835/Beholden to the Beholder

Beholden to the Beholder
Date of Scene:	07 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Mercy Thompson, Loki

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Mercy Thompson has posed:
Creatures of Light.

That's the exhibit that Loki Odinson and Mercy Thompson are currently entering.

This particular exhibit is all about animals and the bioluminescence they produce.

The room itself is set up into fourteen different environments, mostly air and land environments, though a few water-based ones can be seen as well. The room itself is set slightly darker than the rest of the museum, to easily allow visitors to pick up the glow of the recreated animals around them. The first glass enclosed case the two will walk up upon is city-based; a back yard and in the middle of the glass box, sitting upon a recreation of grass and dirt is a small glass jar. Within it sits an incredibly life-like lightning bug; it's abdomen pulsing slowly within the vessel it sits within.

Around the jar is a dozen more lightning bugs, perhaps giving the impression of a child (out of sight) waiting for the bugs to land within.

As to Mercy, with the knowledge of where the two were going, she dressed less mechanic and more woman. She currently wears a fitted carmine top (short-sleeved) and a pair of slim-fitted dark blue jeans. Instead of her steel-toed boots, Mercy instead opted for a pair of simple ankle high low-heeled brown boots.

Loki has posed:
The exhibit may only be in town for a few weeks or months, but it serves to keep the youthful population of New York entertained. Especially on rainy days, parents can drag their children to witness full size biolumescent lizards or fungi hiding in a fake cavern, or admire the ghostly contours of flashlight fish in a totally curtained enclosure where no light is bound to penetrate except those of the piscine inhabitants.

Excited squeaks and shrill whispers from the various sources, not all of them children, do not distract Loki greatly from the task at hand. He is doing his best to suppress the urge to skim over the contents of the museum for anything particularly valuable, or possibly animating the skeleton of an icthyosaur to chomp down on a blockheaded bully with nothing better to do than mock the exhibits and make fun of the children attempting to read the signs. Tablets set up to give further information with the swipe of a finger are to be studiously avoided. The temptation to induce a few heart attacks for personalised messages, especially how the bug kingdom of Lampyridaea will take over said bully's bedroom, is just too great. Besides, Mercy might not be impressed too much by meddling with the younger generation, even if the filthy little horrors absolutely deserve it.

Not everyone is out to deprive him of a good time, but it sure feels like that sometimes. Instead, he tucks his arm tighter as another of the evil, horrific scourge of the earth -- 11 year olds -- goes running past, out to capture a bit of glitter. It's only a light, but hell, that kid thinks he's going to capture a firefly deep inside a museum.

The child shrieks loudly enough earn a series of shhhhs when rounding the corner into the huge, gulping mouth of an eel as black as night. Loki is not smirking. He is not. No reason the gulper eel wants to eat that kid //right now//, either, nope.

"I am mildly impressed they have put this stooge there. Now I had hoped we might see a giant squid somewhere," he mildly notes.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Yes, there might be some stern looks from Mercy if she caught wind of Loki's meddling with children.

Sure, they can be annoying, but by and large children are innocent.

At least the young ones are. The older ones ... debatable.

While the shriek of the child earns a vague wince from Mercy, that doesn't stop the coyote from stepping towards the first case. Her gaze will flick towards the jar and then the little lightning bugs floating about, before her attention returns to Loki. "I hate to disappoint -" Begins the woman, even as she steps aside to allow another group to look within, "- but this particular exhibit doesn't have a squid." And then, "And it doesn't need one, either." Yes, she caught the occasional note of mischievousness from Loki and while she doesn't necessarily say she can translate all of what he feels, that she can.

Three exhibits down animatronic jelly-fish can be seen floating within a pool of actual water. While the various species of jellyfish depicted within aren't one to normally coexist together, that seems lost on the majority of people viewing the exhibit. Idly she'll reach out to touch his arm with her fingertips, as she asks with a quirk of a grin, "We can go to another room? Something quieter? Perhaps minerals and ores?"

Loki has posed:
Stern looks should be reserved for boats, especially those with funny portholes that cause pareidolia in just about everyone. Ooh, grumpy boat.

