Who: Rumlow and Loki What: Meeting in Central Park for a change of face. When: Following this private message. Rating/Warnings: Green
Dressed in his usual black suit and long overcoat that he favored as of late, Loki considered the park at the city center to be a fine meeting point. Even more so while under the cover of darkness. It was public enough for anyone to put most people at ease, and afforded enough quiet to converse, since less people were willing to mill about in a park after dark, especially a park that was surrounded by a city crawling with criminals.
Such criminals were of no concern to him. If anyone was stupid enough to attempt to demand his money or other valuables, they'd find a conjured knife stuck in their jugular. Then he would write that off as doing a good deed, as there would be one less criminal for the "superheroes" to contend with. Insert eyeroll at the thought.
So as the clocks struck midnight, Loki was waiting by the obelisk with his hands in his coat pockets, so unnervingly still that he might be mistaken for a statue.
Rumlow was already drunk enough not to care about any personal danger. He was also a trained assassin and could handle just about anything, even drunk. Not Loki, of course, but if the god wanted to kill him there was little he could do, drunk or sober, so… so be it.
He had nothing to lose now anyway, having lost his last friend because of his own cowardice. He wasn’t even sure why he was bothering with this meeting, except for sheer curiosity.
He walked straight, though, not appearing drunk to the casual observer, just another shifty looking character dressed in black, roaming the park at night. He spotted Loki immediately, of course. He walked up to him and said, “Hi. Should I bow or something?”
He wasn’t trying to be an asshole. It came naturally.
"Normally, I would never say no to kneeling before me," was the reply, but the voice was tinged with humor and a touch of sarcasm. As proof that he wasn't serious, one corner of Loki's mouth quirked up into a wry half-smirk. He was the prince of nothing, a kingdom that no longer existed or a icy wasteland he loathed being connected to. "You need not. It is unnecessary."
He tilted his head ever so slightly to one side, studying this particular Midgardian. The scent of alcohol still clung to this man. The Valkyrie often smelled of alcohol, but in a much more blissful way. This reminded him of more somber times, having spent hundred of years regulated to watching from the fringes while others drank to celebrate a battle. It smelled of old regrets.
“Good. Not sure I could get up again afterward,” Rumlow replied. “I kinda hit the bar. Hard.” He chuckled to himself. “I hope that ain’t a problem.”
He had no idea what this entailed, if it would hurt at all. He wasn’t scared of pain. He was used to it. He was just curious. He didn’t want to stare at Loki but he couldn’t help it. The man was imposing as hell, not just his size. He knew what Loki was capable of and he wondered why he wasn’t currently wreaking havoc.
Loki smiled and - while it might be described as charming - it was also as though mischief was still very much being managed. Not on his part, but by everyone else around him. He barely even had to lift a finger to do anything at all, and these mortal beings were set on tearing their own selves apart. That might not bode well if there was a major threat....
"Couldn't get back up, hm? Well. Perhaps it is better to refrain," a very amused Loki replied. "Your propensity for drink will not be of issue. Have you any further questions, or sins to confess, before I begin?"
Rumlow raised an eyebrow. “I gotta confess my sins? Cause that might take a fucking long time.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I got no questions though. And nothin’ to lose. So bring it on, if you’re ready. Make me average.” He laughed to himself, amused by his own joke.
Now that Barnes hated him, maybe when he was anonymous he could slink off into the sunset.
"Just as well," sighed Loki. "Should I do the same, we would be here until dawn."
He lifted a hand toward Brock, nearly close enough to touch, and moved his hand in a slight sweeping motion. A shimmering veil of green energy drifted over Brock's face before disappearing. The entire spell barely even qualified as feeling like the slightest tickle. There was no pain, at all.
"It is done," he announced. "Go forth and be blessedly mundane."
Rumlow blinked. “That’s it? It’s fine? I expected some mumbo jumbo and shit.” He pulled his phone out and took a selfie. Even in the low light he could tell his face was unrecognizable. “Damn,” he whistled. “You’re good.” He looked up at Loki. “Thanks. Whether you say so or not, I owe you one. I doubt you’d ever need my help, but if you do… you got it.” He hesitated. “Unless you want to hurt Barnes.” Why had he said that? Bucky didn’t give a shit about him.
"That is it," he confirmed, and then was left giving Brock a somewhat perplexed stare. While that offer was appreciated, the mention of Barnes was an odd thing to add after the fact. "I hardly wish to harm your friend. I fear he has enough problems of his own. Don't we all?"
Rumlow could have kicked himself for opening his damn mouth. “Yeah, never mind that. Whiskey talking. Ignore me.” He slipped his phone in his pocket. He had the thought that now he could walk into any bar and not worry about it. Perfect. “Like I said. I owe you one. Now unless you need to do anything else I’m going to have a few more drinks.” He looked at Loki, making sure there was nothing else. He didn’t really want to turn his back on the guy.
Loki was grinning, hands back in his pockets, waiting for the man to depart. His eyebrows lifted up expectantly. He could practically count a whole Earth minute, before he ever bothered to speak.
"Very well. Yet you need not wait for me to dismiss you," he said with a curt nod of farewell, while not budging one inch. He knew when someone didn't want to turn their back to him, and it suddenly provided an amusing game to play. The night was still young, after all. There was plenty of time to cause some trouble, somewhere. "It will be difficult to ignore you, the longer you remain in my presence."
