[Black Widow]

She'd taken him to her home in Brooklyn because, really, where else did you take someone who seemed to uncomprehending of so much of what she took for granted in modern, western society? He wasn't even like the poor people who'd only seen the glitz and glamour of a city like New York on television or in newspapers, he actually acted as if he'd never seen some very everyday things before.

Like cars. Though he'd picked up on them soon enough. He was very quick, actually, for a first-timer being dumped in the heart of a city like this and Natasha's theory was that a damn keen mind lurked behind the understandable ignorance of...whatever he was. Who he was.

Anyway, 'teaching' someone about everything she was used to in a very acclimatised, privileged, entitled sort of way was harder than she'd thought - she was used to manipulating people and extracting information from them, not actually passing it on. Not unless it was false information anyway. But first they'd talked about coffee, and she'd made true on her promise to buy him a frappuccino because, obviously, that was the first thing you needed to learn about in New York, what way you preferred your daily dose of caffeine in. That of course led neatly into the currency they used in America though, thankfully, he had a concept of money and she just needed to show him the various denominations. And then she'd made a brief attempt to show him how to play 'spot the tourist' (after actually explaining what they were) compared to everyday New Yorker.

From there, it had been a case of tackling unfamiliar concepts or objects as they came up, even as Natasha tried to come up with a more guided approach in the back of her mind. Cars were swiftly covered - then, out of necessary, the complicated ritual of street crossing (namely, not to obey any sort of traffic signal, and that was his introduction to jay-walking done.) Hot dogs and pretzels, came up as well and, fuck, Natasha realised she was treating him like a tourist, and it was around then that she decided this would be easier to tackle if they were staying still because he was too whip-keen to be just randomly showed things. He deserved structure, as well as to not be overloaded by too much new information in as dynamic a city as the Big Apple.

'Home', she decided, was going to be her Brooklyn loft tonight, because she wasn't going to be Natalie Rushman for him and she liked her Upper West Side apartment more, so it wouldn't kill her if he knew about it. So, after a taxi ride (more explanations) and a quick stop at the closest grocery store to her loft (even more) Natasha found herself letting a stranger into her apartment, an uncommon experience in itself.

And other than what he didn't know, she'd only learned one thing in return in all of that - his name.

"Welcome to my humble abode, Loki," she said, a tad mockingly in jest of his very particular way of speaking and, really, she didn't blame him for using an alias. She'd certainly made a 'Really? That's what you're going with?' face at him when he'd mentioned it, but hadn't otherwise commented. She locked the door behind them out of habit (all three locks and a chain and a deadbolt), juggled the grocery bags and then went to dump them on the island that separated the small kitchen from the main living area. Pointedly, she left him time to inspect yet another new set of surroundings, though it wasn't as if her loft was particularly interesting - it was neat and more functional than personal, golden-wooded floors and white walls, with the most personal touches in the room being the bookshelf, the framed print of the Budapest skyline above the futon-style couch by the window and the fact that there were at least seven different bladed or projectile weapons hidden around the place.

"Make yourself comfortable," Natasha continued in that same, slightly ironic tone while she started to unpack groceries. "I don't know about you, but entertaining strangers makes me hungry. Do you like--." She was about to say 'bolognese', stopped herself, sighed and made an appropriate correction, even as she added 'ethnic foods' to the every-growing list of topics to cover in her head. "Do you eat meat?"

{ooc: I know you gave me permission to assume some things, but anything and everything is up for you to ask me to change. <3}

[Loki]

If there was one thing Loki was moderately unwilling to attempt, it was the language. Written, of course, since his mode of speaking seemed to be adequate for conversation, even though in observation by facial gestures and flat out comparisons to Natasha’s own style seemed to suggest that the Asgardian speech was certainly different. (Archaic was not a word he associated with it, though if given a textbook on Norse mythology, Loki would think differently.) There were signs and texts and other incomprehensible objects everywhere, but Loki decidedly stuck with the interpretations of what he could see only, not what he could read. This society enjoyed color, as it appeared, and there were repeating themes in the use of color and such that he could latch onto.

With these cars, for instance, the concept of driving and also jaywalking had been introduced to Loki at the same time, and he kept his preference for horses quiet, but still he understood that green was somehow equated to go. Red took a lot less time to fathom - red lights, red signs for the people walking around in the street to tell them to stay put, red signs on the road that these cars halted at. On the black surface for the cars (and some people), there were white marks that they stayed within, and white marks indicated where people were supposed to cross (not that he or Natasha honestly paid attention to those, an act Loki still approved of in his ignorance as disregarding rules tended to be his thing).

A society governed by symbols was relatively easy to decipher. Well, except for the tall structures, but Loki could only assume their purpose(s) were individualistic, considering that the people around went in and out of them on a regular basis and since Midgard’s purpose seemed to be something other than war (technology, he guessed), Loki could assume that these were work houses or homes or something equal. Though he was not watching, he also assumed that these people came out eventually, as it seemed to be implied that cars and taxis were a primary method of transportation.

The money was also interesting, though if I were to continue on this vein, I should probably point out that everything was of interest to Loki. Their system of bartering included trading scraps of parchment with text and images of what Loki assumed to be important figures - gods, perhaps? - for goods. It also meant that Loki was introduced to the number system. He understood one, five, ten, twenty, twenty-five, but the symbols were relatively new to him. A base understanding of the ones place and the tens place in mathematical operations was established, but Loki would have found it more helpful to know the symbols for the remainder of the numbers. (Once again, Loki understood basic math, but the Midgardian method of writing it was foreign.)

All that information began piling up in Loki’s mind, and it was indeed only the attempted organizational structure that Natasha implemented that allowed the Asgardian to sort and catalogue all this knowledge. The trip to Brooklyn, part of New York which was part of the United States of America, which was a region of Midgard, and the grocery store was interesting, and Loki already had his next two questions lined up to be asked when there was an applicable moment.

As he milled around the apartment, looking here and there at the things Midgardians would consider ordinary, Natasha posed another question for him, and this time Loki gave a quieter version of a snort - a huff of air and a quirk at the corner of his mouth. ”I am overly familiar with meat, yes, though your question is understandably necessary.” Asgardian feasts were ridiculous, and they occurred frequently enough that one would never need to go hungry, had he the knowledge of who was celebrating today. Although the culture and appearance of Midgard was different than Asgard, Loki categorized its inhabitants in a section similar to his own brethren. Other than societal terms, food and water was likely to be similar enough for Loki to consume without worry. He based this guess off of the relation between Midgardian appearance and Asgardian appearance, though he would not be surprised at all if they lacked the same strength of body most Asgardians took for granted (this came from his observation of a distinct lack of a warrior aspect, though he was still retaining judgment for the time being).

Loki decided that another round of “let’s make the god look foolish” was necessary, especially if he was to wait on the woman for food. Loki was not even going to try to help. For starters, he would not know how, and it did not fall into the duties of a Son of Odin to cook. There was a seat of some sort in the room, and instead of sitting down, Loki propped himself against it as he watched, giving a brief glare down to his shoes as he attempted to settle them. With only a few moments of hesitation, Loki posed his questions to the woman. The hesitation was more for his unwillingness to reveal anything about his society at this point in time, as his ignorance had already been well established.

