"Why does she never try that shit on you?" Sam asked Loki, dusting noxious green powder off his own jacket. He'd got off lucky; she'd just wanted someone to sit in a corner and admire her dancing. It could have been a lot worse. "Being an immortal space-god sorcerer make you immune or something?"
Loki leaned back bar on his barstool like it was a throne, elbows spreading over the width of the bar to prop him up. "Not entirely," he admitted. "It offers some protection, but no protection is flawless." Which made sense, because if her powers worked as well in Asgard as they did here, Sam couldn't think of a single way Odin would still be in charge.
The robot behind the bar slid a bottle of water over to Sam without him having to ask, and without charging him. Tony'd programmed it that way – he hadn't found a way around mind-control yet, but he wasn't so bad when it came to taking care of people in the aftermath. Sam gulped down the water, then remembered he'd had a question. "So, what? She doesn't try it because it doesn't work well enough?"
Loki's smile took on a sharp glint that made Sam want to step back, green lights in his eyes. He'd seen that look before, right before Loki flicked his staff and green fire started to make the world go sideways.
(He didn't move, though. Being the only normal guy in a school full of gods, legends, and mad geniuses meant not backing down whenever your classmates got their game-faces on.)
"Enchantress doesn't try it because she knows that if she wants to play that game with me, I will win."
— And then the fire was gone, Loki's smile just shit-eating instead of menacing. "Shall I buy you a drink?"