Thank you gunman, Guest, and yeahimgonnariskit for your reviews, the last mentioned there and TheMostRandomofRandomWriters for the follows, and all you readers for, well, reading! :) Only one more installment. I do have a Thor/OC post-Avengers fic in my head, but seeing as I also have a Lord of the Rings fic going on that I need to start post as well as a Hobbit fic, no promises on the Thor one. :)
She pulled herself up using a streetlight, wincing slightly as her ankle twinged, and addressed the man. "Look, I don't know who you are, and I don't know what you're thinking or what you're carrying there, but I just wanted to thank you for making this evening so much more exciting."
He smiled–a strange smile, both dangerous, fascinating, condescending, and irritating–and calmly replied, "I am Loki of Asgard. Do explain yourself, Midgardian–but kneeling, as I believe I said before."
Truda remained standing as she continued, "I had thought this evening would be very quiet: dressing up, going to a concert, and drafting a short paper on the experience. Nothing more extraordinary would happen beyond my shoes pinching. But no, you came along, and now my heart rate has jumped drastically, one of my shoe heels is broken, and my ankle's twisted. Thank you so much for livening up my time. I just know I won't be able to sleep a wink tonight." Her mouth twisted up in a sarcastic smile.
As she blinked, Loki somehow appeared in front of her and shoved her down, murmuring, "I think I told you to kneel." Then, before she could bring her hand up and obey her impulse to smack him, he had blinked back to his former position and was addressing the crowd again. "Is not this simpler? Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity."
Truda's brain whirled, both with the redoubled pain in her ankle and thoughts. Who and what did this Loki think he was, saying such junk? Did he escape from an asylum or something? And then, with the word escape, she suddenly remembered her grandpa. Had he made it out of the concert hall, or was he lying inside with the first man to fall to the wacko?