”You may deign which of these to answer first, or at all, as you will, but I have more queries for you to explain.” Loki knew that Natasha was positively overwhelmed with joy at the aspect, but he continued onward in a neutral tone as he posed his questions, staring blankly at an object in the room as he did. ”Is there no sorcery, or magic, in this realm? Similarities between your cars and phones and signs seem to suggest against my query, but I am assuming your people use another name.” Once again, this was simple verification of a guess Loki had already made, as was his next question. ”Another - are there no warriors here? You have no weapons that I espy, and without sorcery, I cannot understand why you would lack such protection.”

Those were two crucial bits of knowledge Loki was handing to the woman, and they were two crucial bits of knowledge he expected in return. Natasha now knew that where he came from had magic and was based upon the pride of the warrior, and for this allowance of information, Loki expected a similar admission. It was only fair, this trade of information, and Natasha seemed reliable enough, if not trustworthy.

[Black Widow]

It was strange, having people in this apartment. 'Natalie Rushman' had friends who came back to her cramped, cosy little set of rooms in the Village. But Natasha...she was a solitary creature, too secretive and uninterested to want people in space she counted as her own, one of the few places in the world where she could actually be Natasha rather than any of the facades or performances the rest of the world got. It wasn't unheard of - she'd had pizza delivered once (though never again because she'd been twitchy about it afterwards) and the odd sexual encounter happened here because she didn't like going back to a mystery location that she hadn't scouted out before and, besides, she wasn't having sex with anyone without at least three different weapons close to hand.

So, yes, Loki was an anomaly. But he'd been one even before he'd crossed her threshold and Natasha was tempted to roll her eyes at the slight sense of dissonance having someone else in her house (not home) was causing in the atmosphere.

At least she didn't give a shit whether he approved of her decorating or not.

The redhead did try to at least tone down the lazily amused look he got in response for peering at everything - her loft wasn't exactly big and he was a tall guy, thus looking rather incongruous as he examined a room that was very much designed for someone of her height. It would almost have been just the littlest bit adorable if Natasha hadn't been an official Suspicious Bitch, or if she'd been someone foolish enough to think anything done by a mysterious, inexplicable, 'threat level unknown' potential super-human cute.

"I didn't need a vegan-princess' hissy fit going down in my kitchen," was her arch reply, though she too smirked a little in response. So he was at least capable of not acting as if he was made of ice. That was good to know. Would make this scouting attempt of hers that much more bearable. "Where I come from, if it didn't bleed, it wasn't worth eating." Luckily for him, he was saved from any 'in Soviet Russia' jokes - nationality wasn't anything she'd touched on yet and it was best to stick to America right now. Probably.

And that was the thing, this was new territory even for someone as renownedly unflappable as Natasha was. She who'd been around the block, multiple times, under altogether too many aliases, was actively facing something new and different now and though, no, it wasn't baffling her precisely, it was still uncharted territory. And it had been a long time since she'd been anything other than smugly confident and sure of her next steps.

She...was not entirely happy with this. But she was adaptable and masked it well, pulling out tomatoes on the vine and plastic-wrapped mince, onions and cubes of pancetta (because she may not have been a gourmet chef, but Natasha liked to eat well, to eat food that had actually been alive once rather than some sort of plastic goop) and kneeling to get a chopping board out of one of the lower cupboards beneath the island.

...when she reappeared, it was with one of those looks on her face again, the ones that were brief but intense and keen in an almost bird-like sort of way. Because this was more bold a question than anything he had asked before, more telling as to the fact that he was not some amnesiac of a human or a slightly crazy mutant or a superhuman with an agenda. It was surprising, actually, because she hadn't expected him to say anything this early that betrayed his anomalous status quite as much as his questions were now. Because she'd already worked out that they were both the sort of people who realised how precious knowledge could be and yet he'd made the decision to put this one out in the open at least, to take what she had wondered at in a hypothetical sense and make it actual.

Sorcery. Magic. Realm. And Natasha was almost more tempted to go back and add support to one of her previous hypotheses, the one that labelled him as a madman, but...

She looked at him, steady and still for a moment, searching his face for some sign that he was unstable. Nuts. Insane. But, no, his was not the face of the madman. The way he carried himself, the obvious intelligence in the way that he processed things, the consistency of how so much seemed so new to him that it would have been difficult for her to think of ingrained as they were in her view of the world...she didn't think him mad. Not in a delusional way at least. And he certainly didn't talk like a fool.

...so what did that mean?

The moment passed and Natasha visibly, if subtly, shook herself a little and put the chopping board down on the table, reaching for a couple of carrots and a peeler. "How generous of you," she said somewhat glibly in response to his oh so kind offer of flexibility in which question she answered first, but her mind was more occupied with working out just how to respond than the busy work she put her hands to, peeling the vegetables with swift, efficient motions. There was the question of how best to phrase the facts of her world to him, in terms that he was most likely to understand. And then, more importantly, Natasha wondered just how much she should tell him. Knowledge was power, after all, and she'd been doling out far more of the stuff than he had in return, for all that most of it was trivial, like what a dime was and how much a pretzel cost and why one never interacted with one's cab driver. It would be easy enough to give him her spin on things, the one that benefited her for him to know, since he wouldn't know any different. After all, Natasha was a liar, a deceiver. It was what she did.

But then, she thought, eying him contemplatively through a slight fall of red hair, so was he. And she was not a compassionate person, but he - as far as practical knowledge went in this area of the world went - knew next to nothing. But he was still baring at least a sliver of vulnerability (if, indeed, being different was a weakness, and it tended to be one Natasha had learned because of the way the pack always honed in on the scapegoat, the one who didn't fit in) and saying, obliquely, via his questions that he came from somewhere different, somewhere unknown. That knowledge alone in the grand scheme of things was a gift, worth more to Natasha than she could even quite comprehend right now, and it was a curious and enlightening sensation to actually feel an entire world of new possibilities, new thinking being opened up to her.

This time...this time she would at least be honest. To a degree. To the degree that she deemed appropriate right now. It might not last (probably wouldn't) but for now...

(Besides. She had the irritating feeling that he might know better than most if he tried to pull a fast one on her.)

"If you asked anyone over the age of ten whether magic existed, you'd get looked at as if you'd just said you still believed in Santa." A sigh - dammit, she needed to be better than this. "A fictional character for children, associated with a religious holiday." The peeler flew beneath her fingers, but her gaze rested on him more often than the work being done at the level of the counter-top. "The notion of magic or sorcery - at least in this part of the world - is a fanciful one. People used to believe it, in our history, but it was probably just a way of them explaining away things or events that they did not understand." She nodded at him. "Phones and cars, we call those technology. Or science. They're based on taking advantage of the laws of physics - the way in which things work here - but they're not magical. Well..." She looked briefly thoughtful, reaching up to push some hair out of her face with the crook of her elbow since her hands were occupied. "They might be to some people on the planet. But only because they're less advanced than we are here and don't have the education to understand at least the theory behind how things like phones work. But, no, it's not magic. Magic would be casting a spell or--" A smirk. "--pulling a rabbit out of a hat. Either impossibilities if you're a child, or trickery if you're gullible."

