driftfleet | it's a mingle, a paisley mingle

[He's not about to take this sort of nonsense from any mortal, particularly not a whelp like this one.

The illusion stays where it's at, eyebrows arching up as if to say, did you really just let those words fall from your speech hole? while Loki himself, invisible and silent, teleports behind Theon.

An unnaturally strong hand wraps around the back of Theon's neck and lefts. With the other hand, Loki draws a knife from some other plane and presses the point just under Theon's left ear, lightly enough to not yet draw blood.]

The very funny thing about my being here is that you are bound in this space with me as well.

[Still leaning against the wall, the illusion of Loki smiles cheerfully and waves.]

[ Here we go again. Theon's smile doesn't disappear, but rather locks into something of a grimace instead. He's absolutely still, because he actually knows better. You don't make any rash moves when you're the one with the knife pressed against your throat.

At least it isn't Robb making good on his promise to behead me. ]

A fine illusion.

[ Even in this precarious situation, he still manages a chuckle, although not a particularly jolly one. With it being thrust upon him so suddenly and so rudely, magic is something he absolutely does not trust. He keeps a wary stare on the illusion out of the corner of his eye, but keeps himself very aware of the other Loki behind him. ]

Not sure why I need to be bound here with you. Looks like you have yourself to keep you company.

You needn't be bound on this ship with me at all. [Such a conversational, cheerful tone.] Shall we take a walk to the airlock, little mortal? I guarantee that you will enjoy the vacuum outside far less than I.

[He survived vacuum and a black hole, and then worse things on the other side. Absolute confidence here.]

[ Theon hasn't quite been well acquainted with the airlock by name, but he thinks he understands and that certainly does sound like a mighty threat.

Doesn't stop him from laughing again, though. It's always been his instinctive defense. Why show fear or panic when you can just laugh instead? ]

Try it. [ Another teeth-gritting smile accompanies that dare. ] See how they feel about you afterwards. God or not, you've said it yourself: you're just as killable as the rest of us.

[Loki's voice drops to a soft, terribly intimate whisper.]

Ah, but this is the secret we both know, isn't it--that these fools here are soft. They can be angry, and they can hate, but none of them has liver enough to kill.

[The knife moves delicately, flat of it tracing the curve of Theon's chin like the touch of a very, very cold finger.]

You've staked your pretty skin on that already, little mortal, many a time. I can smell it on you. That desperation. You puff up like an angry cat and hiss to hide the mewling that lies beneath. Poor little mortal and your insignificant life, which you can only defend by hiding behind the skirts of another.

[He inhales as if scenting something on Theon.] How does it feel, to know your skin is only worth as much as the leather I could make from it, and you are but coin with which others buy that which they actually want.

[ It's the truth. It takes something horrible, twisted and black to make a man desperate enough to want to kill. Theon's felt it himself, and he doesn't want to feel it again.

He squares his jaw and grits his teeth more tightly. He angles his head ever so slightly away from the cold touch of the knife, but knowing that the cracks are beginning to show in his carefully constructed armor is more mortifying than any blade. If this man and Tyrion Lannister can see through him so easily, who will see the true Theon Greyjoy next? ]

Enough.

[ His anger is enough to keep some semblance of forcefulness in his voice, but there is a slight tone of desperation underneath it all. Threats are one thing, but being forced to face the truth is another. What he really wants is for Loki to stop talking. ]

Stand down. They should cut your tongue out instead.

[ See, it's ironic because Theon can't stop talking either. ]

[He laughs softly in Theon's ear.]

Hiss, little cat. Hiss. You've soft teeth and no bite for all that noise.

Dream of cutting out my tongue, but the words will remain, imprinted in the shriveled, quailing pip that you so loudly proclaim is a heart. You are hollow, just like your protestations.

I said enough.

[ He hisses his words, trying to put all his malice into them without even realizing that he's only playing into the spitting cat comparison. ]

I won't need to dream of it. I'll cut out your tongue myself here and now if it will stop your insipid talking.

[ Threats without action. He still hasn't decided how he wants to get himself out of this. ]

[A soft chuckle.]

Oho, it thinks it has teeth. [So cute. He gives Theon a little shake as if to remind him, oh you silly little thing, your feet don't even touch the ground right now.] Go ahead. I'll wait.

[He'd be tempted to lick Theon, really, but ugh, humans. You don't know where these things have been.]

[ It's true, this is a precarious position. There's a lot Theon can say, but not necessarily much he can do.

What he can do is roll his eyes and force out a huff of a laugh. He can do a whole lot of that. So long as no one is licking him, he's fine. ]

You've demoted yourself to waiting? Have you spewed all the words you can?

[ Dig that grave deeper, Theon. ]

Oh Theon, Theon, Theon. No matter how you shout, you shan't change the fact that I have seen how empty you are inside.

But you are right. I do have better things to do with my time.

[He slams Theon against the wall and pins him with one arm, still holding him off the ground, elbow threatening the windpipe. He nimbly rolls his grip on the dagger and then brings it in close toward Theon's eye.]

A wise man would hold still. As you aren't wise, decide how badly you wish your face to bleed.

[He's a delicate enough touch that he won't cut Theon if he doesn't want to--and he doesn't currently. What he does want to do it shave Theon's left eyebrow off.]

[ Theon grits his teeth so hard that they could crack given much more pressure. His smile has fled, and his laughter along with it, leaving nothing but a grimace of pain.

He is not a wise man, as his choice to keep talking makes perfectly clear, but he is wise enough to know when not to move, lest he wind up looking more like his uncle than he ever cared to. ]

Fine.

[ He snaps, but stares at the knife and continues to keep very still. It isn't surrender. He just has to keep telling himself that. I may lose an eye, but this is not surrender. ]

Do what you intend to do and go spend your time in a more constructive manner.

[He says these things like he wants to believe he has some choice. That's really all it is, the sad attempt to ape control of a life that has no control.

Chuckling to himself, Loki dry shaves that left eyebrow off. Enjoy the razor burn, kid.

Into Theon's ear:] Howl, little pup. Only one who has never known a moment of control over his own pathetic life would think a big noise is what keeps the chilling darkness at bay.

[And the breath he exhales over Theon's ear is absolutely frigid for a moment, like the north wind. He kisses Theon on the cheek, and his lips burn with frost.] Sleep well, in the uncaring dark.

[And then he vanishes, leaving Theon to drop to the floor, minus an eyebrow.]

Edited 2016-03-19 01:47 (UTC)

it's a mingle, a paisley mingle

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THEON WHY

BECAUSE HE LIKES DIGGING HIS OWN GRAVE

OH LAWD

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THEON STAHP