go_mischief (go_mischief) wrote in newalliance, @ 2015-09-11 23:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | doom, loki |
Who: Loki, Doctor DOOM, Maxine Hunkel
Where: New York, Latverian Embassy
When: 9/12/15
What: Doom needs information, so grabs Loki off the street for it. Loki at least gets a pick up from a friend
Rating: PG
Loki was used to weird things happening to him. It kinda came with being Loki, after all.
Sensing a portal in the less savory parts of New York and having a huge armored figure in a green cloak and tunic step out of nowhere to glare down at him was not something he expected, though.
Still, he was Loki, and again, he was used to weird things happening to him. So he stopped with his thumbs under his backpack straps, was silent for some long seconds while considering the glowering tower of armor and authority. Then he plucked his earbuds out, the faint sound of My Chemical Romance still heard. Loki put his heels together and a hand to his chest. His bow was low.
“Good evening, Lord Doom. If that is truly you and not a Doombot.” He straightened his small frame, smiling in what he hoped was a disarming manner. Politeness seemed a good idea, considering Doctor Doom’s reputation. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
The figure before him spoke Latverian. Loki tilt his head to one side, interested in the language and trying to pick up its mechanics and sound beyond what the All-tongue provided. “You are not easy to track down.”
He smiled back more broadly. It was strange how easy grins and smiles came to him when Loki felt entirely like doing the opposite. He had to force himself not to bend his spine in apprehension. But Doom was not attacking him, imperious as he was posed. Loki would take that as a plus. He switched his language, the Latverian a new flavor of spoken delight on his tongue. “I may have made myself more easily available had I known you were looking for me.” Then he could control how this encounter would go. Maybe. A little.
“DOOM shall take your word for it, known liar though you are.” Doom unfolded his arms. Loki felt magic pulling around his feet and the air pulling in on him. Ikol gave an undignified sound, flying in close to land on his shoulder. “You have information I need.”
Loki kept smiling, even though his teeth bit together more firmly. Then the air around him made his ears pop and the tall dictator and little god of mischief disappeared from the street.
Loki wasn’t sure where he thought he would pop up at, but thankfully it wasn’t in a dungeon. Polished marble floors, rich rugs, Latverian tapestries (some with Doctor Doom on them in grand, pompous poses), high vaulted ceilings and gothic chandeliers. He glanced about, then made a small “Oh!” of comprehension. This must be the Latverian Embassy located in New York.
This almost distracted him from the metal palm that struck his chest. He winced, thinking he was about to fly backward, but the motion was simply quick, not hard. Loki blinked his eyes open and stared down at his chest at the thick disc attached to his t-shirt. Thin, metal tendrils were whirring quietly as they swiftly snaked from the disk. These wound around his ribs, up his back and down his legs and along the back of his fingers. He moved his hands experimentally, looking at the metal segments that smoothly shift with his motions and attached over his fingertips. There were runes etched on them, and they felt unpleasant, like putting one's tongue on an almost dead battery. A chill touch of metal let him know a similar line of metal segments had traced up his throat and to the bottom of his chin.
Loki was confused for all of two seconds before realizing what the little device did. His exclamation was in Latverian, the conversation continuing in Victor’s native language. “A magic dampener! Am I right?”
“Correct.” Doctor Doom turned and walked down the hallway, the metal steps heavy and with the soft sound of hydraulics. Loki gave another few seconds of turning his hands to see how the metal tendrils moved with him before looking back down the hallway behind. He pursed his lips then hurried to catch up to the dictator. There was no point trying to flee. He’d be caught.
“Are you afraid I’d use magic against you or to wreck your Embassy?” Curiosity. Perhaps not the most diplomatic way to start a conversation, but curiosity nonetheless.
“DOOM is afraid of nothing. I merely wish to keep you in one place.”
“Oh, so I don’t port away. That makes sense. Although, uh, such welcoming hospitality…” He shook a hand, but of course the metal clung to him, moving with him but quite unbudging.
“DOOM’s hospitality should make you feel honored.” The metal-edged voice was sharp.
Loki’s smile was crooked with mixed feelings. “Of course. So at least this is a hospitable visit and not some capture due to offence?”
“You would not be alive if you offended me, especially under my roof.” Statement. Point. Fact.