So that was science covered. Sort of. Now for the question that was both easier and orders of magnitude more difficult as Natasha contemplated how to explain civilised society. "We have...warriors," she said, choosing her words carefully, moving to the sink to run a bunch of celery under the faucet. "People who are trained to fight to defend either their country or the peace. But they're not an every day part of life - they're not necessary unless we're at war, or if their function is to be peacekeepers in cities. And weapons, it's actually against the law to either carry a weapon here or use it on another person. For the most part, civilians don't need to know how to fight because a country's laws and law enforcement - the cops - mean that they should not need to."

She did look amused then as, pointedly, she plucked one of her well-kept chopping knives from its block, tossed it in the air before catching it and spinning it adroitly around her fingers. With an arched eyebrow, she looked at him, almost challengingly. "Is this a good time to point out that I'm not a civilian?" she asked archly, a smile flickering around her lips.

Then, business-like, she stopped showing off and went back to dicing her carrots and celery, her movements obviously easy and practiced and competent. "Look, I can show you some things that might help...on that table over there, do you see the rectangular flat thing? Like a bigger version of my phone? Bring that over here."

[Loki]

Had Loki been inclined to necessarily care for the feelings of this woman - outside of keeping on her good side, as the god of mischief knew that angering his only connection in Midgard would not be a favorable outcome - he would have tried to make himself seem more ‘human’. But, unfortunately, Loki did not understand the fine social connotations of ‘being human’ (aka, not being a Suspicious Bitch as Natasha puts it and expressing more emotion in Loki’s terms), so he was content to continue to be analytical rather than worry about being friendly. Besides, it was not as if Natasha served as a good example of “friendly” on Midgard, not that Loki would know. He also deemed any emotional response unworthy of the moment, as he understood that panicking about his situation was pointless, especially since he was not currently in any kind of danger.

Well, as far as he knew. She did have a knife.

Another glimmer of amusement came from Loki, and he took another small step in his uncertainty, revealing another tidbit of information that was probably unsurprising given his earlier mention of the prominence of warriors. ”Where I come from, if you cannot make something bleed, you’re not worth being. A true statement for more than simple animals and meat.” The imitation of Natasha’s speech style was becoming habitual for Loki. Even if his manner of speech was not the same as the woman’s, and therefore society, he could certainly remember patterns and phrases that would allow him to blend in better.

Because that was the point in all of this nonsense, correct? To blend in with the Midgardians until Loki found a method of returning to Asgard, and then deemed it time to go home? Thus far he was proving a failure in this aspect, but Loki was certain his performance would increase in credibility as his lessons in Midgard continued. Especially once he had been informed of the magic situation.

Speaking of, Natasha had evidently decided to tell him what she could about his questions, after giving Loki a look that seemed to question him, with Loki returning the stare cooly with only a slight change of gesture that suggested that he was waiting patiently. He would not have blamed her for leaving them unanswered, even, but the information was much more valuable to Loki. As to the leaving the questions unanswered, well, Loki was intelligent enough to understand that a stranger entirely unlike their culture might seem less than credible to the Midgardians, even if he may not have thought it in those terms. He was ignorant, yes. But dim? No.

There was a substantial bit of assumption Loki had to make with Natasha’s explanation for his questions. By Natasha’s tone of voice, the age of ten was probably associated with children or at least young people. There was no denying the implication of foolishness here, and that seemed to fit in with Loki’s grasp of the concept. He cared less for this “Santa” and “religious holiday” than he did for the gist of the words. No magic, then. No sorcery. So why was Loki on Midgard? Had a sorcerer from another realm sent him here as a punishment? Was there a sorcerer here waiting for him? All questions that needed to be answered, and soon.

From what Loki could glean, magic was a concept that had been dismissed in favor of this science or technology. Given that the Asgardians had not been on Midgard for a long time, it was understandable that the inhabitants, with their natural lack of magic, had forgotten. Ah, if only Loki had his power here, then he could display the true might of the God of Mischief and he would not have to understand their culture.

He actively chuckled when Natasha mentioned that magic was child’s play, that it was trickery. ”Oh, if only you knew.” That statement was made in jest, but once again it was giving away more information. He had not shirked away from the name Loki, the name of the God of Mischief, the Lie-Smith, so why should he ignore his domain? Just because he had no magic here did not remove his Asgardian status, his particular expertise. Besides, it was not as if he had to explain anything to this woman. (But really he did, if Loki planned on getting any more information.)

Loki would have spared another laugh for the idea that weapons were illegal, if the idea was not so foreign to him. No weapons meant no means of protection other than his own lies and deceit. Well, he should be glad that was his specialty, rather than making war.

Although, Natasha’s own admission, as well as her trick with the knife, proved to be more useful to him. On one hand, it meant that she could have brought damage upon him already, in his confusion and ignorance, with very little effort, save actually going against the Asgardian. But she had not, which said to Loki that she was interested in him enough to warrant helping him and leaving him be. Perfect. On the other hand, it meant that he could rely on her information concerning this war, as non-civilians, as she put it, tended to be blunter and certainly more knowledgable about actual warfare.

Another moment of mimicry for Loki, who thought that somehow these were getting him cool points. But really he just doesn’t know how to say an appropriately sarcastic response in her speech-pattern. ”Is it a good time to point out that neither am I? Though I can hardly be counted as a “civilian” on your world.” And if civilian meant “non-warrior”, then he was not one on Asgard either.

Instead of asking more questions about war and magic and really Midgard in general, Loki almost obediently retrieved the object she was describing, puzzling momentarily over which it was. He carefully set the object on the countertop near Natasha, having already assumed that if those phone surfaces were touch sensitive, they were likely fragile, and that extended to this new device.

[Black Widow]

He was starting to sound more normal already and that was something Natasha wasn't going to take lightly. Just as she herself had been trained to adapt to new situations or changing scenarios (perhaps because of it, really) it had not escaped her notice how almost scarily fast he picked things up, her speech patterns amongst them. That alone spoke of a sharp mind, however clueless he was about everything else, and that didn't do anything to convince Natasha to think him harmless just because he was lost and ignorant of so much. In the face of such upheaval, the fact that he still had the swiftness of mind to initiate coping mechanisms and make conscious adjustments...

It made him dangerous. Even if Natasha approved of such skills and decisions, it made him dangerous. She would not forget that and, later, she imagined there would be a point where she would want to limit what sensitive information she provided him with if he looked as if he was someone who would turn on her once she became less useful.

For now, though, she was critical. Necessary even, and that gave her an advantage, a certain element of protection against becoming expendable. (The knife helped as well. And the hidden guns. And the taser that doubled as her television remote and, well, you get the picture.)

So she took his subtle growth in terms of adapting to her dialect in stride, even though she hoped her accent wouldn't rub off on him since there was still a slight taste of Mother Russia unless she concentrated extremely hard, and smirked at him, acknowledging his efforts. "I think I might like your people," she said lightly, as if this wasn't the first time that she'd acknowledged that he was not like her, not like the people she shared her city, her country, her planet with. Baby steps, though, baby steps, no need to spook the lanky stranger-alien-person. "I approve of people being useful."

