Loki the Philosopher.
As Loki walked Darcy toward the two silver elevators that stood at the end of a rather obnoxiously long hallway, he thought of how she had looked before he cleared his throat.
Humans were so odd, and Miss Lewis was no exception. She was fully engrossed in her work, and likely wouldn’t have even noticed if a full grown bilgesnipe came rollicking through her little lab. He had stood there for five minutes, expecting her to notice his presence by the smell of the expensive cologne his brother had picked out for him (apparently Floris, a brand situated in London, made the best fragrances). But no, Miss Lewis dutifully continued her work. He had looked down in a halfhearted attempt to imagine what she was doing that could possibly be so attention grabbing, and found her transcribing numbers, clearing up the apparent gibberish of his soon to be sister in law.
Again Loki had chuckled at this inane feature of humanity. Here were a people presented with only a blink of time, mere seconds in the ultimate scope of the universe, and they chose to spend their brief existence wasting away over meaningless work. Loki firmly believed that these Midgardians lacked an appreciation for life, something which seemed so counter to the implication of their actual life spans.
If Miss Lewis were Asgardian, she would have been taught to enjoy life, to give thanks for it, and praise the sacred gift she had been given. She would not while away her time doing pointless menial tasks, taking the fruits of yggdrasil for granted.
But , he mused to himself, that was neither here nor there .
Now, as he directed Darcy into the elevator, delicately pressing the button for the lobby, he directed his thoughts to the plan.
“Miss Lewis,” he began, “How do you feel about sushi?”.
Darcy looked up at the man whose arm she was gripping. His green eyes were expressive, showing a warmth that she almost believed to be genuine.
“Well I don’t think I’ve had it before. The idea of raw fish is not entirely appealing.” she said.
Loki’s eyebrow raised in a gesture that she was beginning to recognise as annoyance. She watched as he plastered on an obviously fake smile, the corners of his mouth pulling far too tight to be considered real.
“Well then Miss Lewis. What do you propose.” He said in a way that was noticeably neutral. This, live and in technicolour, was the god whose machinations were the stuff of legend.
Darcy broke eye contact with the trickster. As the elevator doors opened she wondered what his game was. Breaking free from his grasp she moved toward the glass doors that held the normality of the outside world away from the solitude of the Tower. As she reached them she was able to step outside, breathing in the fresh air, along with something distinctly masculine.
She smelled him. He was an enticing mix of leather and amber, an intoxicating scent that Darcy wished she could bottle up to spray on her pillows at home.
The warm wind pulled at her hair as she turned to him, crooking her lips in a challenging smile, “How do you feel about Italian?” She asked.
Loki blinked, black hair blowing in his face for a moment, “If that is what you wish, then that is what we shall have, milady.” He murmured.
She nodded, and murmured quickly, “Well in that case, I know a place.” as she made to move to the curb and hail a taxi.
“Oh dear heart, please, allow me.” Loki said as he raised his arm, and a yellow cab pulled over in response. He opened the door and motioned for her to go in, climbing in after.
Setting her bag in between them, as a sort of metaphorical barrier, Darcy leaned forward, speaking to the cab driver in a hushed tone. As she returned to her position, leaning back against the leather seat, she once again looked over at Loki.
He looked back, and was left speechless at what she said next