"You're so flattering to me today," Loki murmured, feeling complacent from all the sun. He was not used to basking in such weather; when he was at rest, it was often indoors, and he was willing to bet the sunlight was making him a bit loopy. "You have admitted to my persuasiveness, and my ability to signal passing caravans with my abnormally pale skin. You are in a good mood."
In that regard, though, while Loki was of mind to take her remark on him being like Midgardians as an insult, he didn't - and he knew she didn't mean it in that way, either, though someone else would have. He gave her a smile, slightly brittle, though not because of her. "You may be right, Sif," he said, and while he said it at first as a way to draw the conversation, he realized upon voicing it that it could be true. "It is not in my nature to be satisfied with much of anything, that is true, or even to admit to wanting something in the first place. Maybe I am more like them, after all. As I do not, it appears, belong on Asgard; and my similarities with it seem to grow dimmer with each passing day." He missed it, terribly; but there was something to be said about being away from there. Asgard had been a cage, and, after a time, he had ceased to truly grow. Free of those confines, it literally felt like fresh air.
He reached out and, for a moment, placed his hand on Sif's calf, letting it rest there for a beat of his heart. He was aware of Sif's love for Thor, if only because he had noted the signs, felt his brother to be the fool for not noticing them, or even taking action of his own will. He didn't know if it was still there, or if it was gone then for how long, but he knew it had existed. At times, yes, he had been wildly jealous, but that wasn't it. As a friend he understood how difficult it was, and for a second he wanted to relay that sympathy without words, because while he could be delicate it was all blunt to her ears. Whether Sif understood the motion or not he didn't know; but still, he would offer it.
If she believed in his passionate nature, then she would be right, but admitting that felt awkward in that moment, because at one time that passion had been directed towards her. And yes, he had contained it. "Ah, yes," he said, lifting his hand away from her. "There is quite a lot of emotion, in the Noble House of Odin. Little surprise that the Allfather took so long to voice his preference for an heir, though the choice itself wasn't a shock, either." He placed his hand on his chest, as if she were wounding him. "Oh, Sif, you wound me deeply each and every day, it's true. But you have uncommonly sharp fingernails. I think I'm bleeding to death from that jab."
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In that regard, though, while Loki was of mind to take her remark on him being like Midgardians as an insult, he didn't - and he knew she didn't mean it in that way, either, though someone else would have. He gave her a smile, slightly brittle, though not because of her. "You may be right, Sif," he said, and while he said it at first as a way to draw the conversation, he realized upon voicing it that it could be true. "It is not in my nature to be satisfied with much of anything, that is true, or even to admit to wanting something in the first place. Maybe I am more like them, after all. As I do not, it appears, belong on Asgard; and my similarities with it seem to grow dimmer with each passing day." He missed it, terribly; but there was something to be said about being away from there. Asgard had been a cage, and, after a time, he had ceased to truly grow. Free of those confines, it literally felt like fresh air.
He reached out and, for a moment, placed his hand on Sif's calf, letting it rest there for a beat of his heart. He was aware of Sif's love for Thor, if only because he had noted the signs, felt his brother to be the fool for not noticing them, or even taking action of his own will. He didn't know if it was still there, or if it was gone then for how long, but he knew it had existed. At times, yes, he had been wildly jealous, but that wasn't it. As a friend he understood how difficult it was, and for a second he wanted to relay that sympathy without words, because while he could be delicate it was all blunt to her ears. Whether Sif understood the motion or not he didn't know; but still, he would offer it.
If she believed in his passionate nature, then she would be right, but admitting that felt awkward in that moment, because at one time that passion had been directed towards her. And yes, he had contained it. "Ah, yes," he said, lifting his hand away from her. "There is quite a lot of emotion, in the Noble House of Odin. Little surprise that the Allfather took so long to voice his preference for an heir, though the choice itself wasn't a shock, either." He placed his hand on his chest, as if she were wounding him. "Oh, Sif, you wound me deeply each and every day, it's true. But you have uncommonly sharp fingernails. I think I'm bleeding to death from that jab."