Who: Loki & Clint Barton (MCU) What: Clint figures this is an excellent time to go talk to his favorite person. Where: Loki's room. When: Friday morning-ish, the 7th. Ratings/Warnings: TBD, possible talk of depression, suicidal thoughts, and/or past acts of mind control and violence. Status: In Progress
Loki had done his best to vanish as soon as he'd realized what the compulsion he was beginning to feel was. He'd stayed away from the network and the devices it ran on, stayed in his apartment and well away from anyone else. It wasn't helping.
The magic of this town bothered him because it limited him, and he didn't understand it. Before this place, he'd only truly seen one other kind of power he couldn't really comprehend, and he'd coveted it, but been wary of it. This was a different sort of power altogether, rigid and limiting. Loki didn't like rules he couldn't break. But aside from the spell that brought and kept him here, little of it had truly thrown him. Gender was largely a fluid construct to him, so the change to a female hadn't bothered him. He'd been untouched by changing age. The mistletoe had been more amusing than jarring.
But this. This was infuriating. His entire life was made up of a series of lies and half truths, woven realities and plots. No one should be able to pry those out of him. They were all he had.
At first he just ignored it, gritting his teeth against the urge. When it was enough that his teeth ground and his jaw ached for fighting back words, Loki had changed tactics, and offered up truth to empty air. That had done no good, either. He was restless, sleepless, and a little wild-eyed from fighting against it. Finally he'd changed course again. Instead of trying to overpower it, he did what he did best. He tried to trick it.
A dropped text here, a quick word before retreat there. He offered up small and pointless truths to get around the larger ones that wanted to force their way from his throat. There is a door hidden away in Asgard that only two people can open.I set the latch on Thor's favorite horse's stall so it wouldn't close and he had to spend hours chasing through the fields to catch the beast, when we were children.I spent nights on the Bridge trying to learn how to mimic its magic, as a boy. Truth, but nothing of real value. That worked better, for a brief time. But it didn't appease the damnable magic for long, and Loki had given it up for fear of what he'd say again, and fallen back into playing the recluse and willing himself through.
It wasn't going well. He was taut and turned inward enough that the arrival in his apartment almost went unnoticed until Barton was practically in front of him. Loki's illusions were down, and he looked as he felt - strung tight and too warm, gaunt-cheeked and wearing normal, human clothes. He gathered himself enough for a shimmer and fade to his usual appearance, but likely far too late. Barton saw too much to miss it. "Get out, Barton," he ordered. Barton looked no better than Loki did, beneath the illusion, and Loki (who didn't miss things very often, either) noted it, but he was for once too cautious of his own secrets to try to pry at Clint's.