Disclaimer: Loki is not mine, he belongs to Marvel in this case, as well as mythology. The song Behold the Hurricane belongs to The Horrible Crowes.
He had taken to watching the mortals whilst sitting at an outdoor table of a café.
They gave him odd looks when he was there even whilst it rained; the wet weather tended to hide his more vulnerable moments. Not that he would admit to those moments, not even under duress, or whilst squeezed in his brother's mighty grasp.
And there went his mood.
It always happened when he thought of his brother.
After the fiasco with the Chitauri and Thor dragging him back to Asgard in chains and muzzle, after snarking his way out of Asgard via a form of exile, Loki had taken to living on Midgard.
At first he thought it would be fun to settle in New York, get the Avengers worked up with every sighting of him; he did not take into account the first time what it would be like to see Thor constantly looking for him. So he had moved, travelling to England. He chose a port city, finding it brought in the more interesting types.
And that were where he sat, outside a café on the High street, observing the students milling about, the universities having opened again. A young man, probably in his early twenties, passed with music blaring out of the headphones and he found the tune catchy. The young man sang a few of the words whilst passing and Loki had to sip his tea to not be caught smiling.
I don't recognise myself, I'm not the man you love, behold the hurricane.
Loki wondered if Thor had ever heard the song.
Shaking his head, the once Prince of Asgard stood, shrugging his coat back on and beginning the walk to his current home, thoughts clawing at the inside of his skull.
He was always the villain, he found. Whether it was in the Midgardian tales where he always created trouble, or in the eyes of the Asgardian's who had never settled well with his penchant for magic instead of brute strength. Loki guessed he did bring much of it on himself, honestly; he lied better than he fought, thought intently when he should have jumped in headfirst and kept himself private even when his brother begged him to open up.
Why could they not see he had done good for them too? Had he not been the one who halted the building of the wall? Sleipnir was proof of that. Had he not gotten presents for each of them, nearly forfeiting his head whilst he was at it? Not that they remembered.
True, he most likely should have done things differently, perhaps continued to break bones in an attempt to match up to Thor's might, or let everyone into his secrets just to keep the few friends he might have ever had.
But Loki Odinsson, Laufeyson, Liesmith, was a villain if there ever was one. No-one ever said the villain could not have heart or feel sorry.
He had fallen into his role as easily as he would bring about the beginning of Ragnarok in years to come when the cycle was ready to begin anew, and he would continue to fall into the role.
Unlocking the door to his modest little home, Loki stepped into the white-walled hallway and shut the door behind him. His coat was hung up and his shoes left neatly on the mat as he wandered through to his quaint little living room, the lazy ragdoll cat he had found taking up the one good armchair in the room.
Turning on the television, he gently picked up the cat and sat down, letting it take over his lap, as he flicked through the channels.
Wars, shootings, robberies. Chaos. Brother's killing sisters, countries fighting between themselves. The Avengers, live in New York, as they attempted to take down the newest dubbed Super villain.
He watched with morbid curiosity at the chaos that spread around him without having to even step foot near the person, the people, the governments and the soldiers.
Loki Liesmith was a villain through and through; he had no need to work for that, the designs of nature herself knew it.