Pushing Buttons

Pretty Boy

The line between diplomacy and discourtesy was one Heimdall treaded carefully. He usually left the politeness and charisma to Odin. He wasn't a destroyer like Thor, but he was an enforcer. Crushing rebellions and picking apart someone's mind was very much his forté.

So the fact that someone was trying to get close to him raised a visceral response. What was she plotting? Was she hoping he would slip up? Was she trying to find something to use as leverage? Spring some sort of trap or attack on the All-Father? Although he doubted she could do very much on her own, Heimdall wasn't the type to leave a stone unturned.

He brushed off her kindness, taking any opportunity to push her away with rude comments and harsh banter. His job as the Watchman of the Aesir was more important than ever with the threat of Ragnarök looming beyond Asgard's serene landscape. But she was a persistent little weasel, he had to at least give her that.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily." She teased with a witty grin and a playful punch to the shoulder.

Bifrost eyes narrowed. Regardless of her smiles and overall lightheartedness, he wasn't convinced. "Whatever attempt you are thinking of making to foil the All-Father, it won't work."

She paused, arching a confused brow. "You think I'm just talking to you in order to get to Odin of all people?"

"As they say, if the shoe fits, Ditzy."

Her lighthearted grin faltered. "You know, just because someone is trying to get close to you, doesn't mean they're trying to use you."

Her words hung in the air, creating a rift in the otherwise usual banter they had going back and forth. He had a hard time believing her words. But what was even more frustrating was that he could tell that she believed them. His face must've given away his own thoughts, because there was a slip in her gaze—a shift and look that he knew all too well. She had opened her mouth to speak, hand moving towards him. But he put a stop to it all before she could utter a single syllable. "Don't." Any sense of sardonic joking had vanished from his voice, replaced by a raw warning.

Her hand stopped, fingers grabbing at nothing but air before they limply fell at her sides again. She exhaled shakily, a bitter and pitying smile plastered onto her face. "The way you turned out must really say a lot about people, huh?"

That...definitely wasn't the word choice Heimdall had been expecting. But that sad and forced smile only made him angrier. He was a god. He pitied mortals. It wasn't supposed to be the other way around.

"Are most people that rotten deep down?" Her voice was small, fearful almost. Eyes that were usually so assured and strong were wary, searching his face for an answer. For the truth.

"All people are liars," He corrected. Cold, unapologetic, and without hesitation, he continued, "Whether consciously or unconsciously, to the world or to themselves, no one ever says what they really want to say."

Her lips curled inwards, pressed into a taut line. With a hum she looked to the floor, rolling back on her heels. "I see. So which are you then?"

"What?"

She laughed. Laughed. "Don't tell me you've divided the world into two categories but consider yourself an exception? That's bold and naïve, even for you."

All he could do was stare. Of course he was an exception. That was the whole point of his "gift". Seeing through the lies and to the bitter and ugly truth placed him in a whole other category. Surely, it did? But solely for the sake of worming his way into her head and getting an insight as to just how she thought, he begged the question, "What do you think?"

She took a step back, brow furrowing as he purposefully invaded her personal space. Her eyes darted, but she didn't cower or squirm beneath his intense gaze. Her shoulders gently rose as she took in a deep breath, no doubt preparing for an actual answer. "To be honest, I can't say for sure. Apart from being incredibly condescending, arrogant, and more sour than a bushel of crabapples...I really don't know all that much about you. But I would guess that you're more of the lying to yourself type."

His brow furrowed. When her words had set in, he couldn't help but laugh. Him? Lie to himself? What would even be the point in that? "Looks like you're really putting that scattered brain of yours to good use after all, Ditzy." He patted her head, much to her immediate annoyance.

She waved him off, fixing her now tousled and messed up hair. But her expression turned serious again, and a twinge of worry lingered in her eyes. "For someone who supposedly sees everything, you're conveniently blind and oblivious when it comes to those around you."

"Hm," He hummed, though that mocking smile turned more menacing. "Careful, Ditzy. Run those pretty lips anymore and you might wake up with them sewn shut."

"Funnily enough, Heimdall, I truly can't tell if you're trying to intimidate me or flirt with me."

"Flirt? With you?" He scoffed, "Don't flatter yourself." But a light hum and the fact that she decided to invade his personal space caught him by surprise.

"Somehow I don't believe that." The corners of her lips pulled into a coy and teasing grin, "You've been bothering me nearly every day since I've been here. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a crush on me."

He sighed, and placing a finger on her forehead, pushed her away. "Friends and now crush. Honestly, I've been 'bothering you' only because along with that half-breed, I refuse to believe that you won't end up causing a mountain of trouble," He corrected.

She rolled her eyes and laughed, patting him on the shoulder before walking away. "Keep telling yourself that, Pretty Boy."