Loki, on his part, sighs. "How can such at thing lack a squid? There are no invertebrates on land with bioluminescence. Only fish and insects. No plants to give off light, either." His tone is mildly amused more than angered and he follows after the coyote in her pursuit to pounce every glowworm or firefly from here to Phoenix. "Perhaps the curator needs to consider how impressive a light projection of a squid would be. The size alone is captivating." Yes, and his brother would probably appear to hurl a hammer at the great, dread fiend of the seas.

The idea makes him shake his head. "Let us stay here. It's perfectly satisfying when..." His head turns and he casts a look back, eyes narrowed in an angled sliver of green.

The lights go out not more than a fifteen seconds later, simply shut off. The glimmering hues of the animated and computer generated creatures are largely shut off for the lack of power, unless they run on small batteries. The flashlight fish don't even notice, flickering madly at one another in their real aquarium. No generator pops back on, and the hushed sounds become a tad nervous as the crowd mingled thoroughout patiently waits to find out what's going on. Hopefully no invasions, no evil ichor with fell sentience showing up...

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Surely everyone sees faces in inanimate objects.

Mercy does. Happy, sad, silly, angry. It's why she gives her various cars names. Everything has a personality.

If he doesn't objects, she'll move to encircle his arm with her own. "I'm going to say budget." She adds dryly, as she cants her head slightly to the side to look up at Loki. He is taller than her, after all. "Especially since the majority of the art budgets have been slashed recently." That dry tone to her voice turns slightly sharp and while more could be said, she deigns not to. Politics is one of those things that should never be brought up on a date. Date. That word ricochets around in Mercy's head for a few silent seconds, then she just grins.

While she's not one to often put labels there is a part of her that wonders what labels they should assign to each other.

Deep waters that.

Still, her thoughts are pulled away from those deep waters, when Loki's words trail off and his head turns. A question just began to form upon her lips when the lights suddenly blink off. Her steps slow now, like so many others do, as she glances around the area. She's hardly blind thanks to the rabid blinking of the fish within their tanks.

"Trouble?" She'll finally ask quietly, as she turns to look behind the two. She's stretching out her senses, both heighten and magical, to see what she can feel.

Loki has posed:
Every vehicle has a face. Anything with two headlights is begging for a comparison to eyes. Buildings have features, clouds resemble anthropomorphic shapes, and begin not to speak of mountains, trees, and landforms in nature.

"Whyever would someone cut the money to the arts? Is that not the soul of your people, the proof they are better than beasts scratching in the dirt and making war on one another?" Opinions are certainly had, and Loki will not bite them back. He may be human. He //works// in the arts, technically, appraising and fixing and thwarting would be acquirers from attending nice revels. More would be said, even so. His hand falls upon her arm as a matter of happenstance, a gentle brush of strong fingers laced over her wrist. Forgive the transgression, if one can, if he's worthy of speaking of politics freely. Why not? He's a prince by his own admission for a place mostly recalled in song, unless her own senses are trustworthy. Does Mercy have faith in what happened? Where she has been, burying a very suspicious weapon?

Just wait until she meets the man he's considering using to destroy it. The Greek god of war isn't just anyone.

Trouble as spotted comes not from above but below. It trails through the circuitry of the place, in the plasma form of an interloper drawing making the wires hum. It's enough to cause an ache in the back of the teeth, a drone that wouldn't be audible to any ears but a coyote's. Not really magic, not in the sense that it would stand out to weird senses. But the fluctuations are approaching.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
So, he doesn't mind politics. That same grin twitches her mouth upward again, "Hey, some of us are quite intelligent beasts." And while she could leave it at that, she doesn't, only adding, "And it was part of his platform to bring the debt of the country down. As if the arts really took so much out of the budget -" Mutters the woman, but again, the lights are now out and so she must focus.

And yes, Mercy does indeed trust her senses. They've never failed her once. And occasionally they've even saved her life.

So, yes, she believes what her senses told her while they buried that terrible soul-leaching axe.

Now throw another god into the mix from a different pantheon? She might allow that to boggle her mind, but perhaps not for as long as it once would have.

The ache within the teeth is enough to cause Mercy a faint grimace, but it's the hum that causes her to give herself a shake. Like a coyote trying to get water off of itself; or perhaps trying to scratch an itch that keeps alluding it. "Something below." She says, her voice low, or she's trying to keep it low at least. "The wires. There's something going on with the wiring. A surge maybe?" Her hand that was around his arm drops for a second, as she brings it up to cover one ear. Her gaze will drop to the ground as she moves to try and follow the path the hum is taking.

