[Again, Loki simply grins. This man is smart enough to know what he means. Akechi had known that, once, and Loki is nothing but a part of Akechi. The parts of himself that he'd repressed for long enough that they became his own separate being, a separate mask worn when it's time to hurt and destroy; if Robin Hood had been born from a misguided sense of injustices faced, Loki is the roar when such injustices inevitably keep happening.]
You may lower your weapon, [he suggests amicably, as if it's anything but an order. As if Loki is giving him his permission to do so. He twirls Lævateinn, pointing its tip toward the floor as he leaps into the air with impossible grace and perches atop the pliers that serve as its hilt. The sword hovers a few inches above the ground, and Loki hovers a few centimeters above that, horse-like legs crossed, horns barely brushing the fleshy ceiling.] Do you know who I am, mortal?
[He rests his elbow on his knee, chin in his hand, grinning with a mouth that's too wide for Akechi's face.]
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You may lower your weapon, [he suggests amicably, as if it's anything but an order. As if Loki is giving him his permission to do so. He twirls Lævateinn, pointing its tip toward the floor as he leaps into the air with impossible grace and perches atop the pliers that serve as its hilt. The sword hovers a few inches above the ground, and Loki hovers a few centimeters above that, horse-like legs crossed, horns barely brushing the fleshy ceiling.] Do you know who I am, mortal?
[He rests his elbow on his knee, chin in his hand, grinning with a mouth that's too wide for Akechi's face.]