existential crises

and a lil thingie for giggles. real life sizes version (taash 15 m and harding 20 cm)

When asked, “How do you plead?” the Loki standing before Ravonna does what they all do (what all of them have always done) and insists that he’s done nothing wrong.

“I won that election fair and square. The electoral college system may appear to be a perverse prank but I assure you, it wasn’t one of mine.” 

And Mobius laughs.

Ravonna shoots a disapproving look in his direction and the Loki twists around to see where the laughter came from, making eye-contact with Mobius for just a moment before B-15 pushes him back around with a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“Face the judge!” 

Mobius catches the corner of a smirk before the Loki is once more turned away from him. 

“I was told I’d have immunity from prosecution as the US President. Frankly, madam, I wouldn’t have bothered running otherwise.”

Again, Mobius laughs, and then he calls towards the front of the courtroom. “You promised me a Loki, Ravonna!” She’s been dragging her heels on that, which is why Mobius has come into court today; she does not enjoy having these little spats about procedure in public.

Visibly annoyed, she responds, “This one? Really?” 

“I like him! He’s got spunk! A little sassy, maybe, but I can work with that.” Mobius stands and walks towards the bench. As he passes the Loki he sees that the smirk is now a confused frown, but that’s only to be expected - the poor bastard’s so far out of his depth that Mobius almost feels sorry for him.

Ravonna considers, and Mobius tries to help his own cause with a friendly smile and a flirtatious comment; “If he causes any trouble you can slap me on the wrist, or wherever you’d prefer.”

“Mobius, he is trouble.”

“Guess I’m gonna get slapped either way, then.” He nods towards the prisoner. “So, can I take him?”

“This is on your head, Mobius,” she warns, and he just smiles at that because it means that he’s won. 

“You won’t regret this,” he tells her.

As he leads his new charge from the courtroom, Ravonna calls after him; “I won’t, but you might.”

-

“Take a seat.”

The Loki - Mobius’s Loki, at least for now - takes a few wary steps towards the table and chairs in the middle of the Time Theatre. “An interrogation chamber? I should warn you in advance that I don’t respond well to torture.” He sits on the chair across from Mobius and he glares, defiant.

“Sure you do,” says Mobius, cheerfully. “I’ve seen the tapes. That little blonde from Vanaheim, with the whip? You loved that.” He says this mostly to shock and to unsettle and to make it crystal clear there aren’t going to be any secrets in this room. Not for Loki, anyway.

“Which is why I left her a very generous tip.” The smirk is back, but he isn’t going to stay this confident for long. 

“You don’t think it’s a little embarrassing that your parents were still paying you an allowance when you were, what, over a thousand already?”

The smirk slips. “How do you… That was not an allowance! It was an expense account.”

“Either way, not money you had to earn.” Mobius tuts. “I just think you could have been a little more generous with it, that’s all. That woman had skills.” He emphasises this opinion with a low whistle and a shake of his head.

“What’s the point of all this?” demands Loki. 

“Just establishing that I don’t need to interrogate you. I’ve watched your life play out a hundred times, and I’ve watched a few hundred lives where you tried to get it all to play out differently. I know you better than you know yourself.”

At this, Loki perks up a little, leaning forwards with an interested expression. “You’re a fan of my work?”

Mobius denies this at once, because it hits too close to the truth and he does not need to encourage the man’s ego even further. “No, I’m not! You don’t have fans!”

“Just middle-aged men who track my every move and are unusually interested in my sexual escapades? This is very flattering, but I have a nation to run. If you want an autograph or a handjob or something like that then you should contact my office and they’ll arrange a meeting.”

Mobius tries to regain control of the conversation. “Okay, talk to me about that. President Loki, that’s a new one. It’s a neat twist, I like it.”

“And no doubt you’re wondering why I, a prince of royal blood, would run for elected office.” He looks pleased with himself; his eyes are practically sparkling. He leans further forwards, hands pressed down against the table. “Go on,” he prompts, when Mobius doesn’t do as expected, “ask me.”

“I know why you ran for office.”

“I doubt that very much! This is no simple scheme, there are layers here. I -”

Mobius interrupts, in a bored-sounding voice; “Princes are born, presidents are chosen.”

“What does that have to do wi-”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Mobius presses on what he knows to be Loki’s weakest point; it seems he’s going to have to break this one a little before he can get anything useful out of him. “Every idiot who casts a vote for you has made a choice, and that choice was you. I guess that’s why they call it ‘the popular vote,’” he adds, for a sarcastic finish.

Loki’s eyes narrow. “I could have you executed, Mr Mobius.”

“Just Mobius, and no, you couldn’t.” He lets Loki’s impotent anger simmer for a moment or two and then he moves on - even at the TVA time is always ticking, more or less, and it is certainly ticking on the Sacred Timeline, where another Loki is killing Mobius’s colleagues. “You’re going to work with me,” he says.

The predictable refusal is immediate; “No, I’m not.”

“You’re going to work with me or I’ll march you right back into that courtroom and when the judge finds you guilty you’ll be pruned.”

“Pruned?”

“Yeah, that’s our way of saying that I could have you executed.” 

“I didn’t do anything wrong!”