Flirt with Loki.
An an exactly bisected place between annoyed and amused, Loki scans the room shrewdly for any evidence of his “secret admirer’s” hand. He discovers nothing illumining.
“Well done, then, you have temerity and wit.”
Flirt with Loki.
The Trickster God takes one long look at the exquisite human specimen before him and scoffs in utter exasperation.
“Oh, come on,” he protests the Fates and Stars, gesturing at Jack.
The human-coined term “Will Smith pose” comes to mind.
“Really? Really.”
Flirt with Loki.
Loki spins very, very slowly. There’s already an impertinent leer on his face, as he seductively sweeps his green gaze from Sigyn’s head to her toe.
“Was that youuuuu?” he queries, knowing full well the answer.
Long snowy fingers wriggle threateningly toward her.
“You should know I wear tight leather specifically to lure out the most
salacious instincts in sundry red-haired beauties.”
Flirt with Loki.
“That is sincerely the most pathetic one I’ve heard yet; it is so heinous
that it is peculiarly endearing and perhaps my favorite.”
Flirt with Loki.
“Not you too, Dr. Jones.”
Loki’s tone is that of a scolding mother. His lip is one long thin exasperated line.
Flirt with Loki.
“OW. By the Norns!”
Loki proceeds to briskly pat his wife’s cheeks, with both hands, while her mouth–with conjured jaguar fangs, that’s nice, Seraphina–is lodged into his shoulder.
The resulting impression is that of a man with his impudent house cat on too much catnip.
“Stop, stop that … let go, goodness … Sera, you’ll give me a disease!”
He transforms into a large offended green snake and bites her shoulder in return. To say they look ridiculous is an understatement.
Flirt with Loki.
“Why, Hobbit. My goodness. There you are again. Are you truly that
desperate for conjured alcohol, or are you hoping to wheedle me into
adding about eight inches to your height, so that you might look at
your fearsome foes without fearing they’ll step on you?”
Flirt with Loki.
“My best guess, from the lore of earth, is the skeletal star goddess
Itzpapalotl,” Loki, with no dearth of sass, retorts.
His tongue probes between his grinning teeth.
“Forgive me, aye, the favor you show me is flattering, mortal.”
Flirt with Loki.
“Ahaaaaa, I shall grant you points for novelty.”
Loki, infinitely pleased with his own pun of repartee, winks.
Flirt with Loki.
“I … ? Ehm.”
Loki is largely certain that Mantis, sweet and guileless, didn’t intend to make romantic overtures. Still, he’s caught off guard by her unwitting kindness, and her inquisitive nature. It speaks of investment in who he is, and that, unless attached to the rest of the Royal House of Asgard, is something with which he is unaccustomed.
“No, I am not …er. That is to say, I am. Untrustworthy because of cruelty
and … duplicity … that I have experienced in the past.”
icyxmischief 