❝ like us, indeed. ❞ the murmur comes low, more an afterthought than anything else as he watches. there's a touch of wonder to the crook of his smile, soft emotion settling in like a half-forgotten favorite blanket that had fallen into some dark corner only to be happily found unexpectedly. her next comment brings an equally unexpected laugh, his amusement genuine even as it tapers off into morbid contemplation. ❝ I saw a life unlived. ❞ the shift is abrupt, like falling off a cliff, yet his smile remains, bitterness at the thought of this memory long since buried.
❝ stolen from me, wrecked and ruined, and I was doomed for it. cast aside until I found my own footing. hardly the first time that's happened. ❞ Loki means it literally; offers it, one disaster for another, and a removal of blame ─ reinforcement that he sees no monster in her for her actions. another flick of his fingers, playful despite the somber conversation, and the sparks he created bounce against the red orbs joyfully before exploding into miniature fireworks. ❝ I would agree. and how rare to find something that cannot be stolen; rarer still to have it returned. ❞
there's a question in the statement, shoulders angling backwards ( almost instinctual defensiveness before it's tamed ), chin tilted up, eyes dark; a reply to her own insinuation. Loki would be content to leave it unsaid, and yet; this unspoken undertow to their conversation seems to be surfacing and he is, strangely, willing to allow it.
at the touch of her magic his eyes flutter shut, briefly, not leaning into the touch but riveted by it. just as soon as the magic withdraws he's opening his eyes and his hands, green glow sweeping out into broad strokes and painting a intricate knot around hers, a bold, reflexive response. ❝ nor I you. ❞ he says. ❝ how terrifying. ❞ it could be a jest, commentary on their conversation or their magic, but there is blatant vulnerability in the relaxation of his posture. ❝ it seems to me we truly are alike. ❞
and now he's leaning forward, magic dissipating, nearly encroaching on her space. his eyes glint, narrowed slightly as his focus narrows in on her final comment, wit faster than any instinct of his to retreat. ❝ such a dangerous thought; to bare my soul and be told there is nothing wrong with me. such a strange mercy. though if they should not grant us mercy; what harm in us finding it ourselves? ❞
