@ofsmokeandsmiles
The skies of Sakaar are beautiful, so long as one does not allow one’s gaze to drift too lowly downward, taking in the horror and savage poverty of the peasants below, playing in their mountains of trash and refuse. Loki stands entirely alone, his elbows rested against the balcony, and he looks out over the skies as they turn pink, and peach, and PURPLE, and he softly sighs. Loki knows when he is being watched, but he does not turn his head, does not reveal that which he senses - the Grandmaster has powers beyond Loki’s reckoning, he knows, and he does not want to appear overly simplistic.
“Don’t you think it’s BEAUTIFUL, Grandmaster?”