And that was an understatement if ever there was one. More technically, she approved of people being useful to her, and if they weren't...well, then she just didn't care. On the opposite end of the scale, though, it was a sign of quite how much Natasha suspected Loki could give her that he was here, clothed at her expense, and now being cooked for. She wondered if he even knew what a feat that was. (Probably not.)

The laugh made her want to grin a little, just because it felt like a little victory. Or at least further proof that, maybe, they weren't likely to try and kill each other in at least the next ten minutes so. Maybe not until after dinner. But the amusement and the words combined...they earned him a look, one she was giving him more and more often. It wasn't quite skeptical, neither was it accusatory, but it did convey the message of thoughtfulness, of someone handed another tidbit of information and who wasn't about to forget it. For now, her brain hadn't made any sort of dramatic leap (and why would it) but she knew when things were odd, when they didn't quite add up, almost had a sense that tingled whenever she heard something that she had a hunch would be important later on.

Now, though...

She let it drop. Focussed on this odd moment of discovering similarities, even when so much obviously separated them across this chasm of cultural differences, and she did grin then, surprisingly honest and amused. "I may have had my suspicions," was her deadpan response even as she started on the onions (definitely her least favourite vegetable to chop by far - do you realise how ignominious it is to be able to take down grown men and governments, but to be rather sensitive to onion fumes? Maybe this was a bad idea if she was going to cry now.) Deadpan, but with amusement behind it. "No, unless you work the nine to five grind and have the average two point five children and don't see anything outside of your own little life, you're not a civilian." Oh, these damn onions. Natasha squinted at them and chopped more furiously, the knife a blur, hoping to get it over and done with asap even as she spared a second to wave a hand vaguely at him. "I know, I know, I'll explain those later as well. For now though..."

With a certain amount of relief and the tiniest bit of vehemence, she dumped the diced trinity of veg into her big cast iron pot and set it on the stove, wiping discreetly at her eyes with the back of her hand. Once the heat was on and they were oiled up, she walked back over to where he had the tablet ready for her, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she want. "Now I know you can't read, but..." In a search engine tab, she pulled up the image result for 'US Army' and gestured at them. "These are this country's warriors. But, right now, they don't fight here, only in foreign countries where they're trying to..." Yeah, she wasn't up for delving into the specifics of democracy right now. "...make sure that everyone has the same rights and freedoms that this country has. You won't really see them here."

Another tab was pulled up and Natasha looked considering for a moment before she typed in 'medieval knights', then put 'Roman army' into another, those two being the best examples of organised warriors that she could think of in Earth's history. "These are what warriors used to be like further back in history, before the world became more 'civilised'." She tried not to sound too ironic when she said that. "Here, you can flick between them like this..." A demonstration. "And you you can scroll like this..." Another. "We'll tackle reading another time."

Leaving him to it for the minute, she crossed back to the stove to stir her veg, looking deceptively domestic given how fast her mind was working behind her eyes, how much attention she was paying to his reactions even if she didn't look specifically watchful. Casually, oh so casually, she looked over her shoulder at him. "Anything familiar?"

[Loki]

Had Loki been privy to the mental processes of Natasha, he would have been amused at her surprise that he was coping with what seemed to be an upheaval so well. If he was any other Asgardian, perhaps he would have been distraught and angry (or at least remained angry, because Loki could not forget his moment of weakness earlier when he so blatantly declared the name of his realm without any hesitation). For Loki, however, there was no choice. There was no room in his mind that allowed him the idea of not holding onto his sanity, to panic in the face of something he did not understand.* Tricksters and deceivers did not do that. When the game changed, so did you.

And, yes, Natasha was critical to Loki at the moment, but there was one thing she was underestimating.

As much as he gave her information about himself, about his world, as much as he revealed his weakness, there was still something that he controlled. It was simple. Why had she helped him in the first place? Many of her people had stood by in shock or laughing or, as she mentioned, calling the “cops”, but this woman had reacted differently. Why? Information. She had information Loki wanted, but he knew that every piece he gave was another hook.

Judging simply by her standoffish personality, she had not been swayed by some internal kindness. Her response itself had given him all the verification he needed - she liked useful people. Natasha liked people who could provide something she might need, and for all that the formerly naked Asgardian did not have, he did influence her with curiosity.

That was all he needed, for now.

With a dismissive gesture of his hand, Loki replied to her approval of “his people”. He did not even bother removing the keen and cutting edge of sarcasm from his statement, which was fairly obvious even in the context of Midgard. ”If the glory of battle would not shine so brightly, then mine brethren would not be so dim.” Clearly, Loki was poking fun of his own manner of speaking here, though he was clever enough to adopt local speech patterns, he had little doubt others would have done the same. Loki would not put it past particular Asgardians to insist on shouting commands at the Midgardians - he’d learned that lesson in the first few moments in this realm.

Natasha’s sarcasm concerning the civilians was interpreted as best Loki could, though he could really only take the context of her words to mean that she did not approve of the average civilian. He watched her finish up part of the cooking, far more interested in observing her knife-work for hints toward weapon choice than the actual cooking itself, but soon enough she was showing him the device.

Pictures appeared on the thing - the screen, but Loki did not have that word, yet - and he listened as Natasha described this country’s warriors. There was a lot of information given here, but Loki was only interested in a few pieces, though all of what he understood from the picture and the words were catalogued into their proper place. This country had an army. There were other countries. They had armies as well. It sounded much like Asgard and their many wars as Natasha described more and more, but with technology and science involved in the place of magic, Loki guessed.

Another thing he noticed was the weapons. You could not blame Loki for searching for the power of Midgard, as he was used to power being used as a standard for organization. He noticed that they lacked blades and shields and armor that he was familiar with. They lacked the obvious weaponry, though what Loki deemed as “not flesh” was categorized into armor or weapons. He was curious to find out what these weapons were and how they worked, though that was a question for later. His relationship with Natasha was questionable, and until they had a solid alliance (if they had a solid alliance), Loki could not assume that any questions about weaponry would be taken without threat.

Her next two examples were explained as “history”, not as current armies. Swords and shields and spears and horses dominated these two, with the first example being more relevant to Loki than the second. Natasha surrendered the device to the Asgardian while she attempted to return to cooking, but a glance at the woman told Loki that she was still paying careful attention to him. As much as he disliked the calculating look being turned on himself, he approved.

He took a moment to figure out how to operate the device, moving between photos, then moving between those three tabs (there was no point in him looking for something else, as he could not understand the written language, as Natasha had easily understood). Very little time was spent on the Roman army and the medieval knights in favor of analyzing the current army of Natasha’s country, of this country.

Loki was interrupted when Natasha asked if anything was familiar to him, and he looked up at the woman for slightly longer than he possibly should have before setting the device aside and leaning forward to have a little chat. Her point was clear. She wanted to know what he knew. He wanted to know what she knew. It was obvious that they had the same values when it came to information, and Loki thought that this interchange would be easier if they stopped playing games. ”If my judgment proves to be correct, it would seem that a truce might be necessary for anything to be accomplished.” It was blunt and straightforward, but manipulative all the same, stating what was obvious, but stating it aloud. ”You have the upper hand in this engagement, yes, but you cannot deny that for whatever reason, I have information you desire. My proposal is an alliance, to benefit both, unless you wish to continue to pry for scraps.”


