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Loki kept inviting her over for dinner.
That was weird. So weird. One would have thought, logically, that the God of Lies would stay away from a living lie detector like a vampire from garlic. But that wasn't the case; in fact, Loki often invited her over, and texted her at random moments.
He was fond of SnapChat; the day before, she'd received a selfie of him in what looked a lot like Hell with the caption 'some like it hot haha'. There was some kind of lava demon behind him. He was smiling impishly; she could see the tip of his sword, held in his other hand.
She didn't know very much on the subject, but she still couldn't help but wonder how he'd managed to send anything via cellphone from another planet.
The question was, why?
Verity didn't lie. She didn't even lie to herself, a truly unique trait. She knew what assets she boasted, generally speaking; lie detector, somewhat attractive, definitely intelligent, ultimately cynical, and with an occasional burst of humour. Yes, she was interesting human being, but Loki was a very old and hard-to-impress deity, so the 'why' of the situation still escaped her.
Her bullshit sensor went off when Loki claimed it just because of her abilities, and even without her powers, she could've figured that out; Loki had previously schmoozed with the Avengers, X-Men, what have you, and no doubt her powers weren't unique. In fact, he probably had access to objects or spells that could replicate her abilities.
In different circumstances, she would've assumed her excellent skin and well-rounded breasts might've been a factor in his interest; she'd read a little Norse Mythology, and that depicted him as some kind of nymphomaniac. But he hadn't made a pass at her. Not one. Not even on the speed dating night, where it would've been somewhat socially acceptable to at least flirt beyond his usual surface charm.
All he did was cook for her and make jokes - jokes that often seemed forced but not insincere, like he was trying to maintain a veneer but not manufacture a completely artificial one - and tell her stories, listening to her own.
Frankly, she expected more of someone who had referred to himself as the God of Evil in the past. Evil did not usually involve meticulously created crème brûlée that tasted amazing; evil was what look like a meticulously created crème brûlée that was actually full of rats or spiders or lima beans.
But he wasn't after her powers or anything undergarment-related. He just seemed to like the company.
Loki even seemed to trust her. He'd called her when he needed a favour - that was, an alibi. But he'd been honest about his intentions, so she helped him out.
A riddle wrapped in a mystery and daubed in black nail polish.
So the next time she went over there - to receive an excellent meal that began with some kind of light ginger and pumpkin soup - she was on the lookout for motive.
All she could come up with as they bantered was that he tended to keep her within at least earshot if not his periphery, and that he liked her to be comfortable and chatty the whole time.
Midway through dinner, Verity decided to apply Occam's Razor and go straight for the most obvious solution.
"I think I know why you want me here," she started.
"Good for you. Pass the salt," Loki said unflinchingly.
She did. "You're lonely," Verity accused. "And you have no friends."
"Wrong on both counts, little ingenue-" Loki said, still maintaining that casual air.
"I'm going to Google that word later."
"I'm hardly lonely, what with social aspect of my line of work, and I have companions in abundance," Loki said.
That did odd things to Verity's truth-sense. Loki was sort of telling the truth. He didn't quite believe what he was saying, but it was something near the truth.
"All your 'companions' don't trust you," Verity guessed. "So they won't spend time with you unless they have to."
Loki started to speak, then caught himself before he lied to her. Then he caught himself again before he tried to circumnavigate the subject.
"Spit it out," Verity said, amused.
"You aren't wrong," Loki said stiltedly. "I have other companions, yes, but I possess that awkward character trait of being a manipulative and self-serving so-and-so, and, well..."
"You think that if you spend time with them, you'll end up using them for your own purposes."
"There have been, shall I say, precedents," Loki said lightly.
"Oh, I bet there have," Verity said dryly. She inspected her glass of wine, intentionally not looking at him as she said "I'm not certain whether I'm insulted I'm your only option or flattered that you'd rather have me than be alone."
"If you can pick one, always be flattered," Loki said. He was still smiling, still unoffended by her words and joking around. But that was the face he made at the world; who knew what he was thinking? So long as he didn't actually attempt to deceive Verity through word or action, she couldn't know. "That's my strategy. Especially when people accuse me of being Loki, which comes up more often than you'd think."
Verity laughed at that, mostly because it was a ridiculous statement.
"While we're telling a few more truths than usual," she said. "I'm surprised my little gift doesn't give you the shits. I heard lying was your main game."
"You could hardly understand, not being a seasoned fibber, how coolly refreshing it is to have a conversation with someone where no one can tell a lie," Loki said. "Do you understand how difficult those actually are to come across?"
"Trust me, I do," Verity snorted.
"We should go to Washington, D.C; you might have a meltdown during Congress," Loki chuckled. "'Miss Willis Goes To Washington'. It has quite the ring to it."
"That's been done," Verity said. She finished her last bite of deliciously tender steak and delicately laid her knife and fork on her plate. "What's for dessert, oh great fibber?"
"Lemon curd trifle with raspberries," Loki said, collecting her plate and heading for the kitchen. "Very English. I'm hoping that's not a bad thing."
"It sounds better than Jello, which was what I was going to have," Verity shrugged as she followed him.
Loki made quite a show of serving up and presenting the dessert, adding a smear of raspberry puree and cream on the side.
"Bon appetit," Loki said, sliding the plate across the kitchen island to her.
"Another question," Verity said. "You're talking in your weird Asgardian every-language, right? So how can you sound like you're speaking French when it's not my native language?"
"It's magic," Loki said, wiggling his fingers dramatically. "So spooky. I'm practically a unicorn."
That was a good way to get around answering her without lying; by talking nonsense.
"You should teach me about magic," Verity said. Then she took a bite of her dessert. "This is amazing. It's not fair that you come from somewhere full of spit-roast and you can make things like this."
"I'm flattered by that, too," Loki said. "Magic's simple. You lie to the universe, tell a great big porky, and the better you do it, the better it works out."
"That can't be it."
"Do you feel a tingle at the base of your spine when I do my magic thing?" Loki said. "That's your little power letting you know I'm jesting the universe."
"Huh. What do you know?" Verity said. "What about Asgard? Tell me about that."
It was probably the first time she'd really bothered to enquire deeper about Loki's life, and that was founded on the brief revelation she'd had:
If Loki wasn't interested in her for her powers or her various physical attributes, then that left one thing. He was interested in being her friend. And she could more than live with that.