( ruination. it's a familiar sight, and loki finds himself intrigued by his surroundings if only for the fact that it's not where he should be. he should be on asgard, bound in chains and awaiting punishment for his crimes, awaiting sentencing from the — ha — great odin.
and yet he's not.
he's still bound and gagged; the muzzle round his jaw more frustrating the the cuffs round his wrists. for as useful as illusions are, he prefers them to serve as the accompaniment rather than the main feature. words are his favourite toys and he suspects it was thor that had suggested the muzzle. he's grateful, though, that he can still walk freely, though the sight of creatures — quick moving, gelatinous goops — makes him long for freedom. they'd be quick to dispel, and yet—
—and yet he's reduced to running. movement isn't quite as easy as it ought to be, the occasional clinking of metal as he moves his hands and his arms is, each time, a giveaway as to his location and direction. his first choice would be to stop and to watch and to accrue what he could about this miserable> world, but there's little time and little chance.
he needs, he thinks, to find shelter, to find quiet and time and solitude to work on these chains—
—his footsteps, steady and measured, cease. he holds his body still, head tilted slightly, listening. there had been something—
—movement, he thinks. not his, not the creatures: someone else; it had been too measured, too deliberate, too well-timed with the sound of his footsteps to be anything else. (he wonders, fleetingly, if they'd been using his footsteps as an attempt to disguise their own from the — blobs.)
he can't call out, can't signal greeting or warning, so he moves to sit on a tumbledown piece of wall. he can wait (for a few minutes—). he wonders if they can. )
FEAR.
( b. )
soz same prompt different time frames because yolo
( his jaw is no longer bound and his hands no longer tied. it's — relieving would be trite, infer too much gratefulness, but the feeling wasn't dissimilar. he's on higher ground than he was when he'd first arrived, but the blob from earlier has been replaced by another, still distant and on lower ground.
hardly a concern. (he thinks.)
he has magic, now, and he has words — though the latter will be far less useful in a battle against a viscous liquid. he doesn't bother battling them immediately: he's quite content to do so only when necessary. he can't imagine knives or swords would do much to harm them, not given the way they move, the way they absorb discarded objects in their path. )
I'd step carefully, if I were you. ( spoken aloud and enunciated carefully. he can hear someone approaching from the stairs behind, but he doesn't turn to greet them. )
loki | mcu.
and yet he's not.
he's still bound and gagged; the muzzle round his jaw more frustrating the the cuffs round his wrists. for as useful as illusions are, he prefers them to serve as the accompaniment rather than the main feature. words are his favourite toys and he suspects it was thor that had suggested the muzzle. he's grateful, though, that he can still walk freely, though the sight of creatures — quick moving, gelatinous goops — makes him long for freedom. they'd be quick to dispel, and yet—
—and yet he's reduced to running. movement isn't quite as easy as it ought to be, the occasional clinking of metal as he moves his hands and his arms is, each time, a giveaway as to his location and direction. his first choice would be to stop and to watch and to accrue what he could about this miserable> world, but there's little time and little chance.
he needs, he thinks, to find shelter, to find quiet and time and solitude to work on these chains—
—his footsteps, steady and measured, cease. he holds his body still, head tilted slightly, listening. there had been something—
—movement, he thinks. not his, not the creatures: someone else; it had been too measured, too deliberate, too well-timed with the sound of his footsteps to be anything else. (he wonders, fleetingly, if they'd been using his footsteps as an attempt to disguise their own from the — blobs.)
he can't call out, can't signal greeting or warning, so he moves to sit on a tumbledown piece of wall. he can wait (for a few minutes—). he wonders if they can. )
FEAR.
hardly a concern. (he thinks.)
he has magic, now, and he has words — though the latter will be far less useful in a battle against a viscous liquid. he doesn't bother battling them immediately: he's quite content to do so only when necessary. he can't imagine knives or swords would do much to harm them, not given the way they move, the way they absorb discarded objects in their path. )
I'd step carefully, if I were you. ( spoken aloud and enunciated carefully. he can hear someone approaching from the stairs behind, but he doesn't turn to greet them. )