The alien talks a big game, dares to look down his nose and treat them like they're equals and it's so new Peter's too surprised to get really and truly offended. Besides, he's already slapped an invisible "future slave" sticker on Loki's forehead that makes it easier to get over the sheer kick to the nuts that is the alien's attitude.
Peter doesn't even register the food the royal cooks laid out. For a prince used to eating whatever he wants, when he wants, this is no biggie - he'd happily toss it into the garbage if he doesn't like the texture or the color. He definitely won't display the self-awareness to off a guest even if he's the first Asgardian to step foot on Holken in like ever.
"You're making an awful lot of assumptions. I don't have to show you anything," Peter figures he's lobbing a softball by even continuing this conversation, playing the charade that there's any kind of equality here. He faces Loki, the red lens of his mask gleaming, his head cocked slightly to the side. "I can have a section of my fleet ready in two solar days. That means two days where you're going to entertain me and show me that you're worth my attention, Loki."
He doesn't care how Loki does it, only that he can deliver. Peter's been wined and dined and threatened by plenty of other aliens - royals and warlords and traitors - and he expects no less from an alien promising his old homeworld like it's an early Christmas. He reaches out then, his gauntled hands seizing a grip of Loki's tunic and dragging him close, with the expectation that he can manhandle whoever he wants. The guards lining the walls like statues don't move; while their heads face forward, they're alert and always watching and frankly, Peter's tired of that too.
"So you better start getting creative before you get left behind in two days," Peter hisses through his mask, mere inches from Loki's face. "Make me want you on my personal warship."
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Peter doesn't even register the food the royal cooks laid out. For a prince used to eating whatever he wants, when he wants, this is no biggie - he'd happily toss it into the garbage if he doesn't like the texture or the color. He definitely won't display the self-awareness to off a guest even if he's the first Asgardian to step foot on Holken in like ever.
"You're making an awful lot of assumptions. I don't have to show you anything," Peter figures he's lobbing a softball by even continuing this conversation, playing the charade that there's any kind of equality here. He faces Loki, the red lens of his mask gleaming, his head cocked slightly to the side. "I can have a section of my fleet ready in two solar days. That means two days where you're going to entertain me and show me that you're worth my attention, Loki."
He doesn't care how Loki does it, only that he can deliver. Peter's been wined and dined and threatened by plenty of other aliens - royals and warlords and traitors - and he expects no less from an alien promising his old homeworld like it's an early Christmas. He reaches out then, his gauntled hands seizing a grip of Loki's tunic and dragging him close, with the expectation that he can manhandle whoever he wants. The guards lining the walls like statues don't move; while their heads face forward, they're alert and always watching and frankly, Peter's tired of that too.
"So you better start getting creative before you get left behind in two days," Peter hisses through his mask, mere inches from Loki's face. "Make me want you on my personal warship."