The Fall
Clear
The first thing to come to the awakening God was pain. It seared up his leg without prompting, spreading quickly to his sore side as he attempted to shift upwards off the bed of metal he appeared to be lying on. A cold metal pressed persistently down on his wrists and, most painfully, on his complaining ankle. Manacles. He was all too familiar with the concept and gave up after a brief struggle - particularly after the arrival of a needle like pain swooping over his form - rendering him temporarily dizzy and accenting the exhaustion he already felt.
He was weak in this human form, incapable of looking after himself. If he was the God he still hoped to be once more, he would be able to heal his leg with a simple spell. He would be free of the oppressing metal spreading chills down his limbs and the mortal Tony Stark would have not had time to fit his skin of iron before he was graced with death. Graced for it was truly an honour for a midgardian to be killed by one higher than itself.
Loki curled his lip up in self disgust at his vulnerable position and glared up harshly at the dim lights above him; his eyes roaming the room for any possible escape if he were to come into a brief period of freedom. Nothing. The ceiling met the walls flawlessly and almost without seam, and though he could not see the floor from his higher positions, Loki was almost sure it was the same story. A blank room. He was a dangerous prisoner.
Or so they thought.
At that moment a door directly parallel to Loki's eyes, slid open and a strange, unnatural sounding voice accompanied the entrance of Stark as Loki craned his head upwards to look better at his adversary.
"...regained consciousness only minutes ago. I would recommend a brief adaptation period to avoid any-"
"Yes, thank you JARVIS." cut off Stark, taking a stand at the end of Loki's metal bed and smirking at the God's imprisoned state. "Well, well, well."
Loki let his head fall back onto the metal bed, a slight ache slipping down his neck and the hard surface seeming to seep away the warmth of relaxed muscles. Everything hurt. That had been his first spell of unconsciousness since he fell down to earth, and with it seemed to come a new awareness of his mortal body. It could not be pushed like his immortal form had - its limitations were great and when reached much pain arose, as the wariness that still dogged his mind suggested. He had made himself weak due to neglect of his human needs and, though it was unpleasant, the promise of such hurt as he currently experienced seemed in line with his intended punishment.
Odin had wanted him to suffer.
And suffer I will, thought Loki, watching Stark's calculating gaze.
"Why did you come to earth, princess?" questioned Stark, resting his hands on the end of the bed and smiling somewhat maliciously, "Not enough doom and gloom for you to spread in your little golden land? Oh, wait - let me think - did big bad Thor and his friend beat you in battle, again? How unexpected." The jab was cruel and somewhat unnecessary, though Loki found he could not rise to the battle of wits. Thor and The Warriors Three had always defeated Loki - even as children training in the palace's facilities; Loki was weak, unable to wield great weapons as Loki and Sif easily did. 'If a woman can raise this, so can you, brother!' Oh but he could not and the very loathing he felt as they laughed and lunged at each other could never quite be directed at them, or even Odin as he dismissed Loki's coming-of-age with no great weapon blessing.
The failures and their consequences were entirely his own, no matter how much the acknowledgment of that truth chipped at his pride and reigned in his tongue.
He said nothing.
Stark, seeming to notice his unusual silences, frowned and addressed a question aloud, eyes not leaving Loki.
"JARVIS, I though the drugs were supposed to wear off by now?"
"A period of adjustment is favourable to allow optimal brain engagement and awareness, his injuries also suggest he requires medical attention. Shall I contact an emergency service?"
Medical attention was something Loki desired sorely, but would not voice as it was another thing Stark could easily hold above his head. Loki had no intentions to harm any humans, and without his magic he quite useless - Stark, of course, did not know this. Loki's fool of a brother had not thought to tell him Loki now walked among the humans, which would have been wise as Loki seemed to have kept his appearance.
"Call Bruce down. Do not let him in." With that Stark turned around and let the room without further comment to the God strapped to a steel bed. Loki stared at the sliding door then closed his eyes tightly. They were going to torture him, no doubt, leave his wounds untended and starve him of substance. Try to find an ulterior reason for him to be here.
