Loki looked up at his brother who was only older by a year, as he sat in a sand box. Thor, his older brother who had just recently turned six, was hovering over him with the biggest grin in the world. The sun hit his brother just right, making his hair look like wheat floating in the wind. That was always how Loki had described the blond locks of Thor Odinson, while his were black as night. They definitely looked different by far, Thor was as tan as a five year old can be, with bright blue eyes, blond hair down to his shoulders, and was considered average in weight. Loki, on the other hand, was as pale as snow – or a ghost as Thor said, with dark jade green eyes, jet black hair down to his middle back, and looking a little underweight. Loki was in the middle of building a sand castle, which he was quite proud of, considering he was forced to go out and play with the other kids his age, when Thor came up to him and started speaking.
"I learnt a new word today, Loki!" He cried out happily, always being the bubbly type.
Loki looked up at him in sheer curiosity, eyes wide with excitement, "What is the word, brudder?"
"Shit! Like, 'oh shit, daddy is gonna kill me, I scratched his car'!" He kept smiling, fairly content with what he had said.
Loki's eyes went wide, knowing that was a bad word to say, and he stood up, looking around for their mum and dad. Spotting them under a tree on a bench, completely ignoring the fact that they had kids, he started heading toward them. Their mum had long, curly brown hair that looked like it belonged to a goddess, and soft brown eyes only a mother could own. She was sitting in a long dark blue skirt with one leg crossed over the other, a pale grey flat covered foot pointed toward the ground. Her blouse was a white 100% cotton one that had lace around the collar and sleeves, flowing graciously over the top of her skirt. A pale red hat sat on top of her head, with a pink flower in the crease where the ends folded up. She told others her name was Frigga but, Loki secretly knew her actual name was mummy. Their dad had brown hair as well but, Loki didn't think it was as beautiful as his mum's, sometimes comparing it to mud. It was short and stuck to his head, sort of like it was a curse, wiry and old looking. He sat with his legs spread, like most daddies do, in black dress pants, black dress shoes, and a white button up long sleeved shirt. He always looked like he was going to work at an office, when he didn't work as often as he could. I guess that is what you can do when you own the world's leading car industry. He didn't wear a hat like Frigga; his head went bare, though his old brown eyes were covered by sunglasses. The wrinkles around his eyes made Loki think of tiny rivers running through his skin; the imagination of a child. He told everyone his name was Odin but, as the same with his mum, Loki secretly knew his actual name was daddy or papa.
Little Loki Odinson ran as fast as he could through the park and over to them, skidding to a halt in front of Odin. He looked up at him, before tugging on his pants, trying to get his attention. The young boy stood a mighty three feet three inches tall, a bit on the short side for his age, clad in a monster truck t-shirt, camouflage pants, and shoes that lit up every time he took a step. His father looked down at him with one eyebrow raised after a moment, groaning and rolling his eyes when he realised it was Loki and not Thor. He had no idea that his father was annoyed, he just figured he was looking at the sky, so he did as well. Seeing nothing, he felt a bit confused but, remembered why he took this journey across the park and to their parents. Thor said a bad word.
"What do you need, child?" Odin asked him, in his gruff and deep voice.
"Papa, Thor said a bad word," He answered in his innocent ways, looking back up at him.
His father seemed to grow angry, groaning again, and shooing him away. "Stop being a tattle-tale, Loki."
Loki looked hurt, as Odin shoved him along, so he went back to where he left Thor and the castle, looking down at the ground, kicking sand along the way. When he reached his previous point, he kicked over the sand castle, crossed his arms, and glared at the messy pile below him. The yellow grains seemed to glare back, being hit by the sun, angering the boy and feeding into his mild tantrum. Thor was watching him with interest, wondering where his brother went off to and if he was okay. He let things get the better of him, and ended up tackling Loki to the ground and pinning him down. They usually wrestled but, with Loki being in a bad mood, he clawed and tried wiggling free. When that didn't work and just made Thor pin him down more, he let out a scream and the following words.
"You shit, you got me dirty!"
Ah, the words from a kid, learnt from a brother who had just learnt it from a teenager who scratched his dad's car with his keys. In the moment he screamed and yelled out those words, his parents were running over to them, his mum riddled with worry, thinking something had happened to one of her precious angels. Odin noticed Thor pinning Loki down, and told him to get off, so their mum could check the younger one for injuries. Nodding a few times, she saw he was okay, and stood up, leaving him to still lie on the ground. Her philosophy was that if there were no "boo-boos" or "owies", they were able to function just fine, meaning he could get up on his own. Just as he was about to, he was hoisted up by his arm by a strong and rough hand, setting him on his feet, and before he knew it, he was being dragged home and scolded along the way by his dad.
