Loki listens to Megatron's history with somber attention. It's a harsh background to come from, and he has no doubt the details would only make it a darker story still. The overall impression he's getting thus far is of a sort of warrior-poet, no doubt extremely dangerous in his own right, but also a powerfully sympathetic figure to both the culture Loki comes from and to his own proclivities.
The word of compassion directed to him is a surprise, and something in his expression flickers. He reminds himself this person doesn't know the entirety of his story or the enormity of what he did, but regardless, it's a kindness freely offered. "...thank you," he says slowly, after a moment. "It's a complicated tale, but perhaps we'll have time for long stories sooner or later."
He smiles a little then. "Arguably, any shapeshifter is able to shift because of the way they are put together. I think I understand what you mean, though. I cannot take any shape I choose. I have set patterns that mean something to me personally; those I can take at will. I can freely alter any secondary sexual characteristics in this form or my smaller, more humanlike one. I'm also comfortable as a snake, or a mare. Less often, I'm a wolf or spider. I can create other forms, but for them to become as much second nature as the body I wear now, it takes a long, long while to make them my own. I can make up the difference with illusion, though, and I'm able to disguise myself as other people or animals."
He's fascinated, frankly, by the glimpse of treads and gun, and only barely manages to restrain himself from staring longer than would be polite. "It's funny, isn't it," he murmurs, "how a society can fall into such a nonsensical hierarchy and then cling to it like it's the only truth in the universe. It wasn't quite so rigid for us, I don't think, but the magic I learned and loved as a child was considered inappropriate for a man to pursue, particularly a prince of the realm. Deceptive and unbefitting a warrior."
His inclination is to sympathize with the revolt Megatron references, but he opts not to be effusive with praise or curiosity, merely nodding cautious approval.
"It sounds a bit like a hologram, the way you describe Ravage's ability," he says, understanding.
"When I project images, it's a magical illusion. Usually it's the mere bending of light to trick eyes that see in the spectrum humans and Asgardians do, but I've learned to build in more complexity as I've grown older, including wider ranges of light and the illusions of sound and scent."
He's quiet for a moment, thinking, then asks, "I would ask you what it is that Ravage and his companions seek here, in the Nexus, but perhaps that's a question better saved for him."
"I am always curious to interact with beings that bear similarities to my biological kin. My shapeshifting is hereditary, an innate ability, though I have enhanced it by learning other magics. Frost Giants are organic creatures, but--" he holds out his arms as if to display the runic lines on his hands. "they are most definitely extremophiles, and built unlike most other humanoid races. And aside from my alternates, I have had no one to consult about that. A piece of my identity is missing."
no subject
The word of compassion directed to him is a surprise, and something in his expression flickers. He reminds himself this person doesn't know the entirety of his story or the enormity of what he did, but regardless, it's a kindness freely offered. "...thank you," he says slowly, after a moment. "It's a complicated tale, but perhaps we'll have time for long stories sooner or later."
He smiles a little then. "Arguably, any shapeshifter is able to shift because of the way they are put together. I think I understand what you mean, though. I cannot take any shape I choose. I have set patterns that mean something to me personally; those I can take at will. I can freely alter any secondary sexual characteristics in this form or my smaller, more humanlike one. I'm also comfortable as a snake, or a mare. Less often, I'm a wolf or spider. I can create other forms, but for them to become as much second nature as the body I wear now, it takes a long, long while to make them my own. I can make up the difference with illusion, though, and I'm able to disguise myself as other people or animals."
He's fascinated, frankly, by the glimpse of treads and gun, and only barely manages to restrain himself from staring longer than would be polite. "It's funny, isn't it," he murmurs, "how a society can fall into such a nonsensical hierarchy and then cling to it like it's the only truth in the universe. It wasn't quite so rigid for us, I don't think, but the magic I learned and loved as a child was considered inappropriate for a man to pursue, particularly a prince of the realm. Deceptive and unbefitting a warrior."
His inclination is to sympathize with the revolt Megatron references, but he opts not to be effusive with praise or curiosity, merely nodding cautious approval.
"It sounds a bit like a hologram, the way you describe Ravage's ability," he says, understanding.
"When I project images, it's a magical illusion. Usually it's the mere bending of light to trick eyes that see in the spectrum humans and Asgardians do, but I've learned to build in more complexity as I've grown older, including wider ranges of light and the illusions of sound and scent."
He's quiet for a moment, thinking, then asks, "I would ask you what it is that Ravage and his companions seek here, in the Nexus, but perhaps that's a question better saved for him."
"I am always curious to interact with beings that bear similarities to my biological kin. My shapeshifting is hereditary, an innate ability, though I have enhanced it by learning other magics. Frost Giants are organic creatures, but--" he holds out his arms as if to display the runic lines on his hands. "they are most definitely extremophiles, and built unlike most other humanoid races. And aside from my alternates, I have had no one to consult about that. A piece of my identity is missing."