Loki has posed:
They can talk about Ares later. He's pretty low key, all things considered, and might not be as horrific as he's portrayed by a certain Ms. Prince, which is only far. No rivalry there between different factions. Loki, anyways, has larger concerns and that would be the pile of upset teens and tweens looking to get out of dodge as fast as they can. However, they all have useful independent battery operated energy sources. They have mobile phones.

Blue rectangles show up all over, apps flashing to life in a spill of candy or superheroes or fish. They help to illuminate the way to the dead exit sign, while parents turn on their flashlight apps and ease their way aside. Some of the younger ones are crying in the dark or because their teeth hurt. The shuffle of folks off to the sides or preferably out of the exhibit where natural daylight at least provides comfort is sure to follow. Though one very insistent child wants that glow bug in a jar, even if it's currently off.

The handsome displays are moving a little. One of the jellyfish jerks back into motion, all the lights in its body flashing and going off at once. The air hums and it spasms, legs flailing around, the metal warming up. The hum is louder under the jellies than anywhere else, clearly orbiting the space they all share. Another of the buzzing bodies in silicone and lifelike rendering makes a most unlifelike hum and glimmer, and one of the LED bulbs in its body pops.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
At least Mercy was looking towards the ground when the various cellphones popped to life. And so, her eyes aren't terribly dazzled by the patches of light that suddenly pop to life. One supposes she could take her phone out and add to the din, or rather the brightness of the lights, but she doesn't. Her coyote senses still serve to bring all the information she needs to eyes, ears and nose.

Instead, Mercy will circle in closer to the humming of wires, and electricity, trying to get a better read on what's going on.

But, really, it's the buzzing with the animatronics that finally pulls Mercy's attention away from the teeth annoyance and itchy eardrums. Her brown eyes narrow slightly, as she cuts a look towards Loki, making sure he's okay, before she steps towards the various exhibits. Especially those closest to the jellyfish tanks, like the fireflies. "Hey." Mercy says sharply to the kid and their parents (who are hopefully around), "Get away from the tanks. If there's a surge -" If, she can already hear it, but she still says if, "- They could blow. Electricity and wtaer don't mix." The same is said to anyone standing near the jellyfish tanks and if need be, Mercy will helpfully push them aside.

Loki has posed:
Loki is still sounding out the tones of the universe, and he shakes his head free, irritably scratching one of the loose black locks away from his face. "Incessant noise," he mutters. A look through the gap in the walls where a few stragglers stream out into the proper floor of the museum gives him a sense of his bearings. Enough he says, "It seems power is out down there as well. I have no idea about the rest of the floor." Fortunately no one will mind if he animates that ichthyosaur... except the coyote, and Mercy is probably going to notice some ambling bones roaming by.

Another moment and he approaches her, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his coats. The other exhibits except the fish, the living ones, are hardly moving. The flashlight fish are agitated, though, flashing and going dark, swerving around. Water is an awful good conductor, when one gets right down to it. See?

The jellyfish wobble and jerk, and another of the real ones goes belly up. The tank starts to shudder as the built in lights giving different colours pop and whine, getting louder as though they intend to break.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Animated bones.

Really? That deserves a long look, it really does, but Mercy's attention is mostly upon the people and their nearness to the tank.

The child and their parents are pushed away from the exhibit. The people near the jellyfish tank will likewise be moved, "Get to the emergency exit people." The coyote says firmly, even as she lightly pushes against some of the slower tourists. Sometimes Mercy has to really wonder what happened to everyone's little voice of common sense; her's is certainly chattering away at her. Incessantly even. It's saying 'bad things happening here, bad things'.

Then it's a quick step backwards, towards Loki, as he offers those words of his. "It doesn't seem like a real surge." Begins the coyote, "At least not something sustained so long. It should have blown everything out already." She's basing this on how electrical surges occur in cars; typically surge, bam, dead car. In that order. Proper verbiage and all.

"I think we should step back." She'll say, as she moves to place a hand on Loki's arm, intending to take a step back and away from the jellyfish tank as the whine grows louder.

And then, because it must be said, /it must/, Mercy will offer with concern-laced amusement, "Do you think one day we'll have a quiet date? Outing? What exactly are we calling this?"

