Also dickhead, Loki wears a cloak not a cape. Capes are short, cloaks are long. WEAK
Loki lifted a perfectly arched brow. Then, the green glow of his seidr immediately rolled over his body, clothing him in full armour before he consciously chose something less aggressive.
“The corrosive acid of envy will eat your soul from the inside out. No one knows this better than I do. Now, I laugh when hate is turned my way, because I know those spewing it are only seeing their own reflection in me. Insecurity on their part does not an exception on my part make. My dreams I keep discreet. Then those who malign me have no option but to infect themselves with their own diseased tongues.” The magic collecting along the contours of Loki’s digits is unlike his usual; it is thrice as cold and sharp and violent and hungry. Gold and green glisten and pang down his limbs, and the ghost of black runes irrigates black canals beneath his eyes. Then, Loki smiles, and it’s an awful sight, manic and cold and desperate to cling to dignity.
“It is not about being unassailable, though that would be nice. Do not deceive yourself. It is about knowing when a counteroffensive is a waste of resources. There is no point in raining destruction upon those who will do it themselves. Such is the power of negativity. I have my standards and I will not yield to threats. The Universe has already thrown unspeakable things at me and yet, here I am. Do not test me, for you will surely fail.” Loki’s hands, fingers straining, tendons pressing against fair skin, begin to glow the same hue as his eyes. Seidr snaps and sizzles with promised menace before he disappears in a shimmer of green light.
