Loki’s laugh is resounding as he tilts his head back to allow it to escape. It is almost cruel — perhaps even slightly mocking — in its strange mixture of genuine mirth and harsh bitterness. Oh, he can see Loptr’s envy as clearly as mountain snow on a sunny day if he merely imagines that their circumstances had been reversed. And for a moment Loki revels in it, unaccustomed to being its subject by anyone save for mortals. And by Emma, though he hardly includes her lovingly-administered, teasing envy in his mental count of the jealous.
Finally, he fixes Loptr with a look that is so full of his various thoughts and emotions that it is entirely inscrutable, and his lips settle into their default smirk.
“I assure you, brother mine, that it was anything but convenient; to become wed to such a… ‘divine creature’… was no simple task for the likes of us, as you might well imagine. And ‘divine’ one might well call her, for no simpering fool is she. And were I among those of our incarnations who have taken as surname the name of our blood father, she would gladly have assumed it as well, possessing of a complete understanding of its implications.” The smirk remains, and he eyes Loptr with haughty self-satisfaction, as if he has just scored a victory.
No straight answers, then. Of course. But a good number of implied answers, which he leaves for Loptr to glean on his own.
His eyes flash dangerously at the mocking laughter, though he forces his face to remain deceptively cool. “No. I would presume any companion of ours is anything but a fool. We both know how long we have suffered the company of others in the past, and surprised as I may be that you have bothered to join yourself another, I cannot see us doing so to one unworthy.” The confession is surprisingly honest, its air more factual than anything else. He quirks an eyebrow as his otherself continues, his surprise muted with a careful stoicism.
“Oh, so our-” His brow furrows, and he shakes his head minutely. No, this is one case in which shared possessives would not be permitted. “Your bride knows of that little secret, does she?” The information is unsettling, though he is not certain as to why. Perhaps it is because he cannot fathom himself ever assuming such a mantle, much less being connected to another who would do so willing. Yet…If she is no fool, for indeed I would not marry one regardless of my incarnation, and accepts him still…
“Hmm.” He exhales slowly, pulling himself back from the haze of thoughts that have begun to run rampant. “Perhaps I have underestimated you, brother.” There is a hint, and nothing more, of quiet respect in his gaze. “I had not thought us capable of such a union. Admittedly, I am still not entirely certain I believe we are. And yet there you stand, apparently firmly resolute in your commitment to another.” The corner of Loptr’s lips twitch with an amusement that runs layers deep.
“Tell me, brother, for I am now far more curious than I should be…where did you find such a rare being, that would accept us as we are?”