Loki has posed:
Not really. As much as Loki wants to, he doesn't. But the temptation is there, waiting for an unseen force to nudge him to sending a monstrous fish from the Jurassic after a very naughty bully. Learn by devious example, after all...

However, facing the endless night around the corner and within the enclosed space begs him to remain in the event something goes awry. It inevitably will, as the being in the wires zips here and there, pushing back and forth through circuits that aren't made for that much energy. Not at all. The scorch marks where the socket is attest to that, and someone might want to avoid sticking their fingers on anything metal for a good few feet.

He doesn't see more than a spark, but that's not to say it doesn't exist. Nor that he and Mercy and anyone else are unable to scent the ozone. The reek of it permeates the air. The tank crackles and hums, the water inside taking on more of a charge that is sure to cause heart palpitations. If only jellies had hearts. More than likely, though, a nasty zap awaits people.

The effect sinks away and then another of the lights in a display blips on, fading, as the whine builds and fades like a passing car. As it may well be: something /is/ electricity in there.

He frowns at the wall, and that glare becomes outright vicious at the notion Mercy introduces. "Do you..." Check yourself, godling, and he tries not to bite his tongue off. "I would think would depend on you, my lady. What do you want?"

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Her nose crinkles as the scent of ozone begins to fill the air. "Not good." She mutters, even as she turns her gaze towards the spark, her eyes allowing her to see more than most.

Her head cantst to the side as she once again searches for the echo of the power that's humming through the wires. "Why doesn't it end." And really shouldn't the museum have surge protectors for an event just like this?

It's a curious notion, but one that's let go when Loki speaks and that tone is heard. His scent smelled. Head tilting towards him now, a look in her eyes that might be covered by the darkness around, she'll say, "Mostly that was a joke." She begins, not necessarily upset, or even afraid of his tone, though perhaps a little surprised, yes. And while they still have the museum issues to worry about, she will add, "And it depends on the both of us, not just me. We don't have to assign any type of name to this." And then, "Though we do need to assign what's happening here -" Meaning the surge, "- as something odd."

Loki has posed:
"Where I come from, the rules are very different. Mind you, they would be when the average person knows others for five centuries before seeing them as anything but a mewling infant." Exaggeration, really, but that's that. He rakes his fingers through his hair, leaving an effective tousle to fall in the way. "I would be courting you, but I understand in this place and time, that's not done. You might mistake me for suggesting I take you to court, in front of a judge, for some crime." His tone remains level, almost amused, coyly pulling at the threads of possibility. "I'm not so barbaric as to throw you over my shoulder and carry you off into the woods. I have on fairly good grounds this may not be ideal for the likes of you. Given you run away from wolves and lead everyone else on a merry chase." Else. Implying...

His teeth shine white in the dark. "Odd things happen when we are together. They are perilously dull without. Perhaps the question really is, why /should/ we be apart, Miss Thompson? Has your life been fulfilling since our encounters?" He can be a smug bastard if he wants to, and sometimes full of charm, sometimes reasonably honest, and always full of himself and his identity unfailing. "Would I like very much to enjoy your company in a more exclusive manner? Yes."

Somewhere, ol' Coyote has to be waking up from a nap, snarfing on the last rabbit he ate, and flailing around for an idea of where his paws ran off to. Inconvenient when that happens, isn't it?

The metal case around the socket erupts as a singular figure appears, something made out of lightning emerging in a belch. It's enough to be entirely humanoid, four limbs, head, crackling and sending black soot marks up the wall. "EEWWWWW!" shouts a voice, and the sound is mostly harmonic buzzing since people made of lightning don't exactly have vocal chords. Speakers resonate dimly with the same 'ewwwwwwww' complaint.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
His tone, or rather his words bring a lessening to that expression of the coyote's; understanding that perhaps she misread Loki's own expression, scent. Misunderstandings, even with heighten senses can still happen. "Mewling infant?" She says, voice rising slightly with amusement. "You realize that might not be the best thing to open with?"

She could make a joke here about robbing the cradle, but she doesn't. That would be the height of poor taste; really. And besides, she's had that tossed at her by the wolves. Not fun. Not fun, at all.

