Loki, of course, ignores him when he asks the trickster-god to make bird noises. They are standing out of sight before a quiet street in Pompeii, and the sense of imminent doom in the stuffy air is tangible as the sand-dust. It makes them both giddy. Mobius, at least, knows to be subtle about it.
Subtle, however, is not a word found in Loki’s vocabulary. And making bird noises from the side-lines was far too much of an ensemble role, Mobius realizes with a sigh. The Asgardian chooses instead to take center stage; goes rushing into the scattered crowd, climbing onto a cart of goats, and ushering them out into the street.
He shouts aloud in English and Latin, which would be impressive if Mobius were not exceedingly anxious about the outcome of their little experiment. If Ravonna could see him now – Mobius doesn’t even want to think about it. Instead, he focusses his attention on the frenzied figure of pure chaos, the firework – or rather supernova – that he has just willingly thrown into this small medieval town plucked right out of a history textbook.
He can’t say Loki isn’t entertaining, though; stood on the cart, pushing his hair out of his face theatrically as he rambles on about time travel. Mobius can’t help but smile at him, despite meaning to maintain the exasperated and disappointed façade. To his disdain, Loki sees this falter, and grins.
Leaping off the cart, he begins gesturing and exclaiming like some unhinged Shakespearean actor, the bright Italian sun serving as a sort of spotlight.
“Enjoy your last meal while you can!” He disrupts a poor fruit and vegetables stall, throwing its contents into the panicking throng – all props to him. “Nothing matters! Nothing has any consequence!”
He jumps about, reveling in the drama, in the freedom – basking in the limelight. Everything’s a performance with this guy, Mobius thinks. And unfortunately, despite his attempts to remain unbiased and logical, he’s hooked. In fact, he hasn’t been able to take his eyes away since the show – that is, Loki’s grand entrance into Mobius’s life – began. But, he is perfectly happy to watch from the wings, where it is safe. An analyst’s job is to analyze, not to get involved. And Mobius does his job. He does it well.
“Dance while you still can!” Loki shouts, grabbing Mobius by the hands, despite the analyst’s objections. Of course, since he is apparently unable to refuse Loki’s charm, Mobius relinquishes all prior concerns and allows himself to be pulled right into the action.
“Loki—”
The taller man wraps one arm round Mobius’s waist, and pulls him close, spinning them both round in a circle before letting one of his arms go and twirling him, twice.
Mobius laughs despite himself, completely and very dizzily lost in Loki’s act. He shakes his head, smiling as he stumbles.
“You don’t do subtle, do you?”
He can feel the flush in his cheeks – see it, reflected in Loki’s.
“C’mon, Mobius, admit it! You’re having fun.” He swings their joined hands childishly. Mobius is hopelessly endeared by it. By him.
“I am,” he concedes, a little too quickly.
Loki grins in triumph. He really does love being right. “So. How’d we do?”
Mobius is embarrassed that throughout the whole affair, he completely forgot to check. He lets Loki’s hands go, missing the closeness immediately, and pulls out the tempad.
However, his embarrassment is quickly overshadowed by delight as he realizes they have been successful. “Zero variance energy. No branching at the timeline.”
Loki’s smile is wide, teeth showing. He snatches Mobius’s free hand and twirls him around again in glee. “The TVA would never even know we were here!”
Their laughter is unabated even by the oncoming pyroclastic flow. Mobius can’t remember ever having this much fun, and yet here he is, in the middle of an apocalyptic disaster, dancing at the end of the world.
Sadly, though, the show has to come to an end.
“Alright. We should get out of here. Not really a big fan of being turned to volcanic ash. And we’ve got lots of work to do.”
“Yes! A variant to catch!” Loki says with another exaggerated gesture of excitement. “Will you let me have my knives back, this time?”
A smile tugs at Mobius’s lips. “Maybe. If you’re good.”
A look of mock-offense. “I’m great. I’m fantastic.”
“You sure are.” Mobius’s words hold a hint of sarcasm, but they both know he means it. Death and destruction, Loki’s alleged vocations, surround them in abundance. And yet here the trickster-god is, dancing and laughing and making Mobius smile in the wake of catastrophe. Mischievous? Yes. A performer? Certainly. But a villain? Mobius just doesn’t see it. Not here, not now. Just a little pussycat – see, Mobius is right sometimes too.
He opens a time door, and gently places a hand on Loki’s back to guide him through to the TVA. They share a smile as they leave the apocalypse behind.
And then, the stage is empty.