Loki | MCU (subtletrick) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2012-08-09 13:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | loki |
Who? Loki
What? Mirrors hijacking him into the Carnival~
Where? The Carnival!
When? Earlyish this morning.
Why? Because gratuitous characterdamage is my favorite thing.
Rating? Low.
Notes: I was very interpretive with the how does this work because a) I am half-asleep, b) I do not have time to log :(, and c) I assume things can work a bit differently with Loki because *handwave*, so basically if this does not work with the way of things I am terribly sorry! If it needs changing I will change it.
The mirror’s distorted reflection does not seem strange, at first. Is that not what the point of a ‘house of mirrors’ is? To distort one’s reflection into humorous or alarming figures? It is effective, certainly, but it isn’t until Loki finds himself unable to tear his gaze away that he understands something is amiss. By then, his shape in the glass has changed, flickering between the monster and the lunatic, never the image of who he has tried to be, never settling. There is no peace, here.
There is no peace within Loki.
Is that what you desire?
Is that what you need?
For all his contentment, for all that he had people he cared for and those who cared for him in return, Loki had yet to truly feel at peace. Nothing could completely take away the turmoil inside of him, evidently; he would forever be fighting a war within himself - and one day, he feared he would lose that war, and then everything he held dear would follow, slipping away like sand.
If that is what you need... You can have it.
Loki tore himself away, magic carrying him out of the maze in the blink of an eye; he did not trust his senses to guide him through, or the glass walls to tell him truths of which path to take. Getting lost in an ordinary maze would mean nothing; getting lost here, he felt, would be more than just literally being turned around. Here, one could truly be lost.
-
A matter of minutes later saw him standing before the mirrors again. He had wandered a bit more, trying to seek anything useful, even taking a moment to acquire some of that ‘cotton candy’ that Ares had indicated was good (his own verdict was that it was sweet, and not much else; passable, but not a new favorite). The bright pink floof of sugar now hung forgotten at his side, fingertips barely keeping hold of the paper cone it was affixed to as his eyes found themselves glued back to the glass, his mind straining for the whispers he knew were inaudible. He did not fully recall making the decision to return here, but he found that he could not quite care. Somehow, that was more alarming than being here, itself.
All you have to do is say yes.
It isn’t words, but impressions. Magic, of some kind. He tries to think past it logically, because he knows magic, and he understands what is happening - what is being offered and what will come of it - but he cannot completely fight the part of him that cries out for exactly what is on offer, the part of his soul that says yes-
-and then he is truly lost.
-
The mirrors did not lie. There is a certain peace in emptiness. There is no conflict, if he does not think too hard about anything - and when he does, he finds himself made vividly aware of the consequences of any attempt to push past the numbing cloud, vibrant images painted with the blood of the one who matters most, the spark of life that gave him hope put out.
It is okay, however. He doesn’t need hope, here. He doesn’t need anything. He is at peace.