It is, perhaps, precisely that contradictory nature that makes her most dangerous to Loki. Simply by being what he is, he stands with a foot in each of two worlds, the center of a Venn diagram between contradictory concepts. He is painfully aware of the risk he's taking by approaching her, because he sees where they have some aspects in common.
He can also sort of see where Thor got the comparison to Hela, now that he recognizes how the veil between life and death wears thin around Hazel. It strikes him as a little unfair, though. Hela was every bit the sneering, implacable face of the mistress of Death. This scene is something else. This is the finger of the unknowable, beckoning the courageous to come closer.
He's not, actually, courageous. That's Thor's department, but since Thor has already gotten himself in too deep, it's either Loki or no one. "Not so much doting," he tells her, "as practical. He is, whether I like it or not, our King, and our people live and die by his leadership. Should they be attacked, they will need him at his full strength. And they are very, very likely to be attacked."
"Lady Hazel," he sketches a courtly bow, but seems reluctant to break eye contact with her. "A fitting name. I-I feel I have chosen a bad time to approach you, but-"
He can feel the stirring around him, and his heartbeat kicks into overdrive. There are so many he has failed, many he betrayed, even more he has disappointed. Given the opportunity, how many will come for him? How many swore to see him dead for betraying Thor? And his father--both fathers--one less worthy of the title than the other--
Stop. Simpering. That is his own voice, and with a breath, he forces himself to step closer to her, head high. "I did not intend to say that. I seek forgiveness for my brother. I am beyond it, a creature of chaos and iniquity."
Or is he? There's a stirring beyond the veil, a female presence that all but radiates pity for this man. For her son. Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself.
no subject
He can also sort of see where Thor got the comparison to Hela, now that he recognizes how the veil between life and death wears thin around Hazel. It strikes him as a little unfair, though. Hela was every bit the sneering, implacable face of the mistress of Death. This scene is something else. This is the finger of the unknowable, beckoning the courageous to come closer.
He's not, actually, courageous. That's Thor's department, but since Thor has already gotten himself in too deep, it's either Loki or no one. "Not so much doting," he tells her, "as practical. He is, whether I like it or not, our King, and our people live and die by his leadership. Should they be attacked, they will need him at his full strength. And they are very, very likely to be attacked."
"Lady Hazel," he sketches a courtly bow, but seems reluctant to break eye contact with her. "A fitting name. I-I feel I have chosen a bad time to approach you, but-"
He can feel the stirring around him, and his heartbeat kicks into overdrive. There are so many he has failed, many he betrayed, even more he has disappointed. Given the opportunity, how many will come for him? How many swore to see him dead for betraying Thor? And his father--both fathers--one less worthy of the title than the other--
Stop. Simpering. That is his own voice, and with a breath, he forces himself to step closer to her, head high. "I did not intend to say that. I seek forgiveness for my brother. I am beyond it, a creature of chaos and iniquity."
Or is he? There's a stirring beyond the veil, a female presence that all but radiates pity for this man. For her son. Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself.