,” he says, pouring her a few fingers of scotch all the same and pushing the tumbler across the table to her. The bottle stays with him, thanks.
“Most of it was true enough. The best lies are mostly honest anyhow.” He settles into a chair, slumping easily back into it like he belongs there, catlike, languid, and lazy. “I did know you were following me. People don't, as a rule. They never notice. I was curious.”
He shrugs. “I thought the coffee shop a perfectly acceptable way to spend my evening. Your conversation is better than most, when you're not being pointlessly self-effacing, and it was obvious from the start you have some experience with the lying game. So, why? Because it amused me. Because I like you. Why does anybody do anything? Because I could.”
With his own glass Loki sketches a gesture in the air, a nevermind-all-that. “Better: because you've a sense of humour. Rare indeed is the human who might be able to appreciate what I do, the humour in it, and either you would laugh or learn a valuable lesson, perhaps both; in the end worth the trouble. Besides, you really do look lovely in that dress. And anything else, though that's hardly my primary motivation. I have seen much of beauty in my time. That alone isn't remotely enough to catch my interest. Which is the point, in the end. You interest me.”
A high compliment from him, though she likely doesn't know it yet. “Of course, as I've some interest in my own self-preservation I couldn't simply tell you, could I? Consider it an audition. You earned my trust and here we are.”
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She reaches for the drink, keeping her eyes on him until it's in her hand, pulls back and takes a little more than a sip. Definitely not drinking it for the taste. It's for her sanity more than anything. Calms her nerves. Anyone would be nervous in the presence of an apparently all-powerful alien life form that tried taking over the world and got pretty damn close to leveling New York.
"Yeah, I tend to do the lying thing. You obviously do it better. Gagillion years to perfect the craft, huh?" She's surprisingly not bitter. There's a hint of a smile as she takes another drink before setting it back down on the table. It's not like he'd taken advantage of her or anything. If any advantage-taking had gone on, it was pretty damn mutual. And it's not like he'd lied for months. He said she'd get her answers. She'd definitely gotten them and more. Hard to be mad when he's true to his word. Also, that little bit about him liking her hadn't hurt at all. She may have focused in on that part just a bit.
"An audition. For what, The Apprentice: Mythological figure edition? Who wants to be a henchman-aire? Or is this some messed up dating show, because I think you owe me a rose." Earned his trust. Ugh, he was like a guy version of Bo. What's with magical creatures trusting her? It can't be good for their health.
"Not sure trusting me is such a good idea. And just for the record, I don't trust anybody." Another lie. Not even a very good one. Kenzi trusts easily as soon as she sees a reason for someone to deserve it. Loki's already given her a few good reasons. She never stood a chance.
She watches him carefully. Something's not adding up here. It's starting to bug her. "... Space invasion wasn't your idea, was it?" Less a question, more a statement. She could be wrong. She could be VERY wrong. But ... she really hoped she wasn't.
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Near enough. Not entirely, though. “I wasn't coerced. Not to start, in any case. Arrangements were made, though, yes. I was to retrieve and deliver an object and in return, the consolation prize. All he had to do was convince me that I truly did want a throne, which under the circumstances wasn't a particularly difficult task.”
He shrugs. “It's entirely possible I wasn't in my right mind, but it's entirely possible I'm not most days. Only marginally better. Really, though, what would I do with a kingdom?”
A question he probably ought to have asked himself sooner, in retrospect, before it became more about the statement and less about the reality of the thing. There were other ways, surely. “I already have one, technically, or could have if I bothered to go and claim it, but frankly I can't say I am. This is better. No pretending to be something other than I am, unless I want to.”
Which, clearly, he sometimes does. “As for you, I told you, I find you interesting. An audition for the right to know - and for the record, I don't trust you entirely, that would be stupid; but what can you really do to me in the end? Tell that lot up in the tower where I am? I can be out of here before you make it to their front door. No, you do as you like; there are no strings. I'm simply fond of a bit of company on occasion, though I suppose some might say that my company is its own downside.”
He doesn't seem particularly bothered, though, given the lazy stretch.
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It's not terribly different than forgiving Bo's slightly-murderous past in favour of a murder-free future. She can't just make an exception for a human-eating fae and not have the same policy with this formerly-power-hungry god. That would be totally unfair. Kenzi was all about fair.
When it suited her.
She's quiet as she thinks it over, eyes downcast and fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm that only seems to make sense to her. After a moment, she stops, downs the rest of her drink, and makes a face as she focuses on the burn in her throat.
"Well... Obviously you're pretty freakin' interesting yourself and I think I might be hooked." On him. On the magical stuff. On the potentially dangerous situation and the thrill she gets just thinking about it. The 'no strings' was like music to her ears, along with most of the other stuff he was saying.
"Okay, so what do we do? Just keep hanging out like this until I stop being interesting? Obvi the whole me not being here permanently isn't an issue unless your less-than-awesome teleportation trick has a limited range. But what's the deal here? Can I tell Bo? Or are you like... my new imaginary friend."
