"Then go and waste your own supplies. Leave these alone; though you find no use in them, I know how to use them. Come back and say that when you're facing death, asshole. Then we'll both see how useless this box of shit is."
Loki gave an unkind chortle at Skoll’s response, finding the idea of death laughable. The canine prided himself on his strength and ability to control a situation, hardly able to imagine a scenario that would remind him of his morality. But as he scoured his mind for such ludicrous imagery, he was disappointed to find two distinct memories flourish forward from the depths of his scheming brain on cue.
His expression took a sudden and startling transition. The smug, amused grin fell like a ton of bricks, replaced by a muted snarl. A vengeful glint had sought refuge in his cold orbs.
“That won’t happen,” He growled, unaware of the drastic shift his demeanour had taken. He practically spat the words, revealing his capacity for passionate, venomous hatred.
Loki thought of the day his family had been slaughtered. His pack, although indifferent to his existence at the time, had lost the feud for territory, no creature spared as the Luxray ruled supreme. Well, all but him. They found some shred of compassion at the sight of the terrified child, adopting him as their own. Loki was greeted with only hazy memories of the bloodbath that had befallen the first of two so-called ‘families’.
His second fall had come significantly later in life. He’d had everything he wanted – power, respect, followers, love. Yet in a flash of lightning, he’d been back to nothing – less than nothing as he was left grovelling and sobbing for his life. There was no doubt in his mind that hadn’t Thor been the merciful hero everyone had expected of him, the pride would’ve torn him limb from limb. But of course, Loki had never been down for long. It had been a humiliating point in his life, the truth of his foster-family coming as a vicious slap in the face, his fall from grace only adding salt to the wound – but he’d retaliated, hard. Picking himself up from his stupor, the Zoroark was changed from then on. His name synonymous with mischief, malice and murder, Loki had turned his back on striving to be loved, instead enamoured with power and earning it by whatever means possible.
"That was fucking awesome!"
Loki had been so caught up in his bitter reminiscence that the real world had been drowned out by his incredible hate. It was only Ari’s loud demand for attention that interrupted his thoughts, the fox snapping his head to the female as she waltzed, triumphant, onto the scene. A short growl escaped the fox as she pushed past him, the dark-type’s well-groomed fur bristling bitterly as he skulked away from the boxes. Let those idiots rely on such garbage for survival; Loki had his instincts to see him through.
Weren’t his mood already bad enough, the bug-mutt had made its ceremonious, ear-splitting entrance by exploding through the nearest window. Loki, caught beneath the shower of glass accompanying the insect’s arrival, looked as if he were about to kill something.
“Morons,” He growled beneath his breath, shaking his slender form free of destroyed window-pane, glaring daggers at a now, rather plump Luzige. “All of you, complete morons,”
Crane had tried to ignore Skoll’s unusual stare but found his natural awkwardness overcoming his unstable frame at such a look. He was only trying to help. Resorting to stumbling backwards, massive wings the only thing preventing him from falling flat on his face, the Fearow returned to the wall with the glasses still grasped gently in his beak. The female didn’t seem wholly conscious of her surroundings and he wasn’t about to terrify her with his sudden, half-crisped appearance. Heaving a sigh as the group expanded with the loud arrival of Ari and Luzige, the bird kept his distance – his demeanour the epitome of discomfort.
There seemed to be something troubling the shiny fox as he soon stalked to stand aside him, fur bristling as he wore a look of irritation. Crane couldn’t hide the small smile the sight evoked. Distracting himself with the appearance of the bloodstained bug-like canine, the Fearow started when the shiny Zoroark suddenly darted into his vision.
“Give me those,” Loki growled, snatching Kenna’s glasses from the bird’s beak. Crane put up no resistance, a mere ruffling of feathers the only response offered from the fox’s snappy command. Clearly irritated by the bird’s cowardice coupled with the Scyther’s inability to do something as simple as reaffix some ridiculous human adornment, Loki had taken matters upon himself in a bid to quell his own growing anger.
“Sorry…” He hardly heard Crane’s muffled apology as he turned away, weaving through the now crowded room to reach his target, Kenna.
Loki approached Skoll and his passenger with an unusual lack of interest, a frown darkening his eyes as he held the glasses in a clawed hand. Acknowledging the Scyther with nothing but a wave of the seeing-utensils and a bitter, half-smirk half-sneer, the canine’s attention soon fell to Kenna.
“Hold still,” Loki grumbled, stopping abruptly before the Abra and reaching out to grab her head. Although his grasp was rough at first, the touch of her skin soon reminded him that he wasn’t dealing with just some vermin – no, he quite liked this fox. His hold becoming gentle, barely grazing the back of Kenna’s head, Loki carefully, albeit somewhat, awkwardly slid the glasses into place on her face with his other paw. ”There,” He huffed, triumphant, his old smile making a gradual return.
Taking a moment to admire his handiwork, not familiar with glasses let alone ever being required to attach them to another’s face, the Zoroark thought the action quite the success. Paws recoiling from the Abra to hang limp at his sides, Loki found himself craving the warmth from the psychic’s vulnerable little head – to think how simple it would have been to crush that skull – before turning away. Although unnecessary and no doubt unsettling for both Kenna and her overprotective mantis companion, Loki’s mood had been sufficiently elevated by what was essentially, a good deed. Smiling to himself, he returned to his seat aside Crane.
(( PM me if I need to edit anything, Phoe. :3 ))