Madness of the Serpent

Preparation

The spirit wondered if its heart would ever stop racing, but once it had, it forced its willful form to relax and attempt to rest – a difficult feat when its body was ready to flee from being startled by Loki's cruel, yet strangely playful, gestures.

It did not understand from where these emotions were coming. It was not as expressive as Loki, with his easy smiles when he was pleased or his thunderous glares when he was not. It was not as emotive as the... as Barton either, but it was experiencing a plethora of new feelings it had not before.

Was this... typical? Was there any such standard for an entity such as itself?

These thoughts soon fizzled out, however, as it drifted into a state of light rest, lulled by the sound of the purring engines and the rumble under its feet.

Waking sometime later, staring out of the dark window at the black sky beyond, it realized it had slept for a significant amount of time. Its internal clock estimated four hours had passed.

Its dreams had been jumbled and confused, filled with jeering humans, vaguely familiar planets, and a disturbing, blue glow that seemed to consume everything it touched.

The second thing it noticed, after the darkness of the window, was the warmth covering its form. Glancing down, it saw the grey blanket had been replaced over its legs and chest.

Had Loki done this? He was the only other occupant of the air vessel that it could ascertain. But why? So that it was not exposed to the chilled air? Why would he perform such an action? His reactions and responses thus far had not indicated that he was truly concerned for its well-being – only that he wished it to function long enough to be useful.

Blinking slowly, it looked over its shoulder and across the interior space to where its captor lounged.

Loki lay stretched lengthwise along the cushioned furniture, his head turned to the side with his eyelids closed. He was... sleeping.

It could only stare in wonder.

The Jotun-Asgardian's visage seemed to have de-aged to a time of youth and innocence. The darkness around his eyes was still present, and a stray black lock of hair lay across his temple, but otherwise, he looked like a fledgling version of himself. Even his gangly limbs lent to the image of gentle adolescence, his head cradled against his shoulder as his breath remained slow and even.

There was a pain deep inside its chest, a dull ache which was also somehow jagged and sharp, seeming to pierce straight through its being. It felt like a pain of the soul, not one born of physical injury. The spirit was suddenly alarmed.

Was there something wrong with it?

There was no opportunity to contemplate its curious symptoms as it felt an unpleasant sensation in its stomach, a slight change in gravity that made it feel slightly nauseous.

Loki suddenly jerked, his eyes flashing open as he gasped for breath, his chest rapidly rising and falling in distress. The Jotun-Asgardian looked around in bewilderment before focusing his eyes on the spirit, confusion written in his pale blue eyes. There was a nakedness there, a vulnerability which he quickly shored up with his regal composure and impenetrable mask.

Once he had collected himself, Loki flashed a wide smile, gracefully pulled himself into an upright position and smoothed back his dark, slightly curled hair, as if nothing unusual had transpired.

"It seems we are descending, finally. These human vessels are unbearably and tediously slow. Even an Asgardian skiff could outpace these cumbersome machines."