* Loki, though not completely emotionally stable, is relatively balanced when he is not being overshadowed by the other Asgardians. Here, in Midgard, it is reasonable that he would be ignorant and basically unworthy pre-knowledge, but Loki sees that as something he can change, whereas on Asgard he will always be the lesser.

[Black Widow]

Well, that was one way of opening up the playing field.

His obvious exaggeration had made her snort in laughter, indelicately and hardly with any sort of lady-like composure, but then Natasha had never made any claims to be so. She could fake it, just as she could feign most things, but she was altogether too ruthless, too manipulative, too capable of deception--okay, maybe she was lady-like. Just a very specific sort of lady, the ones with sweet smiles and a poison sting. Loki was experiencing perhaps the simplest type of manipulation that Natasha was capable of whipping out, if only because she hadn't actually found anything she was required to properly lie about yet.

That was not to say that she would be averse to lying to him, that if it became necessary she would hesitate for even a heartbeat. Natasha lied like she breathed, sunk herself so deep in the complex layers of her own shrouded identity - identities - and it was unconscious to always hold some deceptions around herself. Even if it was just herself, Natasha, the woman who was Natalia Romanova no longer.

Spies are cray-cray. And possibly all need to go see a shrink. Does Mark offer group discounts?

"We have a word for that," she said cheerfully (or what counted as cheerful for Natasha, which was probably a terrifying sort of thing to behold if you weren't a God of Mischief.) "'Jarheads'. It means a soldier who has more muscles than brains." She smirked, dangerous-looking in a casual sort of way, and once more assumed that subtle look of faux-innocence once more. "Luckily, I would consider myself more...specialised than a soldier." She left it at that though because he wasn't the only one able to drop hints, unfinished explanations. And, besides, she had cooking to be doing.

So while he perused, she added the mince, caring less about it browning than honing her attention in on the tall man she'd given her tablet to. From over here she couldn't see what pages he lingered one, which images drew his attention (and she always resented information she could not achieve) but it was still worth noting that he dealt well with the touch interface again, on something larger than her phone. It was a decent-sized tablet for her, but rather small in comparison to his hands...and yet he managed. A small, ironic part of her hoped that, if she ever ended up on a world unfamiliar to her, she'd show herself to cope as well as he currently was, nudity and challenging strangers aside.

The overly-casual tone of her voice had probably given her away, but Natasha couldn't quite find it in herself to mourn that, not when he responded in a way that was so...well, it was efficient. Sometimes, she got too involved in things, too used to dancing around a subject or a mark. A little mocking voice in her taunted her for being the one called out like this, but she shrugged it away easily enough, more pleased than anything else.

Maybe now they would get somewhere.

"If you come across a new animal in the woods, you don't scare it away by making any sudden movements." Her voice lilted over the words, but a certain inherent irony was always present in Natasha's words when she was being herself. She turned away from him to adjust the heat setting on the stove, a can of tinned tomatoes being added and a final stir given before she turned to give him her full attention. She wandered back his way to rest her elbows on the opposite side of the island to him, a study in relaxation even as she eyed him with frank and open thoughtfulness.

"I'll tell you what you want to know about this world." The words were blunt, more...honest than anything she'd said to anyone in years. Less mocking than to Miles, less manipulative than to Steve, less Natalie than to Nolan. Even Mystique was treated with the same wariness as a scorpion. But Loki...Loki had something that no one else had, information that no one else could give her and that, for once, was something Natasha was willing to pay the price for. Even if that price was honesty. "I'll show you how to survive. I can even look into getting you papers that would make you an official citizen of this country." She never once looked away from his face, her eyes intense for all their light shade, seemingly not needing to blink at all. "So...for the moment...you're right. Truce." The corner of her full mouth quirked up, as if she was amused by some new and novel concept. "No more games."

[Loki]

This woman was curious, as Loki could not tell whether the laugh she gave was honest or not, but it was a passing bit of knowledge that he could live without. The intentions of the woman were clear, and that was what mattered, not whether or not his jest had actually struck her fancy. (Loki had a feeling that it was a ruse, however, but on Earth we would call that regular, everyday paranoia.) It was important to note that between these two, it seemed that there was no direct lies, though Loki would never know the difference if there was, but he had a feeling once again, that Natasha was telling the truth. But still, there were deceptions, hidden in the absence of information, an absence that this newfound alliance might help to fill.

Maybe.

‘Jarheads’ was another term Loki catalogued, but he felt it was something similar to those earlier phrases Natasha had promised to explain, if only in terms of how they were said. Loki addressed the semantics of the phrase first, before mentally addressing the information that was presented. ”Soldiers are not civilians, correct? I would call them warriors.” That was not a correction of Natasha’s words, but a question in and of itself. Another distinction was made in Loki’s mind - cops were law enforcement and supposedly soldiers were peacemakers outside of the country and civilians were non-warriors, but Natasha was none of these. ”Another - that would entail your cops are not civilians either.”

And if Natasha was not a cop or a soldier or a civilian, what did that make her? A deceiver, Loki’s thoughts suggested, but even on Asgard that was not a proper trade, so he hardly assumed that it was a trade here on Midgard. Loki may be a trickster and a liar, but he was still labeled a warrior of the realm. Perhaps Midgard had a better name.

Ah, and now it seemed that Natasha understood his proposition. Good. Loki was concerned, in his “only a lie or two away from fixing the issue” way, that he was going to need to pull more strings, but Natasha was more intelligent than that. Oh, that he was this fortunate more often. Loki watched as the woman went about cooking once again, a pause for emphasis rather than actual thought before he spoke again. ”A wise saying; however, no words would surprise me on this day, given my wretched introduction to Midgard.” Being wrenched from a battle into a comparably peaceful, yet completely and totally foreign world was not Loki’s idea of a good day. He would much rather frolic with his animal friends.

The woman settled herself so that she was more or less on his level, since even when leaning the height difference made this difficult, and solidified the alliance in words, and Loki was content. Well, contenter, as the smell of cooking food, foreign food even, was making him hungry. How long had it been since he last ate? The food in the wooded area was the last thing Loki remembered and before that it was the “coffee” drink and before that it was the scraps of food pre-battle. Regardless of his relatively small nature in comparison to the others, Loki still had an Asgardian appetite that remained on Midgard.**

With a quirk of a smile, as honest as you were going to get from the trickster, save when he was deceiving you, Loki returned to the larger phone device, flipping through pictures (screens and tabs for us) until he found a something familiar. He turned the thing around until the painting was facing Natasha, finally answering the question she’d asked prior. ”These are similar, though not the same as my realm. Your warriors are nothing like those of Asgard.”


** Also assuming that since I wrote that Loki was uninjured, that his new body was formed in a base state that could only attain hunger from the start, so his bit about pre-battle is pointless and in his head.

[Black Widow]

If Natasha were more prone to honest displays of bafflement, to ever letting on when she wasn't sure of something, she might have scratched her head, or frowned, or wrinkled up her nose in thought... Instead, though, she treated him to one of those level looks, privately glad that he actually asked questions, since that tended to either guide her explanations or show her the areas that required clarification.