Rumlow sighed. Loki might be trying to go straight but it was clear he wasn’t above some assholery still. “Right. Bye.” He turned away, though every instinct told him not to. He made himself walk casually and not look back.
Oh no, the God of Mischief was a title that more than implied that assholery happened. To varying degrees. It depended on his mood, and his mood was good lately. He better make sure this man wasn't in any danger, since Barnes hadn't struck him as the type who had many friends.
Walking away was all well and good, until Loki was somehow waiting on the path just ahead of him, saying, "You do seem troubled. Are you certain you're well?"
Rumlow barely managed not to startle when Loki appeared in front of him again. “Depends in your definition. I used to be dead and now I’m not. So that’s good.” He looked up at the Asgardian, sensing that this conversation would be done when Loki decided it would be done. Since he’d done Rumlow a favor, he figured he was gonna roll with it.
"Dead." Loki's brows knit together for a brief moment, and he fell into step beside Rumlow. Now that was interesting, and he was curious. "So you were brought back to life by the time disruption. Do you remember anything of it? Of the time between then and now, if any?"
Well, it seemed Loki wanted to chat. “No. Not a damn thing. One minute I was blowing myself up and the next minute I was here. Well, in Times fucking Square, to be exact.” His least favorite place in New York. That had to be some kind of retribution.
That made him wonder about those he and Thor had lost, and also about their sister. His expression went from hopeful, to resigned, and then dove into a truly dark place indeed. Not merely because of his family, but also because Times Square was a truly horrible place.
"That is odd," he said, as they were nearing the edge of the park. "I know not what your beliefs are, but we have Valhalla and Helheim. One would think that there would be memories of your time between, but perhaps those are best left unknown. That would be a greater burden, would it not?"
“I don’t believe in anything,” Rumlow shrugged. “I believe when you die, you’re gone. Except when sorcerers fuck things up, apparently. Sorry I can’t help with that. There was nothing.” He’d thought about it pretty much constantly. He couldn’t remember a damn thing.
"Then perhaps there is nothing here, for your kind." Loki wanted to shrug but couldn't bring himself to do it. It must have been vastly different for Midgardians than it was in Asgard. How disconcerting. "I am glad this was not a mess of my making. You have my condolences on your demise and subsequent return. I hope it was a swift death."
Rumlow wasn’t sure what to make of Loki. He didn’t trust him an inch but somehow he seemed sincere. “It was. Being blown up by your own bomb will do that to you.” He remembered pain but that was nothing new. “It’s not something I’m proud of.” Especially now that the truth was out.
That seemed a much swifter death than trying to kill one's self by falling aimlessly through space.
"If not proud of that, you will likely seek some measure of recompense." Loki glanced over at him as they walked. It often wasn't wise to trust him, but in this, there really was sincere curiosity driving him to ask such questions. Surely this criminal knew what he was doing more than Barnes did. It was valuable insight on how to improve his own situation. "How do you mean to do so?"
Rumlow looked sideways at Loki. He wondered if he was genuinely interested or he was being tested. Either way, he wouldn’t put it past Loki to be able to read minds. Or at least function as some sort of lie detector. Either way, Rumlow was telling the truth when he answered, “I got no fucking clue. I got no real skills other than killing people. And since I’m trying not to do that no more…” he shrugged again. He seemed to be doing that a lot. “Unless they want me to try and go undercover for some reason. It’d probably get me killed again but I’d do it. I mean what else—“ he cut himself off. No point in feeling sorry for himself.
Oh Loki did know lies. Intimitely well. He lied to himself several times a day. His ability to detect liars was pretty finely honed, and he wasn't often bested by others, one time being when he vastly underestimated a tiny Russian woman.
In Rumlow, he detected no lies. And that was why Loki frowned, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows and his mouth pressing into a perfectly straight line. From everything he had gleaned thus far, they were truly all on their own, like rudderless ships without any wind left to sail by.
"What else is there," Loki hazarded a guess, "other than what we knew or what we have done before. Perhaps it is only a matter of time until an opportunity for greatness or redemption presents itself. I suppose we must wait and see, hm?"
He smirked over at Rumlow, but that was a concerted effort to cover up his own dark thoughts. This human had his own wealth of problems and didn't need them compounded by the burdens of another, especially one that wasn't inclined to share their own burden. There was little use in feeling sorry for themselves, although he knew all too well the dangers of slipping back into such a state.
"If you will be well and have no need of being accompanied," he told Rumlow, "you and I shall now part ways."
Rumlow wished he could read Loki’s mind. Now that would be interesting. He was an actual god. He’d been in outer space. What was he doing here, casting spells on humans?
“I’m good, thanks. New York City ain’t got nothing that scares me,” he smirked. He was just going to go find a bar anyway.
Reading Loki's mind would be like a schizophrenic trying to navigate through a labyrinth after their eyes had been put out with a red hot poker. His thoughts were chaotic and varied, not to mention often conflicted. Even if he was able to weave a tapestry of plans from the threads of those thoughts, the overall picture wouldn't make sense to any outsiders.
Even still, he had a speck of what might be known as sympathy for this man and the one known as Barnes. No one else would know what they knew and had experienced, and each seemed to want a way to better themselves, but seemed afforded no ways to do so.
"Very well. Then I will, finally, bid you good evening."
In mid-stride, Loki left. Silently. Gone into the thin night air.
Rumlow didn’t even get to answer. He shook his head, bemused at the whole situation. Then he opened Google Maps and found the closest bar to his room.