And while Mercy typically interjects herself into the conversation at hand, she doesn't. Wait, she does, only to say, "I didn't think you were going to take me to court." Those words of her laced with dry humor, then it's back to being silent. She's listening to what he has to say and when he finishes, she can't quite stop a different sort of surprise from holding her tongue still. All her witty comebacks and words fail her for a silent second, as she considers the man so near her. Finally, her wits begin to rearrange themselves enough that a flash of her normal humor will finally make itself known, "I don't mind woods, or /certain/ shoulders -" Which is in its own way implying something there -

- But, because there are some other things currently going on, Mercy will quickly add, "While I can't match your lovely words, I'd like that very much too.", and to make sure he understands, she'll lean up on tip-toe to place a simple kiss upon his cheek; should it be allowed.

Then with a sigh from the coyote, "A monster just appeared, right? An electrical monster? Why do I feel like I'm in an episode of Scooby-Doo." And before she lowers from that tip-toed stance she'll end with, "I find it funny how we always have such deep thoughtful discussions when we're about to be attacked."

Loki has posed:
There are words he might share with regards to the business of immortality, age, and maturity. None, however, are suitable for the momentary shimmering pique evidenced in the tidy application of language for a purposeful end. If truth happens to be the flavour of the day, so be it. Let Mercy munch on that in her own time.

Instead, he has far more important business to contend with. In his relatively long life thus far, Loki has probably maintained a distinction between private conversations and important matters. Not so much life or death, but a being stepping out of a flaming, slagged wall socket to complain in a most /mewling/ tone about a very adult conversation constitutes trouble. Pivoting onto his back foot, he steps in front of Mercy while she's bussing his cheek. "Then reach to the stars and I shall seize them for you, my lady. After we deal with this..."

"EWW!" shout the many speakers and another of them crackles with a resounding squeal that naturally hurts the ears. It sort of stamps forward, leaving scorch marks on the floor and rebounding tiny lightning bolts down its leg and back into itself. "//STOP//. It's soooooooooo grosssssss!"

"What fork-tongued infant /is/ that?" the Asgardian asides.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Pique? One is sure that'll raise questions for Mercy, but likely later. Not when there's an electrical monster staring them down.

"Always so elegant." Comes the murmur words from Mercy, as Loki steps in front of her with those offered words about reaching for the stars. Still, that side-step of his gives her a moment to actually look around the room; gaze intent.

However, her concentration is broken when the speakers surrounding them squeal to life. The reverb all around them is enough to have the coyote covering her ears, a hiss leaving her mouth. "For the love of!" She exclaims, even as she turns slightly to look around Loki to see what actually came out of the wall socket. Eyebrows furrowing, the woman says, "Definitely Scooby-Doo." Giving her head a shake the woman turns her attention back to the room at large. Her gaze is looking for something specific; metal, metal, water, more metal. "Oh come on. You have to have it, it's code." She mutters, as her gaze continues to look for a specific type of metal. Red and white metal. "Ah ha." She says, and with those words of triumph Mercy will begin to move towards a fire extinguisher; class A, B and most importantly C. She can't quite say if it'll work, but one has to try.

"Infant? I don't know if I'd call that an infant. Most babies like kisses. It sounds more like pre-teen. A sulky one at that." Her words are aimed more for Loki than anyone else, but she's also not being as quiet as she could be. Not when she's making a mad-dash towards the wall to the side of the duo.

Sometimes it really is the pits not to have flashy powers. A coyote form can only do so much.

Loki has posed:
Electrical /person/ monster. A minor distinction could be an important one, especially as the monster sounds like a disgusted 12-year-old boy, even if its size is closer to a full grown adult. Lightning tends to be fairly diffuse.

Liam Serrure, nice man about town, probably has no qualms whatsoever about taking time to get out of there. But that ship has sailed. He instead stretches his arm out, possibly considering hauling one of the glass cases off its moorings to hurl at the creature staring at the two of them. Presumably. It's not like it has eyes of any sense, and the sparks running along its limbs have the unfortunate effect of raising hair like one of those great big plasma orbs so popular in earlier times at charming children to the power of science. It stamps around and starts to approach one of the entryways out into the museum at large. The stamping trudge of its long legs leave sparks and bursts of electricity surging up to the ceiling, sizzling through its body. One of those weaving webs forks around Loki and strikes the wall, and he ducks, but not before the metal on his wrist comes alight with a smell of superheated metal.

