The trouble with Loki, perhaps, is he buys into his own manipulations too well. Here, among lesser beings, he can imagine himself a puppet master, tugging on strings, making them all dance. It doesn't actually get him much, is the thing. It buys him time and distraction, for his underlings to open the portal. That much is true. And it allows him an opportunity to make his point to Thor. Companionship and trust are empty things. Worthless. Sentiment.
These two men, the old soldier and the broken knight, seem to be reaching for a connection. If Loki can't disrupt it, he can encourage it and watch it break them. But in the meantime, this one, the dark one, Stark, is clearly the chessmaster. He straightens when Tony leans in, folding his arms behind his back like the genteel prince he really is not but is skilled at pretending to be. He's taller to begin with, and their relative positions just emphasize that height disparity.
He's not thrilled that Stark seems unintimidated by him, but the superior smile lingers--until Thanos is mentioned. Something flickers in his face, his silver tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth, and his throat works visibly in an anxious swallow. They are not supposed to know that name.
"If you expect to parley with him," he says after a few seconds of leaden silence, "you will be disappointed. You should be on your knees blessing me for my intervention on your worthless world's behalf."
After all, what's worse? The indiscriminate slaughter of half the planet's population, or a more controlled burn leaving a stable ruler to rebuild? "But tell me, where did you hear that name?"
Tony's caught him off guard once, but it won't happen again.
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((ok so I guess I have secretly wanted to play Loki for a while))
Date: 2018-08-29 12:52 pm (UTC)These two men, the old soldier and the broken knight, seem to be reaching for a connection. If Loki can't disrupt it, he can encourage it and watch it break them. But in the meantime, this one, the dark one, Stark, is clearly the chessmaster. He straightens when Tony leans in, folding his arms behind his back like the genteel prince he really is not but is skilled at pretending to be. He's taller to begin with, and their relative positions just emphasize that height disparity.
He's not thrilled that Stark seems unintimidated by him, but the superior smile lingers--until Thanos is mentioned. Something flickers in his face, his silver tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth, and his throat works visibly in an anxious swallow. They are not supposed to know that name.
"If you expect to parley with him," he says after a few seconds of leaden silence, "you will be disappointed. You should be on your knees blessing me for my intervention on your worthless world's behalf."
After all, what's worse? The indiscriminate slaughter of half the planet's population, or a more controlled burn leaving a stable ruler to rebuild? "But tell me, where did you hear that name?"
Tony's caught him off guard once, but it won't happen again.