Hello again! I published a chapter yesterday, and after thinking long and hard about it, my OC just wasn't giving off the vibe that I wanted. I think this better shows her colors, and I think Loki sounds more like himself in this one (let me know if I'm wrong, I'll gladly fix it). Not sure how long this will be, but I do have big plans for this story! I just hope that you all like it.
Thanks a bunch! Read/Review please! Love you all! ~Toni
Laura Williams stalked through the crowd of tuxedos and gowns, eying each passing face in turn. She was looking for him. He was her only source to find the villain known as Swordsman. Apparently he was harassing an "expert" archer called Hawkeye. Laura sighed, she really hated inter-agency jobs. Especially when that other agency was S.H.I.E.L.D. They had been mercilessly trying to recruit her for years, despite her constant protests. She wanted nothing to do with a bunch of talented freaks, or the director's favorite pet: Natasha Romanova. What a bitch. As much as she enjoyed working for a government agency, S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't be any better.
Laura floated across the room to her partner, her startling red dress drawing stares as it caressed her slender form, her long, slender leg making an occasional appearance from the long slit in the side. "John Jones" was standing at the edge of the room with a flute of champagne in his hand. Laura sauntered over to him, her gaze immediately returning to the chattering crowd of the elite surrounding the ugly Egyptian piece of stonework.
"Are you enjoying yourself yet?" John said nonchalantly. Laura snorted.
"Who, me? I get to stare the 'Great Stone Ox', an ancient sacrificial altar. What greater fun could a girl wish for." Her tone made John smile.
Laura had never enjoyed being sent on missions to Germany, yet here she was in Stuttgart, Germany at an art museum's summer gala having the time of her life. She sipped idly from a flute of her own, trying to control her seething hatred for this place, wishing for something, anything, exciting to happen.
Laura let her gaze wander across the room, searching for her prey. Her gaze froze on an elderly man looking quite nervous at the moment. There he was, the old bastard was mulling around the base of the stairs by himself. Laura tapped her partner's arm and began slinking through the crowd.
A tall suited figure descending the stairs behind her man. Laura paid him no attention. He wasn't any threat to her, and as it was, she was locked on her target. She needed this man to talk, and the sooner, the better. Once she completed her mission, the CIA was going to approve her request for retirement. Laura wanted nothing more than to be done with the US government and its endless list of secrets, but she was one of their best and most loyal agents. The CIA definitely didn't want to lose her after so many years of service, but she had perhaps threatened to rain destruction upon the US government if they refused. They agreed to approve if she completed this mission. They knew what she was capable of. But she would forever be labeled a RED. Retired, Extremely Dangerous. Laura didn't care, she would finally be allowed to live on her own again, under a new name of her choosing with a personality that she chose. She could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Oh, was it beautiful.
Little did Laura know that that light was still a long ways off.
Laura heard the screams before she saw what was going on. The suited figure had attacked one of the security at the gala, knocking him clean off his feet with his long, golden spear. The crowd became a mob of sheep, frightened and panicked as the wolf descended among them. The suited figure grabbed Laura's source and dragged him across the room to the altar in the center of the room. Laura tried to force her way through the crowd, but the frantic bodies only pushed her further back. She could only catch glimpses between the heads of the people, staring at the atrocity before them. Laura heard the whizzing of a device, a man's pained scream, and the cries of the ladies in the room, running from the scene.
Laura didn't know where her partner was, and at this point, she didn't care.
That figure just murdered her only way out of the service, and she wasn't going to let him get away easily.
He would pay.
Laura fought her way through the rapidly thinning crowd to find the figure slowly descend from the altar, a wicked grin on his face. He was enjoying the chaos. Laura wasted no time in running straight at the man, pulling his raven head into a headlock with one arm and trapped his speared arm with the other.
The woman brought her red lips close to his ear, innocently whispering, "Where do you think you're going? The fun has just begun."
The grabbed her arm, wrenching it free of his neck. He spun around to face his assailant, twisting her arm painfully. The man leaned over to snarl in her face, "You dare touch me mortal! You have no idea what fun will be in store for you when I have finished with you!"
Her large forest-green betrayed no inkling of pain. She looked like a child who had been caught causing mischief. A cruel smile spread across the face of the man looming over her. "Pray, do tell girl, why do you smile so?" His voice filled with mock sympathy.
