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Dec. 2nd, 2013 09:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
theaccursed[Malekith is exhausted. And can he be blamed? He has good reason. After 5,000 years of suspended animation, he thrust himself into the most taxing battle of his life, direct combat with Asgard's son, the god of thunder himself. There was the consumption of the Aether - and how invigorating that had been - followed by its forced removal upon his defeat. That had been agonizing, both physically and in spirit, again his ambitions ripped away from his hands.
Malekith is exhausted and these humans are relentless. And he cannot blame them. He had been quick, and he had been sly, as he lay at Thor's feet in defeat. Had S.H.I.E.L.D. been spectator to their battle the whole time? Perhaps, but it was only when the dust settled that soldiers rushed in as support. Malekith had been restrained (with cuffs that did not belong to Earth, he suspected), and it was in that moment that he had said careful words to the closest human. I am in your realm. Claim me as your prisoner.
Belonging to Asgard meant certain death.
Thor had protested, but it worked, and it meant Malekith could bide his time, even if it meant imprisonment far below the ground. There's a vague wonder in Malekith - a wonder if the fortified structure is the same through and through. White stone walls, white stone flooring, bare rooms, somehow enforced with a science that can negate any trace of magic (much to Malekith's dismay). He knows he'll never have the opportunity to investigate for himself, though, not during his imprisonment. In this world, all that exists is the stark room designated for him, the span of hallway that leads to the interrogation room, and the set of plain cotton clothing afforded to him at the confiscation of all possessions on him. What luxury afforded to him.
Still, Malekith can never be sure of how much of his time gets designated between the two rooms. He knows it's a tactic used to weaken the psyche, but when time is an irrelevant construct, and especially compared to his previous wait of millennia, Malekith finds he has infinite patience. When he is alone, he listens. The Aether is far, but it lives. When he is in the company of any S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he is sparse with words and explanations. He offers just enough to prove his worth, to keep himself out of Asgard's hands.
He suspects today's session will prove no different, and as he sits at the bare table, Malekith waits, eyes closed against the harshness of the fluorescent lights above.]
Malekith is exhausted and these humans are relentless. And he cannot blame them. He had been quick, and he had been sly, as he lay at Thor's feet in defeat. Had S.H.I.E.L.D. been spectator to their battle the whole time? Perhaps, but it was only when the dust settled that soldiers rushed in as support. Malekith had been restrained (with cuffs that did not belong to Earth, he suspected), and it was in that moment that he had said careful words to the closest human. I am in your realm. Claim me as your prisoner.
Belonging to Asgard meant certain death.
Thor had protested, but it worked, and it meant Malekith could bide his time, even if it meant imprisonment far below the ground. There's a vague wonder in Malekith - a wonder if the fortified structure is the same through and through. White stone walls, white stone flooring, bare rooms, somehow enforced with a science that can negate any trace of magic (much to Malekith's dismay). He knows he'll never have the opportunity to investigate for himself, though, not during his imprisonment. In this world, all that exists is the stark room designated for him, the span of hallway that leads to the interrogation room, and the set of plain cotton clothing afforded to him at the confiscation of all possessions on him. What luxury afforded to him.
Still, Malekith can never be sure of how much of his time gets designated between the two rooms. He knows it's a tactic used to weaken the psyche, but when time is an irrelevant construct, and especially compared to his previous wait of millennia, Malekith finds he has infinite patience. When he is alone, he listens. The Aether is far, but it lives. When he is in the company of any S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, he is sparse with words and explanations. He offers just enough to prove his worth, to keep himself out of Asgard's hands.
He suspects today's session will prove no different, and as he sits at the bare table, Malekith waits, eyes closed against the harshness of the fluorescent lights above.]
