He knew, as soon as he let go of the incantation, that his glamour had fallen. Perhaps been utterly, gracelessly obliterated was more accurate – not that it really mattered. Either way, he was standing in the midst of a trampled city with frozen blue skin and eyes the color of blood. He didn't need to lift his gaze to see the horrorstruck, revolted looks on the Avengers' faces. He was plenty skilled at picturing them mentally.
Breathe. Just… he reminded himself firmly, silently. He knew of only one way to reverse the change and also knew that that particular cure would not be even a remote possibility. He would simply have to wait it out – preferably in a dark, cool hole in the ground where no one else would have to see him. No mirrors, either he thinks without thinking.
"Hey, where'd th- holy fuck," Clint hissed, ever eloquent.
"Um… Thor? Why's Loki blue?"
Monster, are you not always calling yourself? Perhaps now you can prove it, a cold, flat voice suggested. If it rang of darkness and piercing, cold blue dreams, then it was nothing new; Thanos had left more than physical scars on the once-god.
"Dear brother, have you not often said that my blood matters not?" he queried just loudly enough for Thor to hear, "Do you still believe that lie?"
(It wasn't a lie, much as he hated to know that. One of the unfortunate side effects of his godhood was that he could always tell a lie – could hear it sing to him – and yet, he could not make something a lie if it was not, no matter how he could not believe the truth.)
Turning slowly, he held his arms outstretched slightly to the side to better display his cerulean skin and kept his lips in a smirk just supple enough to not look forced. Even in this foreign, icy body, he could still feel his body move instinctively in the same way it always had. Still me, still me, still me prayed his unsteady heart.
The surprise on Thor's face was not quite the horror and revulsion Loki had hoped for, but it was a start. At least the great Thunderer stumbled a step backward and faltered a moment before stubbornness took over his features and he forced himself forward.
Disappointing, Loki mused reluctantly, letting his seidr – not the familiar green fire but this strange, innate white – flow down his arm and form into a sharp, clear knife not unalike his standard throwing knives. While the weight was slightly different, Loki was not known for his adeptness with knives because he could only use one type. This would suit his purpose very well.
"Tell me, Thor, how many jotunns have you slain? Would saving one atone for that blood?" he chuckled, low and dark as his not-brother strode stubbornly forward, "Not so hasty, or dear Natasha will be rather the worse for it."
Both the Widow and Thor froze at that jovial threat, and Loki grinned his typical smirk. Like his obedience would save Thor's shield-brethren from Loki now. Admittedly, it was in their aid that he had lost his glamour, but he was not the god of chaos for his predictability.
"Brother, I have known of your jotunn heritage," Thor protested, "I do not care whether you are blue or green or purple – you are Loki and my brother."
A careless flick of his wrist, and the ice-dagger went sailing through the air and found its resting place deep in the shoulder socket of the archer, melting just slowly enough to rend the flesh and cut the tendons there. At his pained yell, the Widow lunged into motion, and Loki sidestepped, a frozen blade sinking into her side. Her eyes widened in shock, but she grit her teeth and kept moving. Even without her injury, though, her speed was no match for this body; for every twist and kick she threw at him, his lithe body could evade and dodge and meet with burning hands or piercing ice.
Adding 'become familiar with this body' to his never-ending checklist, Loki flung out his hand to project an energy shield to repel Mjolnir – he was, admittedly, a little surprised that Thor had thrown the hammer and not attempted a more careful approach. 'My brother' – pretty lie. A second shudder through the dome announced the good Captain's attack, and many little tremors told of the one-armed archer's gunfire. The Widow, coated in blood and staggering even in her most fluid moves, was still stubbornly striving to land a hit.
Finally, irritated by their inability to land even a glancing blow, Loki twisted his hands to pull the Casket from its nest – and pushed. Ice coated, through and through, the buildings and people surrounding him, though he made sure to only grip the Avengers' feet (they might be more amusing later), and then he simply vanished.
AN: So, since I've been writing Loki as a sort of good guy through all of these, I figured I'd do one where he's just pure chaos. This one will have two chapters. It also takes place quite a while after 'Lady Loki's Pajamas'.
Adri - well, there goes the tenuous alliance! I'm working on filling in the gaps between these now, so hopefully the story will kind of make sense once it gets some more meat on its bones.
AND IMPORTANT QUESTION! Are there any specific relationships you want to see in here? I'd rather not do Frostiron given that I already have a series on that, but I'm up for most of them (except, I'm really picky about who Thor and Bruce are in relationships with) - so if you have any suggestions for any relationships, let me know!