( It's unwise to touch Loki when he's got his back up like a pissed-off panther. His mouth twists angrily when Dante reaches for his hood and pulls it back off his head; in close quarters Loki is fast—centuries of training with his knives—and it's no effort at all to snap Dante's arm back and conjure a sleek dagger in a shimmer of emerald. Building up on the dramatics, is he? )

Oh, you have no idea.

( The blade barely has time to catch the light before it sinks in deep between the other man's ribs. Loki exhales shortly, his free hand fisting in the front of Dante's jacket to keep him held in place, and honestly? They're just lucky the street is quiet. Superior healing capabilities or no, stabbing someone in broad daylight is usually frowned upon. )

... Just leave.

( His words are venomous and cold. Loki twists the blade until he can feel the edge of it bite into the bone; only then does he pull it out, blood dripping from the tip of his dagger as he glares at Dante. May as well burn the rest of this bridge while he's at it, right? After all, this is what he does when he's in the middle of a mood swing: he takes it out on people who don't deserve it until he's completely alone again. As far as plans go, it's foolproof. )

Go on, you've already wasted more than enough of my time.