Wow. Just watched the midnight premiere of The Avengers!
And yes. Wow. Go see it, everyone. It's epic.
For those who have already, here is what I came out with. I figured our dearest defeated Loki deserves at least this much...
Poor thing. He just wanted to rule over the entire planet. Was that really too much to ask?
I disclaim Loki of course, and all other characters of the Avengers film, and...everything else. Please don't sue me, Marvel. I love you.
Clint Barton continued to hold his bow at the ready, aimed interminably at his head, even as Thor pulled him up from the broken floor and proceeded to drag him upstairs.
Loki ignored the arrow that hovered near his skull and watched his brother instead, reading the solemn glances the prince kept shooting his way and finding he lacked the energy to snap in retaliation.
For the first time since he'd battled Thor on the Bifrost, his body ached.
The monster that was Bruce Banner was far more than he'd expected.
They all were. And Loki wanted to vomit at the realization of it.
Or perhaps the nausea was from the bruising of his ribs?
Stark's voice broke in and he felt Thor's fist shift on his shoulder, guiding him towards a staircase. He assumed they would take him to the top of the tower, where a SHIELD craft would take him away until…
Until Thor took him back to Asgaard. He was no fool. Loki knew that at this point, there was no hope for his escape. He had nothing left to fight with, nothing left to fight for. He had underestimated the humans and he had paid for it with the loss of Earth.
His plans for mankind crumbled with his army, leaving only his beaten body to fret over and inevitable punishment at the hands of Odin.
And to think, he would return and the old fool would probably still call him "son".
Loki grimaced and stumbled a bit as Thor shoved him forward into the bar room at the top of the tower. His gaze cut to Barton's readied arrow and he could not help but offer him a wink, ignoring once again the dark glare that the archer responded with. The man was too easily corrupted, and yet the woman could not see past the nobility she saw in him.
Love. A foolish notion. Blinding and deceptive.
He watched as Stark stepped ahead of the group, waving an armor-clad hand in the air. Thor stopped, looked confused.
Loki himself glanced about warily.
"Just a sec."
Thor's grip on him loosened but he remained surrounded. The throbbing in his chest and gut grew stronger and Loki cursed the green monstrosity for the damage it had caused. He hated hand-to-hand combat, preferred to avoid it altogether, and did not care much at all for nursing bruises and cuts. The whole process was simply annoying. If they had just submitted in the first place….
The tinkering of glass brought his attention to the bar, where Tony was pouring a brown liquor into a tiny glass. Steven Rogers groaned beside him and thrust his arms out in exasperation.
"Can't the drink wait, Tony?"
Stark smirked at them and set the bottle down, making no move to drink the small amount of liquid. He approached them and held it up.
Right in front of Loki's face.
"It can wait for me. But I don't think Loki'll be getting any chances for a good shot of whiskey where he's going," Loki sneered at the grin on Stark's face but reached up to take the small glass from his bloodied fingers, "Drink up, prince. You're gonna need it."
He fought the urge to headbutt the man out of spite and turned the glass up, reveling in the instant burn of the liquid as it ran down his throat. The split-second of light-headedness was just enough to make his day just a hair's width less disappointing that it had been a moment before, and for that, Loki found himself unusually grateful.
Nonetheless, he offered no thanks to the insect that sought to pity him, and tossed the empty glass to the ground with enough force to shatter it at Stark's feet.
He felt Thor's grip return, thick fingers threading into the back of his collar and jerking him back just slightly.
"Enough. It's time to go."
Loki glared at his "brother" and met Stark's tired gaze.
He grinned despite it all.
His army was gone and his hopes were once again buried in a grave of sentimental nobility.
But at least he got his drink.