Eeee… “As you say,” he said, tone aloof as he pulled out his phone with one hand and swiped a thumb over the screen swiftly. The text only took three seconds to send, Loki chattering the entire time. “I’m glad to hear we’re not on bad terms. Information usually comes at a cost, however, and now you’ve interrupted my day on top of that. I hope you’re not wanting something-”
Doom suddenly stopped, though he didn’t turn. “Who are you texting?”
Loki’s feet froze and he quickly tucked both hands and phone into his jean pockets, swiping it into silent mode and vibration off with a few motions of his thumb. “Friends?”
“I do hope you are not texting someone in hope of rescue. DOOM is allowing your message to leave the Embassy. Do not try DOOM’s patience, however.”
“Oh. Right. Apologies.” Loki removed his hands from his pocket. He wouldn’t be responding to any texts, it seemed, and if this meeting turned poorly… Maybe I should have text Wanda first. Instead he swiped into another pocket, ran his hand through his hair and fixed the lockpicks there. He had some in his shoes and jean pocket as well, but caution didn’t hurt. “Um, how do you… emphasize your name like that? It’s kinda cool. Like, BOOM! DOOM! It’s like talking in all caps!”
Victor von Doom didn’t deign to answer, simply sighed and led the little godling down the hall. Loki continued to chatter, asking him insistent questions, trying to keep his own nonchalant and sometimes pompous air about him. It might be much better if Doom didn't think him a helpless child after all, and he couldn't be sure his past self hadn't interacted with the taciturn dictator before. Victor didn't respond to his chatter at all, simply seating himself in a chair in the library, ignoring Loki's race to the shelves to look over the books and commenting on them with interest.
Finally, "Sit."
Loki smiled pleasantly, nodding and moving to the simpler chair opposite Doctor Doom. His chatter was casual, but he was nervous, especially since Doom was moving his hands, swiping runes into the air that glowed briefly before fading. "Of course! So what is it you wanted to discuss? The weather has been nice today. Good for strolling. Course, I prefer night time. That's when the city really-."
Loki stopped, swallowed, tried to speak again, but nothing came out. Doom continued weaving his magic, invisible energy snaking over Loki, knotting in his throat. Then, almost casually, Doom leaned forward, and Loki leaned back, no longer smiling. The metal thumb forced Loki's chin down and he touched the tip of his tongue. It burned, and the magic was a thick taste in his mouth.
Ikol squawked and flew to the far corner of the library, hunching there and looking distraught. Loki rolled his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to rid of the discomfort and taste. He felt small in his chair now, little hands curling on the tops of the arm rests as Doom finished the weaving of the guise. The metal device that kept him from casting remained on Loki's hands, moving with each small flex and twitch of his nervous fingers. Neither of them spoke to each other for several long minutes. It wasn't until a short robot rolled in with tea and Doom pushed a cup of it toward Loki that he spoke.
"Now that your chattering is reduced to truths, I will ask you questions. You will answer."
Loki ignored the tea pushed toward him. "Doom. It is unkind to force a truth guise on a god of mischief."
"Necessary, because you are a god of mischief. DOOM is familiar with how such mythos bind your character." The brown eyes looked at him with a harsher light. "You should consider yourself fortunate. It wears off with few side affects, unlike the truth serum, which is hard to calculate with your anatomy. There is also yet another alternative, if you refuse to cooperate."
Loki nodded. He supposed a truth guise was better than torture or any other unpleasantries, and he didn't think Doom beyond such if he really needed the information he thought Loki had. He gathered himself a bit, eyes heavily lidded as he reached for his tea. He was methodical in adding sugar cubes and cream, stirring lightly. Then he sat back with the saucer balanced delicately in his small hand. "This information you are wanting must be of great importance, since you are taking such measures to receive honest answers. That spell has its repercussions for the caster as well, but you're not stupid and must realize its cost." A sigh, then Loki's eyes flit upward to look at the grimacing mask. "Very well. What do you wish to know?"
"Tell me what you know of Mephisto's servants, the women warriors that you took to him."
Loki opened his mouth automatically, without even wanting to, and Ikol spoke and he repeated. He was through his second cup of tea when Doom lift his head toward the hall.
"Hrmph. It seems I have company."