How did one explain the colour of the sky to a blind man? How did one explain thousands of years of humanity to someone who did not seem to grasp so much of what was taken for granted here? But the former was impossible and the latter was not, that was what she had to focus on. And Loki's probing questions - intelligent ones - and requests for clarification helped her be useful to him. And, in doing so, she hoped that she was earning points, trust, respect, the usual currencies that people built up over time in a race that wouldn't know altruism if it sacrificed itself to save you right before your eyes.

"At the most basic level, I suppose, soldiers fight wars and cops - policemen - fight crime." That was a fairly concise way of putting it and Nat nodded, approving of her own succinctness in this at least. "Neither are civilians." She racked her brain for memories of period dramas, of what passed for general historical knowledge in her brain considering that world history that far back wasn't exactly counted as necessary information in the Red Room. "Civilians are like a merchant class, say. They're the workers - and in this country, they usually trade, either in goods or services." Apparently, a passing interest in the history channel was useful, though Natasha had always been far more invested in modern politics than the lives of people who were bone and dust now.

After that, she waved away his suggestion that she needn't have bothered with caution - Natasha was always careful, awake, asleep, just so long as she was breathing... "Baby steps seemed safer," she said with a shrug. "There was no point in demanding the truth from you when you had no reason to trust me." That made her roll her eyes a little, an almost companionable gesture in that it acknowledged that fact that she guessed neither of them ever really trusted people. Especially not based on how little time they'd spent together. Based on her providing him with a way of stopping his naked ass from being thrown in a holding cell, maybe, but not on time and not on any soft aspects of their nature that she'd seen so far. "No reason to believe that I was immediately a threat anyway." She traced a mocking little gesture at herself. "Because, obviously, I am harmless."

Then again, maybe she was to him. Not so much because of their size differences, but because he was stressing here that he was a warrior, that his people valued warriors...and were women allowed to fight where he came from? That nearly provoked a look that was both curious and mulish all at once, but Natasha controlled herself (as usual) and focussed on the matter at hand - an alliance.

(This was not what she had expected out of her day.)

Dutifully (fine, as dutifully as a woman like Natasha ever was) she inspected the picture he showed her and an eyebrow shot up in response. Even if it was only similar, still, she was working with something seriously out of the ordinary here. "...you can't have a pony," she murmured absently even as she rubbed at her chin, clearly distracted by her brain whirring away. "I'm just throwing that out there now." Flippancy aside, though, she looked back up at him. "So where are you from, if we're being honest here?" Apparently, what he'd spoken the first moment she'd laid eyes on him hadn't truly registered, the word 'Asgard' being both foreign, not immediately recognisable and something she would not immediately associate with anything in American everyday life. But, mostly, Natasha just felt it was his turn to do some explaining and she put on her best expectant face in return.

[Loki]

As part of their newfound alliance, Loki brought some kind of gratitude out from it’s dusty spot in his soul to display to the Midgardian. ”Thank you.” It was short and curt and not at all laced with heartfelt qualities gratitude should have (and it was certainly not the long-winded and praising thanks his brethren gave to those who earned it), but it was still there. It was not a softening of Loki’s heart, no, for there was no trust here for him to be earnest towards, but it was not the resentment he held for Asgard. It was not the irritation and ire most of his fellow warriors brought to light.

It was gratitude, and that was all.

The information about civilians and policemen (cops, Loki noted) and soldiers was catalogued with the rest, and since he had no further questions at the moment, Loki moved on to the next part of the conversation. It was true Loki had no reason to trust her, and that he had no reason to believe she was a threat - but his assumptions about her occupation, a deceiver, a liar, a trickster like him, made her words more real and more illusionary at the same time. They were a framework to build on, but Loki understood that they could be a simply trick of the light, and he took this into account. The best lies had pieces of truth in them, since complete falsities were hard to plant in the hearts of men.

And, as deceiver were not well-liked in any culture (Loki assumed), he had to believe that she was not as harmless as she claimed. The knife-trick from earlier was a good example, and her keen mind and careful admission of details indicated that even though she may not be displaying a weapon at the moment, she most likely was a weapon. Of course, Loki intended this statement in terms of her assumed ability to manipulate, but he was entirely unaware of her fighting capabilities.

(That being said, Lady Sif had already demonstrated that women could be terrifying, and ignoring Natasha’s lack of height, she had the right attitude to be deadly. Or so Loki thought.)

Her reaction to the image was interesting, and Loki watched in mild amusement, the expression only partially showing on his face, as Natasha analyzed the information he had just given her. A motion - the rubbing of her chin - was something new. It meant that Loki had elicited a reaction from the woman, unlike the mild confusion from before. Now, it was different, and he would likely have to surrender a few personal details in order to keep this alliance.

But one Midgardian knowing something about his world could not cause much harm, right?

”If I so desired, I would have a horse, but it would seem that your people prefer cars.” A half-smile flashed across his face, indicating that yes, he was aware that horses were not readily available or practical in this realm. At least not for transportation. His expression turned neutral once more, and Loki repeated what he had already said twice in this day. ”Asgard.” It was a simple answer, but Loki felt that he should give Natasha a little more information in a gesture of friendliness that might speed this information transfer along. ”Your world is Midgard. Mine is Asgard.”

[Black Widow]

So, people where he came from said thank you. At least that meant he wasn't a fairy. Natasha acknowledged his curt gratitude with a mild nod of the head, but otherwise didn't comment - he didn't sound precisely joyous or effusive about making his gratefulness known, and it wasn't as if she'd ever had a hard on for politeness or honour. It would have been no skin off her nose if he hadn't thanked her.

That he had, though, was at least noted and smugness curled up in some distant, unimportant corner of her mind. After all, 'thank you' implied a boon had been given, a debt that was owed. 'Thank you' said someone was appreciated, that their actions had been well-received, and in this world, everything was about debts and favours and who owed whom.

In this case - measuring both money and the far more valuable currency of information - Natasha felt she was winning. Thus she could at least be graceful.

Besides, she wanted to pick her questions carefully, choose the ones that would have the highest payout. The one she'd just asked...well, she got an answer (answers, really) but they meant little to her. By themselves, they were just words, foreign-sounded and unfamiliar. But in the context of the grand scheme of things, her interest lay in the fact that he had a name for earth. Not only did that imply a difference, in the existence of another world, there was familiarity there and that made interest burn in her blue-grey eyes.

"That there is anywhere other than here..." she said carefully, but not bothering to hide her subtle fascination now, not when this was almost more of an actual conversation than anything she ever had with anyone (talking with others, really, was more like dancing, except only Natasha knew that the steps were choreographed) and if they were both being frank she didn't see any point in anything other than her most basic levels of security. It wasn't as if they were staring life stories here, just general details, even if said details were practically a revelation. "...if it is known, it isn't common knowledge." Even Natasha would grudgingly admit that she did not know every secret governments had. And maybe that was a weapon she was giving him there, but he'd find it out soon enough anyway, just by talking to anyone else. She might as well rack up a continued reputation for reliability here.

