I was born sickbut I love it
He loves to unnerve them. He finds deep satisfaction (almost instinctual, almost guttural, almost animalistic) in watching them squirm under his eyes. He likes to pick apart the insides of their minds (the wormy, rotting, soft, delicate insides where their deepest joys, largest hopes, and darkest wishes are bred and raised) and chew on the tendrils, watching as they roll and hide and cry in pain. He is not only a trickster of tricks, but a trickster of the mind. He feels as though he could do just as well torturing their brains as he is with their bodies.
She hisses out a retort against his nicknames and his bruised eyes dance with suffocating amusement. He uses the word (“babe,” a name he once used to conserve primarily for that golden-eyed warrior) among a wide variety of woman, even those who might not deserve such a title. Yet no one had called him out on it; this talon-footed girl is the first. The trickster’s angular head tips to the side, multicolored eyes dancing with mockery. “Then what are you?” he nearly purrs. His voice drips in honeyed lime and slurps into her ears like a song about firecrackers.
She admires her weapons with a bitter sort of joy. It sends a tendril of interest in his mind. She would be a wild one to spend a night with (talon claws and sharp laughter and terrible banter and perhaps a bit of blood to soak into the sweat) and the trickster’s mind transports itself elsewhere. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten worked up over a woman, but he is back into the swing of things within hours of his revival.
Her voice asks for his name. He once cared about giving out his name (he once used to turn it into a game, to see how far they were willing to stretch for such a simple thing), but as years roll past the meaning of a name becomes less important. So he shrugs his sharp shoulders and it rolls off his tongue like an ancient curse. “Lokii.” His fingers twine into the soft mush of her brain and he resists the urge to toy with her.
Oh, how he would love to toy with her.
But he doesn’t. Not yet. First he needs to know her name. “And who exactly are you?”
LOKII