And what is this going to cost her? His company being a downside can't be all there is to it. No one gets something for nothing. Everything has a price. Maybe she'd figure it out later. Right now, she was just trying to process all this new information.
She slipped the killer heels off her feet and folded her legs up on the couch next to her. The shoes were painful and she just got comfortable. Kenzi had no plans to go anywhere for a while.
"Am I supposed to call you Loki now?"
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The fact that he deadpans his way through the lot of it, posturing aside, labels it as the joke it is, as does the grin he breaks into when he turns back to her. “So the name will do nicely, yes, unless you had something better in mind.”
The rest Loki has to think about for a few moments, sipping at his Scotch thoughtfully. “To be entirely honest I didn't think you'd be keen on sticking around after all of that. I've no plans, so you tell me: either we keep playing the game and you find out what other areas I've a great deal of experience in, or we keep on as we have been.”
He closes his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “Or you can tell me to piss off, of course. I'll probably listen.”
Loki runs his tongue experimentally over the cut in his lower lip, debating whether or not the novelty of being injured outweighs the annoyance. For the moment it does, and so for the moment it can stay, even if it brings back memories of things rather less pleasant. “Regardless of your choice I suppose you can tell your friend what you like, providing you trust her to keep it a secret. My life here is comfortable, which is a pleasant change from the usual and I'd like it to remain that way. Meddling won't be tolerated.”
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A sane person would get the hell out of here.
"Probably listen?" She smirks. "Not so sure about those odds."
If she wasn't crazy before, this could certainly be a turning point. She presses her fingers to her left temple and sighs at her own stupidity. Not because she got herself into this, but because she wasn't getting herself out while she still had the chance. Kenzi, you idiot. Bad news bears! He's giving you an exit and you just want to stay. To know more. She really should tell him to piss off.
But she stands up, shorter without the heels, and moves over to his chair, crouching next to the arm and reaching out to take his free hand in both of hers. Still cool. Not even just cool, it's cold. Every time she's ever touched him, he's been cold. Even his lips. She stares at it, brows knitting together, ever-curious.
"Is this normal for you? I was gonna just chalk it up to bad circulation. No meddling, I promise. Scout's honour. Bo's good at secrets." And Kenzi's still never been a scout.
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Loki turns his hand over to curl his fingers about her wrist, looking down at their joined hands dispassionately. “No, normally I'm much colder than this. I am not, however, in the habit of wearing my true face in the presence of others for a host of reasons. It would be inadvisable to touch me if I were, that's one, though I suppose I could mitigate that with magic. It's rather obvious, for another. I'd never be able to pass unnoticed on the street.”
A pause. “It's not entirely a lie, in case you're wondering. I was lead to believe this was my face for most of my life until now; it's nearer real than what I truly am.”
Still, it fades. Odin's magic fades, and as it does, Loki grows ever colder. For the time being, he tolerates it. Soon he'll have to remake his Asgardian appearance of his own accord. He sighs heavily.
“I am not of a species with the Æsir, to elaborate further, though I was raised as one. I am Jötunn, what your people once called hrimþurs, a... giant of the rime, I believe is the translation.” He smiles faintly. “Though I'm not. Giant, I mean. Large, maybe, but well within reason, I promise.”
And that's how he does it, these days. Derails himself with humour and self-deprecation whenever things touch too close to something that might make him angry, might send him over that particular edge and put him in a mood to start breaking things in earnest. It doesn't make him feel terribly good, this method, but it's safer. How long it'll last, though, he doesn't know.
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But that expression... she'd seen that before. The faint smile couldn't cover up what this line of questioning was doing to him. She could tell that there was far more to this story and now was not the time to get into it. Maybe someday. He'd already revealed more than enough for one night. Pushing wouldn't help anyone. There was no doubt in her mind that if he wanted to talk about anything, she'd be there to listen. It was much more preferable than talking about herself.
"I'm gonna kiss you now, and it has less to do with that 'large' comment and more me not wanting to say something stupid. Just so you know." And it just might also be because he said she looked lovely, but mostly because talking never ends well for her. Kenzi looks serious for all of a second before breaking into a warm smile of her own.
She straightens only to lean over him slowly, one hand still holding his while the other finds his neck and her fingertips brush lightly over his jawline. She presses her lips to his with a little more urgency than he'd used the day before, but it's just as tender. Even if that part had been a lie. The tenderness. Hers was true despite quite a few reasons why it shouldn't even exist.
She'd meant what she'd said. It does take a lot to offend her. He hadn't completely screwed her over, and she'd told worse lies in her lifetime. As short as that lifetime likely is in comparison...
The cut on his lip was still a minor concern. Aren't gods supposed to be indestructible? Bo could heal. Dyson was never scraped up for very long. Maybe it was one of those deals and the human should just stop worrying about everyone else and focus on her own fragility. Ha. Not gonna happen any time soon.
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