[ Stephen watches. Watches his words hit somewhere he's not sure he meant for them to land, watches him amble across the room toward his desk, watches him set that drink down on naked wood. He doesn't own the desk. It wouldn't matter even if he did.
He knows, already, that he'll let Tony Stark get away with far worse.
It's only when he turns back to face Stephen that he finally does him the courtesy of false privacy, attention suddenly half on the idle stretch of magic that lifts abandoned books from a table here and a table there and sets them back on shelves. Like tidying right now this second is the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing.
And just like that, the subject changes, and Stephen lets his demeanour move with it. ]
Just the one now, yeah. If you'd arrived a few months earlier you could've met the set.
[ This is the fewest Lokis they've had in a while. Somewhere in this building two rooms still bear the traces of their magic from where he's housed them and fed them, kept like strange shrines to stranger, now-absent gods. ]
no subject
He knows, already, that he'll let Tony Stark get away with far worse.
It's only when he turns back to face Stephen that he finally does him the courtesy of false privacy, attention suddenly half on the idle stretch of magic that lifts abandoned books from a table here and a table there and sets them back on shelves. Like tidying right now this second is the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing.
And just like that, the subject changes, and Stephen lets his demeanour move with it. ]
Just the one now, yeah. If you'd arrived a few months earlier you could've met the set.
[ This is the fewest Lokis they've had in a while. Somewhere in this building two rooms still bear the traces of their magic from where he's housed them and fed them, kept like strange shrines to stranger, now-absent gods. ]
You've spoken to him?