There will be words for that, a hiss of anger. Another of those arcs surge for the floppy, gloppy shape of a bioluminescent fish on the wall. Not real, but it sure looks like it. With a crow of sizzling noise that approximates laughter, the lightning form kid --elemental? Mutant? Something! -- fires it right off its metal posts. The flopping equivalent doesn't really look like a real fish pulled out of water. The culprit doesn't even seem to notice Mercy, so entertained by clutching at the wall and cackling as it is.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
That particular thought has entered Mercy's mind; that the being is a real person, versus an actual monster. The mannerisms are a touch too human to be some crazy critter pulled from another dimension, reality, whatever.

Still, that doesn't stop the woman from yanking the fire extinguisher off of the wall mount and turning towards Loki, the exhibits and the boy. The being definitely gives her the impression of a young boy. Though she could be wrong; it could be a girl. Who's to say. Those arcs and sprays of electricity will be eyed a moment, as they lap upward towards the ceiling. It's only when they strike out toward Loki and then the exhibits that Mercy will reflexively duck. That scent of superheated metal is neatly picked up by her keen nose, as well as the hiss of pain from the Asgardian. While the coyote spares a glance towards her companion, she doesn't ask if he's okay. Not yet. Priorities are currently set at 'shutting this situation down' as quickly as possible now.

The pin will be pulled from the extinguisher and then the hose wrapped around the handle. It's not tight enough to stop the flow of foam from leaving the nozzle, but just enough to keep the foam going without someone actively holding it. "Hey, kid!" Shouts Mercy, even as the animatronic fish drop to the floor, "Think fast." And with that very little warning, Mercy will hurl the spraying extinguisher towards the cackling figure. Here's hoping the spray diffuses the electrical charge on the being, or at the very least, pull his attention away from moving towards the main areas of the museum.

And even as Mercy tosses that extinguisher that doesn't stop her from continuing toward Loki. "You okay?" That's the first question out of her mouth when she's close enough to him.

Loki has posed:
The crazy critter being a thinking critter could be an elevation in status. Perhaps not. Boxing up a lightning elemental is considerably different from jarring a bad human.

Loki is already rolling on the ground, coming up in a crouch. He doesn't romanticise battle like some people, and his arm lashes out, catching hold of a wooden bench that comes free with perilously little effort from the ground. It may not have been bolted down, but his idea of causing a distraction is hurling the wooden object straight at the lightning being while Mercy hastens to open the fury and frenzy of pressurised gas and powder inside the red cannister at force. Child. Person made of lightning?

The kid jerks his head to Mercy, and the yelping noise is a crackle of sound again reflected through the many speakers, some of which have already popped and blown. Metal shrills and rattles as he gets covered in the gush of absolutely smelling, foul foam. The 'EWWW!' shout now is not the same as seeing adults get gushy over one another. (Gross, totally!) He hasn't a chance as he covers his crackling face and the stream of white goop lands around him a billowing cloud. Since he's too busy responding to that at quicksilver speed, he hasn't a chance for the bench smacking into him. Violence on their shores sends the partly solidified figure bouncing out the doorway he -- definitely he -- was already headed for, leaving smoldering butt prints until he bounces to a halt.

It's too much for the kid, who goes back into his human form and howls, "I got it in my eyes! Noooo! I gotta get water, help meeeee!"

The whiny drone will win him /no/ friends.

"Next time," mutters Loki, "I am summoning an ichthyosaur."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Person, sure, child, definitely

Those damn speakers. It's enough that Mercy's world narrows for a quick second to just the ringing within her ears. If she had a spare thought she might echo that swear word in her head, but she doesn't. Not when she comes back to a bench suddenly flying towards the kid. That's enough to cause her eyes to widen just a tinge. When both foam and bench hit the kid squarely all Mercy can do is watch the electrical being pushed outward, into the hallway he was headed for. Her attention shifts off of Loki now as she steps back far enough to look through that door, towards the hallway outside. She's making certain the kid is down and is going to stay down, and when she hears the wail about eyes and water, she'll nod. An snort softly too. "There's something ironic about a kid with electrical powers asking for water." Her head will cock slightly to the side as she hears the rhythmic slap of feet coming down the hallway, "Sounds like security is already here." And likely the police won't be too far behind either; there's just too many cellphones to allow for the ease of calling the men and women in blue. "Bet his day is going to go from bad to worse now." Especially when his parents are notified.

