This is a Thor AU, in which Loki is a single, twenty-eight year old Witch (I HAD to put in some supernatural twist for him :3), who works with Jane, Darcy, and that other... Old dude... I forgot his name, ahah. Loki lives in New York, in a flat apartment somewhere in the urbs. I'll leave the rest to ya'~!
By the way, if you didn't already notice, this is most likely going to be almost full-on Thor/Loki after several chapters. Some unrequited Darcy/Loki on Darcy's part, but I (almost) promise it will have humour!

Life of a Solitary Witch

Prologue

Life was good. Well, at least it seemed that way. Life went and went by with not a care in the world of what it left behind for its givers and takers. The rent was payed, jobs payed him back in return. Enough money to buy food, keep shelter and cigarettes was just fine.

Now, paying for the piano wasn't the most beneficial thing he'd done for his financial aides, as well as not helping his College funds at all. Then again, college never stormed its way nor slid into the Laufey boy's agenda at any time. Neither did the subject ever cross his mind. Life was fine without a degree in some art or physician science thing.

Could he have it any other way? Of course, yes. Would he have it any other way? No to it's very fullest.

Smoke seeped from his thin lips like the notes from the black grand in the sidelines of the none too spacious room—careless yet so formal and graceful in the same respects.

A J.J. Abrams piece filled the thick air around the brunette man, sleeves cuffed sloppily against pale forearms, just as messy as the hair that swept behind his ears. Careless, yet so formal and graceful. Lithe fingers pressed and played white and black keys, all sounds controlled with one of three brass pedals and the player's eye-hand coordination. Despite how blind and tiresome his aventurine eyes looked, his eyesight and eye color had no such things to do with each other—even the lavender sweeps beneath the bottom lids.

Though… Why so with the appearance, you say? Well, when you have nary a love life, you're single, twenty-eight and couldn't care less if your next door neighbor threatened to expulse you from your flat in the middle of the damn day.

Time seemed to stop a little, at a sudden rate, the hair on the back of the Laufey man's neck standing on near end. Oh, don't think something big was going to happen, like a giant flying robot to come crashing through his window or something. No, it was someone at his door… Wasn't it?

Three knocks. Right again, Laufeyson. He smirked inwardly, shaking his head at his own cleverness.

"Mista' Lua'feyson?" The delivery man chimed at the door, brown eyes beedy and alert as ever, brows raised to an unseen place underneath the bill of his lowly tipped ball cap. Lord, did Loki have a distaste for that accent, the way his last name was pronounced. It wa sso different from his own; and it very much made him feel like a cmplete outcast.

"Yes," The brunette sharply retorted,(one may say he sounded like he was actually used to this stuff; ha!) quick to grab the clipboard in which, like all the other mortals in these damned apartments, had to sign.

Though, the delivery man looked inside without being very noticed, eyes squinting at a particular coffee cup on the top of the piano. Was the stirrer... Stirring by itself? His small eyes widened, ready to lift his finger to point at the self-stirring stirring-stick, in the cup, and on the piano.

"Thank you," was all the brunette said with a dip of the head (it was a habit, really) before taking his delivered item, shoving the board back to the man, and promptly retreating inside.

And he didn't even realize what the hell it was until then:

Two, purring, pure white doves, perched on a stick of driftwood.

To the Laufeyson hold, a small tag read, the reader not bothering to go on with whatever it had on it. Picking up the cage, wide eyes examined the two delicate creatures. Not one had a single flaw nor fault with them, both didn't have their wings clipped, and both had an ankle ring that signified that they were captive birds.

Ah, a hanging cage, too? Lucky again. Not as if he really cared if it was a hanging cage or not, but the ones that hung just looked… Nicer, dare say? A self-directed giggle left smirking lips, taking a step back to admire his work. "You two would be lucky if someone didn't come in tomorrow, I'd have to use you then," Muttered the pianist to the birds. Even the mewling Bombay approved of the cage, her large, amber eyes studying both her owner, and the two dovelings as if to ask, "Is that going to be my dinner?"

"Hush, Sigyn, these aren't for eating," Laufeyson mused to the solidly black feline friend of his, earning a characteristic slight toss of her small head and a sway of her tail, before she was off to go find an alleyrat to chase and bring back home. Hell, Loki didn't give a single damn about the rules for pets here- which was specifically: No pets. But he'd of course rather not think about the consequences of disobeying the law, rolling his eyes and turning back to the suspended cage.

Two turtle doves, each a different sex, sharing the same, rot iron cage. For a second he dare admit that he wondered if the two birds even liked each other, or if they were even able to have mutual attraction. Don't be so foolish, he thought, shaking his head with a roll of pale chartreuse eyes.

Some may call him odd; some may call him a nuisance of the world. But what gives them the right to judge should they have anything against me, really? He thought, tilting his head as eyes stared at the flickering flame of the match pinched between two fingers, the tip of the incense stick catching the fire just long enough to singe and burn the first half inch.

The pianist took in a breath, holding the incense in front of the hanging cage. He began to draw a pentagram in the air with the smoke, then a pentacle,

"With this incense, I banish all that is negative,"

Some call him odd, some call him trickster, and some of the ladies at work dare say he just needs a good lay to get his mind back straight again. People come and go for him like the seasons, few stay.

"With this incense, I draw all that is fair,"

Some acquaintances laugh at his words of "I really don't need anybody", "I can do what I want" or "Love is just a four letter word", some tilt their heads and jut out their bottom lips with "aww"s, and some throw themselves at him because it's apparently attractive to say things such as that (though all of them don't ever make their way into his life, he finds those women—and dare say, even some men—quite sickening). But all in all, he always thought one didn't need somebody else in their life to make themselves happy.

Solitary witches don't need men or women, he could hear himself sigh to Darcy, who would always roll her doe eyes, sigh, then shoo off to go bother someone else far more entertaining than he, all the while the Laufeyson man would shake his head, laugh quietly to himself, and go back to work. He may think about it on the way home, perhaps daze off into scenarios and such; but really, nobody listens to that crazy young woman anyways, so why did he even bother to think about it?

Could he have it any other way? Of course, yes. Would he have it any other way? No to it's very fullest.

Life was good. The rent was payed, and jobs payed in return. Life like this could be complicated at times, but that's how the laws of life itself were. Cigarettes kept him sane, his love of his life was a black cat and he still knew what happiness was- that made life well in all due respect.

This life was Loki Laufeyson's life as a solitary witch, and perhaps nobody else's. And that was just how he liked it.

Well, there's the prologue. I may get to writing the first actual chapter in a bit... Who knows! Review if you want, but I don't really ever use critique, bad or good ;;. Just a me thing. I'm new to FF, so be gentle if you scold or flame me xD... Naw, go ahead and bash it all in if you have to.

Please, please write critique! I enjoy and value critique 3