The woman replied in a small voice, "I should be asking you that." With that, the woman seized the man's collar and smashed her forehead into his. Stunned, he loosened his grip on her arm long enough for her to wrench her arm free. She braced an arm across his broad chest and pushed him down onto the altar behind him. She leaned over him and growled in his ear, "What a shame it is that you have underestimated my skills." He scowled.
"No," he began, "it is a shame for you that you won't live after what you have done." The man easily threw her off of him, sending her sprawling on the floor. She quickly popped up from her position, fists at the ready. She sat down into her fighting stance, easily balancing in her red stilettos.
"Darling, you're gonna have to try harder than that to keep me down," she cooly replied.
The man smiled wickedly, allowing his arrogance to dull his senses. She was a mortal! She was no match for him! He spread his arms out to either side and walked towards her. "Why, what on Midgard would you suggest I d-"
His taunt was cut off by a swift fist making contact with his angular jawline. The man took a quick step back, stunned by her speed and her strength. He gingerly touched the contact point, scowling.
"Awww... Poor baby. Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?" she cooed, a sly smile on her lips. She dropped her arms slightly, exposing her head.
He stared at her aghast. How dare she! "So that is how it shall be." His face was full of malice. She would die, but at present he needed to accomplish his mission.
The man thrust his spear at her exposed head, a battle cry escaping his marble lips.
The women threw her head back in a flash of golden curls. Her spine arched backwards, arms thrown back like a bird in flight, fingertips stretching towards the ground. Her palms willingly greeted the cool ground, her arms supporting her weight as she drew her legs in. Like a bucking horse, her arms bent and her long legs flew out into the stomach of her opponent, knocking the air from his lungs as she reversed her descent. Her gleaming tresses streamed out behind her as she leapt back onto her feet and back into her stance.
"Yeah, this is how it shall be."
The man drew himself up, gripping his spear with white knuckles. "You will die for your transgressions!"
She smiled behind her fists. "So be it."
The man lunged at her, spear in hand, blue energy spouting from the tip of the spear. The woman dropped her shoulder and rolled away from the blast, popping up long enough to land a punch near his kidney. He roared in pain, spinning around fast enough to knock her off her feet. Her small body rolled across the floor as he squared his stance. She stared up into his ice-blue eyes, the same blue of the energy that he was throwing from his spear.
She kicked off her shoes, and stood to face him. He snarled, "You are a wily mortal. It truly saddens me to end your pitiful existence." The man aimed the spear at her, the blue rock embedded in it glowing ominously.
The woman wasted no time.
She ran head on at the man, ducking under the spear's blast and plowing into his midsection. A perfect tackle.
They landed on the ground with an umph! from the both of them. The spear flew from the man's hands and landed a short ways away. The woman scrambled to gain the upper hand again. But she paused. His eyes were green. Not just a plain green, a sparkling wondrous heart-stopping emerald green. She had never seen such a green before, and it stayed her hand. Straddling him, one hand pressed on his chest, the other paused in mid-air, she stared into their depths. The woman saw anguish grief despair hatred fear hopelessness desperation misery pain horror and so much more. Her heart tore in two. She saw herself in those orbs.
The man saw her lower her arm. She wasn't going to pummel him as she well should. He glanced up into her forest green eyes, watery and full of pity rather than anger. The mortal pitied him! She has no right to! The man reached out and grabbed the spear, the icy blue flooding back into his eyes. Her bewitching eyes now full of fear, as they well should.
He flung her off of him, her small frame hitting the tall marble pillar. He rushed over to her, holding her up by the neck. "You dare pity me mortal!" He flung her across the room into another pillar. With his unearthly speed, he leapt across the room, holding her up by the neck again. "I am a god! You are nothing." He squeezed her throat, listening to the panicked gurgle rising in her pretty throat. "I have no need for such petty emotions that you humans insist on clutching to like children in the dark!" He flung her across the room again.
She landed in a heap of blond hair and red silk against the opposite wall. Stunned, she lay face down for a moment, listening to his parting words:
"I shall let you live, foolish woman. But hear this: step in my path again, and I shall crush you like an ant under a boot. Farewell. You have been a worthy foe."
