WHO: Loki, Erik, Adrasteia & y'all WHAT: Catch-all WHEN: Late Solace / Early August WHERE: Kirkwall NOTES: Language warning for Erik, otherwise nothing yet. Open starters in comments.
Enough time has passed since Loki's quarantine and their last, uh, encounter that Benedict has almost had an opportunity to forget the strange lookalike was even here. When he spots him across the room at some meal or another, there's a brief look of surprise, and then he remembers-- his smile turns wry, and Benedict offers a nod of greeting.
It's less that Loki had forgotten about Benedict and more that for one thing, there are a lot of people coming and going in the Gallows, and for another, he's been... distracted. Mostly with the developing situation between him and Alexandrie, but she's not here, and Benedict has nodded, so Loki takes that as an invitation to bring over his plate of fruit and coffee mug and situate himself across from this person who is not quite his friend and definitely not quite a stranger.
"Hello," he says as he sits down. "How've you been, Benedict?"
'How've you been, Benedict,' he mimics in his best Loki impression, grinning between sips of his own coffee. "Fine, fine, just having a laugh with a childhood acquaintance's body double. How about yourself?"
"Do I really sound like that?" Asks what might be the vainest man in the room, honestly. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter." He waves his own question off. "I've been fine, I suppose. Chafing at being trapped here, on this island, but it hasn't been wholly terrible, and my quarantine is almost over."
"It's like that sometimes," Benedict says drily, looking down into his mug for a moment. "But then, one week in the mountains or on a battlefield and you'll be wishing you were right back here." Somewhat to his own surprise, he's speaking from experience.
"Unless you've somewhere more important to be." Eyebrows arched, he looks up at Loki.
"Not exactly within my abilities to go back to where I came from." If that's what he means, anyway. "And while I understand that the front lines are far from an enjoyable place to be, I think that I would rather the opportunity to do something useful instead of twiddling my thumbs."
But! He shrugs, and leans back in his chair with his coffee mug. "What's wrong with the mountains?"
Why are you looking at him like that, Benedict? If Loki's nose wrinkle is any indication, he doesn't like it.
"Ah." That's... an answer but not a very enlightening one, but he's gonna leave it as he sips his coffee and gazes back at Benedict with slightly widened eyes.
"I was helping... a friend, I suppose," explaining Sylvie is difficult in all settings, it would seem, "overthrow something called the TVA. We'd thought we'd gotten to the bottom of it, but it had been a ruse." He shakes his head a little, gaze turning towards the cup in his hands. "I was... I don't know. Killed, perhaps, but definitely removed from time."
His fault, really, for not paying attention to what was behind him.
"I don't know the specifics of how it's done. All I know is that it looks like someone is being burned, atom by atom, until they simply... cease to be." He opens his hands in a shrug.
"I've been working with, and double-crossing, a group called the Time Variance Authority. Helping a..." He frowns, shakes his head. "Her name is Sylvie and they tried to kill her when she was a child so she wants to dismantle them, and I'm on her side at this point."
Loki sips his coffee. "Is the Loki you know so lacking in close friendships that you can't imagine him working with anyone else?" No judgement, he's just curious.
"Well Sylvie didn't kill me, and she was quite capable, so that's one thing." Sip. "For another the TVA made certain that either of us were never able to return home again, all in the name of Fate and Predestination, neither of which are concepts I'm personally comfortable with dictating how my life works out."
Benedict isn't wrong exactly, it's just that things with Sylvie are a bit more complicated than that. So he looks considering, for a moment, before he shrugs. "I suppose so."
Benedict wrinkles his nose again. It's an odd experience, like looking at Dickerson's weird little cat thing and knowing it's not really a cat, even if that's the form it takes.
It's hard to put a finger on-- and even then, when he starts to feel an inkling of it, it's hard to admit. He slumps down a little, resembling a recalcitrant schoolchild.
"It's. No fun, I suppose." 'Fun' being a translation of 'emotional manipulation and mind games', in this case, a matter on which he prefers not to dig any deeper.
Recoiling as though slapped, Benedict's first instinct is to snap, "no!"
Whatever Loki is to him, it surely wasn't that-- or at least not-- well. He deflates slightly, thinking on it, realizing to his chagrin that he doesn't actually know what 'in love' necessarily means. Or how it would look.
The complication goes far deeper than that, however, so he simply gives another rapid shake of his head and looks down.
Loki, a man who has complicated feelings about love, simply raises his eyebrows when Benedict denies it. It sounds like love, or some nearby emotional obsession, to him anyway.
He's not going to push though. "Just thought I would ask."
Ugh, this is a wash. The only thing worse than there being a stranger with Loki's face is that the stranger with Loki's face seems to pity him, or at least have sympathy, and that's untenable.
"I should. Go," Benedict grumbles, and rises from the table-- he's not angry, but bears the mark of someone who is fleeing before he can humiliate himself further.
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slithers on over
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"Hello," he says as he sits down. "How've you been, Benedict?"
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'How've you been, Benedict,' he mimics in his best Loki impression, grinning between sips of his own coffee. "Fine, fine, just having a laugh with a childhood acquaintance's body double. How about yourself?"
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Somewhat to his own surprise, he's speaking from experience.
"Unless you've somewhere more important to be." Eyebrows arched, he looks up at Loki.
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But! He shrugs, and leans back in his chair with his coffee mug. "What's wrong with the mountains?"
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"They're miserable to get stuck in," he summarizes, and sets the mug down, folding his arms as he stares more intently into Loki's face.
"Tell me what you were doing, before you got here."
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"Ah." That's... an answer but not a very enlightening one, but he's gonna leave it as he sips his coffee and gazes back at Benedict with slightly widened eyes.
"I was helping... a friend, I suppose," explaining Sylvie is difficult in all settings, it would seem, "overthrow something called the TVA. We'd thought we'd gotten to the bottom of it, but it had been a ruse." He shakes his head a little, gaze turning towards the cup in his hands. "I was... I don't know. Killed, perhaps, but definitely removed from time."
His fault, really, for not paying attention to what was behind him.
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Sus as hell. This man might have Loki's name, and his face, but either this is a long con or something is very, very wrong.
"How is one removed from time," Benedict asks flatly, with great mistrust.
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"I've been working with, and double-crossing, a group called the Time Variance Authority. Helping a..." He frowns, shakes his head. "Her name is Sylvie and they tried to kill her when she was a child so she wants to dismantle them, and I'm on her side at this point."
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"So... you're dead," he concludes uncertainly.
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Loki sips his coffee. "Is the Loki you know so lacking in close friendships that you can't imagine him working with anyone else?" No judgement, he's just curious.
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"All right," he concedes, seeming displeased.
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It's hard to put a finger on-- and even then, when he starts to feel an inkling of it, it's hard to admit. He slumps down a little, resembling a recalcitrant schoolchild.
"It's. No fun, I suppose." 'Fun' being a translation of 'emotional manipulation and mind games', in this case, a matter on which he prefers not to dig any deeper.
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"I suppose it isn't." And yet.
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It was really a special relationship.
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Whatever Loki is to him, it surely wasn't that-- or at least not-- well. He deflates slightly, thinking on it, realizing to his chagrin that he doesn't actually know what 'in love' necessarily means. Or how it would look.
The complication goes far deeper than that, however, so he simply gives another rapid shake of his head and looks down.
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He's not going to push though. "Just thought I would ask."
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"I should. Go," Benedict grumbles, and rises from the table-- he's not angry, but bears the mark of someone who is fleeing before he can humiliate himself further.
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