So while Loki may have been adapting well to an entirely new world, so too did Natasha take it into her stride that there was life out there other than what dwelled on the third rock from the sun. It wasn't altogether too ridiculous - after mutants and supes being confirmed by science, aliens weren't that inconceivable a step to make, to believe in, but still.

...Huh. Alien. That was what he was. It was the first time Natasha had actually directly applied the word to Loki in her head and, now that she had, she had an inappropriate desire to laugh. She had an alien in her kitchen with her. She was making dinner for an alien. Oh God, she now had incontrovertible proof that aliens still had penises.

Ignoring the fact that it was entirely possible that Natasha currently had more firsthand knowledge of aliens than anyone else on the planet, it was better to carry on with the questions rather than succumbing to laughter, since the latter most certainly wasn't like her. "So, to be clear," she started, "you come from another world and have knowledge of this one, or a name for it at least. And yet you require lessons about fairly simple aspects of our lives here. So how do you know this is 'Midgard' then? And, more importantly--" She fixed him with that intent look again, for this was the part she cared about the most, the part that might be the most valuable piece of knowledge he could give her (you know, aside from the fact that aliens existed.) "--how did you get here?"

(She didn't ask why his clothes hadn't come along for the trip as well.)

[Loki]

Oh, Loki was completely aware what a gesture of gratitude meant, and it was this debt that he extended to the woman in an attempt to garner support. Because, surely Natasha had given him enough information to survive on his own in Midgard? Save for the written language, he could probably make due with what knowledge he had and the clothes on his back. (The ones Nat had given him, but there was no guilt for a trickster.)

But Loki would not leave, because he had found something more valuable than his independence for the time being. Information, and a seemingly reliable source whose motivations implied that Loki would be kept safe. Why else would she bother to clothe and house and feed a naked stranger who was likely crazy?

It was Loki’s turn to express amusement at a lack of knowledge, and he considered this payback for the sarcasm at his arrival. ”I gathered that, or else this exchange would be unnecessary.” He kept the information concerning the nine worlds to himself, as the woman’s fascination at the idea of two worlds was evident. Perhaps not shock and awe, but a breach from neutrality was the best you could get from a deceiver who was not acting. Loki assumed that the knowledge that there was nine realms that Midgard was unaware of (as he doubted Natasha was uninformed in such universal details because somebody was keeping a secret) would be more of a surprise to the woman than anything else.

The dance of what truths to reveal continued, as both sides of the alliance wrestled with the value of their particular knowledge. And while Natasha thought of Loki as an alien (an alien with a penis, to be precise), he thought of her as a Midgardian, which was significantly different than the human idea of “alien”. It meant that he was perfectly aware of both realms, though not informed of every detail. It meant that there was a capability of traveling to and from Asgard, and more importantly, it meant that there was a possibility that if something went wrong Loki could leave.

He would have to find out how, first.

Now, it was time for Natasha to ask for clarifications, and Loki patiently waited for the woman to finish speaking before he made his response. It was careful, but just like her admission that she - and by extension, her sorcery-lacking world - knew nothing about Loki or his people (the Jotunn, too.), it was a careful weakness and a careful strength. ”Yes, another world.” One of nine, to be precise, and one with very little to offer, besides knowledge and technology. ”I bear no knowledge of your current Midgard, and my knowledge of the elder years of this world is contentious.”

That was a big admission from Loki, and the trickster god did not even realize it. He was completely unaware of the lifespans of these beings, and even if he had been given a number in years, it would have meant nothing to him. Asgardian time was not the same as Earth’s, and certainly Asgard had changed as time passed by. So, he and his brethren’s past jaunts to Midgard? Where they were deemed important to the people for a brief flash in their lifespan? Unimportant and almost childish.* The differences in Midgard from now and then were viewed as advances, but Loki did not actively understand how short these human lives were.

The question of how Loki arrived on Midgard was one he had yet to answer, and it was with a brief flicker of annoyance that he replied. ”I do not know, but when I find whomever is responsible, they shall pay.” A temporary lapse of reason was brought to the surface as Loki’s anger at the sorcerer who caused this allowed him to forget to censor his words. ”Heimdall can see all of the realms, but unless this is an attack on Asgard, nought can be said about where his gaze lie.” He realized his mistake quickly, but the words should have meant nothing to Natasha, save perhaps “all of the realms”.


* I can totally rewrite this if it does not fit with your head canon, because we’re kind of setting the standard, here.

[Black Widow]

Natasha made a face at him, nose wrinkling and eyes rolling a little even if it was his turn to be sarcastic. He probably didn't even realise that the dial controlling her mocking nature was turned way down past average for him but, apparently, there was just an ambient level of sarcasm in the way she dealt with aliens. (At least there was no screaming involved.)

"Don't be pedantic," she said, without any real threat or belief that she could actually make him do so behind the words. "I'm a human dealing with the confirmation that there is actually life out there, let me have my moment that I might want to double-check, just the tiniest little bit."

It was a lot to accept, yes, but Natasha's had practically been born to be exposed to the new and shocking and unusual without batting an eyelid. This, this was bigger than most of what she was faced with in her line of work, but still, it wasn't as if the Black Widow was about to be paralysed by anything if she had any say in the matter, alien penis or no.

So she was coping better than a lot of people would, that much was evident, if only because she wasn't looking at him with fear or disgust or wondering when the probing was about to start. If anything, she just seemed more intrigued than anything else and she was, because this was the first time in a long while that she'd actually been a little bit stunned by all the possibilities that one revelation represented here. What she could do with this knowledge, what she could achieve, it was almost too much to think about right now.

And, for Natasha, that was a rare occurrence.

She was not so starry-eyed, however, as to lose the sharpness of her mind and she was paying keen attention to his words, to their implications. One of them made her tilt her head marginally to one side. "So your people have had contact with mine before?" she asked, a little more sharply, a little more urgently. That was important, it meant that they'd been here before, or had at least observed Earth somehow and, oh, that was why he sounded like he was in a badly-written Shakespeare drama. She'd wondered how they were able to communicate, how he could speak English and not be able to read, but some sort of studies his people had made of hers in the past? That would explain it. "You have some knowledge of us, though, so I'm assuming there are records of us on your world for you to have studied, even if they're out of date?"

It was odd for her, so simple a questioning method. Normally, her queries were shrouded in lies, or asked as she wrung the truth out of them via pain and elegant threats. To just...ask something and then actually get an answer back immediately, on a topic that both parties were aware they were discussing, this was such a novel concept for her. (Which was sad, really, not that Natasha would ever view it as such.)

Ahh. So there was a mystery here. Natasha had already gathered that he wasn't here willingly, that this visit had not been planned (it would have been hard to believe otherwise, when he'd had to ask what planet this was) but this was confirmation that this had been done to him. And that was...interesting.

Though not as interesting as that little slip.

For this one at least, Natasha schooled herself. No visible reaction flickered over her face other than the general thoughtfulness she'd treated all of his revelations with so far, so she was being careful to not draw attention to her having noted anything special about this one. But the implication that there were more worlds out there? That she was holding onto.