She slowly looked up, her head pounding from the impact. From between her mussed tresses, she saw his dapper suit turn into a leather and gold suit of armor. On his head sat an impressive golden helmet with horns reaching back from his temples. He did not glance back as he stalked out the door. She slowly lowered her head back down to the cool marble floor.
Many minutes had passed before she could muster the strength to pull herself up from the ground. She gathered her shoes from where she had left them and stumbled barefoot to the door.
Leaning against the gilded doorframe, she stared out over the plaza. That beautiful man was fighting with Captain America, while the people fled past other versions of him. The woman pressed a finger to her temple, wincing slightly. She was done with freaks. But she couldn't shake the picture of his eyes from her mind. Her heart had not raced as it was currently doing for many, many years. She glanced up as a S.H.I.E.L.D. fighter hovered over the plaza. The loudspeaker on the plane boomed.
"Drop the weapon, Loki."
He smirked and shot a blaze of energy at the plane, nearly missing the wings.
The woman pressed her fingertips to her forehead. This was all too much. She could barely believe that this man was called by the same name as the mythological Norse God of Mischief, and seemed to fit the bill as well. He was clearly one of the freaks that S.H.I.E.L.D. dealt with, but his power seemed more energy based. Magic perhaps, but that stuff didn't exist. Or did it?
The woman inwardly groaned. Natasha Romanova, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, and the rest of the S.H.I.E.L.D. idiots were all after the Asgardian Loki Odinson, who just happened to show up in Germany while she was there after the man who not only was the curator of the place where the largest amount of iridium was kept, but also her only way to find the villain Swordsman, enemy of Hawkeye, Romanova's partner who was nowhere to be found at the moment and...
She bowed her head again, groaning again.
This was insane! Let alone near impossible. She had seen many unbelievable things in her lifetime, but this took the cake. She was simply done with all of this agent nonsense. She didn't care what it took, she was done. No more missions or jobs or anything. Done.
The woman glanced back up at the scene in front of her, feeling another pang in her heart. She watched thied strange man, no, god, raise his hands in surrender, his armor fading to a simple mage's clothing. She stared as he was escorted away, a defeated look in his emerald eyes.
She still couldn't explain what she had felt in that gala; still, she knew that she couldn't help but want to stare into those amazing eyes just once more.
She had to find him again and settle these feeling once and for all. She couldn't let such emotions mess with her head. After all, he had admitted that they were petty human things.
She had lived too long to let them interfere.
Not anymore.
Not again.
Ethelinda slowly walked through the fire and smoke of the enemy that had rained down in the forests of Germania. Stepping lightly over the charred bodies of her fallen comrades, she slowly made her way to the battlefront. The roar of war sang sweetly in her ears. The cries of the men sent tremors down her spine. The woman held her sword tighter, her heart racing. A grin played upon her lips, her blonde locks swishing lightly across her back. The Romans had invaded her people's lands, and they would pay. Oh, how they would pay. Many had already fallen, but the price would be worth the spoils. Her brothers had told her time and time again to stay away from battle, that it was a man's duty, but Ethelinda loved the rush of the fight all too much. She could never stay away.
Flaming arrows soared over her head, the roar grew louder. Her leather shoes crunched lightly on the ashen ground. The warrior squared her fur-covered shoulders and stepped through the smoke, emerging like a hellish nightmare into the thick of the battle. The thud of metal on wood. The swish of spears soaring overhead. The chilling crunch of bone. The screams of the dying. A cruel smile crept across her lips. None dared to confront her, that would be barbaric. She was a lady after all.
Continuing further into the fray, eyes locked on the general, fighting in gold-gilded armor, standing star against the bronze of his men, the serpent stalked her prey. Her senses were heightened. She could smell the fear, no, she could taste it. Fools, all of them.
At last, a sword rang through the air above her. The shimmer of heat of fresh blood radiated from the blade. Ethelinda nimbly spun to face the Roman, swords locked above their heads. The soldier gasped at her unearthly speed. The snake simple grinned. She expertly wrenched the weapon from his hands, his gaping mouth only forcing her heartbeat higher and higher. Ethelinda swiftly thrust her sword through his head, relishing in her kill. She pulled the sword free. She gazed down at the lovely red color that it was painted. Beautiful.
Now the others noticed her. Now she was no longer a lady, but a threat. Roman footmen rushed at her, swords held high, screaming a battlecry. She merely laughed at their bravado. Their courage.
It would not save them.