Shaking her head, Mercy will tun her attention back to Loki, as she steps closer. She's reaching out to him, possibly towards the wrist that holds the watch. "Maybe next time? Kids do love dinosaurs. It might have have worked as a distraction." See? Mercy's mind can totally be changed at times. "Did you get burnt?"

Loki has posed:
Given the absence of the child, Loki gets back up to his feet and straightens the cuffs of his shirt, the collar of his jacket, and last his hair. Vain? Believe it. Or at least assume it looks better when someone is intact instead of clearly dishevelled from hurling a bench with a fraction of his normal strength. Embarrassing to be arrested for attacking a minor, instead of being lauded for surviving an attack of the boy who jumped out from the wall. He looks around at the damage in the display right as Mercy hastens back, and briefly laughs. "Lightning, harm me? Hardly. My brother's accuracy is little better, and I grow used to dealing with such problems." That said, his wrist sports a rather handsome pink welt the same shape as the bracelet worn there, a mere hint of the bracers that form with his preferred attire. He never goes unarmed, after all.

The prospect of raising an evil Jurassic fish horror is grand, as is the pleasure of stamping down the grand hall astride a brachiosaur of some sort. The image fades from his mind after a few moments, and he blinks to clear his vision, shaking his head.

"More importantly, are you harmed?" The question is brief and pointed. Best not to show how much it matters. Mercy is touched on the shoulder, guided away from the source of the footsteps. "We should get away from here before someone bothers us with questions."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"Hmm." Mercy says thoughtfully, when he offers that remark about lightning and his brother. It does make a logical sort of senses though, doesn't it. Still, when that welt is seen upon his wrist Mercy's thoughtful noise will turn to more concerned. While she doesn't quite touch it (welts do sting) she will lightly brush the undamaged skin around it. Concern and comfort held within the light brush of her fingertips.

"No, I'm fine." Are her quick words as she turns her attention away from his injured wrist, and more towards his face now. "At least this time we weren't struck with a bad luck curse?" With those words of hers, Mercy's mouth will quirk up into a half a grin. Then she's moving with him, towards the exit that leads further into the museum and away from the security forces. "Yes, let's get going." Comes her agreement, as she automatically looks over a shoulder towards the door the kid exited through. "One good thing about his powers - the cameras in here were likely fried. I doubt they have any sort of surveillance footage of what happened. They'll have to go with what the kids says and since he's the one that started it -" Well, it's likely they'll only take his side of the story with a grain of salt.

"- Did you want to get out of here altogether? Avoid tempting fate and all that?"

Loki has posed:
Comfort can be appreciated. Rather than yanking his arm away and glaring at Mercy, which he might do with almost everyone else, Loki tolerates this much as the care and concern behind it are not a threat. At least they do not register to the inner self, and his hackles are mostly down. No sharklike turn and snap at her, at least.

"I wonder, at times, whether that thing continues to bring out a curse. We should be able to discern if this was run of the mill trouble or something else. For all I know that's one of my brother's get, but I doubt it. That one shied away from blathering on about itself." Oh Thor, how little are ye properly appreciated. On the other hand, he gets what is coming to him. The agreement of a nod follows, and he hastens out in her wake after the light brushes over them. "We could always lurk in the planetarium or under that great whale. It, at least, has no reason to offend anyone."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Hackles. Mercy knows all about hackles.

And while he doesn't rear around and snap at her, perhaps she gets a sense of it. There are definitely some strong parallels here with wolves; or more feral people.

And while she doesn't offer a verbal apology, there's something to the side-eye she gives him.

It's only with the conversation moving to get that Mercy will turn that side-eye into a full on look. Children. She never even thought of that. The question is /totally/ there. It really is, but it's not asked. No. She just keeps her mouth shut on that, even as she instead goes with, "He didn't seem magical to my nose. Not like you -" Or possibly his brother, "- so I'm leaning towards run of the mill bad luck." She continues with, even as she turns her attention towards the lighted room the two walk into.

The options of whale or planetarium are considered, before she says, "Let's go with planetarium. With our luck the whale would drop down upon us suddenly alive and gobble us up like Noah." A flash of teeth then, as the woman grins, finding some of her humor now that the adrenalin has begun to dissipate.