There's a small intake of breath from Loki when Thor says that. He doesn't dare ask if it was the same, not now, but the last words his Thor said to him were 'you really are the worst brother'. He didn't exactly mean them, Loki thinks. Hopes. Just a way of injecting their usual brand of salt into a situation that was nothing short of tragic. Still, he cannot forget them.
It would be nice to think his counterpart might have heard something else. Even a 'Loki, no!' would be an improvement, and an equally fitting coda to a life of getting hoist by his own petard. Loki, yes. Always.
This, though, is the sweetest of praises, and his magic glimmers brighter, tinged with gold for a moment. "Thor," his voice shakes, "you can't say things like that while I'm trying to concentrate. Save your doting upon my tender altruism for later, won't you?"
His lips curve into a smile, though. He cannot judge his own worth by what Thor thinks of his deeds. That would mean Loki is not being his own person, and he's spent too long doing that. But when what he must do by his own nature and choice coincides with what his brother appreciates, that's a sweet moment, and he'll savor it.
"Asgard lives," he goes on, reassuring. "And we have our children."
Fǫnn is utterly focused on her work right now, and might not even notice if either of them cried. Drawing from Loki's seidr, she shapes it how it needs to go for the task at hand. It's hard work, even a little painful, but now that she's in the midst of it, she feels a familiar confidence. She's got this under control.
Loki chuckles at the mention of the play. "Well, the dialogue wasn't the best I'd ever written. I undertook it seriously, you know, but...it was so raw. I ended up making it overwrought on purpose. Really, it's to all the actors' credit, the way they owned their roles."
"Sigrid says the blue paint itched," he says. "But I think having played me makes her feel...connected to me somehow? She keeps asking me questions about what it's like to be a Frost Giant. And I indulge them, because it pleases her."
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It would be nice to think his counterpart might have heard something else. Even a 'Loki, no!' would be an improvement, and an equally fitting coda to a life of getting hoist by his own petard. Loki, yes. Always.
This, though, is the sweetest of praises, and his magic glimmers brighter, tinged with gold for a moment. "Thor," his voice shakes, "you can't say things like that while I'm trying to concentrate. Save your doting upon my tender altruism for later, won't you?"
His lips curve into a smile, though. He cannot judge his own worth by what Thor thinks of his deeds. That would mean Loki is not being his own person, and he's spent too long doing that. But when what he must do by his own nature and choice coincides with what his brother appreciates, that's a sweet moment, and he'll savor it.
"Asgard lives," he goes on, reassuring. "And we have our children."
Fǫnn is utterly focused on her work right now, and might not even notice if either of them cried. Drawing from Loki's seidr, she shapes it how it needs to go for the task at hand. It's hard work, even a little painful, but now that she's in the midst of it, she feels a familiar confidence. She's got this under control.
Loki chuckles at the mention of the play. "Well, the dialogue wasn't the best I'd ever written. I undertook it seriously, you know, but...it was so raw. I ended up making it overwrought on purpose. Really, it's to all the actors' credit, the way they owned their roles."
"Sigrid says the blue paint itched," he says. "But I think having played me makes her feel...connected to me somehow? She keeps asking me questions about what it's like to be a Frost Giant. And I indulge them, because it pleases her."