A Little Mischief:
The story of Majesty Lokidóttir
Chapter 1: "Chin up, Loki."

Everyone in Asgard thought it was impossible for the God of Mischief to truly care about anyone but himself. Hel, even Loki believed this. That is, until she came along. It was 1994, a dark time for the trickster. A very costly scheme of his had failed spectacularly, and he'd been kicked out of his home by his usually very loyal wife, Sigyn. With nowhere to go and no one to turn to, his magic stripped away by Odin, he was stuck on Midgard. Specifically, in a crowded, rather hostile city known as Manhattan. While the bright lights were dazzling, the people were very rude, and before the former God of Lies even knew what happened, he found himself poor, starving, homeless, and growing ill. Worst of all, winter was setting in. He knew if he couldn't find a way to supply himself with food, shelter, and sufficient heat, he'd soon die. Oh, if only I had my powers right now! he wailed in his thoughts. I'd conjure up a grand castle to live in, enough food to feed a thousand men, women, and children, and a wonderful, hot bath. Not to mention a soft bed in a warm room with a fire crackling in the fireplace. That'd be very nice right now.

But alas, he was still without his powers, and could do little more than steal a hotdog from one of the vendors, curl up in a cardboard box, and sit near a trashcan-fire to try to warm his bones. He went on like this for a few more days, until the pain of constant hunger, cold, and illness made it almost impossible to move. Then, one cold day in December, two days until Christmas, he collapsed. The last thing he heard was a young lady's voice calling urgently to him: "Sir? Sir?! Are you alright?! Someone call 911! Sir, hold on, please; help is on the way!"

Through the crust forming between his eyelids, he saw the girl. She couldn't have been more than 19 - the age he'd made himself look before he was banished - and had long, beautiful black hair tied in a ponytail. Her skin was fair, and her eyes were like sapphires. She was bundled against the cold, but still looked pretty. "Thank you..." he whispered, before he lost consciousness all together.

When he awoke, he was lying on a soft bed, wrapped in warm blankets. He still felt weak and sick, but he didn't feel as bad as he had before. He ran a hand through his hair, and was surprised that it was soft and silky again, completely clean! He then noticed the grime had been scrubbed from his hands - his entire body, in fact! - and he no longer reeked of poverty and poor hygiene. Looking around, he found himself in a small bedroom, with a clean set of clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The room was decorated in the Christmas spirit - either the owner of the room hadn't taken down the décor or he hadn't missed the holiday yet. Sitting up, he was surprised to see that he was no longer scrawny to the point where he could see his ribs against his skin. He got dressed, putting on the green sweater with gold trim, the blue jeans, the woolen socks, and the sneakers. He managed to stand, and made his way to the intoxicating scent of meat cooking. He took in the state of the house/apartment wherever he was, and saw that a Christmas tree sat proudly in one corner, a present sitting underneath it.

Just one? he wondered. Curious to a fault, he approached, and to his great surprise, he found the tag said "To: Loki, from: Twyla. Merry Christmas, God of Mischief!"

How did she know who I am?! he wondered, quite shocked. He wanted to rip it open and see what the mortal had gotten him... but he supposed after such hospitality, it would be quite rude to open it without her to see his reaction. Setting it down, he made his way to the kitchen, and saw a young woman with long black hair pulling a roasted turkey out of the oven. It looked perfect, and smelled divine, as well.

The girl looked over her shoulder, smiling when she saw him. "Ah, perfect timing!" she said. "Merry Christmas, Loki!"

The God of Mischief stared at her in amazement. "You're that girl who called for help that day," he said, seeing she had the same hair, eyes, face, and voice. "I assume you are Twyla?"

"Yep, Twyla Sinclair, owner of this penthouse, and one of the few mortals able to recognize a god in her midst without said immortal having to demonstrate their powers," she said. "If you'll take a seat at the dinner table, I'll have this finished up in just a couple seconds."

Loki was surprised to say the least, but hid it well. "Thank you." he said simply as he made his way to the dining room. This was more than odd to him. He was more than used to mortals running in fear from him, or cowering in fear at the sight of him, not reacting so warmly, welcoming him with a gentle smile and friendly worlds. Was there something wrong with this girl's head? She had smiled at the God of Lies and promised him a home-cooked Christmas dinner that she'd been preparing with her own two hands as easily as if she'd done so to a close friend or family member.

Well, it was different, but it was nice, in a way.

Moments later, Twyla came into the dining room with the beautiful bird, and the scent made Loki's mouth water. Without bothering to say any kind of Grace, she carved up the turkey with the precision of a surgeon, and served him six thick slices and the left drumstick, along with mashed potatoes and turkey gravy, and crescent rolls. "So, I didn't miss the holiday?" he asked at last, seeing her good mood as he began to eat.

"Thankfully, no," the girl said, preparing her own plate. "It's still Christmas for about six more hours. you woke up just in time for dinner. I was afraid I'd have to feed you through a tube again."

He was glad he'd woken up, then. The turkey tasted like it had been prepared as a sacrifice to the gods (in a way, it had!), and the rest of the dinner was heavenly, as well. "Might I ask why you decided to take in a god reputed for telling lies and causing mischief?" he asked, cutting to the point.

"Because," the girl said, taking a bite out of her drumstick and swallowing before finishing her answer. "Unlike most New Yorkers, I'm not a total jerk. I saw fit to help you because when I saw you lying there, filthy, sickly, and weak with hunger, I did not see the mighty Loki who made pranking an art and caused much suffering. I saw a man stripped of everything that had made him great and left to die. Call me crazy, but I didn't want you to die."

Loki could only stare in awe at this honest young girl. "Why?" was all he could ask.

"Because of all the gods, you're my favorite," she said. "You've got more brains in that head of yours than all of Asgard put together, your pranks always make me laugh, and even when things are looking bad for you, you manage to weasel your way out of it. So... I guess that leads me to my question. How'd you go from that... to just barely alive?"

And what happened then? Well, in New York, they say, that Loki finally told the truth on that day. (Sorry, I just had to do that!) He told her about the scheme he'd come up with, how he'd been thwarted, and how Odin had punished him by stripping him of his powers, and his wife had kicked him out. "No one would take in the God of Lies," he said sadly. "Thus, I was forced to become... what you saw."

Twyla squeezed his hand to lend him some small measure of comfort, and the trickster found himself curling his fingers around her much smaller, very delicate hand. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need, Loki," she said, looking into his eyes. "Just do one thing for me."

"And what's that?" the former god asked.

"Keep your chin up. A lack of confidence doesn't befit the God of Mischief," she said, giving him that warm smile. He could not help smiling back. In Twyla Sinclair, he'd found an ally. Perhaps even his first real friend.

As time went by, Loki and Twyla grew quite close, going from allies to friends, and eventually becoming boyfriend and girlfriend. Then, on the Fourth of July of the next year, Loki found out that he'd been accepted back into Asgard. He celebrated the good news with the girl, before bidding her "see you later" the next morning. Then Twyla missed her period. When Loki heard his dearest friend was carrying his unborn child, he was delighted, and swore that, to repay Twyla for the kindness, friendship, and love she'd shown him, he'd do everything he could to help care for his child.


A/N: What? You don't think the God of Mischief would give a damn about his unborn demigod child? Well, I do! See, I'm not casting him as the antagonist in this. I'm not sure who I am yet. We'll get to that later. Right now, Loki's a protagonist. Next, we'll see what Odin has to say an=bout him siring a child while in exile.