"Don't you EVER say that word again, Loki Odinson!" The man boomed from above them as Frigga walked behind with Thor, sulking in her arms.
Loki was terrified, eyes watering with tears as he looked back at his mum and brother, wishing he could be held by her as well. When they got home and he was sent to his room, he tried wrapping his little mind around why he got in trouble for saying a bad word but, Thor didn't. It was in that moment he realised he was different, Thor was greater, better, and always, always daddy's favourite.
A young man, around the age of twenty, stood looking in the mirror of the public bathrooms in the dorms at the University he was going to start attending. His older brother and he had to start in the middle of a semester, being new to the country from Norway, yanked out of the previous one they went to. Since his father still paid their tuitions, they were forced to move to New York, New York in the USA, his brother being the straight A student, majoring in the car and business industry, while he was a straight A student majoring in literature and foreign languages. Did father ever care that he could speak six different languages fluently, understand a near dead language, and read four other ones? No, he was too caught up in his future successor of Allfather Industries, which developed top of the line cars from sports all the way down to mini vans. It didn't honestly matter anymore; Thor was always going to be at the top, with Loki at the bottom. It wasn't like he was abused physically, only a bit mentally, always pushed to the side to let his big brother take the lime light. Oh well, he was going to be great one day, finally taking the world by storm. One last look in the mirror told him he looked fine enough to go to his first class of the first day, pushing iPod ear buds into his ears and scrolling through his songs. Usually, his MP3 players were filled with Classical songs, Beethoven being his favourite classical artist, the song being Moonlight Sonata. He ignored them for the first time in a while, choosing a song he listened to most when he was depressed. Skin by Sixx AM.
He wasn't sure if it was the lyrics that put him into such a state of being where he could actually relate to something or another, or if it was the rhythm and tune that he could connect to and let it take over for a while. He decided to go with both, for now, since wasn't that how songs worked? Shrugging the thought off, he fixed his vest and left the restroom. Once he got away from the later years in school and actually into a college around adults, he realised he wasn't bullied much anymore, and people were too caught up in their own things to really care what he was up to. His goal in life had always been to get an education and become a world renowned author and philosopher. Loki knew being a philosopher wouldn't really get him any money but, he was never the one to want currency…desire it. It was just a piece of paper after all; it didn't matter in his world. From that thought process, he wanted to become a gypsy at one point in his life but, decided he would much rather take showers and live where he had some stability, instead of jumping around from place to place, couch to couch, or creating his own means of shelter. He didn't hate anyone who followed the gypsy lifestyle; he actually respected them more than his own family half the time. The young black haired, pale skinned adult ducked around the corner to the hallway he was coming to a close at. His eyes were focused on where he was walking instead of down on the ground, as most people expected him to walk, like some crazy depressed person. Crazy as in extreme, not insane, of course. He never understood why people saw him that way; probably due to the way he dressed (which wasn't too bad) or the way he looked. Oh well, he wasn't really the one to let people get to him with their judgments. What other people think of you is none of your fucking business, he always said. On to the subject of him cursing, it wasn't like he did it all the time, or never at all, everyone used words classified as "bad", even the ones who claim themselves saints. He would rather use it to make his sentences a bit colourful, not use them always out of anger. That was an excuse brought by everyone who cursed but, those were the ones who cursed like a sailor – like they were the only words they understood.
Smirking to himself, he eyed some people leaning against a wall, smoking cigarettes and acting like it was the nineties. Loki shook his head at them, somewhat interested in the need to inhale smoke into one's lungs, something the body wasn't meant to take in. We were built to inhale oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide, nothing else; maybe it was the nicotine; it had to be that, or just to look cool around other people. Yuck. He was perfectly content with his pink and healthy lungs that wouldn't be subjected to cancers due to a cancer stick. Hah! Cancer sticks, how clever were people when they were trying to get people to let those go. He hummed the last bit of Skin by Sixx AM, raising his eyebrow when Moonlight Sonata came on next. That was ironic seeing how he was just thinking about that earlier, it must have been the next song on the shuffle. No one really gave him a second look as he made his way to his class, they never do, just someone else going about their lives, just another person at the college, no one interesting, no one special, just there. He cleared his throat, gripping the handle, pulling one ear bud out, and going inside. No one looked at him here, either, except one or two people who glanced up, then ignored him. He found that oddly amusing, since back in high school, if you opened a door, it was like you were walking the green mile down to the execution chamber. The professor watched him enter, one of the very few who did, motioning him over.
"Are you the electrician?" He asked, nonchalantly.
