i like my town with a little drop of poison; nobody knows they're lining up to go insane
Scrying orbs float above their pedestals in this room of Loki's chambers, showing him all manner of images from across the nine realms. Some of the orbs keep watch over Asgard; some over the wretched jotun and the scheming dark elves. But Loki's gaze is fixed on the scenes playing out in Midgard: Thor and his friends have gathered for an event, a Midgardian holiday celebrating the birth of the country that serves as Thor's prison, and Loki does not appreciate the lack of an invitation. He watches the interactions flash across the orb's surface with a rising restlessness; his mind considers and calculates and fits ideas together rapidly until the thought process coheres into a decision.
It is late in Asgard--he has answered the petitions for the day and seen to the realm's continued security. The pieces of his other plans remain in place, moving at the expected speed and toward their proper ends. He has time for fun.
When Loki arrives in Dr. Selvig's backyard, he is cloaked not only from Heimdall's omniscient sight but also from the guests that mill around him. They talk and laugh with one another, ignorant of his presence as he moves among them; he is a ghost, with no more tangibility than a breeze that toys with their hair. Loki sneers at Thor, clasping Jane's hand and looking pathetically earnest. He has little regard for Steve Rogers, either, standing around with a well-dressed, sharp-eared man and looking just as stern and humorless as Loki imagined he would be.
There's a table set up with food and drinks, and most of these people have availed themselves of the refreshments. Loki's mouth melts into a grin as he dips his fingers in the punch bowl; the liquid flows up his hand like tributaries seeking an ocean, and he manipulates the composition, altering it, improving it. Once done, he lets the newly imbued punch spill back into the bowl, then focuses his attention on the other offerings. Steve has provided water, soda, beer and so forth; all of these Loki attends to in turn. He whispers to the moisture in the wind, and enchanted droplets collect on all the bottles, all the cans; they shimmer briefly, invisibly, as they sink into their targets.
"There," Loki murmurs, after he has bettered every available beverage, "now it's a party."