He supposes Odin expected this to happen, as he viewed magic as unimportant and the stripping of it appeared a small discipline, and a humiliation at the hands of mortals, no less the mortals who had defeated Loki before, seemed a more fitting punishment.
Loki wondered how much pain his body could really take.
He was weak in this human form, incapable of looking after himself. If he was the God he still hoped to be once more, he would be able to heal his leg with a simple spell. He would be free of the oppressing metal spreading chills down his limbs and the mortal Tony Stark would have not had time to fit his skin of iron before he was graced with death. Graced for it was truly an honour for a midgardian to be killed by one higher than itself.
Loki curled his lip up in self disgust at his vulnerable position and glared up harshly at the dim lights above him; his eyes roaming the room for any possible escape if he were to come into a brief period of freedom. Nothing. The ceiling met the walls flawlessly and almost without seam, and though he could not see the floor from his higher positions, Loki was almost sure it was the same story. A blank room. He was a dangerous prisoner.
Or so they thought.
At that moment a door directly parallel to Loki's eyes, slid open and a strange, unnatural sounding voice accompanied the entrance of Stark as Loki craned his head upwards to look better at his adversary.
"...regained consciousness only minutes ago. I would recommend a brief adaptation period to avoid any-"
"Yes, thank you JARVIS." cut off Stark, taking a stand at the end of Loki's metal bed and smirking at the God's imprisoned state. "Well, well, well."
Loki let his head fall back onto the metal bed, a slight ache slipping down his neck and the hard surface seeming to seep away the warmth of relaxed muscles. Everything hurt. That had been his first spell of unconsciousness since he fell down to earth, and with it seemed to come a new awareness of his mortal body. It could not be pushed like his immortal form had - its limitations were great and when reached much pain arose, as the wariness that still dogged his mind suggested. He had made himself weak due to neglect of his human needs and, though it was unpleasant, the promise of such hurt as he currently experienced seemed in line with his intended punishment.
Odin had wanted him to suffer.
And suffer I will, thought Loki, watching Stark's calculating gaze.
"Why did you come to earth, princess?" questioned Stark, resting his hands on the end of the bed and smiling somewhat maliciously, "Not enough doom and gloom for you to spread in your little golden land? Oh, wait - let me think - did big bad Thor and his friend beat you in battle, again? How unexpected." The jab was cruel and somewhat unnecessary, though Loki found he could not rise to the battle of wits. Thor and The Warriors Three had always defeated Loki - even as children training in the palace's facilities; Loki was weak, unable to wield great weapons as Loki and Sif easily did. 'If a woman can raise this, so can you, brother!' Oh but he could not and the very loathing he felt as they laughed and lunged at each other could never quite be directed at them, or even Odin as he dismissed Loki's coming-of-age with no great weapon blessing.
The failures and their consequences were entirely his own, no matter how much the acknowledgment of that truth chipped at his pride and reigned in his tongue.
He said nothing.
Stark, seeming to notice his unusual silences, frowned and addressed a question aloud, eyes not leaving Loki.
"JARVIS, I though the drugs were supposed to wear off by now?"
"A period of adjustment is favourable to allow optimal brain engagement and awareness, his injuries also suggest he requires medical attention. Shall I contact an emergency service?"
Medical attention was something Loki desired sorely, but would not voice as it was another thing Stark could easily hold above his head. Loki had no intentions to harm any humans, and without his magic he quite useless - Stark, of course, did not know this. Loki's fool of a brother had not thought to tell him Loki now walked among the humans, which would have been wise as Loki seemed to have kept his appearance.
"Call Bruce down. Do not let him in." With that Stark turned around and let the room without further comment to the God strapped to a steel bed. Loki stared at the sliding door then closed his eyes tightly. They were going to torture him, no doubt, leave his wounds untended and starve him of substance. Try to find an ulterior reason for him to be here.
He supposes Odin expected this to happen, as he viewed magic as unimportant and the stripping of it appeared a small discipline, and a humiliation at the hands of mortals, no less the mortals who had defeated Loki before, seemed a more fitting punishment.
Loki wondered how much pain his body could really take.