Finally, someone who didn't seem like they had ODed on Prozac, "No, I don't think I fit that bill," He answered, motioning to his outfit, "I'm new,"
The professor, middle aged, with salt and pepper hair, sad grey eyes surrounded by wrinkles that made him look like he was around seventy, and a little soul patch on his chin that was dyed black. Probably a mid-life crisis thing or just trying to make a statement. What kind of statement a man around forty-seven needed to make, he was quite unsure of, and maybe something in his personality would give it away. He decided he would watch him for a while, try to understand, another person added to his list of people to figure out. Some people called him a modern day Sherlock, as he could relate to people on a level most couldn't, and could guess most of their entire life story. It was easy, just have to watch their body language and pick out details about their clothing and way they kept their body. For instance, the professor had glasses on with fake glass in the lens, indicating he was either trying to be "cool" for the students, or was trying to enhance his age. Judging by his faded Pink Floyd t-shirt, ripped jeans, and converse from another decade, he was trying to be "cool" for the students. Either that, or going through that mid-life crisis he had thought up before. That was one of the better things about being in this university, not everyone was snot nosed and stuck up, they wore whatever felt comfortable as long as it remained on a somewhat professional level and wasn't too risqué. Given that some chose to wear dresses, skirts, or suits with nice dress shoes, trying to remain "presentable" in the eyes of students and other people. America had its ups but, it still had such horrible down falls that made it such a…large country that craved subjugation. They needed better order than they had, someone who could rule with an iron fist, keep them under control, and not be so horrendous. That was a story for another time, since the professor motioned him to go sit down somewhere.
Loki nodded and went over to an open seat that was around the middle of the room, sliding into it. He looked around the area he was in to see all he shared a class with, nodding a couple times when he was content with them all. He nodded a lot; it was kind of his way of talking, though the only person who understood that was Thor. His eyes rested on the professor who looked like he was about to address the class, before rolling his eyes and sighing a minute. He was obviously waiting on someone to enter the room, as he was a bit on edge, and Loki's first thought was the electrician he mentioned earlier. When said person did not come, he shook his head a moment and looked over to Loki. He raised his eyebrow at him, drawing a tongue over chapped lips, before actually deciding to speak. He listened to him speak out of sheer boredom, like he would have rather been somewhere else, anywhere but here.
"We have a new student, so I figured I should introduce myself once more. My name is Alistair James, and I am a literature professor here at Stark University,"
He listened to the chuckle that arose from the room at the mention of the school's name, like it had meant something. Alistair James, one of the most brilliant authors and documentary film makers around, and Loki's idol. He tapped a finger against the hard fake wooden desk he sat at, looking down at the floor a moment, before turning his attention back to James, who was discussing something with another student. Now, he understood why he looked like he was so bored with life and dressed that way, he actually was. From greatness and making millions off his books and films to teaching at a university, it must have been such a downgrade, such a loss of fame, and probably something he was looking for as he got closer to the age he could retire at. Just a hobby, more than likely, and one he didn't seem too thrilled about. Loki filed that into the file in his brain now titled "Alistair James", which he would return to later to analyse. Hearing someone clear their throat, he realised James' attention was back on him, and he acted like he was waiting for him to speak. From looking at his eyes and facial expressions, Loki could tell he wanted an introduction back.
"Loki Laufeyson, sir," He introduced himself as, nodding once.
"Ah, would that be German?" Alistair questioned, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Norwegian, actually," The thick accent spilled out of his voice as he switched back from his American one.
His eyes went wide a moment, as he heard the new voice fill his ears, beginning to smile. Loki winked at him before dragging his gaze over to the door, which caused Alistair to follow. Nothing was there that others could expect but, Loki heard the footsteps and the heavy breathing that accompanied someone running like they were late for something, class more than likely. It was already ten past ten, so whoever it was, was a bit tardier than they should be, so it would explain why they were in a rush. His pupils dilated like a cat's would when they were focused on something, while he stared at the mahogany door, waiting for the person to come in. He was on edge like he usually was when someone he didn't know burst through and into a room, the door flying open and making him nearly jump and cling onto something. A guy around his age with less than perfect brown hair, a bit shorter than he, chocolate brown eyes, rough hands that looked like they were overused (probably working on things too much), clad in a black AC/DC shirt, blue jeans, and some expensive line of shoes he wasn't familiar with. The man was panting, a smirk smacked on his face that he seemed to plaster on whenever he came in contact with another person, holding his body like he thought he was better than everyone else.
"Mr. Stark, glad you could make it. You're late, again," Professor James put a lot of emphasis on "again", indicating he was always late. "Please have a seat. Next time, you will speak to the dean about why you are so tardy."
