Of all the punishments that Odin could have thrown at him, forcing Loki to live on Midgard, among the mortals, minus his power was by far the worst. Loki would've happily taken a century in the dungeons over being made to live with the scum that he had failed to subjugate. To add insult to injury, Odin had even changed his appearance! The Allfather said that it was necessary, lest the mortals recognize him, but Loki was sure that the god got some type of kick out of turning his hair blonde.

Blonde! Like Thor, and that annoyingly patriotic Captain America! It made Loki want to cringe every time he thought about it or looked in a mirror. At least Odin had preserved his hair's length.

It didn't really matter, though. Most days Loki had to tie it back. His job stocking shelves at night was fairly decent, if menial, but the store had hygiene requirements or some such garbage. Long story short, the manager had told him to either tie it back or get lost. Of all the jobs that he had tried, stocking shelves alone had been the best, so he sucked it up and pulled his hair into a ponytail every evening.

The thing was that despite Loki's above average intelligence, he did not have any real skills that could be used to land a decent job on Midgard. It seemed as though all of the higher paying jobs required either a degree of some sort or experience. This in itself seemed to be a catch-22: one had to have a job to get experience, and one had to have experience to get a job.

So, there he went, six nights a week, ten hours a shift. As a god he would have had no problem working such long hours. His body would've withstood the stress easily. As a mortal, though, he found himself frequently feeling very tired. But he had no choice. Mortals needed things like shelter and food and utilities, and those just didn't pay for themselves.

00

Sunday evenings were the only nights off that he had, so Loki - or Liam, as he called himself - made the best of them. This usually entailed sleeping in and going to the local McDonalds for breakfast, or dinner, or whatever meal it technically was at ten o'clock at night. Then he usually went back to his crappy, crumbling studio apartment and laid around for a while on his lumpy mattress before starting on his chores.

Loki was fairly organized, not that he owned much to begin with. His biggest chore was doing the laundry.

Actually, prior to this particular Sunday, he hadn't even had that chore, but his manager had mentioned something about him smelling badly and suggested that he wash his clothes.

The thought had never really occurred to Loki prior to that. On Asgard, servants took care of washing clothing, and if they weren't around, he could've always used his magic. Neither of those were an option now, obviously.

Sighing, Loki got out of bed, cracked his back and grabbed his glasses from the nightstand. That had been another change that Odin had made to his appearance. The Allfather had taken away his flawless vision and 'gifted' him with the need to wear glasses.

Loki pulled on his only clean outfit - a pair of gray New York Yankees shorts and a black Metallica t-shirt that he'd found at the local thrift shop - piled his dirty clothes into a bin and made his way to the nearest 24/7 laundromat. That was one good thing about living somewhat near New York City - everything was always open. Loki briefly felt thankful for this before chasing that thought away. No way would he allow himself to feelany sort of gratitude for his horrid situation.

00

Since it was close to midnight, the laundromat was almost empty, save for a short, squat attendant.

Frowning, Loki set his basket down near one of the machines.

He had never used one of these before, and they looked fairly complex. There were several buttons and settings to choose from. He studied them for a few moments before feeling frustrated and dumping all of his clothes in. Not wanting to be there for any longer than necessary, he pushed a button.

Nothing happened.

So he pushed another button.

Nothing.

Loki turned a dial.

No deal.

And that was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. All of his anger and frustration at his current situation - at being totally degraded on a daily basis, forced to live in a shitty, leaky, cold apartment with shitty, bitchy neighbors, at having to actually WORK for things, at a fucking Safeway grocery store, no less - it came to a head. Before he could even process what he was doing, Loki was kicking and punching the washing machine and screaming insults in Norse. He was a PRINCE, dammit! He deserved better than this!

A minute or so into his tirade, the attendant came over.

"Señor!", she yelled, grabbing his arm. "Señor parada!"

Loki shoved her off, but the woman persisted.

"Señor! STOP or I will call the policía!"

