Chapter One:
First Encounter
It might be a cliche' but she did meet him on a dark street minding her own business. She recognized his picture from the papers, the TV and of course social media. Loki of Asgard, potential usurper of the world's freedom. No horns this time, just casually strolling down the streets of the city he almost destroyed.
Alayna Eastland, AKA Eidelon, watches the god/man taking his time, enjoying the sights and sound of the Big Apple. Granted he had been found "not guilty" due to mind control by a jury of his peers and the UN but his very presence on the streets that only a few years ago were covered in rubble that irks her. It is an insult to all those who had to clean up his mess, she being one of them.
She still remembers the day quite clear. It was all hands on deck helping the Avengers defeat an invading alien army. A testament to those like herself who don't play well with others but who can put aside their differences for the sake of humanity.
And now there he was walking with impunity. Well, that was not going to last. The question is what to do about it? Subtly injure him, kill him or not so subtly do both? First to follow.
Alayna exits the alley from where she spotted him and pulls up the hood of her coat, hiding her masked face from the crowd. At this time of the night there are still enough people on the street for her to blend in but not too many for her to lose her target. "Target" The word send predatory excitement through her veins. Her mind narrows focus to the man walking in front of her, his head held high, some sort of cane in his hand tapping the ground as he walks. Those around him must sense something about him. They part like the sea for him. She continues to follow, the soft heels of her boots making no sound.
Ahead, Loki knows he is being followed. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing straight up. In this crowd it could be anyone. He is well aware that there are those who still have not forgiven him for his actions while he was under the influence of the Tesseract, not that he cares, but he knows he still has enemies. He takes great pleasure in affronting them, waiting for them to make the first move. This time will be no different. He grips the hilt of his cane/scepter a little tighter in anticipation, the desire for a good fight tasting sweet on the back of his tongue. He tells himself to have patience. "Wait. Just wait."