Visibly, though, she seemed to focus more on the answer he opened with. "Retribution," she said dryly. "I like it." A more normal person might have offered sympathy or expressed condolences. Then again, a normal person probably wouldn't have been standing here talking to an alien while Italian food cooked behind them. Natasha, for all that she lacked specific sentimentality, or perhaps because of it, seemed remarkably suited to all the oddities that Loki was throwing at her. "Normally, I'm good at finding people - it's what I do --" Well, sort of. "-- but this doesn't sound like anything anyone on Midgard could have done, not to my knowledge." The word tasted unusual and strange on her tongue, but she'd wanted to try it anyway, though it wasn't every day that Natasha admitted to something or someone being beyond her reach. "But there's a chance, you're saying, that your people could find you here?"

[Loki]

Had Loki the knowledge that Nat was restraining herself and giving him a reaction inappropriate to the average human (another term he catalogued), he would have been very glad to know that his creepy-ass alien body was not being dragged across the desert somewhere with substantial expletives involved or being flown off to some remote government research facility. (Ignoring that half the words in that last sentence mean nothing to the Asgies, but whatever. I do what I want.*)

He waited patiently and quietly as Nat took her moment though he still had an edge of mockery in his face, glancing over to the phone-like device to stare at the image once more as he idly wondering why the horses were covered with cloth. Assumably, there was some purpose in this, but it was a passing thought and nothing more. Loki’s mind wandered back over to the concept of weapons, moving from the swords and shields of the warriors (the knights) to those of the soldiers of her world.

A moment of debate led him to tap at the screen with the knights, unintentionally changing the image which led to a minorly irritating timespan of Loki playing with the device until he pulled the same image back up. Technology and this science was going to be a wench, aka a bitch for you modern folk. This time Loki tapped at the edge of the device on the countertop, attempting to make his point once again. ”If you have none of these as your armament, then what takes it’s place?” The words were spoken in a flat tone, but it was obvious that there was a delicate balance here.

To emphasize his point, Loki took the device once again as he fumbled to find the right symbol to take him to the tab that he wanted - the US army. A few more accidental photo-opening issues occurred to the annoyance of the god, before Loki found the one he wanted. No words were said before he turned the device once more, pushing it toward Natasha and waiting for an answer.

Loki recognized that this was a touchy point, for a non-Midgardian (he did not know the word alien as of yet) to be questioning the methods of the current warriors, the soldiers. He had no arms, so Natasha had nothing to worry about at the moment. It was the act of asking these questions that was more of a warning sign, but it was Natasha who decided to show him paintings of the soldiers, after all. And, in this exchange of information with an Asgardian whose culture valued warriors, it was a legitimate question.

Besides, he needed to know what he was up against.

Natasha seemed to have a few questions of her own, and Loki assembled his thoughts (THOUGHTS, ASSEMBLE) before responding, more carefully than before. ”It was not this, when I was last on Midgard.” The statement was made with a gesture to the world around him, a grim note flavoring the words. He did not know of lifespans on Earth, for Loki still lacked that connection. Instead, he was musing over what records he had read on the realm. A downward turn of his mouth noted disapproval, and Loki answered the second set of questions. ”They are not as... “in date” as I would desire.” Though it might have something to do with the fact that the magic-less and dull realm was uninteresting in comparison to Asgard. Just a bit.

Loki simply gave Natasha a long and knowing look at her statements regarding retribution and finding people. It was as close as he had gotten so far to her giving him her purpose in life, and Loki could keep that information. Besides, he too approved of retribution. Similarities were piling up, save for this accursed culture. And to the being able to find him comment, more specifically Heimdall, Loki only gave a nod. It would suffice.

* Don’t worry. I feel appropriately guilty for this.

[Black Widow]

"Because we found better ways to kill each other than with swords and spears."

Other people might have spoken that bleakly, as an element of social commentary, lamenting how technology could change, but that humanity never would. From Natasha, though, it was bluntly and somewhat dispassionately spoken, with a certain element of callousness to the way she rolled her shoulders in a dismissive shrug.

The knights in that image, they'd fought with what they'd had available, and battle had been a passionate thing. With a sword, you had to be close to a man to kill him, you had to look him in the eye and smell his sweat, his blood, hear the last breath he ever took. But, these days, killing could be clinical. It could be done from a distance, throw a viewfinder, and death could be a neat and instant thing if the person was skilled enough. Killing people could still be messy (she'd seen a man shot point-blank with a sawn off shotgun once, had never forgotten the hole going through him that she could have fitted her fist through) but the days of melee fighting from horseback were dead and gone.

Even as Loki navigated the learning curve of her tablet, Natasha's gaze had some distance to it now, as if she was further away in her head. There was no point lying to him about the weapons people like her used these days, that she was clear on. And she had a hunch that this man's mind was more dangerous than anything he'd be able to do with a gun, even if she told him the basics of what they were. So that wasn't the question here.

What was occupying her was what happened after this. After she told him about how humans killed each others these days and they ate Italian food. He was a man not of this world, who had no place in it, who had little understanding of how it worked and no official identity whatsoever. He was an alien and just what was she meant to do with him?

That occupied her, even as she looked down at the image he had selected. He was intelligent, this man, dangerously so. He knew the important questions to ask and had, seemingly, decided that they were at the point where sensitive subjects could be covered. This one she did not worry about though and she tapped the largest gun in the picture. "We don't need to use swords and spears anymore - knives are about the only bladed weapons we use these days - because these are guns." This she could break down for him, a subject drilled into her bones, because Natasha was a weapon and, thus, she knew weapons. "They're projectile weapons. They fire bullets - small, hard objects - with such force that they can easily pass through a body. In some form or another, since they come in different sizes, this is the main weapon used to kill people these days." She shrugged again. "And once we weren't using swords anymore, shields fell out of use. Armour is lighter these days as well, better designed so that it fits under clothes and doesn't weigh as much. And, like you said, we have better modes of transportation than horses these days." Her smile then was cold and knife-sharp. "The problem is, you don't need training to use a gun. You need training to use them well, but anyone can point it in the right direction, pull the trigger and hope they hit their target."

She sniffed, making her disdain for such messiness clear - she was a professional and, as such, an elitist. A snob. Gangbangers on the street with knives and stolen guns, they were a disgrace.

It was interesting, though. Aliens in fiction were always so much more advanced than humans and yet Loki had picked fairly basic weaponry as the closest equivalent to what his people wielded. What did that then imply about--wait, what?

Fuck subtlety, that actually got a response out of Natasha. She didn't do anything as dramatic as gasp or jerk her eyes up to his, but she did go very, very still. Then, slowly, she made eye contact. "What you call out-dated," she said, very calmly, very precisely, "we call ancient history. Because that was hundreds of years ago and I don't even know how many generations of people." She'd have to do the math later, but she was looking at him now, looking and comprehending just how old this meant he was.

Fucking aliens.

Natasha took a breath and pushed away from the counter, lifting a hand up to run it through the red of her hair. "Right then," she said, practical and as calm as before, but the fact that she was even saying this would have counted as her being spooked if she was anyone less centred than herself. "If that's the case, I need a drink." Like any good Russian, the vodka was kept within easy reach and her fingers itched to grab it, but she made a point of looking back at him first. "Do you guys drink? Alcohol, I mean."