Then she held up the fly swatter that she had in her hand and began slapping Loki's shoulder with it. That caught his attention.

"WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT?!" Loki hissed.

The woman wasn't scared, though.

"Stop hitting the washing machine! Are you loco?! If you need help, I can help you!"

Loki was caught off guard by that statement. He hadn't expected her to actually offer to help him. Midgardians didn't seem to be too good at that in general. If there was one thing that Loki noticed, it was the mortal's total disregard for each other's wellbeing.

Loki's shoulders slumped and he suddenly felt completely drained. After a minute or so, the woman spoke up again.

"Bueno. Now I will show you."

Loki nodded and took a step back . Now he felt like he wanted to cry, for some reason, but he held it in.

"First, you must separate the clothes," she explained, pulling his pile of laundry out of the machine. She carried it over to a folding table and began throwing different articles into various piles. Loki watched quietly as she sorted out his shirts, his work pants - those awful black Dickies that he had to wear - and his underwear and socks. It occurred to him that he probably ought to feel embarrassed that some random stranger was handling his boxer shorts, but he was too upset in general to care about that little detail right then.

"There," she said, when she had finished. "Now, we put them in."

The woman picked up each of the piles and placed them into separate washers.

"Then we put detergent in."

Loki's shoulders slumped even more. He had no idea what she was talking about.

Seeing this, the woman simply walked away towards the back of the room.

'Great,' Loki thought to himself. He would have to figure out the rest of this on his own.

He was surprised when she returned a moment later, bottle of Tide in one hand and a bottle marked 'Fabric Softener' in the other.

"Here," she said, handing him the Tide. "Lo puso en."

The woman was pointing towards a small box on top of the machine. Loki opened it up and noticed a label marked 'detergent'. Well, that was simple enough. He began to pour it in, and the woman stopped him when he had done enough. She then handed him the fabric softener and pointed at another box.

He repeated these steps a few more times, until all of the machines holding his clothes had detergent and softener.

"Now, you pay." She pointed at a coin slot.

Loki reached into his pocked and pulled out a five dollar bill - all he had. Looking at the charge for each machine, he clearly did not have enough. Frowning again, he opened up the washing machine and began pulling his clothes out. He would just have to do this another time, when he had more money.

Then he heard the woman sigh. He looked at her and saw her roll her eyes.

"Un momento," she said, holding up one finger.

Loki paused while she walked to the back of the room again. He saw her grab her purse and come back over.

"Here," she told him, giving him a handful of quarters.

Loki's eyes grew wide.

"Really?" he asked. This had to be some strange joke. Or maybe the woman would make him work it off later.

"Sí," she answered, smiling.

Loki was stunned. No one had been kind to him here. Not a single person. He nodded and began loading the quarters into one machine before moving to the next, the woman watching him the entire time.

00

By the end of the evening, the woman had not only gone on to show him how to use the dryer, but she paid for that as well AND she had even helped him fold his clothes.

Loki found that he only had one question.

"Why?"

It just didn't make sense. The woman should've been angry at him. She should've thrown him out, but she had shown him kindness.

The woman just shrugged.

"You live down the block, yes? I see you walking. You always look sad."

"So what?" Loki asked. He still didn't get it. Lots of people were miserable, especially living in the shitty section of town where he lived.

The woman rolled her eyes again.

"It is good to help those who need it. You needed to learn, so I help."

Loki blinked. He hadn't really expected that answer.

"And, mi hijo is your age. You reminded me of him," the woman continued. She pulled out her wallet and showed him a photo of a man who was apparently her son. He looked to be somewhat near Loki's perceived age, probably a few years younger, and like Loki, he had long hair. His was dark, though, and he had a goatee. His smile matched his mothers.

"That's your son?" Loki asked.

"Sí."

"Thank you," Loki eventually replied. "Is there anything that I may do to repay you?"

"Just be good. And smile."

The woman grinned at him, and Loki found himself smiling back at her.

As he walked back home, Loki realized that for the first time since he'd been sent there, he didn't feel miserable.