Imagine… Dragons

whatcolourmyeyes:

‘Darcy forces Loki to go to a musical with her. And he starts magically ‘improving’ the show. Like… I dunno… making a fake dragon real?’ For the incredible leftylain – this is ridiculous and I regret nothing.
—
“… And why are they always singing?”
“Loki, it’s a musical. The singing is kind of the point.”
Grumpy sniffs disapprovingly.
“It’s unrealistic.”
A bell rings, signaling the end of intermission.
“What, and the dragon in the corner is?” Darcy whispers as people file back into the auditorium. Be strong, Lewis. One hour to go.
“You have a point,” Loki concedes. “They couldn’t even bring a proper dragon.”
Darcy could swear her heart stops.
“‘Proper’?” she squeaks.  ”What do you mean, ‘proper’?” If it weren’t Loki talking, Darcy would probably be freaking out about the revelation that dragons actually exist, but she has more pressing things to deal with. Namely, the expression on Loki’s face, the one that Darcy recognizes as the self-contented smirk he always makes right before Tony runs into the room yelling at him to clean the itching powder out of his Mark whatever. She has a sickening feeling that she knows exactly where this is going.  ”Oh, no. No. Don’t you da-“
Someone in the row ahead of them shushes her, and Darcy shuts her mouth, eyes shooting daggers at her date.
The curtains rise, and… this is so not good.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Try not to strangle Merlin.
“Loki.” Darcy tries to remain calm. “Would you mind telling me what that is?”
“A dragon, Miss Lewis.”
Right. Obviously.
Darcy swallows.
Fury is going to kill her.
“And what-” Her jaw clenches. “-is it doing onstage?”
“I put it there.”
“Yes. I noticed that much. But-” Another ‘shush.’ Darcy lowers her voice, wondering for the umpteenth time why she actually has to spell this out for him. “You can’t stick a live dragon in a theatre whenever you feel like it.”
Loki tilts his head.
“I just did.”
Clearly he doesn’t grasp the severity of the situation.
“Oh? And what’s next?” Darcy does grasp the severity of all this – the fate of her job security, for instance – and she might be growing a little hysterical. “Magicking a Blast-Ended Skrewt into being?”
“A bilgesnipe, you mean?”
Loki blinks, as if considering the suggestion.
“Don’t even think about it,” Darcy growls, and the God has the sense not to smirk. He even makes as if to put a comforting arm around her, only to rethink it at the last second.

(Probably a good move.)
The next five minutes are along the longest Darcy has ever experienced. The musical number concludes with a crash of cymbals, and Darcy muffles a worried noise when the dragon shifts restlessly to the side.
“You seem tense,” Loki notes.
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”
“Miss Lewis, I have everything under control.” His breath caresses her ear, and maybe Darcy thinks about something other than that fucking flying serpent for a moment… but it’s hard to forget it entirely.
“Loki, I don’t care how in control you say you are, there is a dr-” Said great beast suddenly roars, letting out a burst of flame.”Shi-“
Fedora Dude turns around this time, and Darcy glares at him before he can so much as think about shushing her.
“That was exciting,” Loki comments, and a single look at the stage confirms Darcy’s fears: part of the set is on fire, and the chorus girls’ eyebrows are distinctly singed.
“Well, don’t just sit there,” Darcy hisses, elbowing Loki in the ribs.
He winces, rubbing his side with more dramatics than are strictly necessary.
“What would you have me do?”
“I don’t know, turn Smaug into a pumpkin? Do… something!”
A small raincloud appears above the stage, its steady drizzle quickly putting out the flames licking at the sides of a wooden flat. The dragon’s nostrils are still smoking.
“There,” Loki says contritely. “All better.”
Darcy crosses her arms.
“No, all is not better. All will be better when that creature is no longer in the vicinity of New York City.” Loki smirks. “And that is not me giving you permission to release into Earth’s wilderness. I want it back on whatever heim or gard you got it from. Immediately.”
“Fine,” the God pouts.
A shower of gold sparks, and the dragon is once more nothing but a semi-convincing sculpture.
The cloud, too, disappears.
Darcy heaves a sigh of relief, and Loki stares stubbornly straight ahead, his fun spoiled.

“Never again,” Darcy mutters when they finally walk out of the theatre, and Loki shoves his hands deep in his coat pockets. “A dragon? This might even beat out the time you conjured an actual tempest at that Shakespeare festival.”

“That play received excellent reviews,” Loki replies as Darcy loops her arm through his.

“You’re still an idiot.”

“Be that as it may…”

Darcy is looking forward to Date #3.