First Person: [ It starts out with a sudden tap, like a button pushed in curiosity, and it starts out in the middle of what sounds like a very absent monologue. ] --nlike anything I have seen so far. A Stark phone isn't nearly as tricky, I have to say, which is saying something indeed. What Ikol would have made of it, I can scarcely even imagin--
[ Tap. The line goes dead for all of a minute before the image recording function kicks right in. It focuses on a face, too close to the screen and peering at it in a determined squint. Tap tap tap. ]
Does it work now? Hello? I'm sure a little labeling of functions wouldn't harm this thing terribly much-- [ The line, once again, goes dead. The interval between lasts much longer this time: a full three minutes before it flickers back on as if nothing had happened. ]
Much better, there. Hello? The train was very nice, but this is not where I need to be right now. Directions back to Broxton would be very muchly appreciated.
[ He's smiling, but it's about there that his expression falls ever so slightly; a faint crease between his brows, a small twitch of his mouth downward. ]
I have an event I must attend.
Third Person: Strange as it is, and as utterly cloudy as he finds the circumstances to be, Loki cannot quite deny that for being his very first ride on a train, it is still a very fine one. There's something lulling about the clack and clatter of the wheels on the track, just as there is something enchanting about the passing countryside. Transportation at its finest and most comfortable, when compared to the art of flinging oneself across the distances with the momentum of a very large and very heavy hammer. The thought is a sudden one, and it halts just as suddenly as it came.
How quickly guilt works.
He shakes the thought from his head, and takes to playing with the thing in his pocket instead. A watch, he thinks, a clockwork pocket watch by it's size. It's not new, not by the Midgardian concept of new, but for Asgard it is certainly something to take note of. It's different enough to effectively distract him from darker thoughts, and that's enough, it'd be enough for now. Dials and buttons, doubtless functions he has yet to behold, and while it may not be his Stark phone (still nestled comfortably in his other pocket, he notes with some relieved satisfaction), it's still something worth investigating. When the train stops, he tell himself firmly. He wouldn't want to miss his stop, wherever it may be. Better to be prepared than alarmed like he feels he wants to be. Thor wouldn't want him to be alarmed. Thor would want him to be ready, and brave, and everything that Loki is not much like.
But he thinks he can manage anyway.
Face pressed against the window, Loki waits, a roiling blend of curiosity and consternation, excitement and alarm. To tear him from Sif's side and Thor's funeral, this unknown force had best have a reason most dire and pressing. Small as he may be, young and inexperienced as he may be, Loki was still an Asgardian, and was not Asgard a city of heroes? He had to make do with himself and himself alone here, in this city rolling into view. Here, there was no Thor to look to for assurance and protection. Here, he was Loki Laufeyson, and he would have to make do.
[CANON] Loki Laufeyson | Marvel Comics | not reserved | 3/3
[ It starts out with a sudden tap, like a button pushed in curiosity, and it starts out in the middle of what sounds like a very absent monologue. ]
--nlike anything I have seen so far. A Stark phone isn't nearly as tricky, I have to say, which is saying something indeed. What Ikol would have made of it, I can scarcely even imagin--
[ Tap. The line goes dead for all of a minute before the image recording function kicks right in. It focuses on a face, too close to the screen and peering at it in a determined squint. Tap tap tap. ]
Does it work now? Hello? I'm sure a little labeling of functions wouldn't harm this thing terribly much-- [ The line, once again, goes dead. The interval between lasts much longer this time: a full three minutes before it flickers back on as if nothing had happened. ]
Much better, there. Hello? The train was very nice, but this is not where I need to be right now. Directions back to Broxton would be very muchly appreciated.
[ He's smiling, but it's about there that his expression falls ever so slightly; a faint crease between his brows, a small twitch of his mouth downward. ]
I have an event I must attend.
Third Person:
Strange as it is, and as utterly cloudy as he finds the circumstances to be, Loki cannot quite deny that for being his very first ride on a train, it is still a very fine one. There's something lulling about the clack and clatter of the wheels on the track, just as there is something enchanting about the passing countryside. Transportation at its finest and most comfortable, when compared to the art of flinging oneself across the distances with the momentum of a very large and very heavy hammer. The thought is a sudden one, and it halts just as suddenly as it came.
How quickly guilt works.
He shakes the thought from his head, and takes to playing with the thing in his pocket instead. A watch, he thinks, a clockwork pocket watch by it's size. It's not new, not by the Midgardian concept of new, but for Asgard it is certainly something to take note of. It's different enough to effectively distract him from darker thoughts, and that's enough, it'd be enough for now. Dials and buttons, doubtless functions he has yet to behold, and while it may not be his Stark phone (still nestled comfortably in his other pocket, he notes with some relieved satisfaction), it's still something worth investigating. When the train stops, he tell himself firmly. He wouldn't want to miss his stop, wherever it may be. Better to be prepared than alarmed like he feels he wants to be. Thor wouldn't want him to be alarmed. Thor would want him to be ready, and brave, and everything that Loki is not much like.
But he thinks he can manage anyway.
Face pressed against the window, Loki waits, a roiling blend of curiosity and consternation, excitement and alarm. To tear him from Sif's side and Thor's funeral, this unknown force had best have a reason most dire and pressing. Small as he may be, young and inexperienced as he may be, Loki was still an Asgardian, and was not Asgard a city of heroes? He had to make do with himself and himself alone here, in this city rolling into view. Here, there was no Thor to look to for assurance and protection. Here, he was Loki Laufeyson, and he would have to make do.